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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    |
darkness, a blanket sleeping trees and flowers rest peaceful moments stay by Jay O’Toole on February 7th, 2023 |
The words are offered many days, each a potential meal for thought, but sometimes words will go their own way, the writer, a student taught. How furiously we sweep the floor, while words are pouring out! How furtively we beg, implore when waltzing thoughts about. At times our thoughts may sit alone. They leave the place we dance. The struggling heart may inward groan, while others leap and prance. To write them out, the words we'd use, don't always bring us joy, but typing letters will infuse some hope, that we'd employ. These poems may yet take us time, before they're molded firm. The sluice of rain brings loam its prime, 'til ripples find the berm. So, pushing words around the screen's like water's dancing flows. To sweep and sweep the concrete scene's like writing as it goes. To dance with words, until we have a seven vers-ed piece is like a cow, which groans to calve, until it finds release. by Jay O’Toole on February 6th, 2023 |
These trees become grand silhouettes, great arms, and feathery branches. The light is lost as night is met the need for darkness stanches. We say, “Goodbye” as friendships fade into the days now past us. We hope our words were best obeyed with memories held, not casted. The night orbs burn with twinkling lights the sun’s-light gracious gave them. We thank the Lord, that hope still bites through dourness of grave men. The silhouettes become the place for bright night lights to paint them. A silvery glow now lights each face as shadowed features acquaint them. Naught left to see within the yard, unlike Sir Carroll’s “muchness.” My eyes do strain to see quite hard of property’s new “lessness.” by Jay O’Toole on February 3rd, 2023 |
The sun goes down. The sun comes up upon the same ol' day. We build the same old coffee cup to go our same old way. Tomorrow will be February two, just like it was today. The next day after that we'll do the same, that we now say. I wonder when will cycles stop to bring us newer times? I wonder when we'll movie shop to reach a better clime. A groundhog sounds like someone who puts all their things around to keep a plot of land from you as selfishness abounds. Just start the clock a-going now. Make Punxsutawney past, that when tomorrow comes somehow the future then will last. by Jay O’Toole on February 2nd, 2023 |
Are the days gone by, now really in the past? Is there no benefit from thoughts of childhood, that still last to help the senior medalist? The days of joy, and playing in the yard, until the sun went down, creates the ancient and the bard, whose words would change a frown. The holiday's "eternity" brought joy to ev'ry heart. All wrapped in coats their "play" to free. Its laughter always starts. The days of mirth need be reborn. Let's hold that child upon the knee to stroke the pate of Self once torn, to comfort smallish me. We can't return to the days of yore in childlike body gone, but rest with him (or her) some more makes daily trials won. by Jay O’Toole on February 1st, 2023 |
Garland hangs around the space, reflecting lights about. The long, and thin, and silver chaise, the red and white doth shout. The vestiges of Christmas past enhance the winter's nights. These garlands make the season last to keep the lifetime bright. The child remembers garlanded trees with fluffy, silver rope. Their daily tactile picture frees to give the man some hope. by Jay O’Toole on January 31st, 2023 |
| In the hope of good to come The past must find its place to lie down The present rests in future Day's crown Each nemesis of tortured thoughts nip my heels Stepping forward, hope can grow, but doubt, it reels Logic knows the way ahead, but heart still feels When all's done the blessings of each joy bell peals. The future sings its Truth and hopes dance. Forget what's done, making blest advance. In the hope of good to come by Jay O’Toole on January 30th, 2023 |
The sun was shining wondrous bright. The pansies needed homes. The work required was far from light. I tousled up the loam. A three-pronged claw released the roots. My hands grabbed clods of grass, and throwing them past my big boots, I finished a big task. Garden soil, now, fully bare, I brought the cedar mulch, and smoothed the cover from here to there aroma to divulge. Well thought-out placement, flower faces found their homes in front of the greenhouse "castle," and it's graces, like a cake of loamy bundt. This joy, now done needs water's spray to quench the thirst of all, to settle roots in newest day, protection from God call. Such beauty blessed, I pray their safety now from cold and fauna, that they might e'er live. The frost tonight could make them freeze and bow, but hope in tact, I'll wait them time to give. The pansies last beyond the hardened freeze, but deer can be another thing, indeed. The ice can come and go on all of these, but "salad" brings them low of faunish greed. By grace we'll see the pansies soon, and joy at ev'ry sight. Tonight the cold may be a boon for springtime's joy, delight. by Jay O’Toole on January 27th, 2023 |
Work, it comes so often now, to grab my mind and eyes, and brow the briskest pace elicits, "WOW! Do we have time to rest?" The job is often just the same as yesterday when then we came. Consistency we bless, not blame as making comfort's nest. At work, we run, while dripping sweat to pay our bills, and keep from debt, ensuring goals are daily met to bring us smiles when done. My prayer is that when life is o'er my work will pass the fire before, existing in God's ready store as blessings ever won. by Jay O’Toole on January 26th, 2023 |
Finding strength to move ahead is in the Hands of God. Following now when once we led seems hard to thank, applaud. "My Grace is all, that you will need," so says the Mighty Lord, "Your weakness becomes strength, indeed," when resting on The Word. Then Paul enjoins, that "gladness comes" when "weak days are embraced, for then," says he, "Christ's gladdest sums of Power can rest in Grace." Now, finding strength to truly live is gifted from Above. No works from me are left to give, receiving blessed Love. ------------------------------------------------ 2 Corinthians 12:9, KJV, “And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- by Jay O’Toole on January 25th, 2023 |
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