The lists grow long

The lists grow long of things to do,

The mind weighs heavy with tasks and chores,

While we slept the burdens grew,

We're lost at sea without our oars.

Write down each one to the very last,

Choose one and work until it's done,

Go steady, don't stop, don't switch, don't run—

Your power to finish, unsurpassed.

My Calling Card

On FMag: a prayer poem

Today's prayer over on Forthright Magazine is in the form of a four-line stanza, "We know not when nor how. Small, but we pray powerful to express a saint's hope and faith.

Finally

Finally.........hoar frost on the brown leaves as they lounge upon the tips of the grass.

Finally........ cold air in my windpipe!

Finally.........ice crystals shimmer in the early morning sun. A squirrel's tail dances as the sun climbs the trees.

Finally.........the multi-faceted gemstones of winter have been returned to nature's treasure chest. ..........

Hello winter my old friend.

Michael H. Carter

Thankgsgiving weekend

Thanksgiving weekend

By Michael H. Carter

Thursday came and turkey was eaten

Friday came and shoppers were beaten

Saturday came and football was played

Sunday came and worship was made

Cloudy Monday all traffic is nastiness

Back to the grind in pursuit of happiness

Poem: Thanks For Glut

Thanks For Glut

Gorged and full, a day to settle,

Tummy’s tested for its mettle,

Gluts have emptied pot and kettle.

Family’s gone, and no more nettle,

Grocers’ wares on discount peddle,

Sunday, preacher dares to meddle.

Rick

All Thanks Is Yours

For Thanksgiving Day, from Revelation 4

To know You, this, above all gifts, is mine,

Your Son as Savior, the Holy Spirit as sign,

And more—the message placed within our hands,

As holy partners to preach while the world stands.

All thanks is Yours, who made us for your joy,

We seek Your face, with all our powers employ

Both voice and heart to sing, with heaven, Your praise,

With gratitude, Your glorious and gentle ways.

No golden crowns to toss before the throne,

No eyes both front and back, to know and be known,

No ceaseless bows nor constant words of thanks,

But soon we hope to join the elders' ranks.

Cast Anchors Up

— but I am out of love with words

That contradict our hopes.

—Agamemnon, "Aeschylus"

So heard we floods of words designed to veer

Our eyes from rooted hopes, our hearts from home;

To distance from our minds what hovers near,

Deceive our sense of truth with an empty sum.

Blessed and strong is he whose ears are deaf

To garrulous thieves who'd steal our treasured worth;

Lose not your precious faith in the tumbling surf,

Cast anchors up above the heaving earth.

In Christ

Here, the air breathes pure and clean,

Where distant peaks beyond are seen,

The sky sings hymns of battles bold,

Of men who braved the heat and cold.

The higher slopes require full measure,

Forgoing many a dream and pleasure,

His rawest will, his deepest drive —

But there he'll be most truly alive.

Christian Poets

A space (not a "corner") for poets of Christian persuasion to share their work. Drop me a line and I'll add you as a contributor.