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Posted on 12/01/2006 8:08:18 PM PST by Soaring Feather
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Wonderful rich poem. The images are so strong and vibrant. Thank you.
Wouldn't this poem make a wonderful painting on canvas? The mental painting is rich and safe and warm, feasting on Christmas treats and lavishing on the splendor of the night skies.
The last stanza is poignant, compelling one to think!
Meditation on Daniel 5:1-31
O see, an unseen hand now writes
Upon life's trembling wall,
Carving letters made of light
To read, for one and all.
Counted, counted, weighed, divided --
The words He writes in warning.
O will you watch them fade away,
Forget ere comes the morning?
The writing is upon the wall,
Counted, weighed, divided --
O will the hand bring you to tears,
When you find out what's decided?
The book of life is in His hands,
Your actions tallied, all
O will you turn and walk away
Or listen to the call?
Counted counted are the cries
That rise to Heaven's door,
Mothers weeping in the night,
Their hearts a-breaking sore,
Hungry children, broken souls,
Forgotten, left to die,
God hears the pain that we let slide,
and marks down every sigh.
Weighed each answer to His call,
weighed each turn away.
Weighed each time we answer yes,
Weighed each quiet nay,
The answers written in His book,
the count made very sure --
The motives noted for each act,
greed or lust, or pure.
The day will come with trembling knees,
when we stand there at his call,
He will look within his book
to judge us one and all.
Each sheep and goat will take their place,
Each stand to left and right,
O will you name be in the place
of darkness or of light?
The writing comes as no surprise,
The Word gives out its warning.
No hidden scripts to puzzle out,
The truth as clear as morning.
Two thousand years God's made it clear,
Two thousand years and more.
O let His words work in your heart,
O open up the door!
(note - this can actually be sung to the tune of Good King Wenceslas, which I find amusing, but was playing at the back of my mind while I was writing this.)
Amazing piece.
Music does so influence the rhyme and meter of writing, it has happened for me, too.
I love when it happens for me, it is harmony - so precious.
It was cold, so I let them in.
Most of the poems I searched were either negative or archaic, except for that one fresh off the pen.
As for all the negative January poems, those dour poets are weaklings.
LOL!!!!!
So glad you are looking after them! Did they start the hopping thing after they warmed up??
lyrics by Eleanor Farjeon
Morning has broken, like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning
Praise for the springing fresh from the world
Sweet the rain's new fall, sunlit from heaven
Like the first dewfall, on the first grass
Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden
Sprung in completeness where his feet pass
Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning
Born of the one light, Eden saw play
Praise with elation, praise every morning
God's recreation of the new day
Hi Sweets, lovely poem and graphic, thanks.
In "As You Like It," William Shakespeare wrote:
"All the world's a stage,
"And all the men and women merely players.
"They have their exits and their entrances,
"And one man in his time plays many parts,
"His acts being seven ages."
Trying to break out of the blahs. I've been feeling the blahs, so this is a quick attempt to jump start some creativity. If you find something you want to tweak, feel free. I need some creative sparks.
Winter blahs
Monochrome blanket,
Suffocating dullness,
Routine grind,
Grey.
Seeds of ideas,
Yearning for the warm light
To ignite the slumbering life,
Dormant.
Anticipating a rainbow explosion
Of erupting thoughts
Blooming into fragrant flowers.
Spring fever begins.
Hi Scubie, this is wonderful! I would say you are fully lit! LOL
Great images. :)
You are too kind.
I figured I better do something, even if it's bad, then mope along in the blahs, doing nothing.
I'm glad you got some good images. 8^)
Scubie.
Dawn Song
Silent it comes, the sunrise serenade
as the sun warms the window glass
it gentle sighs in its chipped old frame
in subtle soft welcome to day
And I listen to all it may say
be it common news, or hints of fame
pay heed for this news too will pass
as the morning into day does fade
Colors pale drift
across the early morning snow
chasing whirls of time upon the wind
even before the first bird rises up so high
Such a moment beneath the clearing sky
upon the inner silent heart it is pinned
and we in that tiny place in time know
and then time shift
Good night one and all
may Morpheus
drape you in his cloak of dreams
Dawn Song
Beautiful poem. Great images you have conjured up. Thanks.
Mernin', Ms Feather!
Did I say good morning, to you Tomkow??
Good morning to you, Good morning to you!
LOL, I thought only Dickie Duck dipped his head.
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