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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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“There are times when solitude is better than society, and silence is wiser than speech. We should be better Christians if we were more alone, waiting upon God, and gathering through meditation on His Word spiritual strength for labour in his service. We ought to muse upon the things of God, because we thus get the real nutriment out of them. . . . Why is it that some Christians, although they hear many sermons, make but slow advances in the divine life? Because they neglect their closets, and do not thoughtfully meditate on God's Word. They love the wheat, but they do not grind it; they would have the corn, but they will not go forth into the fields to gather it; the fruit hangs upon the tree, but they will not pluck it; the water flows at their feet, but they will not stoop to drink it. From such folly deliver us, O Lord. . . .” ― Charles Spurgeon “Our anxiety does not empty tomorrow of its sorrows, but only empties today of its strengths.” ― C. H. Spurgeon “Hope itself is like a star- not to be seen in the sunshine of prosperity, and only to be discovered in the night of adversity.” ― Charles Haddon Spurgeon “If sinners be damned, at least let them leap to Hell over our dead bodies. And if they perish, let them perish with our arms wrapped about their knees, imploring them to stay. If Hell must be filled, let it be filled in the teeth of our exertions, and let not one go unwarned and unprayed for.” ― Charles Spurgeon “A Bible that’s falling apart usually belongs to someone who isn’t.” ― Charles Spurgeon “Visit many good books, but live in the Bible.” ― Charles Spurgeon “When your will is God's will, you will have your will.” ― Charles Spurgeon https://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/2876959.Charles_Haddon_Spurgeon (Philippians 2:13, KJV)    |
| NaNoWriMo's quickly on its way. Got to find a book of things to say. Where we go is thrilling come what may, then it's time to edit. Stars and space in galaxies beyond. Mysteries of wood or in the pond. New adventures or the ones, that spawned. Chapter thoughts. Now, spread it. Linear the time line we explain. Flashbacks show the truth, that's right as rain. Dual-voice, perspectives we can gain, built on entertainment. Romance is a way to touch the heart. Action thrillers, running from the start. Hist'ry fiction, painters and their art. Hardback, it's containment. Two weeks from now, we must start the quest. Find the book. We'll write our latest best. Story found, 2000 words our test, and our daily total. Two months from now, we should have a book. Then we'll marvel at the effort took. Crawl up in our fav'rite reading nook, seems quite sacerdotal. What's it take to find a story plot? 'Bit more than the writer first hath got. Something good may come near at a trot, with a tale now waving. Trust the gift, that God has put inside. Write in peace, and humbleness, not pride. When it's through, solutions will not hide with the climax craving. by Jay O’Toole on September 19th, 2022 |
A new day has awaked. It makes me look about. Will goodness be now more? Will hope now in this day increase from that before? A new day has awaked. The paths are myriad. Each thing to do is chose. We can't return, again. What Blessing hath arose! A new day has awaked. The past in shadows dims. Our future glows in grace. Each day, a gift from God. We walk a smiling space. A new day has awaked. We open the front door. We wander out to greet the day that's never been, enraptured as we meet. by Jay O’Toole on September 16th, 2022 |
yellow, white the blooms tasty meal for catalpas finished are the plants by Jay O’Toole on September 15th, 2022 |
| The peaceful bliss we search to find is often filled with accent notes as crickets, frogs, cicadas grind their fresh-brewed cup of sounding quotes. No matter how joyful these songs may be they're still not Silence, all pristine. These wordless, noiseless times from He create of Nature the church Sistine. It's in the country, far from town with trees, and shrubs, and forest grace. A glade where cars do not abound find quietness adorns His Face. O, list to hear His beating heart, unknown to ears of humankind. When all of Nature stops to start unhindered hush, so hard to find. Amazingly the Silence blares, and roars, and howls for all to hear, but few can toss away their cares to hear the band, that plays so clear. How few can ever say they've heard the roar of silence in the mist? But oftener without a word more souls have been by quiet kissed. All noisy towns make residents so deaf to silence's applause, but those, who live alone make sense of silences, they hear on pause. by Jay O’Toole on September 14th, 2022 |
When walking on a daily road to do the things we ever do our shoulders feel the daily load. No grass remains. We're digging through. The path we trod seems rather grave without an end in sight, it seems. The Lord can give us hope, that saves in thoughts Above, with bliss redeems. The sea behind, the foe doth face each timid soul, that cowers in fear. The God from Heaven rains His Grace to show the way He carves is clear. Each step, a rock. Each foot t'ward peace doth show the way, that He hath made to help His child find sweet release, to help His Bride know Hope obeyed. by Jay O’Toole on September 13th, 2022 |
| Noel, noel, noel, noel. Why can't you get it right, I ask? A bonging gong, a tinkling bell, this writing's such a daily task. "What's wrong with it?" you sit bemused. "The world doth write, 'Noel. Noel'." "That's why it's wrong, my friend, Confused. Now, sit in peace. This Truth I tell." "Tis 'N-o-e.' I chide thee much. Doth no one see the truth of this?" "Insane. Thy head is gravely touched." "'Tis 'N-o-e', no 'L.' What bliss!" How sweet it is to eat the dust of "just deserts", my bookish friend. Now, trudging through desserts's a must for chocolate all the hurts can mend. The hareless hair doth bug us much between his sets of comic relief. The switching vowels make nonsense, and such. These unwieldy tropes need be quite brief. It came to us one midnight clear, that Nicholas in seasoned rhymes could bring great joy, remove the fear, and help the world's most challenged climes. How doth he do this wondrous feet? By hoe, hoe, hoeing through Earth's fields to plant great goodness on repeat, to reap in harvest bless-ed yields. by Jay O’Toole on September 12th, 2022 |
| May God increase your wisdom, Sir, to match the Queen, to lead like her. Your place is new, and this you know. Your Majesty be blessed to grow. May Grace He fill, and in you stir. May God make HIStory recur. Thy Mom wouldst to thy God refer, that Majesty from Him would glow. May God increase. The past's a tree, a sturdy fir. The future's strong with days so sure when God's Word in our hearts we know. By Truth, we're kept when Pride's kept low, and our own will to God defer. May God increase. by Jay O’Toole on September 9th, 2022 |
| What wondrous days with great resolve she stood her ground to problems solve through times of war, and great duress she shined her smile our hearts to bless ensured, that strength would not dissolve! Affairs of State, all days revolve, her fam'ly skills would oft involve reserv-ed face, and codes of dress. What wondrous days! Most lives on Earth may grow, evolve. The Royal structure none can solve. The Queen, she walked with great finesse in joy and gladness, her success will follow her with blest resolve. What wondrous days! by Jay O’Toole on September 8th, 2022 |
To speak the depths of my deep heart would take Eternity for Christ has filled a greater part than I can fully see. Winnie Kay  rapped my knuckles a fewto learn me some Comma Sense. At times a punctuation "shampoo" just needs a little rinse. 'Twas 🇺🇸 Carol St.Ann 🇺🇸  and her novel approach,that led to bookish reviews. I hope some day to fly more than coach as a writer the readers will choose. The Poetry-verse is the place where I live, and Dave's trying to catch up  is our honored MC.'Tis the Poet's Place Café, that I often do give my best rhymes for him there for to see. With this verse you can see, I am never averse to send kudos, and blessings to all, but reviewing's immerse to make better, not worse, and that writers continue to call. A new daughter has blest my dear writing days here. Samberine Everose  is now beyond wordsfor she honors my name with her kindness so clear. 'Tween heart and true blood the line's blurred. Another sister is here in our family Above LegendaryMask❤️  relocated to newer home climesgave Mississippi the slip, though she left you in love now her Arkansas home has new chimes. I do hope, my dear Sis, I've remembered the truth, and that those are the places you've lived, but if not we'll thank Mem'ry so much stronger in youth, and the License, that Poetry doth give.  Every morning we think of the Queen and her cup as we toast to Lilli 🧿 ☕  's health quite anon.This poem she'll like, and approve it with, "Yup!" but new fivers we'll need when they’re gone. O, what more could I say of the Man, and his Bride, The StoryMaster  , The StoryMistress  have laidfoundations, and walls, a roof with great pride, and our writings to bring them hath bade. This great party must end at the stroke of midnight, but our joys and our dances increase. Every day of the year is most comely and bright when our writings give minds wondrous peace. Where will end I this rhyme of this Writing.Com? Let the rhythms take you through the site to The Hub, and the Newsfeed, Newsletters and some of the groups, and the forums each night. Lest we quickly forget of our friendships on here, search portfolios, reviewers, and blogs. Keep Schnujo is Late to Lannister  the front of your searchings. O Dear,just missed 15 new posts, that she logged. Every writer has much to their world, now to say, and the writing's like heartbeats, and prints of our fingers, unique from Life's ends, and today. Are you writing? Please, take this long hint. by Jay O’Toole on September 7th, 2022 |
So many jobs, so little time, and then the baby comes. The career is parked, so new the clime, and pay no more has sums. Was 43 when I left work outside the domicile. Childcare had its daily perk "to hold the child awhile." But now the child is an adult, and I'm a senior saint. I look for work and need to consult about this room's "wet paint." I sit here in this corner marked by the words, "You're old and done," but still, my life's not nearly parked, and age can't be let won. I'm not as young as I once was. An athlete, I just can't be. I'll have to find some new great cause. Olympics: That's not me. My mind's still here. So, there is that. Thank God for such a gift. I still can write, and paint in matte, and talk, to others lift. I get distracted by much noise. My mind may wander off. What's diff'rent then from little boys, who run, and play, and chase a butterfly. I know some things a little bit: Spanish, Sign Language, editting. But what careers are near my mitt, that I could do something? Are retail sales my "cup of tea?" Or tea my tale to tell? A guide to show you where to be, or a guard to keep things well? O, Lord, please lead me in the way, that I should walk, today. Please, help me know to do and say, "Your Glory on display." by Jay O’Toole on September 6th, 2022 |
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