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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)    |
| So many have no faith in God, yet still some find God deeply real. It causes pain when the faithful nod incites an ire with which to deal. How do we tread this icy road through winter's lake of discontent? How do we find a friend abode with others, who know a part that's meant? How could it be that God's Own Son divested Glory to become like us? Is there some logic to be won in lasting Truth, that we discuss? To say, that I believe, that Christ is God's Own Son without a doubt, oft puts a block at friendship's tries when others walk a unique route. I pray, that when I share my faith, I honor God and man my best. To walk in wisdom requires great grace to reconcile as lasting blest. by Jay O’Toole on February 10th, 2026    |
| Two lives folded in one heart. Dough's blest kneading in one loaf. Chocolates wrapped at festive start. Heart-shaped box spies social growth. Knitted hearts by threads alive like sweater crafted as one beat. Living, loving, working, thrive in unison, a sweet song treat. One new life embraced by two. Two cells knitted into one. Master Craftsman's pot when through lives of both the newest son. When couples' hearts entwined as one one brave soul forfeit life on Earth. Courageous fear through deed then done brought love to life, this latest birth. Break forth, O beauteous, lasting Light! Forever mold one blest heartbeat! Create in us eternal sight, a wave of JOY when Thee we meet! by Jay O’Toole on February 10th, 2026 |
Waiting for a piece to write, sitting, resting, hearing sounds. There may be no amazing sight, but grabbing thoughts, that make the rounds. Again, the silhouettes stand tall against the sunset's waning light. How do these pines scrape sky and call, "We'll keep the wind, while you keep night"? The cars aren't bothered as light dims. Their places going must be kept. Inflate the tires and shine the rims to drive in safety, quite adept. The cold's not bitter on this eve. The gentle temps are wondrous gift. A peaceful heart we may receive as respite from the freeze doth lift. The birds are quiet, crickets, too. I wonder 'bout their mood, right now. What will this night confess and do? When will good sleep affect thy brow? by Jay O’Toole on February 9th, 2026 |
| To speak the Truth, that's wisely spoke, I must speak His blest Name. My own heart's name would just provoke, and all of grace defame. This Jesus Christ, the Son of God has died, and rose again. The wise ones of the earth applaud this Greatest of All men. Messiah is The Chosen One. The Risen dies no more. Incarnate is the Only Son, This virgin womb's decor. Salvation is in n'other Name. Forever's King is He. He, beaten, bore my rancid blame. His Merits did me free. The wisdom of my heart is wise when unswerving speak I Truth. His Wisdom is without disguise. Believe I this from youth. The Father calls men to believe as summoned to a court. (John 6:44) Then we must come as this received. The "rejected not" 's import. (John 6:37) Good judgment shows in speaking right, until we breathe our last, that others may be given Light, and not to Hell be cast. Will others e'er believe our words? Scant few, and that is all. Salvation's Truth is never blurred. He saves all hearts, that call. (Romans 10:13) by Jay O’Toole on February 8th, 2026 |
| When traveling through the heart of The South, we find the rarest gift. By putting the hand quite over the mouth, we find the heart doth lift. 'Tis early in fall as the snow is far north when too the gift of white, the harvest of cotton, soft in its worth makes all the fields so bright. The snow of The South is cotton in bloom. The bolls we pick to make good clothing we craft in the finest of loom. The touch to skin's at stake. The cold we don't need for snow in our field. It's soft to touch and warm. The bright white will stay no matter our yield. The value's in its charm. But come in the spring and summer to see the rainbow in our field for many the colorful bags there will be of onion's bountied yield. line count: 20 poetry form: ballet quatrains of anapestic & iambic feet prompt number: Prompt #5 (February 5, 2026) by Jay O’Toole on February 7th, 2026 |
| It started out it seems to me, like coffee in a room. You let the heart begin to free as beans begin to bloom. But now we have no time to wait. We're hooked on lasting speed. It's "drive-through coffee" or we're late with no time left to read. Great coffee takes some time to sip. Great books take time to chew. The winter air's more than a nip. Without good heat we're blue. The hearth a-blaze, the sofa "pod," the coffee, book, and time enwrapped in JOY we slightly nod. This moment's bliss sublime. Sometimes our caffeine need we more than we have time to chill. As running through the grocery store this cup has filled the bill. One wonders, if we'll ever find a compromise that's good. Alertness we must always mind. Inside we tend our mood. Our poems writ seem quite the same as coffee, that we drink. Do we yet pause, find title's name as word-choice makes us think? Or poem write as multitask, while doing other things, or walking long, while words do ask, that present writing sings? by Jay O’Toole on February 6th, 2026 |
| So big the task to live the day, while finding steps most right to finish well this earthly life, to leave a shining light. So big the task, but daily deeds are lived as line by line. The moments lived are not so big, but smallish, often fine. A moment's task, the daily step to hope consistently, the bigger part of what we need's a heart so lightly free. So big the task, that starts as birth, and grows through toddler's years. The teen may be a clumsied oaf, but man lives strong through fears. So big the task, that leads to life through Saving's final breath. What comes of all our varied thoughts when our grave's clothed in heath. A moment's task, transition wrought by Hands, that help...eschew. The choice is made. The coming's bid. The Gift's received by who? The one, who hath the small part done, the one, who brought his sin to lay 'fore Him, Whose crimsoned feet hath carried cross to win hath done so big the task of naught to trust not self but Christ, Whose task it was so truly Big to pay great Sin's full price. by Jay O’Toole on February 4th, 2026 |
| Mo croí in tenderness it weeps a-fallen, that Mary lives ní hea more rare are the days we long to keep yonder on life's setting shore. Far away from Galway Bay restored to life on th'other shore on-hand to hear what He would say, my Savior from the Evermore. God gave us time to sing some hymns, always her smile would light the room, lady blest with joyful eyes, her accent trim was carried 'way to lie in tomb, and canna smile at news so grim ya know this fate for all doth loom. Bonnie lass o' many'a year, a-gone ye bringst me many'a tear, ye knowest now not any'a fear. by Jay O’Toole on February 3rd, 2026 |
| Sometimes weariness sets in when trying to find a subject for rhythm and rhyme. The same old form becomes dry and stayed for new is hard when you've been around the block a few times. Crank out another verse. It's time, but something blocks the newness. This weariness, that now sets in enrages old world charm of verse. How do we keep it fresh and colorful, filled with mirth when nothing seems to come, but sleepiness to heavy eyelids. I want so much to wow each reader with big swells of great aplomb, that cause all to praise my name. Yet, what do I have, but things given to me? When weariness sets in I wait, while treading water in my mind to find some kind of words to write to create art. Is it good? Or bad? Can others relate to my plight? Dark time nears the midnight hour. What is left to do? Is there hope of a higher power? Is there yet a name? When falling from the sheerest cliff does there remain some straw to grasp? "Don't help me! I know the way." "Have you been here, before?" "No, but I'm good at figuring things out!" "Do you pull your own molars?" "That's insane! That requires specialized skills." "My point exactly!" "What does that mean?" "If you are going some place, and you're tired, then wouldn't it be better to ride, letting Someone drive, who knows the way?" by Jay O’Toole on February 3rd, 2026 |
| "It's cold for me. It's cold for all the Earth." The cold so bites, "Life never will be good." The frosty fingers, losing hope that's worth a day when all is changed from this low mood. "Somebody loves me! All of life is great!" The child then comes, and sleep is but a wish. The loves of wife and child are hard to state. The old man needs a helpful meal of fish. Productive years produce a fevered pace. Retirement feels like four walls closing in. "Am I still needed in the halls of grace?" Forever we will know the Savior's Win! If Self is all my everlasting goal, what need have I of Christ to be made whole? by Jay O’Toole on February 1st, 2026 Image #2273458 over display limit. -?- Image #2291665 over display limit. -?- Image #2337709 over display limit. -?- |
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