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 |    We live much of life amid unique choices. Joy is anchored in The One beyond our life. |
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“There are times when solitude is better than society, and silence is wiser than speech. We should be better Christians if we were more alone, waiting upon God, and gathering through meditation on His Word spiritual strength for labour in his service. We ought to muse upon the things of God, because we thus get the real nutriment out of them. . . . Why is it that some Christians, although they hear many sermons, make but slow advances in the divine life? Because they neglect their closets, and do not thoughtfully meditate on God's Word. They love the wheat, but they do not grind it; they would have the corn, but they will not go forth into the fields to gather it; the fruit hangs upon the tree, but they will not pluck it; the water flows at their feet, but they will not stoop to drink it. From such folly deliver us, O Lord. . . .” ― Charles Spurgeon “Our anxiety does not empty tomorrow of its sorrows, but only empties today of its strengths.” ― C. H. Spurgeon “Hope itself is like a star- not to be seen in the sunshine of prosperity, and only to be discovered in the night of adversity.” ― Charles Haddon Spurgeon “If sinners be damned, at least let them leap to Hell over our dead bodies. And if they perish, let them perish with our arms wrapped about their knees, imploring them to stay. If Hell must be filled, let it be filled in the teeth of our exertions, and let not one go unwarned and unprayed for.” ― Charles Spurgeon “A Bible that’s falling apart usually belongs to someone who isn’t.” ― Charles Spurgeon “Visit many good books, but live in the Bible.” ― Charles Spurgeon “When your will is God's will, you will have your will.” ― Charles Spurgeon https://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/2876959.Charles_Haddon_Spurgeon (Philippians 2:13, KJV)    |
The flowers bloom in purple light, a pastel bliss for all. This softest hue before the night begins the eyes to call. Each petal, and the stamen, rare, in dancing beauty sing. The whitest parts seem to cause us stare for infrared's a thing. This makeshift card from days of yore in hand-tint color's joy creates a gift, that's worthy for sure, that antique sellers employ. by Jay O’Toole on April 30th, 2022 |
For you can write a poem, too, day by day, and day by day. A joyful heart is yours when through, day by day, and come what may. You do not know to rhythm, rhyme? Yet, you are talking all the time. I think your words are truly prime with thoughts to share in any clime. “I cannot write. I daren’t create. They’ll laugh at me of Perfection’s naught.” “But if you start, you’re never late with hopeful lines, that you just bought.” An app for finding rhyming words or websites, that can help you, too, are just the tickets for us nerds, that find our rhymes in words so new. "But what of rhythms? Apps don't aid if we don't know the truest beat." "All words are sized, and truly made to help explore all rhythms, neat." I think someone may still object to classic forms of poems known, but still the verse we shan't neglect without these forms to "pick the bone." When free verse is the way to go, neglect it not, since rhymes you dread. The bird so caged can't fly and grow as Lynyrd Skynyrd aptly said. But when you'd learn the classic forms take note some syllables are short. That makes them short in rhythm's dorm, and longer syllables add import. Let's take a Bible verse and try to find the forms of poetry there. When rhymes and rhythms thus apply, what joy for us to pause write there. But when we need to free express the truths God's Word enlightens hearts, the written words do still us bless as God's Dear Spirit food imparts. We find this verse, John 3:16, translated for us to our tongue. The poems form, that we may glean impresses us in praise, that's sung. "For God so loved this world He made, but broken by the blight of sin, that His Dear Son, He full obeyed so gifted from all sin to win. "We win this awful tug-of-war believing Christ, the Only Son. We will not perish as before, since He for us this life has won." "Since God has the greatest love for all the world, He gave us the greatest Gift, that could be given, His Only and Only One Son, Jesus. As the only possible result, anyone, who believes him, receiving this greatest of all Gifts, would no longer be under God's Condemnation of perishing forever in Hell, but would rather be in the Hands of His Grace, experiencing the everlasting, eternal life of unchanging Joy in His Presence Forever." by Jay O’Toole on April 30th, 2022 |
That faith is merely but a breath, I truly cannot see. How can it be, that in one's death we learn each faith was free? I must in faith receive His Grace to truly be redeemed. I must imagine His Blest Face to know it's all it seemed. That faith is trusting as a child what never I can touch brings fear about this One so mild, that I would love so much. How can I live forever Day, if I'm not truly sure, that Christ has saved me come what may with saving faith so pure? To struggle with one's living faith is where we start to heal. To reach to touch the childlike wraith of rocklike faith that's real. To know the Lord is not caprice, and never slaps His child for out loud speaking 'bout the piece of faith, that is unfiled. When just a youth of six small years I came to know His Grace. He gave me faith from lasting fears, to find in Him my place. My greatest fear throughout my days is whether faith is true, to know if trust is just displays of mental things I do. We cannot grasp with fleshy mind one ounce of faith, that saves as grasping water with the hand sends thirst to early grave. Yet, faith, that saves can learn to rest, while looking on His Face. The One, Who carries me is blest, His Faith, Foundation's place. ------------------------------------------ (Hebrews 11:1; John 6:37) ------------------------------------------ by Jay O’Toole on April 29th, 2022 |
The day He rose up from the grave began all days of life for me. His Invitation called to save this heart from sin to make me free. This life is hard, but not fore'er. He lived my shame one Friday past, delivering from lasting care through beatings raw to breathe His last. I want to live so for my Lord, Who died for me offending naught. This promised life in written Word, my Gift from Him so blood-washed bought. He rose for me, that I'd arise. What painful hours, I'm now His prize. When the child is born with piercing cries no memory lasts. "It's worth it." Wise. by Jay O’Toole on April 28th, 2022 |
This spring has made the dormant things to live. The cold relented. Now, the cool has joy. The flowers have such warmth of heart to give. Each day of play makes me a little boy. Blest birdies sit and sing to heart's content. The mockingbird has many songs to sing, but he's the "king," and never will relent, no matter what the songs I to him bring. Each chilly breeze, it breathes a coolish breath as warmer sun, now stands to scowl and stare. Protect the plants from heat's increasing death, and water oft when clouds no rain do bare. 'Tis springtime in the humid Southern climes, while fast away we hie to summertime. by Jay O’Toole on April 27th, 2022 |
America, the Beautiful, what could be beauty more? Thy heartstrings two directions pull. Of sweetness quick explore. America, thy plains of grains, and checkerboard the farms do please the eyes as right as rain, but actions, thoughts alarm. America, you sought the Lord when but an infant small, but now return thee to His Word, and on His Name now call. America, your beauty is not just from litter free. Your beauty starts, and ends, and lives within the Grace of He. O, beautify thy heart from sin. The Savior make thee clean, that throughout Time in the days of men blest beauty's always seen. Word count: 105 Line count: 20 Prompt #3: "~Keep America Beautiful Month 1. How would you keep America Beautiful? 2. Free write about Keep America Beautiful Month https://kab.org/ten-ways-to-celebrate-keep-america-beautiful-month-3/" by Jay O’Toole on April 26th, 2022 |
| Have a thought, that you would like to rhyme, and say with rhythm's best? We have a month for you to strike out, vanquishing each poet's test. But if the rhyming, rhythm thing is not the way, that you would go, then strike out on your own, making words your tools to serve your own behest. haikus speak of life nature growing where it may bloom in peace right now When Shakespeare wrote a sonnet from his heart, 'twould be to him a thing most near and dear. The thoughts he'd share at poem's launching start would be of things so oft unfair, unclear, But then he left the harbor of mind's rest to brave the waves of something new, unknown. There'd be a jarring, and great striving's test, before his latest state was fully sown. The Tempest of his senior days and isle the consternation of a lifetime's work was brought to fore without a swift denial. He owned to last with ne'er a word to shirk. The catholic tones of these confessions, rare. A Purgatory short was lived o'er there. We end with hymns of praise to God, Who paid Salvation's fee. We end these earthly days a-leaning on the arms of He. Amazing Grace of Greatest Friend, And Can it truly Be? Unclouded Days He'll always send in Love He Lifted Me. Diverted best when with my Lord, I find secluded bliss for in His hopeful, daily Word, I feel the Savior's kiss. But if the words, that rhyme, give you no lasting hope, I'd urge you to stop. Find a quiet place. Write to your heart's content in longish lines or short, then find your peace in unrhymed words, and let the rhythms be just of your core. I once knew a man of great stature and thin his folks could not start to his naming's begin, but his fam'ly ate poke, and this lasting green joke brought his name to the fore, for Slim Rick could now win. The month of poetry is near end. by Jay O’Toole on April 25th, 2022 |
Georgia pines, ubiquitous, sprouting from the ground. Sentries bold, surrounding us, comfort hopes abound. Other trees, supporting roles offer to the pines, which do grow in fieldlike wholes in days and years so fine. They come and go in service rare offering each day their building products, paper fare, and cones decor display. The pine trees grow so swift and bold, replenishing with speed. They help us breathe, though often sold, are planted for their deeds. by Jay O’Toole on April 24th, 2022 |
Tinkling chimes so seashell thin, Cacophony of metal chimes, Bamboo in chunky sounds, that win, wonders in such blowing rhymes. The wind upon my glistening face, it dabs the heat, and salves the ears. I grow in peace of knowing place, that sings away my deepest fears. The rose, it rocks to wind, that sways, The elm's long arms float up and down. Each flox in joyful colors says, "The Lord of all great Springdom's found." "Pa - dum - pum - tee. Pa - dum - pum - tee." All metal chimes call me to "Look!" "Ta - bump - bump - pah. Ta - bump - bump - pah." Bamboo it shouts, "My turn be took." The grass and pines are static green as browns of dirt and bark attend. These daily sentries, faithful seen do help the mind to rest, and mend. What joyful dance these seashells make in rolling air as water waves. The busy-ness of life they take, and from my heart's unsettled saves. The stillness of the long, sun rays pours gentle warmth on leaves of green. "I'm here to live through all your days, until Christ's Glory full is seen." The days of Life, so many, blest are still right here, and joy-filled bright. "You've run so oft. Today is rest, great hope is sun to light the night." The chirping birds in smooth song soothes. The ebb and flow of "words," then naught. "All silences are lasting booths, we sing them not as we are taught," "But when we sing the meaning's grand to give great hope to days and nights." They sing their songs throughout the land to show all souls to speak of light. We run and work six days a week. The Sabbath rest is of the Lord to call each heart His Heart to seek, and meditate upon His Word. by Jay O’Toole on April 23rd, 2022 |
The days of April start with rhyming, walking ever all way through. Poems are our daily due. Each rhythm's needed as our timing. Our hen insists I stop my priming o'er the words I now must do. The days of April start with rhyming, walking ever all way through. "Please, feed me or your fence I'm climbing, quickly I will fly to you. Feed me grub for I'm so blue." Demanding's fowl. It's always chiming. The days of April end with rhyming. by Jay O’Toole on April 22nd, 2022 |
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