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Timothy Nov 2013
There is a friend here I appreciate,
Which deserves a little credit as well.
A writer and a friend, I find this great,
There is a friend here I appreciate.
Her Birthday was yesterday, I'm so late,
Many more Birthdays may you live to tell!
There is a friend here I appreciate,
Which deserves a little credit as well.

To Niveda Amber: Happy Belated Birthday! =D
A small gift for your Birthday! Hope you enjoy!
© Timothy 3 November, 2013.
Timothy Dec 2012
To a great friend up and so near unto Christmas Day,
May you hear the faint songs the Holy angels sing;
Praises unto God's Son, Immanuel, Christ we bring,
And let this thought and mind attend us each one and stay
Always near,
Always dear!
So the wee
Babe in
Manger is
No longer
In the
For us
To remember
\   /


To friend Tatiana:
© Timothy 25 December, 2012
Timothy Dec 2012
May you ALL have a
Wonderful and blessèd

© Timothy 25 December, 2012
Timothy Nov 2016
Prepare for Winter's icy sudden grasp,
As time once more for her draws ever nigh;
Pure snow upon hard frozen ground doth clasp,
And breath is seen again—the smoke curls high.
Yet here, hard by, the blazing hearth you pore
All through the cold, 'til Spring returns once more.
(For Papaya: Hope thou enjoyest this!)
© Timothy 17 November 2016 10:29am EST
Timothy Dec 2012

A sadness
Fills up
A Dear
Friend of mine
May leave and
I'll never be
Able to

Friend, I
Say to you
And one and
All as well,
I'm sorry
That I



I hate to
Say Goodbye!
It isn't very much
But I hope you find
This before you

Is Deirdre,
She deserves
Much more


In such a
Short amount
Of Time,
Dear me!
I shall







For my friend, Deedee!!!! I will miss you if you leave!!!! A little gift from me to thee!!!!!~<3<3##:):)!!!☺☼♂♀♥♠♣♦◘☻◙•○.O♫
© Timothy 31 December, 2012
Timothy Sep 2012
Rough wind, that moanest loud
Grief too sad for song;
Wild wind, when sullen cloud
Knells all the night long;
Sad storm whose tears are vain,
Bare woods, whose branches strain,
Deep caves and dreary main,--
Wail, for the world’s wrong!
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Timothy Feb 2013
I Am A Flower And I Will Bloom
I Will Merely Die In A Vase In The Room
Give Me Space
A Warm Embrace
I Will Soar Like A Dove
And Will Truly Be Love
Unfurling As A Flow'r







A Response To "Flower Child," By SydneyVicoria:
This Is Simply My Interpretation Of That Poem. No Harm Intended At All.
© Timothy 15 February, 2013.
Timothy Jan 2013
I've found a friend on Hello Poetry
     Such a dear person I am glad to know;
This cheers me up while walking 'round the lea,
     And I'm so happy because I care so.

A fortnight ago I was goin' to leave,
     I felt so depressed, sad, and lonely too;
She helped me on that dark and dismal eve,
     Thus I'm still here writing the things I do.

I hope she will know what I say is true
     What things she has said to me really means;
Hope this little gift means a lot to you
     Continue to be my friend, Florence Queens!

I've found a friend on Hello Poetry
     Such a nice person I'm so glad to greet;
It cheered me up while walking 'round the lea,
     And I'm so glad we were able to meet!

This is to my nice friend, Florence Queens:!!! Hope you like this! This is done with a fever this evening as I finish up, and in pain after oral surgery, so I hope my writing is as good as prior to this surgery: meaning my brain!!!!!!!!!~<3<3:):)☺☼♂♀♥♠♣♦◘☻◙•○.O♫
Timothy Nov 2012
Grim was the sorrow that I felt,
Which held its grip upon me sore
The more I tried to get me o'er,
The more I bowed, the more I knelt.

Great was this pain which wrapt me in,
And clouded all the love in me;
Which emptied ev'rything I see,
And bore a dark hole deep within.

O glad these tentacles are cut
Free from my aching solemn heart,
So glad it's left and that no dart,
Is still stuck deep inside my gut.

Grim shadow that is gone away,
I do not wish you here some more;
Nor do I wish thee harm me o'er,
Never return, and never stay!

© Timothy 5 November, 2012
Timothy Oct 2012
O world! O life! O time!
On whose last steps I climb,
      Trembling at that where I had stood before;
When will return the glory of your prime?
         No more—Oh, never more!

   Out of the day and night
A joy has taken flight;
      Fresh spring, and summer, and winter ****,
Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight
         No more—Oh, never more!

**~Percy Bysshe Shelley 1792—1822~
Timothy Feb 2013
She's found in Wonderland in some way
Yes, Alice Kay! May she
Find brightness
On This





(Originally written 15 February, 2013.) © Timothy 25 February, 2013. For Alice Kay. I know, it is a whimsical, and  humourous poem, but I hope you like it, because here it comes to you!!!!!!!~<3<3:):)☺☼♂♀♥♠♣♦◘☻◙•○.O♫ To see her writings, see:!!!!! :):)
Timothy Feb 2013
Found her on my way
She is such a lovely friend,
Alice Kay is she!

(Originally written 15 February, 2013.) © Timothy 25 February, 2013. Hope you enjoy this one as well, Alice Kay!!!!!!!~<3<3:):)☺☼♂♀♥♠♣♦◘☻◙•○.O♫
Timothy Oct 2012
God the night is long,
And the waiting strong;
'Til I have some rest,
And I feel my best.

See the candle dim,
And wax drips slim;
Cannot be this bad,
I can't be this sad.

O give up to she,
For all eternity;
Death shall bring requiem,
And never a dream.

God take up the part,
Where I fail in heart;
To I stand some more,
On that bright far shore.

© Timothy 29 October, 2012
Timothy Jun 2013
The lilacs have faded, save
the memories they have made.
Summer is nearly here again,
Spring is nearly a memory.

Twenty words. © Timothy 8 June, 2013.
Timothy Nov 2012
Amid the woodland and the wold,
     There is a spot I love to go,
     Where faeries come and faeries show,
Themselves to me glimm'ring as gold.

They dance and twirl about the place,
     Hidden sequestered in thick brush;
     Darting about and ride a thrush,
And blush, they kiss me on my face.

Leading me to their own abode,
     They laugh and cheer up all my thoughts;
     Casting behind all of my aughts,
As on I follow, on I strode.

Looking about their village nigh,
     And all within me is so light;
     And all those gloomy thoughts are bright,
And rows of homes, I stop and sigh.

A little faerie sees me sad,
     And turns and flies up to my face;
     And then she gives me an embrace,
Which lifts my heart and I am glad.

"This spot I visit frequently,
     But never saw this sight before!
     Why is this so? Please, tell me more
I'll n'er tell, tis safe with me."

"We're not seen for lack of trust,
     People fail to believe we're so;
     Dismiss us as fake—off they go,
They never see our faerie dust."

"O, how sad is this awful thing,
     When adults fail to realise;
     That you are here before my eyes,
And I long to see you ev'ry Spring!"

"You believe and that's why you see,
     Things others won't for we remain;
     Invisible to their domain,
Come, follow me, let's cheerful be!"

They dance and twirl and sing a song,
     The elves and gnomes keep harmony;
     With a faerie enchantingly,
Watching my face the whole while long.

Amid the woodland and the wold,
     There is a spot I love to go,
     Where faeries come and faeries show,
Themselves to me glitt'ring as gold!

Thinking more of the Cottingley photographs and "The Coming of the Faeries," by Sir Arthur Connan Doyle.
© Timothy 7 November, 2012
Timothy May 2013
There Is A Narrow Gate
Where We Shall Enter At.
The Path Is Narrow But
It Will Lead To Life.

© Timothy 14 May, 2013.
Timothy Apr 2013
The Sad Dismal
Spot Where The Dead Lay.

The Churchyard Contains
Bones And Headstones.

Ancient Oaks And
Yew Trees Grow There—
Warder Of The Bones.

© Timothy 29 April, 2013.

My First Shanzi, Which Form I've Not Attempted Or Heard Of Until Jerelii Did Hers! Thank You Jerelii For The Footnotes About This Form!!! :):) The Shanzi Has Seven Lines With A Syllable Pattern Of: 4/5 5/4 4/4/5.

|April PAD Day 29:
"Take A Line From Your
[April] Poems, Make A
Title, Then Write A Poem"|
Timothy Jun 2014
And let this feeble body fail,
And let it droop and die;
My soul shall quit the mournful vale,
And soar to worlds on high;
Shall join the disembodied saints,
And find its long sought rest,
That only bliss for which it pants,
In my Redeemer's breast.

In hope of that immortal crown
I now the cross sustain,
And gladly wander up and down,
And smile at toil and pain:
I suffer out my threescore years,
Till my Deliverer come,
And wipe away His servant's tears,
And take His exile home.

O what hath Jesus bought for me!
Before my ravished eyes
Rivers of life divine I see,
And trees of paradise:
I see a world of spirits bright,
Who taste the pleasures there;
They all are robed in spotless white,
And conquering palms they bear.

O what are all my sufferings here,
If, Lord, Thou count me meet
With that enraptured host to appear,
And worship at Thy feet!
Give joy or grief, give ease or pain,
Take life or friends away,
But let me find them all again
In that eternal day.

*~By: Charles Wesley 1707—1788~
An old Funeral Hymn.
I found it in the Harmonia Sacra.
Timothy Sep 2012
And must this body die?
This mortal frame decay?
And must these active limbs of mine
Lie mould'ring in the clay?

Corruption, earth, and worms
Shall but refine this flesh;
'Til my triumphant spirit comes
 To put it on afresh.

God my redeemer lives,
And often from the skies;
Looks down and watches all my dust,
'Til He shall bid it rise.

Arrayed in glorious grace,
Shall these vile bodies shine;
And ev'ry shape and ev'ry face,
Look heav'nly and divine.

**~Isaac Watts~
Timothy Dec 2016
An English rose by name of Windermere
Whose nodding blooms still dripping from light rain,
Emit a fragrance all through atmosphere,
Which brightens up our backyard once again.
Penelope, a Hybrid Musk, blooms too,
Intoxicating scent I love so well;
Some others bud, but this is all they do,
As colder air shall make each petal fell.
Then these are last of Summer's gifts I spy
Before that dormant state o'ertake them all
And half-woke blooms and buds shall wither, die,
And ev'ry wrinkled, yellow leaflet fall.
     So gather roses whilst ye may, Time flies,
     And buds which bloom to-day, to-morrow dies.
© Timothy 2 December 2016 9am EST
*Couplet inspired by stanza one:
To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time
—Robert Herrick 1591—1674
Timothy Dec 2012
Here he lays sound asleep,
In the grave so deep!

© Timothy 22 December, 2012
Timothy Jan 2013



/New friend the other day.\
(She happened to be along my path)
\Along minding my own way./
\She is a nice/
) (
(I too a nice friend)
\Be while here/
\In poetry,/
(Her name is)
\       /
\  /


To a new friend of mine, ssalonii!! :):) See: She would like to receive a sculptured poem. So here is my gift to you, like I told you!! Hope you like it!!!!!!~<3<3:):)☺☼♂♀♥♠♣♦◘☻◙•○.O♫
© Timothy 8 January, 2013
Timothy Oct 2012
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
I and my Annabel Lee—
With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we—
Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in Heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea—
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

**~Edgar Allan Poe 1809—1849~
Timothy Sep 2015
Publish'd in physical edition: 24 September, 2015!

Working on e-Book and two other manuscripts.

To wit:


I am grateful to the following in helping with this project:

• My wife whom encouraged me to write and helped with the editing process very enthusiastically and diligently.
• My daughter for her own writings, which in turn, provided inspiration.
• Mary Sue, for all of the initial suggestions and encouragement she offered all along the process.
• Nithin Purple of India—whose own work inspired me and motivated me to continue.
• Friends and family, who gave time and offered much advice. (Friends online and otherwise.)
• Foremost, God, whom made me and loved me: who alone diserves credit for every talent and gift. May this please Him!

Notice: Friends online or otherwise. I could not mention each one of thee personally. Still, ye are there! In six to eight weeks, this work should be listed in Amazon and Barnes and Nobles and etc. Thank thee, one and all. It all started here: 17 September, 2012!

18,985 Hearts.
1,848 Collections.)
When I remove writings, these figures are preserved.
Not that it matters at all. But merely to recall.
Again thank thee!

25 September, 2015
Timothy Jun 2013
Stained pages within an old tattered book,
Yellowed with use and the passing of years;
And for curiosity I did look,
Into that sad writing with falling tears.

Neglected it lay on a dusty shelf,
Nearly ruined like the house itself.
Such thrill this treasure of forgotten lore,
Recovered and restored forevermore.

Rispetto. © Timothy 4 June, 2013.
Timothy Dec 2012
Sailing on the water and rocking boat,
     Did my dear fellow poet and my friend;
Alas! his vessel rammed and ceased to float,
     Thus he did sink and met a bitter end.

Some people found his fellow oarsmen dead,
     They were not plundered, all remained the same;
They could not find the form of my friend's head,
     And searched for hours but nothing ever came.

Just like the shipwreck tossed upon the shore,
     My dear old poet's body washed aground.
Within the current's grip which tossed him sore,
     Nearly a week or more was he held sound.

His life had ended in the wat'ry grave,
     No more to rise up with the morning's fire.
His form was heaved ashore by a large wave,
     Diseased they burned him in a fun'ral pyre.

Thus he departed this life as we know
     Leaving behind his wife and two children,
She was filled with sorrow and with woe,
     Trusted his soul to wings just like a wren.

She was not suffered to go to the pyre,
     It was the law then so she stayed behind.
His own dear friends could hardly watch the fire,
     Hoping his soul wafted to God so kind.

Written about the death of Percy Bysshe Shelley 1792—1822 age 29. He sank to his death about a month prior to his thirtieth birthday. I recently found out more about his death. So, this poem came to me. Completed 5 December, 2012.
© Timothy 8 December, 2012
Timothy Nov 2012
The promise of the dawn is night,
When just around this orb is day;
It brings to me a hope of light,
To see the sunshine and its ray.

I feel the warmth in full sunlight,
And see the Light and Shadows all;
I feel so radiant and bright,
I watch the sun rise, see it fall.

The birth of a new day brings me joy,
And all my sad thoughts are replaced
By carefree ones just like a boy,
I walk and run through meadows laced;

With the last grass and flowers few,
And hear the eastern blue bird sing!
I walk through meadow's morning dew,
And see the kinglets on the wing.

I see the beauty around me,
But rarely ever take it in;
And even though I love to see,
I push it down, so deep within.

I fail to open up my eyes,
And let the daylight fill my head;
Yet instead I am so unwise,
But write about all that is dead.

The promise of the dawn is night,
When just around this orb is day;
It brings to me a hope of light,
To see the sunshine and its ray!

© Timothy 20 November, 2012
Timothy May 2013
Thanks To A Kind Note
I Was Cheered Up This Morning
I Thank You For It Again.

I Now Send To You
A Poem Of Best Regards
This Is For: It's Just Erin!

© Timothy 6 May, 2013. For It's Just Erin!!!!!!!~<3<3:):)☺☼♂♀♥♠♣♦◘☻◙•○.O♫ ;):):)
Timothy Jun 2013
the moment
when the light of
day begins until the
time when it is over with,
there is a but only little light.
A foggy darkness, lots of indirect
rays of light, striking dews on plants
within the garden, and filtering through
the trees in ethereal diagonal slants.
Dew drops appear as diamonds,
twinkling with faint sparkles
emitted from them.
Though this is
beautiful to
behold on
my eyes,
lurks all about.
Dreams are scattered
about the like iron pyrite
or fool's gold, all through the
streams that flow about this place.
A quest of sorts, to make through the
eerie labyrinth; to complete the goal;
to set matters aright once again.
A lot rests upon the shoulders.
So much to do to fulfill this
conquest. Am I the one
for it or am I not?
Who am I?
The only
one to
sword in
hand to rid
the head of the
the manxome foe,
the Jabberwock with
eyes of flame. Out of place
in UnderLand...but I will
survive. I fell. I shrank. I
grew. I shrank. I will
get by. I'll survive.
Blood to draw,
not mine.
I fell so




not a slayer,
but ancient foe
met the vorpal one.
Off with your head, on
Frabjous day. I survived!
Hideous creature this was,
very curious. Dark mystical
and foreboding creatures there.
The Jabberwock was the worst!
Those jaws that bite and claws
that catch! You should have
seen him go galumphing
back! O frabjous day!
Calloo! Callay! I
left a part of
me in that
the sun
reflect light
from the dews,
it is still dark
and eerie


Think about the writing "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland," (1865) and "Through the Looking, and What Alice Found There," (1871), which we have in a single volume, and also a slim paperback original facsimile of the Charles Dodgson's "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland," including the author's original sketches and etc. :):) © Timothy 16 June, 2013.
Timothy Jul 2013
HoPe yOu HaVe A gReAt DaY!
HaPpY bIrThDaY, EmMa S!!!!~<3<3:):)

Born to write poetry, you are.
Pray, use your gift, shine like a star!

A simple BiRtHdAy GiFt to a great poetess, Emma S!! :)
© Timothy 11 July, 2013.
Timothy Sep 2012

   There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
   There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
   There is society where none intrudes,                                
   By the deep Sea, and music in its roar:
   I love not Man the less, but Nature more,
   From these our interviews, in which I steal
   From all I may be, or have been before,
   To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.                  


   Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean--roll!
   Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
   Man marks the earth with ruin--his control
   Stops with the shore;--upon the watery plain
   The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
   A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,                
   When for a moment, like a drop of rain,
   He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.      


   His steps are not upon thy paths,--thy fields
   Are not a spoil for him,--thou dost arise
   And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields
   For earth's destruction thou dost all despise,
   Spurning him from thy ***** to the skies,
   And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray
   And howling, to his gods, where haply lies
   His petty hope in some near port or bay,
And dashest him again to earth: --there let him lay.            


   The armaments which thunderstrike the walls
   Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake,
   And monarchs tremble in their capitals.
   The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make
   Their clay creator the vain title take
   Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war;
   These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake,
   They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar
Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.              


   Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee -
   Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?
   Thy waters wasted them while they were free
   And many a tyrant since:  their shores obey
   The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay
   Has dried up realms to deserts:  not so thou,
   Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play -
   Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow -
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.        


   Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form
   Glasses itself in tempests; in all time,
   Calm or convulsed--in breeze, or gale, or storm,
   Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime
   Dark-heaving;--boundless, endless, and sublime -
   The image of Eternity--the throne
   Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime
   The monsters of the deep are made; each zone
Obeys thee:  thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.        


   And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy
   Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
   Borne like thy bubbles, onward:  from a boy
   I wantoned with thy breakers--they to me
   Were a delight; and if the freshening sea
   Made them a terror--'twas a pleasing fear,
   For I was as it were a child of thee,
   And trusted to thy billows far and near,
And laid my hand upon thy mane--as I do here.

**~Lord George Gordon Byron 1788—1824~
Timothy Sep 2012
O my Luve is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve is like the melody
That’s sweetly played in tune.

So fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile.

**~Robert Burns 1759—1796~
Timothy Mar 2013
Jesus Did Not Face
Decay In The Cold New Tomb
The Third Day HE Rose.

Happy Easter! © Timothy 30 March, 2013.
Timothy Oct 2012
Art thou pale for weariness
Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,
        Wandering companionless
Among the stars that have a different birth,
And ever changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?

**~Percy Bysshe Shelley 1792—1822~
Timothy Sep 2012
The wind has swept from the wide atmosphere
Each vapour that obscured the sunset's ray,
And pallid Evening twines its beaming hair
In duskier braids around the languid eyes of Day:
Silence and Twilight, unbeloved of men,
Creep hand in hand from yon obscurest glen.

They breathe their spells towards the departing day,
Encompassing the earth, air, stars, and sea;
Light, sound, and motion, own the potent sway,
Responding to the charm with its own mystery.
The winds are still, or the dry church-tower grass
Knows not their gentle motions as they pass.

Thou too, aerial pile, whose pinnacles
Point from one shrine like pyramids of fire,
Obey'st I in silence their sweet solemn spells,
Clothing in hues of heaven thy dim and distant spire,
Around whose lessening and invisible height
Gather among the stars the clouds of night.

The dead are sleeping in their sepulchres:
And, mouldering as they sleep, a thrilling sound,
Half sense half thought, among the darkness stirs,
Breathed from their wormy beds all living things around,
And, mingling with the still night and mute sky,
Its awful hush is felt inaudibly.

Thus solemnized and softened, death is mild
And terrorless as this serenest night.
Here could I hope, like some enquiring child
Sporting on graves, that death did hide from human sight
Sweet secrets, or beside its breathless sleep
That loveliest dreams perpetual watch did keep.

~Percy Bysshe Shelley~
Timothy Oct 2012
Lord, Thou hast given me a cell
         Wherein to dwell,
A little house, whose humble roof
         Is weather-proof:
Under the spars of which I lie
         Both soft, and dry;
Where Thou my chamber for to ward
         Hast set a guard
Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep
         Me, while I sleep.
Low is my porch, as is my fate,
         Both void of state;
And yet the threshold of my door
         Is worn by th' poor,
Who thither come and freely get
         Good words, or meat.
Like as my parlour, so my hall
         And kitchen's small;
A little buttery, and therein
         A little bin,
Which keeps my little loaf of bread
         Unchipp'd, unflead;
Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar
         Make me a fire,
Close by whose living coal I sit,
         And glow like it.
Lord, I confess too, when I dine,
         The pulse is Thine,
And all those other bits, that be
         There plac'd by Thee;
The worts, the purslain, and the mess
         Of water-cress,
Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent;
         And my content
Makes those, and my beloved beet,
         To be more sweet.
'Tis Thou that crown'st my glittering hearth
         With guiltless mirth;
And giv'st me wassail-bowls to drink,
         ****'d to the brink.
Lord, 'tis Thy plenty-dropping hand
         That soils my land;
And giv'st me, for my bushel sown,
         Twice ten for one;
Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay
         Her egg each day;
Besides my healthful ewes to bear
         Me twins each year;
The while the conduits of my kine
         Run cream, for wine.
All these, and better, Thou dost send
         Me, to this end,
That I should render, for my part,
         A thankful heart,
Which, fir'd with incense, I resign,
         As wholly Thine;
But the acceptance, that must be,
         My Christ, by Thee.

**~Robert Herrick 1591—1674~
Timothy Apr 2013
There is an old road scar hard by,
Which was in use before forty-eight;
Many old automobiles great
Traveled to and fro 'neath the sky.

From hackneys, broughams, surreys more
The horse and buggies of the past;
Finally gave way at the last,
To horseless carriages galore.

The Model T's and Plymouth's old,
Still a stray horse and cart was seen;
To trot along that road scar mean,
And now that is a story told.

A new road had to be made,
And leave the old to overgrow;
By trees and bushes ever slow,
Forget the old was ever laid.

Now faster all the cars go by,
And motorcycles doing stunts;
Occasional an old car grunts,
And a faster sports car does fly.

Yet here, on my small property,
A road scar with two banks seen clear;
All grow from seventieth year,
And rarely do folk ever see.

So I watch both the old and new,
And see the automobiles go;
From north to south and to and fro,
And yet the new is changing too!

© Timothy 24 April, 2013.

|April PAD Day 24:
"Auto" poem|
Timothy Nov 2015
Autumn Ended

Last few rust leaves
Falling to cold ground
All color has come to an end.

Snow storms of winter
Soon the earth will cover
Blanketing all in white.

God, maker of all things,
I humbly ask You—
Please draw near!

All of Your creation
Tells of Your handiwork
Every leaf that lay, You know how many.

Autumn swiftly fades
Into cold winter
When snow and icicles abound.

Warm my heart and
Warm my soul now and
Always until the end.

automne terminée

Derniers quelques feuilles de rouille
Tombant à terre froide
Toutes les couleurs a pris fin .

Les tempêtes de neige de l'hiver
Bientôt la terre couvrira
Inertage tout en blanc .

Dieu, créateur de toutes choses ,
Je demande humblement You-
S'il vous plaît approcher !

Tout de votre création
Indique de votre œuvre
Chaque feuille qui était , vous savez combien .

Automne disparaît rapidement
En hiver froid
Lorsque la neige et de glaçons abondent .

Réchauffer mon cœur et
Réchauffer mon âme maintenant et
Toujours , jusqu'à la fin .

Осень , закончившийся**

Последние несколько ржавчина листья
Упав на холодной земле
Все цвета пришло к концу.

Снег бури зимой
Вскоре земля покроет
Подушки все в белом .

Бог , создатель всех вещей ,
Я смиренно прошу вы-
Пожалуйста, приблизиться !

Все Вашего творчества
Сообщает Вашего рук
Каждый лист, который лежал , Вы знаете, как много.

Осень стремительно исчезает
В холодную зиму
Когда снег и сосульки предостаточно.

Теплый мое сердце и
Теплый мою душу сейчас и
Не всегда до конца .

© Timothy 21 November, 2015
Timothy Oct 2012
Gone are the birds and flowers too,
They dormant lay as if they're dead;
Those dried up fragments are the head,
They have done all that they can do.

Gone are the leaves upon the tree,
Thy vestments scattered here around;
Still covering the hard cold ground,
The sleep of Winter, let it be.

Yet all my hopes and wishes lay,
Wrapt up in frozen crypts of dreams;
Ev'n tho' I try so hard it seems,
My ambitions wilt and decay.

O let these dirges of my mind,
Embed themselves some other place;
Grant me rest for a little space,
  O Lord, help me some peace to find.

Lord lift me out of these grey walls,
To brighter golden happy hours;
And see the beauty of Thy pow'rs,
And to accept whatever falls.

I am o'er come with grief and pain,
For all of those which left me here;
And sometimes I will shed a tear,
But this often is all in vain.

For like a thief Death shows its face,
Unveiling just before the blow;
Before the living are laid low,
Ye come and go without disgrace.

My happiness is quickly o'er,
I feel it come and feel it pass;
Just like sand in an hourglass,
I hope to cultivate it more.

O God I know that Thou art nigh,
Bid those gone to the realms of day;
And help my members ne'er to sway,
O wing my soul to Thee on High!

© Timothy 18 October, 2012.
Timothy Sep 2015
Chrysanthemums bloom
Amid Autumn's dress unveil'd
Lovely sights unfold.

© Timothy 25 September, 2015
Timothy Apr 2013
Leaves Falling
To The Ground
So Sweetly.

Season Is
Among My Favourites!

Septolet: The Septolet is a poem consisting of seven lines containing fourteen words with a break in between the two parts. Both parts deal with the same thought and create a picture.

This Is My First Try At A Septolet! I Hope You Will Enjoy This Form Of Poetry!! :):) I Thought It Looked Interesting, So I Tried!!!!!!!~<3<3:):)☺☼♂♀♥♠♣♦◘☻◙•○.O♫ © Timothy 10 April, 2013.
Timothy Jun 2013
Day Is
Over And
Done. I Wait For

The Lanturne is a five-line verse shaped like a Japanese lantern with a syllabic pattern of one, two, three, four, one.
My First One. Hope You Enjoy! :)
© Timothy 1 June, 2013.
Timothy Feb 2013
Winter's blast is cold
All the flowers hibernate
Until Spring arrives.

Frozen is the landscape now
Bleak except the snow.

Yet Spring's blast is on the way
Ancient yet so new.

Snowdrops, daffodils, and sweet
Roses start to bloom.

Ninety year old oaks leaf out
Birds return again.

Lilacs bloom and perfume sweet
Filling my backyard.

Periwinkles 'round lilacs
Nice and colourful.

This is close to happening
My heart sings an ode.

I await the dawn of Spring
And all of its loveliness.

(Originally written 2/3 February, 2013.) © Timothy 23 February, 2013.
Timothy Aug 2016
Thou art beautiful . . .
More than sunset and gloaming
. . . Pleasant to behold.
© Timothy
23 August 2016 10:56pm EDT
Timothy Apr 2013
When Our Lives Begin, We
All Slowly Begin To Die.

© Timothy 30 April, 2013. (No, I Not Depressed.)
Timothy Apr 2013
Read BetweenTheLines

There's Something Always To Find

Even Your Name Too!

Small Present To BeTwEeNtHeLiNeS!!!!!!!~<3<3:):)☺☼♂♀♥♠♣♦◘☻◙•○.O♫ © 13 April, 2013.
Timothy Apr 2013
Beyond The Sunset
Where The Sun And Sky Embrace
'Tis So Beautiful.
Like A True Love Always There
You Are Beyond All My Dreams.

© Timothy 20 April, 2013.

|April PAD Day 20:
"Beyond" Poem|
Timothy Apr 2013
O Still Today Is Special For,
My Friend Whom Is So Fair;
And O, Her Writings I Adore,
I Trust She Knows I Care.

For Still Today She Celebrates,
A Purple Candled Cake;
So Make A Dream Unlock The Gates,
And Picnics By The Lake.

Thy Special Day Hath Come About,
I Bid Thy Wish Come True!
Thy Great Grandmother May Come Out,
And Wish Thee Blessings Too!

May This Birthday Be Special Dear,
As Day Ebbs Into Night;
That Wolves And Dreams Throughout The Year,
May Make Thee Glad And Bright.

O God Grant My Friend A Nice Day,
On This Day And The Rest;
O Help Her Tread On Her Pathway,
And Cause Her To Be Blest.

A Happy Birthday To Thee Friend,
I Wish Thee All The Best;
For Now And Always Without End,
May You Have Peace And Rest.

A Little BiRtHdAy GiFt For You, SydneyVictoria, Friend Of My Entire Small Family!!!!!!!~<3<3:):)☺☼♂♀♥♠♣♦◘☻◙•○.O♫ © 13 April, 2013.
Timothy Apr 2013
Shadows Ev'rywhere
The Sunsets And Twilight Ends,
And Night Comes On Suddenly.

No Moon In The Sky,
Only Blackness And Thick Dark,
Nocturne Winds Whistle Through Firs.

© Timothy 11 April, 2013.
Timothy Jun 2013
See me disappear
into that black shadow there
I watch from inside.

Senryu. © Timothy 13 June, 2013.
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