The Poets Desk Authors

Sharing the Love of Poetry

Page 37


It Only Takes One Blessing

When evening shadows come to fall
at close of weary days,
just count your many blessings all,
not sorrows or dismays.

For often-times we dwell on woes,
and often we forget;
that even tho' ill winds may blow,
means not our end is met.

For God has given us our gifts,
our lives, for which we owe;
to Him because our soul He lifts
when hard times come to tow.

And every blessing that we count,
even if it's one,
such a simple, small amount,
God sees it as a ton!

©William E. Hardison 


Cry For Them

Cry no tears, 
We have a home
Cry for the little children
Who are in this world
All alone

The children who walk around
With heads hung low
Dreading the days
Because there's no where to go

The children who have no
Place to take a bath
And hate going to school
Because others will laugh

The children who are so hungry
And need to be fed
They smile for the outside world
But inside they are dead

The children who beg
For money on the street
Just so they can buy
Shoes for their feet

The children who cry
As night time nears
Because sleeping in a alley
Is one of their biggest fears

So the next time
You want to cry
Over your woes
Instead cry for
The little children
Who have no home

©  Andrianna Holt


Tattered is Good

The Holy Book, so fresh
When its new,
Smells just like
Fresh rain or morning dew.

The special book, Holy,
God inspired.
Grand, alive,
His Word, keeps us attired.

Don't let it age alone,
On a shelf,
Visit it
Quietly by yourself.

A turned down corner, high-
lighted verse,
brings knowledge
polishes us sure terse.

The condition of our
soul rages,
by untouched-used pages.

A much tattered Bible,
can sure be our asset.
We wear its wisdom on our soul;
wise we become as we grow old.

©Carol D. Meeks


Back in Time

Times were hard a way back then,
Modern conveniences? They had none.
Days of work began at dawn,
Lasting till the set of the sun. 

With Dad out in the fields plowing,
And Mom doing the kitchen chores.
The children helped as age allowed,
All saying daily prayers to the Lord. 

Way back then families were closer,
And friends were more devoted too.
< And when tragedy hit a family,
Others helped and knew what to do. 

The friends and families gathered together
At the church on each Sunday morn
To sing and Praise our dear Lord Savior
And to keep our loving hearts warm.

© Kentucky Lady


Another World to Sing In

In an old Country kitchen, my mother, would quite often sing.
As she carried from stove to table, the food, she had to bring.
She’d sing as she sat a-sewing, the clothes we had to wear.
She’d sing songs of blessings, oh Savior, sure-n keep our care.

She’d hum, down the cotton row, ‘til she reached the very end,
Then turn and a-coming back, she’d start singing, again.
She sang the songs of glory, unto our Lord above . . .
Reaching far down into her heart ~ giving, to Him, her love.

Mama would hug and kiss us, telling of another world to be,
Of a Savior called Jesus, whom she Prayed, we’d one day see.
Oh Glory, she sang in tenor, my Lord will soon come for me,
But there’s another world to sing in ~ with Angels, you’ll see.

She’d ride in a wagon, to Church on a Sunday, in a choir to sing.
And, she’d Pray oh Savior, sweet blessings, please bring.
I’d hear her at the old rub board, a-singing once again . . .
I’d ask her why, and she said, glorify Jesus and avoid all sin.

She was my little Mother, and a hard life she did see,
But she told us to keep the hope of yonder, way beyond the sea.
Said there’s more than one world, to sing in, sure-n ‘tis true.
And I’ll be a-waitin’ with Jesus, to gladly welcome, all of you.

She’s there now, a singing, in her tenor voice, so sweet and clear
We all miss her so much, sometimes we think we hear . . .
Her voice as she sits a-sewing, sweet melodies of her soft love,
So, there really must be, another world to sing in, up there above.

©Pearlie Duncan Walker

Dedicated to Julie Mullins Duncan and Claudia Williams Walker, the two best mothers I ever knew.




I stood in awe and wonder
at the beauties that abound
In a garden full of roses
Most precious flowers found.

The bounty of God's artistry
At this I stopped and saw
The splendour of the roses
and then saw even more.

Of the beauty that surrounded me
The trees - the floral grace
A sky of pure blue
and clouds of finest lace.

My breathing almost stopped
and my heart skipped many beats
as I gazed upon this beauty so utterly complete
A peace swept through my troubled soul
I felt myself replete.

And I realized then and there
how fortunate I am
to live and breathe and offer thanks
to God for His great plan.

©Anne N. Byam

Calvary's Tree

Are you weak and heavy laden
Are you cumbered down with care
Does the weight upon your shoulders
Seem like more than you can bear?

Do you struggle with life’s burdens
As you travel on life’s road
Do you tend to bend and buckle
Under such a heavy load?

My friend, just think of Jesus
How He suffered and He died
For our sins and our transgressions
He was whipped and crucified.

Imagine how He stood the pain
It cut right to the bone
The anguish that He must have felt
Up there, so all alone

Each strap that lashed across His back
Brought pain beyond belief
While soldiers laughed and scorned Him
How He prayed for some relief.

A crown of thorns was laid to rest
Upon His weary head
While angry crowds cried crucify
He suffered and He bled.

My friend, just think of Jesus
He was such a wretched sight
They bound Him to a rugged cross
He died without a fight.

The nails were driven through His hands
He moaned in agony
Yet, He would do it all again
He’d give His life for me.

So my friend, just think of Jesus
When you grumble and complain
You’ll see the man on Calvary
The place where He was slain.

That lowly figure on the cross
Will slowly come to life
You’ll see the anguish in His eyes
The torment and the strife.

You’ll see the sweat upon His brow
The burdens that He bore
All the things that bring you pain
Won’t matter anymore.

 ©Marilyn Ferguson 

Wings on Her Feet

She came into my life
So many years ago,
My bright and shining star;
A colorful fragrant rose.

A life of joy, she’s given,
Sunshine when it rains.
A little gift from heaven,
Daughter is her name.

She has wings on her feet,
Now that she is grown.
Chasing dreams and rainbows,
Yet she still comes home.

Her wings may lift her higher.
As she flits from place to place,
Her children are her passion;
She mixes love with grace.

She blazed a trail behind her,
For those whose lives she touched.
That’s why I call her Angel;
And I love her very much.

©Marie Williams.







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