Poetry

Finding Fall

To find the colors of fall you don’t have to look far, They are all around wherever you are.

The Hickory with colors of golden bronze, across the lake the breeze it’s leaves calms.

The Birch with the color of bright yellow, calling after me as if to say be my fellow.

The dogwood with leaves of purple red, as if it says words left unsaid.

The poplar with leaves of golden yellow, standing out as it screams hello.

The Tupelo with colors of red, soon its leaves will be dead.

The mighty oak its leaves golden Brown, it’s nuts the squirrels take down.

The sugar Maple with the color of Orange red, soon its leaves it will shed.

The ash colorful and its purple,yellow and red, sorry Birch I choose the ash instead.

Cool nights sitting by the fire, of this life I will never tire.

Watch the colors change when you can, this beauty provided to us by the Man.

Blog, Poetry

A Fall Day

The flag blows as to say, “Look at me!”. The ever changing colors of the trees.

Chimes hang from the gutters with care, the tunes they are quite rare.

The brass bell swaying just a bit, awaiting my departure in the trees the birds sit.

The sky a vibrant blue, fluffy clouds stare back at you.

Mums, gourds, pumpkins and spice, all that makes everything nice.

Today a day for the books, a fall day as beautiful as it looks.

Jill L. Ware

Poetry

A Fish Out of Water

I am quite the catch when you reel me in, my scales shiny and bright.

After a bit not at all what I’d been, seen in a different light.

I am struggling to breathe, thrashing to and fro.

Soon the air from my lungs will leave, It is now my time to go.

I am ready as I could ever be, please feel free to throw me back.

I belong in the water you see, It is the oxygen in which I lack.

I am a fish out of water!

Poetry

The Lighted Path

The lights luminate for safeties sake, The gravel spilling over it’s walls.

Carefully making it to the dock on the lake, walk on me the lighted path calls.

The retaining wall with caps as white as snow, brighter than the path they glow.

The path marking which way to go, I get lost more than you know.

The basket hang beautifully so, beside them the bird feeders sit.

I take the path as far as I can go, The path not safe, not one bit.

The path uneven more than you know, Be sure to watch where you go.

Poetry

The Lake

The breeze brushes across my face, Cooling with its strength and speed.

I think I’ve finally found my place, the lake having the serenity I need.

The wind slows as the sun appears, bringing with it the afternoon heat.

A frog somewhere behind me I hear, a day like this is hard to beat.

I watch the minnows from where I sit, swimming past without a care.

Mother finally comes into sight, mess with her babies I not dare.

The baskets hang as beautiful as can be, Blooms full with color of white and red.

The birds have yet to visit me, when they do they will be happy and fed.

The hammock hangs off in the distance, I wont use it without assistance you see.

Falling out I’m not taking the chance, There is a scardy cat in me.

As the ripples gently kiss the shore, the shore completely unaware.

I grab the pole with my favorite lure, For a while the lake with it I share.

Jill L. Ware

Poetry

The Rails

As children the parallel rails led to many of our destinations, On them we played without the slightest hesitation.

We’d run, jumping every other tie. So much fun, you know why?

The rails were forbidden, from us their joys no longer hidden.

On the rails a penny pressed flat, remember that?

Below the rails a cave like dwelling, my siblings would hide and I’d say, “I’m telling!”.

On the other side lie Tank Pond, of this place I wasn’t fond.

My siblings would go fast as could be, I’d scream “wait for me.”

One day on the way to school, my sister had an idea I thought was cool.

We’d lie on the ties against the rails as by us the train sails.

One time is all it took, now I’d play it by the book.

The rails thereafter had one rule, they were only to be followed to school. Done!

Poetry

Where The Green Grass Grows

Water your lawn that it might grow, come to life as if tending ones soul.

Pay no attention to the neighboring blades of grass, the green doesn’t always last.

Some days wilted and pale, “Help!” I hear the neighboring grass yell.

I ignore it as many times before, I beg of you to tend your lawn more.

Add a bit of sun and a little water, tend it as if it were a daughter.

The neighboring grass is quite a sight, yet being there does not feel right.

Tend your own pastures, lawns and gardens, tell you neighbor 1,000 pardons.

I’m sorry if often I stray, God keep me on your path I pray.

The neighboring blades of grass entice with the afternoon sun staring back at me, I am wise to its tricks you see.

In your own yard take a little pride, the grass is not always greener on the other side.

Jill L. Ware

Poetry

The Bouquet

The Bouquet is full and bright, on this God has surely shone his light.

Geraniums crimson red, the color of the blood His son shed.

Suzy she is a black eyed lady, there isn’t a thing about her shady.

The Mandeville bursting with pink blooms, heavy with buds it’s stems loom.

With petals as fine as paper machete, the poppy has come out to play.

The cornflower in the deepest blue, is always staring at you.

Then tiny but true is the one called baby blue.

Jill L. Ware

Poetry

Imperfection

Imperfect we were meant to be, so our flaws he could see.

Each of us made unique, so the Savior we would seek.

I have scars that will never heal, imperfect the make me feel.

No one notices nor cares, that someone’s mark my face bares.

These lesions I hide well, to look you cannot tell.

It’s no birth defect-I am not blemished, with me He is not finished.