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 |    We live much of life amid unique choices. Joy is anchored in The One beyond our life. |
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"Failures, repeated failures, are finger posts on the road to achievement. One fails forward toward success." C. S. Lewis "I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else." C. S. Lewis “I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till now... Come further up, come further in!” ― C.S. Lewis, The Last Battle https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1059917-the-last-battle “The Road goes ever on and on Down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, And I must follow, if I can, Pursuing it with eager feet, Until it joins some larger way Where many paths and errands meet. And whither then? I cannot say.” J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.” J.R.R. Tolkien    |
golden blooms increase green space in the world of man work of God remains by Jay O’Toole on September 21st, 2023   |
| What do we do when they're just gone? Where can we look when there's no trace? How can we live without a dawn? How can we love no hugs to place? The little hamlet, Fairly Same, ensconced within a country vale. Its country goes by down-face name of Nevermore, so bored and pale. A hundred folks, quite blissful knit. They went to bed one autumn night, but in the morning peace was bit by cries, and wails, and deepest fright. "Where have they gone? Where can we look?" "How many now remain of us?" "I found his clothes in bedtime nook." "Her dolly keeps her mitten, thus." "Now all our children and one man have vanished in the air this day." "How could he silent keep his plan?" "How could his neighbors most betray?" No gift of Goodbyes for this town, no hope for breaking hearts to mend. They trudged their work. Each wore a frown with naught but clothes, effects to tend. How could they pray for none knew God, except the ones, who were not now? The preacher, whom they once had awed sure took their young in ghostly scow. by Jay O’Toole on September 20th, 2023 |
| Of music in the verse I write, I find a way to bob and weave. Of wisdom's course with all my might, I find the goal I would achieve. I find a way to bob and weave. Words stayed, a pungence overworn, I find the goal I would achieve. Without which, I must then adjourn. Words stayed, a pungence overworn these are removed. Enhance the mood. Without which, I must then adjourn, a poet then not often viewed. These are removed. Enhance the mood, improving life with wonders rare. A poet then not often viewed becomes a voice, that readers care. Improving life with wonders rare of wisdom's course with all my might. Becomes a voice, that readers care of music in the verse I write. by Jay O’Toole on September 19th, 2023 |
| Some days it seems a long way off to find a book, that has new thoughts. Will others like it? Hat to doff? Or need I shine with higher watts? A novelist has quite a gift to tell a story, bring along the reader's longing heart to lift, succeeding when they end in song. Some days I wonder, if that's me, the novelist, who stands so tall. Is there another tale to see? Is storytelling mine at all? When NaNoPrep starts in two weeks, I'll need to find a title rare. What story now will my mind seek? What plotline makes the reader care? A mystery? Or tale of woe? Adventure, seeking awesome gain? A friendship, that I need to know? Or loss of hope, that's searing plain? Whatever starts the book along will be the catalyst to grow. Will there be victory and song? Will someone's pain now overflow? The novel can be from the heart, some subject lived through the writer's days. Yet, trouble is a ready part of every life in all our ways. What makes me pick up each new book, and keep it in my hands all through? A title causing me to look? An admonition, that I do? Why do I want to write at all? Why do I plan and craft my words? Is there a story yet too tall? Can Hope still fly among the birds? What novel thoughts these books now bring! We write, and hope, and grow anew. At satisfying ends, we sing. At tragedy, we weep 'til through. by Jay O’Toole on September 18th, 2023 |
| We take a moment, sip the cup, and in a quiet corner of the room. The paper pad we side it up. Now, finding words, address the note, "to whom." "The coffee has been wondrous, great! The moments of this respite can't we best. The scone upon this little plate creates the heart a homey, peaceful nest. "Your service has been all that I could hope a wait staff would perform for me. Return I will whenever nigh in hopes, that from my stress I'd sit and be. "This TIP for you, I leave it here. It's larger than I used to thankful leave, but worth it does not match. It's clear. You have a gift. Much more you need receive." by Jay O’Toole on September 15th, 2023 |
| Sitting with my thoughts searching for some sheltered peace who can make me whole? Man of Peace is One, Whose Name anchors in this tempest life. by Jay O’Toole on September 14th, 2023 |
The discipline of aging well requires, that we fully live. One's energy, whose peaks now spell the true new normal days to give. When parked on some day's sofa rest, I sleep and dream, and wonder "Why?" Could not I sing, and thus be blest through fa, sol, la, ti, do, and fly? Forgetting, that I'm not still young, I run, and push, and do as did, until my body gets quite hung, awaking, Charley horse to rid. The old adage is ever new, "The mirror gave me quite a fright!" While wondering at this face I grew, the calendar takes a big ol' bite. Would someone tell that staring man a teenaged heart still beats inside, just not the ticker in the chest, nor this old house, that creaks and slides. Someone may find a poem that sounds mostly like this one, here. I write to tell you where I'm at, and more each day, it becomes clear. I need a wondrous coffee cup to start me on my weary day, and peanut butter wakes me up to clean these toilets, come what may. The second cup before I work is necessary. Oh, how true! A Q.A. is a needed clerk to make the bathroom nice for you! Retirement's not soon enough to focus on some novel thought. The change from mop to pen is rough until Best Sellers can be bought. But even then, when working's done, the heavy-lifting, physical kind, I'll need to move, so Life is won, the keep-on-going, wonderful find. So, Staring Man, I see you're there, still filling up, that shiny glass, but youthful me with grateful hair remembers, that "this too shall pass." --------------------------------------------------- (II Corinthians 4:17-18, KJV) Line Count: 44 by Jay O’Toole on September 13th, 2023 |
Imperfect, though I am, I can yet be redeemed. 'Tis through the Great I AM, I'm 'fore the Lord esteemed. Imperfect I was born, and full of sin cast down. By Christ, the veil is torn. I need no more a frown. Imperfect are we all. His Merits we all need. O, listen to His Call. "Salvation," He doth plead. Imperfect, though I am, imputed righteousness was bought by Saving Lamb, forever He to bless. Imperfect I will always be as long as I live in this flesh. Redeemed by Grace and made set Free by He, Who entered through the crèche. Imperfect I'm by Luther's words, "A saint and sinner all the time." Eschewing those in wide-path herds, I'm made to live the life sublime. Imperfect, though I am, He died to take away my sin and shame. Once buried for my awful pride, He rose again to change my name. "Imperfect" is my earthly state. Made new my everlasting JOY. Because of Christ, I'm labeled, "Great!" His Perfect Life for me employed. by Jay O’Toole on September 12th, 2023 |
The "peanut" of the ultrasound was living, swimming in the pool. Though tiny, and not yet a pound, my love for you remains the rule. The little girl, who had to stand on tippy toes to reach the rack, the second shelf of dishes and for cleaning them to line and stack. Her school day, filled with things to do, and friends of joy to talk and play. Each eve we rode home when 'twas through, and shared the wonders of the day. Each homeschool day we learned new things, like "Stack the States," subtract, and add. With Dad outgrown the new stage brings some other teachers online glad. Her graduation fin'lly came in gowns and mortar boards, they filled the auditorium the same when on my day was equal skilled. Now, Oberon and fairy band did wordless dance in beaming smile. Ovations they did nightly land, returned to class to learn awhile. We miss the baby filled with glee, embracing who she has become. The glimpses, that I often see assuage my sadness, bits, and sum. 'Tis never wrong to wisely live, rememb'ring joy, embracing grace. The future has so much to give, while living hopeful in this place. by Jay O’Toole on September 11th, 2023 |
That Life exists because of God we dare not minimize, nor brush. The universe of hands applaud His Glory. That we must not rush. Observe the smallest human cell. He may, yet, live a hundred years. In Heaven or in lowest Hell, he lives for aye or drowns in fears. A baby in his mother floats. These nine months are a lifetime lived. Each mem'ry stored as mental notes, revealed when at His Throne arrived. A man, who lives through Lifetime's days has lived gestation's little while. Eternity for God's Own praise is ever more His lasting Smile. O, woeful man, that sees the Now as all that ever must exist. One day at God's Dear Feet he'll bow in great defeat will Feet be kissed. by Jay O’Toole on September 8th, 2023 |
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