Sunday
Sep302018
Sunday, September 30, 2018 at 04:44AM
=0=0=0=
C r o s s i n g s
Laurel Grove Cemetery
Savannah, Georgia
=0=0=0=
Someone to go the extra mile
Just like a mother caring for her child
A friend who sticks through thick or thin
No matter what you've done or where you've been
Just like one great big family
A stronger, older brother He will be
So quick and ready to defend
The younger, weaker to the end.
And he's ever interceding
To the Father for His children
Yes, He's ever interceding
To the Father for His own
Through Him we can reach the Father
So bring Him all your heavy burdens
Yes, He's ever interceding
So come boldly to the throne.
Just like sheep we've gone astray
Struggling 'neath the debt we could not pay
Not ever hoping to renew
The love and fellowship that we once knew
But He began to intercede
Crying Father, please forgive, I plead
And as the nails pierced in His hands
God once again reached out to man.
And he's ever interceding
To the Father for His children
Yes, He's ever interceding
To the Father for His own
Through Him we can reach the Father
So bring Him all your heavy burdens
Yes, He's ever interceding
So come boldly to the throne.
=Carolyn Gillman=
=0=0=0=
Wherefore he is able also to save them to the uttermost that come unto God
by him, seeing he ever liveth to make intercession for them.
Hebrews 7:25
=0=0=0=
Happy Sunday
Saturday
Sep292018
Further than riddle ride
Saturday, September 29, 2018 at 04:44AM
=0=0=0=
O u t e r S p a c e
Urban Dwellings
Knoxville, Tennessee
=0=0=0=
Under the Light, yet under,
Under the Grass and the Dirt,
Under the Beetle's Cellar
Under the Clover's Root,
Further than Arm could stretch
Were it Giant long,
Further than Sunshine could
Were the Day Year long,
Over the Light, yet over,
Over the Arc of the Bird --
Over the Comet's chimney --
Over the Cubit's Head,
Further than Guess can gallop
Further than Riddle ride --
Oh for a Disc to the Distance
Between Ourselves and the Dead!
= Emily Dickinson =
=0=0=0=
Happy Saturday
Friday
Sep282018
Soon will the winter be on us
Friday, September 28, 2018 at 04:44AM
=0=0=0=
B a c k A g a i n
Elmwood Cemetery
Columbia, South Carolina
=0=0=0=
Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer,
Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing,
Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,
Ceaseless, insistent.
The grasshopper’s horn, and far-off, high in the maples,
The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence
Under a moon waning and worn, broken,
Tired with summer.
Let me remember you, voices of little insects,
Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters,
Let me remember, soon will the winter be on us,
Snow-hushed and heavy.
Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing,
Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,
Ceaseless, insistent.
The grasshopper’s horn, and far-off, high in the maples,
The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence
Under a moon waning and worn, broken,
Tired with summer.
Let me remember you, voices of little insects,
Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters,
Let me remember, soon will the winter be on us,
Snow-hushed and heavy.
= Sara Teasdale =
=0=0=0=
Happy Friday
Thursday
Sep272018
What form my dreaming
Thursday, September 27, 2018 at 04:44AM
=0=0=0=
D i a l o g
Defunct Funeral Home
Columbia, South Carolina
=0=0=0=
My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.
Toward heaven still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.
= Robert Frost =
=0=0=0=
Happy Thursday
Wednesday
Sep262018
Lay that on your heart
Wednesday, September 26, 2018 at 04:44AM
=0=0=0=
L o v i n g L a m e n t
State Lunatic Asylum (Defunct)
Columbia, South Carolina
=0=0=0=
No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed;
Lay that on your heart,
My young angry dear;
This truth, this hard and precious stone,
Lay it on your hot cheek,
Let it hide your tear.
Hold it like a crystal
When you are alone
And gaze in the depths of the icy stone.
Long, look long and you will be blessed:
No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed.
Can be quite possessed;
Lay that on your heart,
My young angry dear;
This truth, this hard and precious stone,
Lay it on your hot cheek,
Let it hide your tear.
Hold it like a crystal
When you are alone
And gaze in the depths of the icy stone.
Long, look long and you will be blessed:
No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed.
= Sara Teasdale =
=0=0=0=
Happy Wednesday