Perfectly In Time

The man placed his hand on the woman's back, 

took her hand, 

and waited for the music to begin. 

With adoring eyes the woman 

looked up at his handsome face, 

silently counting the beats of the melody.  

1, 2, 3. 

1, 2, 3.  

The man gave a nod and 

Whirled the woman onto the dance floor.  

Their feet were perfectly in time 

With each other and as the man led.

The dance moved as smooth as glass. 

He took her hand gently

And spun her about across the floor.

They moved in unison, perfectly, gracefully

With his hand on the woman's back. 

The music moved on,

1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3. 

Never a stop, never a hesitation,

With silent counting of the melody. 

But how can such dancing

Move with such grace?

How can the beating of music

keep tune and time?

The man is the leader, strong and firm

Leading the woman's movements.

The woman must learn to trust the guide,

Or else the dance will falter.

1, 2, 3. 

1, 2, 3.

He offers us His hand to have

He leads us with the graceful steps

And we must try to trust his plan. 

1, 2, 3. 

1, 2, 3. 

Or else the dance will falter.

"He offers us His hand to have..."

The Deepest Beauty

This was a sight inspired by my front-room window this morning, at about 7:00 a.m.  I did not have the chance to take a picture, but with a bit of creative embellishment and the picture in my mind, I decided to share the view with you.

The world was glorious,
 and the sight took my breath away.  
I could even see it, steamed up against the glass,
like a frozen cloud clinging to the window.
But the sight beyond was even better...

The naked, bony trees had been covered
By the soft down of frosty white
And they shone in the light.
The trees had a glow of crystal,
And all the world seemed white with ice.

I was pleased to see the frosty white, 
But what took my breath away
was the morning sky.
The deepest blue of beauty,
Mixed gently with golden, gilded clouds. 

Oh, how could the world be so brilliant,
when all the world is full of sad?
I looked into the beauty,
And felt my spirit rise within me.
The world was beautiful despite the pain.

The world was glorious and it took my breath;
I could see the bony, naked trees
And the deepest morning sky.
I felt my spirit rise within me, despite pain
And all the world was golden, white, and beautiful. 

All the world seemed white with ice...

Did You Know The Stars Have Voices?

Did You Know The Stars Have Voices?

Janelle Spiers

Did you know the stars have voices?

Did you know that they whisper to each other, 

high above in the heavens?

Did you know that they know the future?

Yes, long have men looked to the firmaments for signs;

They seek to learn their fate and fortune

So that they might be prepared for good or ill. 

Yes, long have men been wrong.

The stars have lived since earth was first created.

They murmur tales of old to their young ones, 

teaching them of how the earth will spin,

teaching them the dance of the celestial.

The men of earth have often looked to the sky,

Waiting for their omens of joy or sorrow

to be hung on silver threads of light

and paraded through the darkness above. 

The astral beings do not announce the fate of one,

but all.  They twirl their trains of colored smoke

and dance the heavenly dance; 

That which ushers in the bright new beginning

of foretold fate and destiny

fate and future,

fate and fortune,

for the entirety of man. 

They announced the birth of a baby

to a loud and flashy tune

They signaled the passing of a man

with a slow and mournful waltz

Did you know the stars have voices?

Did you know they whisper while they waltz?

Did you know the stellar shadows sing the future?

Do you dare to watch them dance?

Do you dare to see them fly?

To Love or Be Loved ~ Finis

And the final conclusion to the freeverse novella, To Love or Be Loved.

To Love or Be Loved ~ Part 1

To Love or Be Loved ~ Part 2

To Love or Be Loved ~ Part 3

To Love or Be Loved ~ Part 4

To Love or Be Loved ~ Part 5

Marjorie J. Riley

Finders, Keepers

Will and Helen come today, to see where I

have been. I am touched that Will noticed. I

look into his brown eyes, but my mind is on

blue. John tiptoes          down the stairs,

peering at my                 guests. “Will, Helen,

I’d like you to                meet John.” Helen

looks horrified and stares like the moon.

Will’s eyes flash envied brown. “You won’t

keep him.” “Oh yes, I will.” Precious blue.

Something Old and Something New

Ann brought in a bundle of little boy clothes.

ears filled her eyes as her arms clutched her

son’s old things.          “If you plan on keeping

him, Miss, he’ll           need something new to 

wear.” Do I plan        on keeping him? I told

Will I would, but         was I serious? I look at

John, splashing in the tub, smiling from tiny

ear to tiny ear. “Thank you, Ann.  Johnny will

need them.” Johnny? I called him such a

tender name. How could I give him away?

  

Hide and Seek

“Marjee? Find me!” I look behind an

armchair. John giggles when I find him.

“Marjee? Find me!” I see a lump in the

Persian rug. He squeals when I hug him.

“Marjee? Find me!” I find him lying on the

stairs. He shouts when I tickle him.

I realize that something has happened. Inside

me, there is no hole. “Johnny? You found

me!” His eyes blink blue and  his lips smile,

almost if he knew what he did to my heart.

To Love and Be Loved

I don’t know why I decided to keep John. I

just did. I don’t know why I love him. I just

do. John has changed me. I know how to feel

loved and I know how to love. Maybe this is

the love Father always talked about. Love fills

the hole in your heart. Johnny has filled the

hole in my heart. Oh, how sweet to love and

be loved.

To Love or Be Loved ~ Part 5

To Love or Be Loved ~ Part 5

Janelle Spiers

We are drawing to a close in the story of Marjorie J. Riley and Evelyn O'Hara.  Check back with these links to previous installments to continue to relive this Roaring Twenties Story.

To Love or Be Loved ~ Part 1

To Love or Be Loved ~ Part 2

To Love or Be Loved ~ Part 3

To Love or Be Loved ~ Part 4

Marjorie J. Riley

Charity is a Curse

What am I supposed to do with a tiny child? 

What can I do that his family couldn’t? The

child moans softly in my arms as I sit in my

parlor.  His warm little body feels strange in

my arms.                                 I don’t know if 

I like it,                                    his holding on,

wet tears                                 on my dress. He

is quiet                                    now, in the

stillness                                   of my house.

His breathing deepens, and I feel sure that he

has cried himself to sleep. What do I do with a

tiny sleeping boy? “Make a bed, Ann.  He’s  

asleep.” I say, but mother wouldn’t approve.

Evelyn O’Hara

Void

I stagger through the darkness

back to the alleyway where I came from.

I feel cold, hurt, and sick. My body shakes.

            Cough,

            Cough,

            Cough,

I lie down on my blanket and try

to feel warm, but I don’t have my warmth.

I left behind the only thing to warm my heart.

Marjorie J. Riley

What Have I Done?

What have I done to deserve this child? His

eyes are round and large and they watch me

silently as I watch him. He is so young and

small. Ann                               feeds him often, 

trying to                                   fatten him up.

Ann knows                               what children

are like. She                             had two, before

the war, but now they are gone. If I didn’t

have Ann, I never could keep this child. Keep

this child? I can’t keep him. I... I can’t....

Evelyn O’Hara

Creeping

I cannot get up, my body is too weak.

I will lose my job at the factory, but it does

not matter.  Nothing does, now. He is gone.

            Cough,

            Cough,

            Cough,

John is gone, just like Phillip. John is happy, just like 

Phillip. They are both in a better place. I will see my 

husband soon, in a better place.

Marjorie J. Riley

What He Wanted

“Iss mamma wif de angels, now?”

His timid voice, the first words he had spoken,

they broke my heart. Is mamma with the

angels, now?                           “I don’t know.”

I have to say.                          His face is

grave. “My                             mamma see

God?” The child thinks his mother will die.

The poor boy. He wriggles closer to my side. 

I know now, relieved, Father would approve.

Evelyn O’Hara

Shadows

I shiver and shake. I moan and cough. Night is 

growing darker, the chill is growing colder.

I think of my John, warm in a light house.

            Cough,

            Cough,

            Cough,

I pray to God to hide my boy from pain.

I pray to God to love my boy forever.

I pray to God to help me fight the shadows.

Marjorie J. Riley

Sweet Dreams

I pull Mother’s quilt over the little boy.

His eyes look sleepy but he holds my hand.

I smooth back his brown hair and kiss his

head. “Don’t go,”                    he says softly.

“It’s time for                           sleep.” His eyes

blink slowly.                           I dare to ask a 

question, heavy on my mind, “What’s your

name?” He sighs deep and holds tighter to me. 

“John.” Namesake of my father, given to me.

  

Evelyn O’Hara

Death

So much pain racks my body, but nothing like my 

Savior suffered. I see His face as I lie in the cold, lie 

in the dark, lie in the alleyway.

            Cough...

            Cough....

Picture Poetry

I am dabbling in the art of Picture Poetry.  I hope that you can tell what I mean by observation and poetic appreciation.  I am quite taken with this art form, and hope that you enjoy it with me, both visually and poetically.  

           THE CRY OF THE SOUL

I wish I was                            a pioneer; to

Travel unknown                       lands.  I wish I was

An ocean beach; to live             with wave and sands.

 I wish I was a battle cry; to be a marching song.  I wish

I was a warrior; I’d have courage and be strong.  I wish I

 Was a joyful tear, so all the sorrow blurs.  I wish I was

   a President; to give a speech that stirs.  I wish I was

     a puppy dog; I’d smile and be your friend.  I wish

        I was a patient nurse; all my help, I’d lend.  I

            wish I was a rainbow; high above in the

                sky.  I wish I was a thundercloud;

                     My tears would freely cry.  I

                        Wish I was a pioneer; to

                              Travel unknown

                                 Lands.  I wish

                                    I was… I

                                        wish.

NEVER A MOMENT TO SPARE

The 

Tree stands

Alone in the woods;

Never 

A minute

To spare.  The tree

Is so busy thinking big

Thoughts, it won't hear you 

Coming.

No, it won't

Hear you coming 

until you're upon it, as 

you coax it out of its dreams.

The tree stands alone in the woods;

Never a 

Minute 

To spare.