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Last December
I remember it clearly
The snow fell as I did
You watched me crumble
The wind threw me  
You don't remember do you?
Your words frozen
You're a bad habit
I didn't know it.
Even now into the months of summer
I'm still thawing
I'm frostbitten
 Aug 2015 A Watoot
brandon nagley
Wherein the Angel's dieth
The world doth cryeth;
And the world doth falleth
Wherein the Angel wings don't flyeth.


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
 Aug 2015 A Watoot
epictails
There must be meaning

If we are doomed to find it

All our lives
Thoughts at dinner. I can go from comical to existential in less than 5 seconds
 Aug 2015 A Watoot
epictails
Mary, Mary let go of that sheep
It has bleat too loudly as we lay asleep
Feet in one steady direction
Out from the pen its throes

Mary, Mary the meadows are fresh
Though they are green only for so long
The dogs have slung them over their heads
Strung out from wayward beds

The clueless drunk shepherd that was your father
Waiting at the neck of foreign spirits
Sheathed it like a monkey peeling bananas
For a fat buck a glass, what's it to him?

Poor little sheep, shivers from the whipping air
Clouds gone too soon
For the rich merchants
With hanging gold in their mouths

Mary, Mary, poor little sheep
Jumped over the fence
Probably too hurt to walk alone
Thorns and rocks ahead
But they must have been better than the cold in his head
 Aug 2015 A Watoot
Chris
Me too
 Aug 2015 A Watoot
Chris


Reaching
for stars,
I grabbed
the brightest,
it was you,
only to find
happily...
you were
reaching for
*me too
Good night beautiful
 Aug 2015 A Watoot
John Stevens
The Canvas
(c)08-25-2012

A canvas sets on the edge of greatness and beauty, blank, waiting for the touch of the master’s hand. She takes charge of what is to be. Gentle strokes, broad strokes, strokes that caress the canvas… leaving the marks of imagination, transforming nothing into beauty. The image emerges revealing the thoughts and desires and power of the canvas. It is breath-taking to the beholder. She understands the difference between OK and great. Nothing will do but great. It must emulate the original. It must be the original! So it is with our canvas of life.

We start life as a blank canvas. Brush strokes are made by those around us as we begin to grow. Made by mom, dad, friend and strangers alike. All try to add their image to our canvas. An image of who they think we are. As we grow into the artist we strive to be, we accept or reject the strokes of others and create a portrait we strive to become.

Some strokes by others can leave an off color, covering who we really strive to be. A brush stroke that is not us can be covered by our touch, our color, our imagination of who we are, adding integrity to the texture and hue. Revealing an inner beauty as the artist of our life takes control, guiding our hand, adding the touches that transform the canvas from OK to great.

The Artist chooses the colors, the brushes from which she wants to define her life. The decisions are hers to make as she selects the shades of color, or even black and white, that will define her life. She paints a portrait of peace and joy, of self-less love for family and friends.. All else is unimportant. The things of past are covered. Today and tomorrow are forming a painting that will be great.

Letting the Master’s Hand guide our hand, we find freedom flowing freely onto and into our canvas. In doing His will in our life, we are set free. A freedom indescribable at times as we are lost to the distractions of the past. Caught up in the hope and love of today.

The Master guides our hand, willingly or even unwillingly at times in our artistic endeavor. As we learn to relax and give Him control of our hands, He reveals the beauty that is within us. It is great.

I have heard being an artist and painting described as being easy but living life as being difficult and unsure. Life can be described as a series of brush strokes, choices. Some can destroy the beauty intended for our canvas. Some strokes can create breath-taking beauty which radiates outward, inspiring the ones observing our portrait.

This was inspired by a young friend of mine, she left a few brush strokes on my life. They will not be painted over. They will be treasured, remembered for a long time to come.

When I look into a mirror, I want to see Jesus, the Creator of my portrait.
Amazing young lady.  Her paintings are truly works of art.
http://www.capturedmomentsartwork.com/
 Aug 2015 A Watoot
John Stevens
(c) Dec. 15-2005 John Stevens

(V1)
When trouble comes around you
And you don’t know where to turn.
Look up and see Jesus standing there.
He will take all your sorrows
And give you peace within.
Just look up and see Jesus standing there.

(V2)
When love seems so distant
And you feel lost and alone.
Look up and find Jesus waiting there.
His arms are open wide for you
To take you as His own.
Just look up and find Jesus waiting there.

(V3)
When hope has all but gone
And darkness closes in.
Look up and find Jesus kneeling there.
He is reaching down to lift you up
From the pit of despair.
Look up and find Jesus kneeling there.

(V4)
When joy comes upon you
And you don’t know who to thank.
Look up and see Jesus smiling there.
His grace does surround you
His mercy brings you through.
Just look up and see Jesus waiting there.

(Chorus)
Look up and see Jesus
He waits for you to call His name.
Look up and see Jesus standing there.
Look up and see Jesus
Receive His gift of love for you.
Look up and see Jesus standing there.

(tag)
He will take you in His arms of love
And give you peace within.
I am posting this for a young friend.  It is the words to a song from years back.
Still good today and tomorrow
 Aug 2015 A Watoot
John Stevens
05-15-2011
Since my grandson was little, he is now 6, and we would read a book or two at bed time, I would kiss him goodnight and say, “Love you forever and always Tony Boy.  See you in the morning.”  Last night when the books were read, the evening was winding down and quietness had settled in… I kissed him and said, “love you forever and always Tony Boy.”   This time Tony for the first time said, “I love it when you say that grandpa.”  It took me back for a moment.

I have been thinking that must be the way it is with our Heavenly Father.  He tells us over and over He loves us “forever and always”.  Some day we will tell Him “I love it when you say that Father.”  It confirms the bond between us and Him.  Unbreakable bond that is forever and always.  There is no greater love.

“See you in the morning” has always had two meanings for me.  For Tony it is 8 to 9 hours later.  For me it is also the New Day, New Morning when we wake up in the presence of Jesus.   Some day Tony will understand the second meaning.  The most important meaning.  That will be a glorious morning indeed.  The bond of love is never broken.  It lasts forever.
 Jul 2015 A Watoot
ryn
Lend Me...
 Jul 2015 A Watoot
ryn
Lend me your eyes.
So I could fill them
with the bursting stars.
Telling tales of the spellbinding universe,
singing songs of exploding suns...
and of splintering quasars.

Lend me your thoughts.
So that if I may,
write of them.
Fantastical scribbles of love
and praise.
Meticulously lined
and carefully stitched...
with immaculate lace at the hems.

Lend me your breaths.
I'd catch them as they fall...
between the words you would say.
Merging mine with yours...
introducing colour...
and vigour
to my monochromatic world of
black, white and grey.

Lend me your heartbeats...
for mine thumps erratic.
As if beating in silent mock.
I depend on the steadiness in yours.
So they could usurp
the ticks of worldly clocks.

Lend me your hands.
Palms up as a sign,
perhaps as an invitation...
for me to take them.
And maybe...
hopefully fill them...
with mine...
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