Sunday, March 17, 2013

A Vessel of Sterling




While browsing antique shops, I made a great find!
Unearthed a rare treasure. Never saw one in kind.

An elegant bowl, with a handle and lid;
Beneath so much tarnish, it's true beauty hid.

Though black with the ages, I hugged it to me;
I paid the man gladly and danced home with glee.

Polished and rubbed to a radiant glow,
On party buffet my prize purchase would show.

It gleamed and it glowed, holding punch the next day,
When - horror of horrors - I heard a guest say:

Heaven help us! Is this the best silver you've got?
I'll not drink my punch from an old chamber pot!”

~ ~ ~

Tall Guy


I know a guy who's very tall,
Stands six feet, seven inches.
He finds his height a great delight,
An asset in the clinches.

He's very smart, and that's a help.
It compensates the strain
Of all the time it takes for blood
To move from heart to brain.

In public he stands proud and straight;
He literally has a ball,
When people lean waaaay back and say,
“My goodness, you are tall!”

Height has its setbacks, though. Take clothes:
They must be special bought.
And going in and out of doors,
He must take special thought.

And then there's dating; it's a trial:
He's anxious, Heaven knows,
To hold his partner cheek to cheek,
Not middle chest to nose.

But, still, he sees his height as Heaven's
Gift – a special gene.
Believes all men wish to be tall,
And with envy they are green.

So happily he struts about,
Looking for the perfect mate.
His only foe the hometown priest,
Who stands at six foot, eight.



© 2012 Sandra Conner



A Cardinal Sits With Me


CARDINAL - HOLLINGSWORTH - BFPA Cardinal sits with me at end of day.
It is a bleak, unhappy time,
And I have lost my way.
He seems content to stay a while and rest,
And my front porch is cool with shade,
Sun moving to the west.
On other days I've seen him flit and fly
And labor quite industriously
For food that caught his eye.
And then he'd pick at wings and clean and preen,
Then dart away and back again,
Quite nervous did he seem.
He'd change his stance and cock head constantly,
Not holding still a moment long;
He agitated me.
But, suddenly, this eve he's come to sit.
As if he knows my sorrowful plight --
That I am in this pit.
And now and then he sings aloud his song.
But when he stops to rest a while,
For much more do I long.
I'm sure his day is done; he should head home,
But here he sits beside my chair,
Just so I'm not alone.
His beauty, I have finally come to see,
Is unsurpassed: his ruby hue,
Wings black-edged perfectly.
In truth he is a masterpiece of life:
Each part of him a sculptor's dream,
Down to his beady eye.
A good half hour he's stayed and felt at home.
And looks right at me now and then,
To say, "You're not alone."
I sigh and realize I am content.
I close my eyes; begin to smile.
This is what Jesus meant.
He urged us to behold the birds of air,
And take a lesson from each one
About His love and care.
"Yes, Jesus, I'm at peace in You at last.
This little bird you sent to me
Has fulfilled his task.
So take care of him, Lord and keep him strong,
And send him out to other souls
Who need to hear his song."
Then opening my eyes, I seek my friend.
But he has flown while I have prayed --
His mission at an end.
~
["Look at the birds of the air! They don't worry about what to eat -- they don't need to sow or reap or store up food -- for your heavenly Father feeds them. And you are far more valuable to him than they are." Matt. 6:26 TLB).]
"Not one sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it. And the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don't worry! You are more valuable to Him than many sparrows." (Matt. 10:30-31, TLB).]

A Poem of 4 Vowels


(I originally wrote this poem for one of my WordPress blogs in response to a writing challenge. WordPress challenged us to write a post (either prose or poetry) using only 25 of the letters of the English alphabet. They then upped the challenge by suggesting that if we were brave, the letter we left out would be a vowel. So this little poem was my response.)
A Poem of 4 Vowels
Sometimes I write too long.
Sometimes I write too short.
Sometimes I write to make a point.
Sometimes I write for sport.
Now WordPress challenged me
To write a post that's strange.
Cannot be done the easy way.
I have to make a change.
They say only twenty-five
Of letters are allowed.
And if I'm brave they then insist
That I leave off a vowel!
 
So in this little poem,
One vowel I'll avoid.
I hope it won't be sorely missed,
And my good name destroyed.
 
Let's see, what can I choose?
There's only five to start.
Oh, my, this is a challenge real.
WordPress, please have a heart!
 
Okay, I've made my choice.
So happy I can be.
The vowel I've chosen to ignore
Lives between 'T' and 'V'.
~ ~ ~