Tuesday, September 6, 2016

Ode to the Shoe Store

This is neither an ode nor about a store. This is what happens when a natural born poet is feeling too sick to work but alas! Cannot sleep.  Enjoy!

With love to Crystal Junior, who has the best collection of shoes I have ever seen.

Oh mighty sneaker, soft and fast
Allow my toes to rest at last!
They've been cramped up and hardly feel
Up to the strain of Prada heel.

Of times a shoe from Coach will do,
Stilettos always make us rue
The night's long party. We're never whole
'Til slippers comfort every sole. 

Self Written Poetry

*Classic example of my trying to write a poem but the poem writing itself completely different from my intention.  Not sure where this came from and it will take me some study to fully comprehend it. The third stanza holds an interesting truth, though.  

Attentively I watch his eyes,
Their look of sacred secrets deep
Of all things mortal much despise,
But 'ternal joys he seeks to keep.

Oh how doth mine orbs seem to him?
Hold they the same intensity?
Instead of bright, appear they dim
Bedraggled by necessity?

We seek not only daily bread
But sainted joys above this earth
Not just avoiding hellish dread
But relishing all heaven's mirth.

And when those eyes lock into mine
I find in them all joy sublime. 

Sunday, September 4, 2016

So it Begins

From well before the dawn of mortal time
Intelligence excited from the throne
Of Father, Lord of earth and heaven's clime.
Bestirred into creation new beings shone -
Not yet in form, His children start to wake
As infant gods, before they're spirits, grown
Into the image of Parental make
But filled with light and shaking off the sleep -
The bonds of nothingness begin to quake.
Our minds arise so brilliant from the deep,
Eternal flames within us keenly burn
To make the angels laugh and demons weep.

For Father made us glorious in His sight.
We rise from sacred darkness into light. 

The Gaze

Into those eyes I often gaze
To find eternity
Discovering by passion's blaze
My future's history.
For in that look I found my soul
In humbled dignity,
From melancholy rigmarole
To moral's standard right.
Myself an object to cajole
Up to eternal height
Those eyes induce me to give in -
Lay down the need to fight
What I had his - a mortal sin
Of hiding oft my face
Of disallowing love within,
Thus spurning offered grace.

Surrendering, all strife doth cease.
Now in this state, at last find peace.

Thursday, September 1, 2016

The Lady

*Dedicated to women who have striven to do rightly before God and through no fault of their own find themselves lacking a prince charming.  Inasmuch as I know many women of this description, I would invite such women to see themselves as beautiful and cherished.  

A lady slept on golden down
And dreamt of gentle night
Whilst just beyond her sacred room
The din of anguished fight

Fell oft upon her sainted ears
As men and hell crossed blade
In effort to break through the door
To where our woman laid,

Now trembling from mighty threat
Though often finding peace
Which passeth man to understand
But telleth fear to cease.

The castle shook, the fire scorched
Outside her holy cell
And gazing out her balcony
She watched as starlight fell

Upon the dark and sweetened night.
She learned of God and space -
Her spirit danced across the 'spance
Of  heaven's very face.

For Father granted joyful thought
Into her troubled heart
Until at last she understood
That she'd been set apart

From normal life and harbored here,
A prize for man to win
By reaching up in purity,
Forsaking vice and sin.

Thus on her daily hallowed throne
She scatters glory fast
Enjoying simply who she is
Until all waiting's past.