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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/777stan
Rated: E · Book · Personal · #2172808
We live much of life amid unique choices. Joy is anchored in The One beyond our life.
"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




“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




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March 2, 2021 at 10:06pm
March 2, 2021 at 10:06pm
#1005702
dripping frosty wet
chilly rain 'neath sodden skies
darkness cries alone


by Jay O'Toole
on March 2nd, 2021


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March 1, 2021 at 11:52pm
March 1, 2021 at 11:52pm
#1005613
The nighttime is a swath of black
a-dotted by white lights.
The grieving heart a mass of lack
a-feeling all its blights.

"How blest they are, the poor in spirit,'
though wond'ring at our words.
The ones so down can not yet hear it,
whose joy takes flight like birds.

Though poor in spirit through this Day
forever they in Heaven
will live and breathe in joyful play
in safety, they've been given.

"How blessed are the ones, who mourn."
Throughout their grief, they cry.
Yet, never in abuse are torn
the hearts, that wonder, "Why?"

What comfort mourning ones shall know
in Christ, the crucified!
Salvation in His death to sow.
No comer is denied. (John 6:37)

The nighttime hides the victor's hours
of daylight evermore.
The shelter of His feathered bowers.
Creation as before.
(Psalm 91:1-2)

"What use is this great murkiness,
O Shining Lord, yet veiled?"
"The smelter's cauldron for to bless.
The precious one not failed."

The day of blessing quickly comes
when darkness is no more.
The Sin is gone, each part, all sums
can't stand the Christ before.


by Jay O'Toole
on March 1st, 2021


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February 26, 2021 at 6:13pm
February 26, 2021 at 6:13pm
#1005325
Squirrels are jumping o'er the ground,
proclaiming food has now been found.
Daily hope in them abound
e'er night will blanket all.

Orange hues now paint the sides
of buildings as sun slowly slides
'neath horizon lines as lighting tides
in nighttime's tender call.

Daffodiles salute the world
with orange, yellow, white unfurled.
Their beauty makes the heart be twirled
as pansies do attend.

The night, it comes as arbiter
of light's effect, until it's blur
thus questions hope, until we're sure,
that sun will rise, again.


by Jay O'Toole
on February 26th, 2021


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February 25, 2021 at 11:41pm
February 25, 2021 at 11:41pm
#1005284
Ñandutí, the shrouded gift,
remembering one, who's passed.
In Paraguay each heart to lift
with thoughts, that ever last.

Ñandutí, the lacy shroud,
remember royal heir,
who laid in death in wooded how,
who spiders attended there.

The Ñandutí in Guaraní
means "of the spider's web."
The shrouded gift was truly free
for princess life, that ebbed.

This was the story told to me
of spider's web, the Ñandutí,
but other stories do abound,
where spider webs are often found.

But other stories are as rich
in Paraguayan culture lore.
A young man's mother made a stitch
of Ñandutí he'd seen before.

He sought to win his darling's heart,
but spider webs are fragile, rare.
His mama did her loving part
by using her own silver hair.

She imitated ñandutí,
and gave this gift his heart to free,
but did he win his love's own heart?
We are not told this needful part.


by Jay O'Toole
on February 25th, 2021


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February 24, 2021 at 4:31pm
February 24, 2021 at 4:31pm
#1005206
Coats and sweaters on display,
not upon the body.
Warmth of afternoon allays
coldness nearly gaudy.

Blooming plants, they show their smiles,
though tentative and mostly.
Winter's days have marched for miles,
making plants quite ghostly.

Texas needs this day of rest,
Kansas and Nebraska.
"Lord, please save them through this test
Prayerfully, we ask Ya."

Blessed sun upon the Earth,
flowing o'er the ground.
Thanks for springtime's nearly birth,
wondrous hours abound.

Romping through this wonderland
cats enjoy the freedom.
Sneaking through each grassy strand,
deft for we can't sedum.

Breathe the air of new day come.
Squirrels in treeful bowery
dance upon each limbly sum
leaves not truly flowery.

Peaceful thoughts arise within,
soft the sounds of daily,
blessed Savior free from Sin.
Dance with us most gaily.


by Jay O'Toole
on February 24th, 2021


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February 23, 2021 at 11:33pm
February 23, 2021 at 11:33pm
#1005133
The Living God must always be
the Standard of All Truth.
My life forever is in He,
Who formed me in my youth.

The Living God can never once
relinquish aught of pow'r.
The thought of this is an affront
to Safety's lone High Tow'r.

The Living God must stand Alone,
outside the Day of Time.
How else could He for Sin atone
so finally in His Prime?

The Living God is living large,
and we are living small.
Our search for Truth from it diverge
before we on Him call.

The Living God must stand unmatched
by any pow'r thought near.
Blest Truth from all are unattached,
that Truth be truly clear.

The Living God has lived for aye,
and will live evermore.
He makes of life the lasting Day
with bless-ed more in store.

The Living God in righteousness
must judge and not acquit
for Justice doth one Standard bless.
Perfection can remit.

The Living God knows, that we fail.
Perfection we can't be.
This Standard of the Holy Grail
makes lost one out of me.

The Living God makes saved fore'er
this me, so hopeless, lost.
Redeemed I am through Sin made bare
to Christ, Who paid the cost.

The Living God once bore my cross.
He died, that I might live.
He rose, again, full paid my loss,
eternal life to give.
(John 3:16; John 6:37,44)


by Jay O'Toole
on February 23rd, 2021


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February 22, 2021 at 9:47pm
February 22, 2021 at 9:47pm
#1005040
O, Liberty! My Liberty! Where do we now you call?
O, Liberty, upon the knees, once proud and standing tall.
Your island, now, is sinking low o'erspread by water's flooding.
The hope of all in silence bows through awful soulful drubbing.
O, statue of our Freedom's Flame,
thy face in muddy marsh
hath stumbled where the great one's stood.
Thy tongue, so dry and parched.


O, Liberty! My Liberty! We would not leave you e'er.
We lift you up from falt'ring knees. Your hope we do declare.
In wat'ry mess we help you stand, until the Truth is floating
o'er fiends of Earth, who brought you low through daily awful gloating.
O, statue, fire your flame, again.
Be washed of plough mud sour.
Your Truth is strong right now as then,
and Hope defeats the dour.


O, Liberty! My Liberty! You're standing in each test.
O, Liberty! My Liberty! Thy walls be ever blest.
The soulish, thoughtful edifice is founded in the mire.
The strength of Liberty we need in situation's dire.
O, statue, flaming fire, today,
return we do your grace,
that when they see your strong display,
returned be to your place.


This is an Homage to Walt Whitman's poem, "O Captain! My Captain!"
The subject of this poem is the Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor.
This poem explores her health amid a world of many enemies,
who wish to secure her demise. Her fall and her restoration, again,
were seen in the dream of a modern-day preacher.


by Jay O'Toole
on February 22nd, 2021


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February 19, 2021 at 11:30pm
February 19, 2021 at 11:30pm
#1004843
Hopeful hearts and childlike eyes
love the happy home
of Santa Claus 'neath Christmas skies,
a place to seek and roam.

Rovaniemi in Lapland
is this cheery town,
where great things of childlike plan
joyfully abound.

This is where I hope to go
before I breathe my last
for days of childlike joys to know,
full of hopeful tasks.

I wonder if they have a job
for little boys to do,
for little boys, that age can't rob
from Christmas' daily due.

I think I'd like my last career
to share this village home
to make my life a place, like here,
experiences, a tome.


by Jay O'Toole
on February 19th, 2021


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February 18, 2021 at 11:45pm
February 18, 2021 at 11:45pm
#1004784
staring at a captive ward like me
breezing, breathing, shuddering dawn
crossed-arm king of dungeon's daily chill
cramping, noiseless, muscle-locked morn
sentries standing, skylined pines of frost
frigid, humorless, bark-armored waiting
snowful blast of the windchime swaying constantly
chattering, ominous, doleful noon
the house pours sodden rain through soaking hands
constantly tearing, emotional flooding, unknown dusk
gurgling yard swims slowly as through seaweed
flapping, floating, frosty night
huddling plants in soggy greenhouse hope
cheering, hopeful, springish soon
chittering squirrels in sloshy chase abound
insulting, sneering, squealing days
great robin host among the elm tree limbs
singing, blissful, joyful staying
still, amid the waiting storm of cold
frozen, stuck, icy, grassicle days


by Jay O'Toole
on February 18th, 2021


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February 17, 2021 at 11:52pm
February 17, 2021 at 11:52pm
#1004722
How can our times be wasted on this Earth?
So much to do around this needy globe.
Our hands a-flailing from that cry of birth
are often serving 'til that shrouded robe.

Are purposes to be a thwarted mess?
Can good be done with breath still in our lungs?
Our days of life are made by God to bless.
Our stories told as songs, that must be sung.

Distractions in the life of Joseph saved
a world unfed by famine's awful fist.
The back of Jesus bloodied as they raved
to kill Him from Salvation's lasting kiss.

Distractions seem a useless waste of time,
but Jesus rose, again, quite in His prime.


by Jay O'Toole
on February 17th, 2021


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