prankster

Sneaking in the shadows
and hiding in the shade,
colour coordinated ruffles
in blending schemes do wade.
Light of heart
and humour bound,
inward laughter billows,
while laces tied
and tricks a-wide
try shower you with pillows.
Flick and snip
on the ground,
the dancers spin much faster,
when suddenly the culprit runs
and all go running after.

Sunny day

On a sunny day of dome
the warm air rises faster.
Quickly do the lower levels pump
the cold smells upward after.
On these days the riders soar,
leaping onto vents
that wind streams may carry
up knee painted dents
and cause a tricking fall.


Thinking of a story...

story

I hear the trumpet calling
across the golden sun
in a field of windswept grass
where peacefulness doth run.

I hear the rippling of quiet waters
murmuring softly by
in a bed of silken sand
where polished pebbles lie.

I hear sweet voices singing
of greatness and of glory
for the coming children who
stand in beauty of their story.

I hear the children singing
in loud and happy chorus
of love and praise for their Dad,
whom gave everything for us.

I smell the scented air
from gentle, refreshing breeze
that has walked beside so many,
granting strength that will not cease.

Outside time and beyond the known
my Father's voice is calling,
trumpet ringing to augment his voice,
its smooth, gold notes are soaring.

Behind the world with all its care
Before the cross with all its shares.

Others have gone before me,
the golden path is worn,
but still I hesitate beside the sea
where bobbing boat adorned;
waits for me to take that step,
the final journey to my reward.
I'm not sure if I'm ready,
but to Him I'll toward,
knowing that if He's calling
today I'll meet my Lord.

Casting down burdens for light yoke,
in everlasting love I'll soak.

The old is past,
the new is come,
the story sung
and it is done.



For my two uncles who have passed away within 2 weeks of each other due to different circumstances.

You never really know when your time is up. Make it good. Make it last. Make it great and have a blast.

~By Korallieam

eery still

music stopped
wind eery still
who to talk to?
where to turn?
distance far
how to reach?
watching in slow motion
the people around me
falling
one by
one

where is the horse and rider?
where is the promised aid?
covenant of covenants
promised word
must hold
firm
or hearts will
crumble
fail
quail
and run away
if they run
more are exposed
not enough
to protect the
weak and young.

return
return
oh call again
perhaps they have not heard
maybe too far away
something has waylaid

still they fall
no one comes
was all the work in
vain?
i'll not run
and i'll not hide
small though
i am
not enough worth
for a capital
not enough
but still
still i'll stand
still i'll try
still i'll do my best
until all pass away
i'll not be
unfaithful
i will wait
until i fall
i will wait
for them all
and though i fail
and though it may be
vain
perhaps i'll have made
enough time
for others to
escape
enough way
for others to
continue
forward

music stopped
wind eery still
who to talk to?
where to turn?
distance far
promised word
must
hold


One gone, the other in critical situation.

~By Korallieam

murky stars

Amidst the murky stars
stirring in the the thick water
floats all manner
of flotsam and jetsam.
Hearts have burst
and their pieces scattered
across a watery grave.
Heavy hands,
weary wills,
reach.
Reach for banks stable,
firm ground
and grasslands green.
Reach for silky water,
for skies of burning bright,
clear air that eases breath.
Look up to the hills,
a new day dawning,
white horse rampant.
Rider blowing horn,
help comes.
Strength upon strength
to raise up
the feeble knees
and sinking hands.
Redeemer of the lost,
saving those who
took the wrong turn,
even though they
disobeyed.
Stillness.
Warmth.
Wrap around
and lift.
To the higher rock,
the refuge
and hiding place.
In that fortress
will return again
the joy
taken during
mourning.
Grief like tattered rags
shall fall
and anointed
garments shall
take their place.

Hold fast
and don't let go.
He's coming back
for you.

~By Korallieam

Less and less

My posts are becoming less frequent as I busy myself with more and more stuff. Twylla is starting to emerge from hiding as her revisions got underway. Someone's stuck a stick in the works at present, but she should be in fine old form soon. As soon as I get over there and demand what happened to her part in the onion blog.

Less and less
Harder and harder
it is to write
one measly
good sentence.

A sentence should roar
sing
proclaim
resound
ring
the reader with
heart and soul
make them nod
and say
'yes, that's right'
or
'oh, so true,
but will you read that
sentence?'

art
language
words
flow
bring to life
the inanimate.

middle day

From the highest heights of depth
to the lowest pit of zest,
there comes the growing of middle day,
the glowing light,
at even ray.
It betters thinkers
and those who stomach
ravelled blinkers,
to journey near
and journey far,
and progress further
than that distant star.
For with the coming of the least,
and confused roars of written yeast;
shall be enveloped by the sight
and with no more echo,
be taken with one
bite.
Dally no more with mouth a-wide,
Scatter thither with fastest stride.
For the home that you once knew
has changed,
become
a battered
stew.