Farewell Sweet Summer   2 comments

Originally posted on REFLECTIONS:

Autumn leaves

Autumn leaves; this photo is one I took a year ago at the peak of Autumn.

Farewell sweet summer

nights, when a crickets’ chorus

sings to dark, cool skies

and lulls my slumbering eyes.

When through my window, a breeze

turns to early dew

and blooms shiver in the morn,

and the rising sun

brings a cold brisk autumn chill.

With the change of season comes

colorful array

of trees that shed their bright coats

now red, amber, gold,

and the harvest’s bounty grown

in abundance on the ground

gathered up and sold

to town markets all around

with baskets full of

ripe cornucopia found.

Farewell to sweet summer’s end.

___________________

Joyce E. Johnson (2014)

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Posted August 31, 2014 by Joyce Johnson in My Writings

Farewell Sweet Summer   6 comments

Autumn leaves

Autumn leaves; this photo is one I took a year ago at the peak of Autumn.

 

Farewell sweet summer

nights, when a crickets’ chorus

sings to dark, cool skies

and lulls my slumbering eyes.

When through my window, a breeze

 

turns to early dew

and blooms shiver in the morn,

and the rising sun

brings a cold brisk autumn chill.

With the change of season comes

 

colorful array

of trees that shed their bright coats

now red, amber, gold,

and the harvest’s bounty grown

in abundance on the ground

 

gathered up and sold

to town markets all around

with baskets full of

ripe cornucopia found.

Farewell to sweet summer’s end.

___________________

Joyce E. Johnson (2014)

 

Somewhere over the meadow-land   6 comments

The below post is fiction and my submitted entry for the http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_writing_challenge/build-your-own/

The photo is provided by Cheri Lucas Rowlands

 

I was uncertain where I was, but just kept going. Across the meadow, to where I didn’t know. Would anyone care about the “crazy lunatic  woman” who talked to the. “invisible man.” in her room, pleading his help to get out?

It’d been so long since I’d driven a car, then losing control after it swerved from the road hitting the tree. The car I stole from the entrance drive after running from the room while they did some, “psychological analysis evaluation”. Whatever that was. But, I had to get out of that insane place. Or, is it me that is insane? They all think I am.

Hitting my head hard against the dash. Shattered glass everywhere. The awful sound, the loud beeping noise coming from somewhere. Oh, yes, the asylum’s security alert system that went off.

My head hurts. It still bleeds from the gash where glass shards landed from the impact.

I’m so weary from running, and so weak. My blood is leaving tracks across the meadow as I stumble through thick bramble brush.

I hear him calling out my name, “Sarah… Sarah, I am here. You are free.”

________________

Joyce E. Johnson (2014)

 

Daring to be different   11 comments

DSCF0915

A single pink rose bloom on my white rose-bush

Daring, different

From all the rest this pink rose

Shyly opens up

~~~~~~~

I have several rose bushes in my back yard of different colors; red, pink, and white. The single pink bloom here is the only one among the white or ivory colored blooms on this bush and seemed remarkable as we watched it develop and bloom.

It reminds me of the ways in which I felt different growing up. My friends had blue eyes, blond hair, had common names like Kathy or Linda, and were considered ‘cool’ and ‘popular’. I had brown hair, brown eyes, a less common name, was quiet and more the introvert. They had bicycles of their own. Mine belonged to my sister. They all made A’s and B’s in school. I barely passed on C’s. Their fathers had good paying careers and jobs. My father was a church pastor barely able to provide for a family of two parents with four kids. Did I resent that? No. My life was just different from everyone else’s. Sometimes I thought it unfair, and grumbled; until I realized it was I who needed an adjustment, and an attitude of gratitude with a thankful heart.

About the blue-eyed, blond-haired girls; back then, I wanted to be like them; until I learned that brown hair and brown eyes could be romantic and mysterious; all in the brown eyes of the one beholding such beauty.

The bicycle that wasn’t mine? I rode it everywhere throughout my childhood until the day I could afford to buy my own.

My low grades? Well, I learned that what I lacked in confidence and ability in some things I could achieve and excel in others. So, I worked at those things I could do well in; writing, music and art.

And my father who was a church pastor; well, he worked long days and sometimes nights ministering to people with love, humility, grace, compassion, forgiveness and a thankful heart. His lessons on life he taught his children, as well as those in his congregation.

What I learned? It isn’t how much we have, or what we’re born with that is important, but what we do with what we’ve learned; believing in ourselves and knowing it’s OK to be different, blooming where we are planted.

________________

Joyce E. Johnson (2014)

Sheltered Under His Wings   Leave a comment

There stands at my shoulder the presence of One

greater than the eagle that hovers near;

It is in Him that I rejoice,

I find assurance, and my heart sings.

He draws those in, comforting the weak,

and cloaks them in righteousness.

They’ll suffer no more pain,

they’ll cry no more tears.

They’ll not walk with fainting breath,

but run to win and be made strong.

So, I’ll not fear what comes to bear

down upon my life or soul.

 or those who harm, or wage war,

and should it be that allies turn,

He is my shelter, shield and sword

covering me from hate that burns.

If I be caught in snares of death,

He is my refuge. He is my strength,

  Jehovah God, and it is He

who reigns supreme upon his throne.

When nations crumble, and kingdoms fall,

 God will claim what is His own

and gather all His children home.

________________

Footnotes: The above poem was inspired from the bible scriptures found in Psalm 17:8 (NIV)  – “…hide me in the shadow of your wings.”  and in Psalm 91:4 – 8 “He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart. You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday. A thousand my fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you. You will only observe with your eyes and see the punishment of the wicked.”

Joyce E. Johnson (2014)

Posted August 20, 2014 by Joyce Johnson in Faith, Inspirational Poems, My Writings, Poems, poetry

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Awaiting the adventure just ahead   2 comments

A highway through the state of Utah on the way to the Grand Canyon National Park in Arizona. Photo taken while on a trip in August, 2013

 

If the path you choose

seems an arduous journey

look for adventure

 

around the corner.

It might be just the thing that

brings you sweet reward.

_________________

Joyce E. Johnson (2014)

Footnotes; Things I’ve learned along the way. Looking back on the fun and adventure of summer vacations I remember our kids saying all the time while taking road trips, “Are we there yet?” That line later made its way into movie and TV scripts with the kid asking the same question over and over. Even now we can get impatient in life not just with the literal trips we take, but metaphorically speaking of the long journey in life of our chosen path, and it may seem it will take forever to achieve. Some will have their rewards and others  may not. But, a chance taken is sometimes worth the risk. How we travel and whether we carry baggage along the way often determines its success.

Song of Sorrow   Leave a comment

SONG OF SORROW

Beckoned to the swell of the whales in the water

their boisterous play with each frolicking break

of strength and endurance in their will to be free

the boat races on towards the whales in their wake.

Sporting an arch they dive under sea

emerging again for the bait they rise

lowered from deck hanging from hooks;

betrayed they came for the tempting prize.

The harpoon is thrust spearing the male,

his blood spreading across the waves,

and his mournful eyes on the female whale.

Her distress sends sounds into the deep,

below to the mammals of their world.

With her thrashing, slapping tail, it wailed

With soulful notes carried through the skies.

Upon the morrow, her tail now curled

is full of sorrow heard in her cries.

She swims alone as if seeking to find

the soul of her mate found in the deep,

and when the sea is quiet and still

one can hear the whale still weep.

____________________

Joyce E. Johnson (2014)

Footnotes: The above photo is not one of mine, but from internet images. The poem is a revised version from one I wrote many years ago. Although I loved the classic story of Moby Dick I am a strong advocate and fan of whales and creatures of the sea and the animal kingdom, so have often written poetry about them, or the inhumane treatment of them. Whaling is an old form of hunting that is centuries old when whalers hunted them for their oil and blubber, but is primarily banned today where it once thrived. More information can be found on the Wikipedia site here 

Posted August 9, 2014 by Joyce Johnson in My Writings, Poems, poetry

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