Pray

When listening to 'your' songs over and over
being in class doesn't seem so very bad
you can almost half convince yourself
it'll be okay.

You can propose a toast
for all the ones that hurt the most
A parade for those that must march on.
For they have no choice
but to continue
If the course were to discontinue
to run
it
would be fatal.

So we almost half convince ourselves
it'll be okay
as we hurt the
most
and march
away
from
.

Respite and a Patron

To the library patron behind me -
You shouldn't be eating Chinese.
Please put your shoes back on -
How will I get my homework done??

There are no grounds
For those slurping sounds -
They won't even be drowned out
By this Mr. AZ listening bout.

Disgruntled - should I not be?
And now you're eating a croissant... Really?
There are other spots I could sit...
But not really. Everyone else has the tables and windows.

And I sit ahead of the patron
With no grounds to stand on -
Who's most likely enjoying respite
From people like me.

A Minnesotan's Chorus

A Minnesotan's Chorus

Spring, where are you?

Last year, I think it was,

You came around before

St. Patrick's, now you're overdue.

Oh, dear Spring, where are you?

I love the cold, but it's not Spring,

The snow is great, but getting old,

Soon new buds will just turn blue.

I say, Spring, where have you got to?

I have no doubt you'll be here soon,

In all your God-created glory,

But must we, do we, have to woo?

Old chap, one full of youthful vigor,

I see just where you are;

You're right around the corner,

And from us not so far.

A little poem I wrote for the first day of Spring in this state of Minnesota. Happy Spring, readers! If you collect Maple Syrup, do so with joy; If you're waiting for the crocus, it will come soon.  
I can't change my template until the weather turns...

Sit Still?

I woke up to near -17 temperatures this morning, and for some reason, this came to mind:

I thought of family devotions we had last summer, one in particular, in which my Dad read this interesting poem to us. This particular time, Streams in the Desert was being read, and I recall being temperamental about something of small consequence. After hearing the "sit still," I knew it was meant for me, but I was annoyed, as I cannot "sit still" for too long.  Just "sit calmly" still? Ha! I wanted to know God's will then, right at that moment. I knew I wanted to follow his will to my utmost, but there was one problem: My "dear Lord's will" wasn't clear.  So now, I still sit still, but everything is much clearer, and much more exciting.

Sit Still, My Daughter 

by J. Danson Smith

Sit still, my daughter! Just sit calmly still!

Nor deem these days--these waiting days--as ill.

The One who loves thee best, Who plans thy way,

Hath not forgotten thy great need today!

And, if He waits, 'tis sure He waits to prove

To thee, His tender child, His heart's deep love.

Sit still, my daughter! Just sit calmly still!

Thou longest much to know thy dear Lord's will.

While anxious thoughts would almost steal their way

Corroding within, because of His delay--

Persuade thyself in simple faith to rest

That He, who knows and loves, will do the best.

Sit still, my daughter! Just sit calmly still!

Nor move one step, not even one, until

His way hath opened. Then, ah then, how sweet!

How glad thy heart, and then how swift thy feet

Thy inner being then, ah then, how strong!

And waiting days not counted then too long.

Sit still, my daughter! Just sit calmly still!

What higher service could'st thou for Him fill?

'Tis hard! ah yes! But choicest things must cost!

For lack of losing all how much is lost!

'Tis hard, 'tis true! But then--He giveth grace

To count the hardest spot the sweetest place.

--

Alright, I admit; sitting still has its pros, and how glad I am that I listened.

Saturday Shoot//Tiny Tracks and Hibernating Life

Nice, but cut the Automotive Vehicle...

 

Bird, coon tracks, and plants hibernating life.  Though some colors are bleak, I like the contrasts that end up next to one another, and the little tracks are a bit hilarious.

Thanks for looking!

Struggling for Joy

Feeling so timid, no time to converse;

On leaving the room, I rushed down the stairs.

My spirit was fleeing in a black hearse;

Seeing others paria, should I care?

What feels wrong? A despondency's seeping   

Through the edifice that restrains the sea;

What muse, locked in my heart, am I keeping?

Trifles dispel! Share in no revelry.

Then running, well-armed, I routed the hearse:

“Return unto me my spirit of joy!”

Reluctantly, did darkness joy release,

Though strong perseverance did I employ.

I then recalled one must fight to be free;

My Savior helps me battle despondency.

"I lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help? 

My help comes from the LORD, the maker of heaven and earth.

He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: He that keepeth thee will not slumber

Psalm 121:1-2

Amateur's Musing

Quiet is the house; work and learn do I,

Records of music are not playing

Joyful am I, my mind's not straying

The world is fall; varied is the sky.

In my work mindset I do reside

Courses, classes, schedules and all else

Are piled 'round waiting for results

I wonder how they're to be applied.

To interrupt is detrimental;

Spoken words are altered so.

Let man finish his oratory...

But why be very sentimental?

In missing language, friends are not forgot;

The struggles and all the worried nights

Oft spent in hasty, nervous fright

Though in the end we were well taught.

The paintings of then are studied naught 

Famed artists who've etched their hearts upon

Canvas and hist'ry, on and on.

Favorites are instead earnestly sought.

The scripting never runs away,

It's captured in the deepest part

Held close, expressive in the heart.

Inspired writing, day after day.

When it seems all is taking its leave,

Music and notes remind one of all

If only to walk down mem'ry's hall

Where thoughts and notes are slowly weaved.

Still and quiet does the house remain

Records of music are not playing

Joyful am I, though my mind's been straying,

God does not give us mem'ries in vain.

Underhis

I went to battle yesterday.
The ground was dusty, the skies were gray.
I wore rubber boots of green,
My hair was back, and my pants were jeans.

No sun in the sky, no breeze in the air,
Hardly a day one would call fair.
My worn cotton work shirt felt sticky and tough,
And I climbed through a fence by a tree worn and rough.

We battled the green death, or rather, the burdock.
Splintery little bombs, the seeds stand and mock.
Upon their stalks of green, they grow tall and proud,
Weathered and scratchy, they the flowers quite overcrowd.

We went to battle yesterday, with our gloves,
Our courage, our unity, and yes, our shovels.
We went to battle, and despite the gray skies,
The dusty packed earth, the humidity and the flies.

We fought them with shovels, sometimes single-handedly,
As we carried them away we laughed quite candidly.
One dashed for my head, the cluster of evil,
Its spiky little claws seemed almost primeval.

When it burrowed its way into my hair,
I grimaced a bit, bore it and glared.
Not until the Surgeon General appeared
Was the problem fixed; and naught was feared.

Having conquered Vurduria, troops moved up the road.
We passed by a garden, where seeds were sowed.
Seeds of onion and pumpkin, potatoes and peas,
Beets, squash, even melon, as well as some beans.

"Onward, soldiers!" came the cry from ahead,
On we pushed, for battling was better than being dead.
We cut them down, and the enemy died,
No one gave them credit even though they had tried.

When the battle neared its end, the final test was made.
We ran through the field, until we reached the shade.
It was eery and strange; we were hot and sweaty,
I was hit, but we had not the time to write up a treaty.

As we ran through the field, we forgot about something.
The Vespa Vulgaris had ambushed to sting.
I retreated, wounded, feeling like a failure.
However, there was much I had learned in this adventure.

We battled the green death, put it out of commission.
As I cared for my wound, (I was now the physician),
I remembered a thought, and was quite comforted.
"He knows what I need." and fear dissipated.

Sometimes my General sends me out to the front lines
In my head I resist, His plans undermine!
It was right I was wounded, through this he showed me,
His plans are over, above mine: High and lofty.

My dreams, hopes, ambitions, plans, thoughts and musings,
Are nothing at all, but if they exist, they should be underhis.
Never undermine, as the old creation wails, ever underhis:
Always, only, ever, under His.

~sol

A poem I wrote after thinking about my yesterday.  Work is more than it is sometimes looked at to be, and it should be treated with respect, as it is an adventure that teaches you lessons.