Goodreads June Newsletter Contest

Thanks, Amy!

Thank you Amy :)

Already posted my poem. Thanks, Marc Wambolt

Voices...

the kingdom of heaven suffers violence, and the violent take it by force Matthew 11:12

I have Two Souls Inside My Body

I have history that lives in my mind and runs through my veins.. Scars, history written on my skin.. Each tells a story, a chapter in my life...The pain is a catharsis for my sorrow and grief...
An advertisement to the world of who I am and where I've been...
I have Two Souls Inside My Body...
One soul wants the way of purity and light...
The other wants the hedonistic pleasures of sex...
Can I dissolve the sinful me by becoming one with God...
Perhaps then my sinful sexual desires will the quenched by the Light of God's Pure Love...
Becoming One with the Beloved

Midnight darkness, swallow me whole,
Cold winter air seeping into my soul,
Splotches of rain, cover my face,
Hiding the tears, you’ll soon erase.
I keeping spinning in the thunder storm,
Waiting for this heart to reform,
Never wanting to hear your lies,
Standing in the lightning to cover up my cries.
I slowly stop my world from spinning,
My one wish; go back to the beginning,
As I turn and begin to walk away,
Never you, shall my heart betray.
The thunder quiets, the lightning fades,
But the rain continuously cascades,
In my heart, I know it be true,
The pain you have caused, will go away too.

A Rainbow

A rainbow appears on a dismal gray day;
Like most things of beauty, it’s not here to stay.
A hallmark of nature that’s seldom in sight,
Not always around, it’s a treasure of light.

It’s not in its nature to give us delight
By touching its texture, try as we might.
We need to have senses to see the unseen,
To look at a spirit, its secrets to glean.

With violet, indigo, blue, and some green,
The yellow and orange and red can be seen.
Not taste nor a smell does its brilliance boast,
But our minds still accept this spectral host.

Lit up by a sunbeam, a gossamer ghost,
It’s nothing but water, just vapor at most.
Those millions of billions of bubbles of dew—
It’s sad that their grandeur enlightens so few.

Refractions of sunlight, sensed through the eyes,
Make magical moments in clearing blue skies.
They brighten the day before starting to stray,
And bring forth new hope before fading away.

God's little apple tree
When you were young I earthed you.
I gave you a place to call home.
You spread your branches and flourished.
You were never alone.
For a scarecrow stood there beside you,
to keep the birds away. He did his best to protect you,
until that sad certain day.
The clouds began to gather.
The winds began to blow.
Your trunk split open.
You broke away.
Why you went down I don't know?
I turned away and forgot you,
as you lay flat on the ground.
You wept. You suffered, till found.
I saw the green in the springtime.
I stood you back up and then.
You started to flourish,
again spreading branches;
God restored your life again.
Stand and bask in his glory.
Show your gifts that you offer with praise.
You will live to bear much fruit for him.
He'll protect you the rest of your days.

Jay Miller
Inspirational Writer of Children Literature
All God’s Critters Series
http://www.mybingobooks.com
http://www.allgodscrittersseries.blogspo...

I have a lot of poetry whose time has come.

LET MORNING COME
after Jane Kenyon's "Let Evening Come"

So much can happen every day.

When my single-car garage brain raises it door
to let persona me roll out its engine
into the reality it makes with
numerous neuronal purrs
my eyes flutter open
see bedstead see lamp textured wall
spine unfurls hinges
legs swing over feet find left right
merge with slippers
all is good and right.
Let morning come.

In the kippered kitchen light
electrons in water molecules in the kettle
take heat to higher orbits, dance the dance of boil.
Pour out my cup, whisper-blow the steam
nothing is more purely satisfying
than the first sip of every day
and all is good and right.
Let morning come.

So much can happen every day
that doesn't—
an errant late early harbinger phone
ringing in news of a loved one's demise
what the radio says
the missed commuter train
accidents of steel and glass
new wars.
Let morning come.

The bird flies and does not sing.
The bird lands and sings.
Sometimes mail brings good reports
the coveted prize won by a friend
uncle's travel to Ireland
a sale on your favorite sheets.
Let morning come.

If the sun if the storm if the wind
let morning come.
Each breath buttons unbuttons rebuttons.
There's molasses fog combing alder trees,
fallen Fairie rose petals fluttering in a broken fountain,
a cat on the sofa snoring in the rhythm of the rain.

So much can happen every day that does.

Let morning come.

ready for the dying

It’s one of those hornswaggle days
when the season seems like its turning
even though nothing turns in July.
Smells like fall remembering itself
and feels like autumn losing the battle.
Brief respite makes the trees seem sleepy
And I think they could take the autumn nap early this year.
It’s like the cycle this year is too long,
like its time already for the dying so we can all go home
And then sleep.