A poetic prayer about counting costs and blessings, angel wings and the hand of grace.
When I'm counting the costs let me never forget to factor the hand of God. When I'm counting the blessings let me always see the practical hand of grace. Let me never take for granted gifts delivered on angel wings. Let my eyes be ever open to divinity within all things. When I'm dreaming upon my pillow may I catch a glimpse of your face And if nightmares reach out to clutch me let me hold your hand of grace.
From the longings of my heart comes this writer’s prayer – my prayer to bless you.
A WRITER'S PRAYER I long to have beautiful words spill from my hands, blessing all who read them. Words that flow like music and colors. Words that shine with loveliness and light. I long for a river of beauty to stream forth from my soul. Can heavenly beauty pour down into the mudholes of earthly life? I believe it can! Maybe all it takes is a willingness to receive. Lord, may I be willing. I want to be willing to carry words and release them to the world, like healing balm. I want to embrace the call to write, and I want to write the call of beauty - the healing power in the beauty of nature. Lord, you make it easy for us to receive your love. May the words I write make it easy for all who receive them, whether it be in nature or in the grittiness of daily life; whether it be in celebration or in suffering. Lord, let beautiful words fall from my lips onto the page, sealed with a kiss of love and adoration for you. Let me live and move and have my being in you, in the secret place, in your presence where no enemy can withstand. Let the words come, Lord - words of peace and promise, words of hope and expectation, words that bring life and words that come true, words that paint the colors of goodness in all its living glory. Amen. May it be so.
This is a poem about me and my dog, and the art of slow living.
me and my dog we sit we sit with our faces in the wind eyes closed hearts open me and my dog we watch we watch birds flying leaves falling grass dying geese calling me and my dog we listen we listen to the heartbeat in the earth the hoofbeats of mighty beasts racing across time wild horses running at breakneck speed leaving us behind but we don't need that kind of rush, no not me and my dog
This is a poem about the brown leaves and blue skies of autumn in Acadiana, my Louisiana heritage – a poem about leaving and coming back home. May you always carry home in your heart!
LOUISIANA LEAVES one day I will leave these bayous and cypress trees oaks and magnolias and pastures of green bearded moss hanging swaying in the breeze horses and cows grazing will they notice when I leave? one day I'll drive northward to see colorful leaves bursting in autumn from unfamiliar trees such beauty I've never had the pleasure to hold such glory is priceless or so I am told when I eat the fruit of that golden root when I've had my fill of the northern thrill I'll turn back toward home where I know I belong for there is nothing quite like those blue southern skies the familiar warm welcome and a feast for the eyes my people are waiting they're calling my name the north holds much beauty but it's just not the same wherever I go however I roam deep within me I know there is no place like home
This is a poetic story of beauty and color – a tale of holding on and letting go.
come with me, you say pulling me along come and see, and my heart follows willingly as my lips sing the sweetest song what is this place, I ask as we wander through an unknown land filled with giant trees and flaming leaves bigger than my hand this is autumn, you say with a smile, as we climb orange branches wrapped with golden foliage breathing sun-ripened scents of pumpkins and spice let us gather the colors let us bring them back home let us brighten our world let us lighten our load let us always remember let us never forget but when I look at you I see your face is wet then we cross the river of time, but alas the colors turn crunchy and fade like winter grass why do seasons change so fast autumn falls, it cannot last
MORNING SONG your life is a song playing all night long an old vinyl spinning without end, beginning over and over again the words tell your story with echoes of worry swirling and whirling always in a hurry to travel the same ground where nothing new is found longing to change your tune hoping to wake up soon then Morning softly calls your name, it's time for school rise and shine, don't complain she gently takes you by the hand, leading onward past the grains of sand that always seem to stick beneath your sleepy eyes here comes the golden sun beaming wonder and surprise and Morning washes the cobwebs away, breaking the record that tries to play that same old song you heard all night long she offers the gift of a brand new day
For all who love the colors of Fall, sing a song of praise and embrace this glorious season!
Lord, I am singing your praises this morning as I allow you to color my world with the rich hues of autumn glory reflecting your gold singing songs of old with passionate heart I embrace your art there is none other like you who paints the sky who writes across my heart the colors of your art
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