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.

Blog, He Is So Not Like Me, Poetry

He Is So Not Like Me

I have loved him since the day he was conceived, the joy he brought me I’d never believe.

His personality was that of a clown, lifting me up when I was down.

He was terrified to go on stage, which got much better with age.

Eventually I left his dad, It was the worst feeling I ever had.

Joint custody was not for me, forever changed our life would be.

Me his mother you would never guess, what a beautiful mess.

Drums, guitar, piano are just a few, of the many things he can do.

He is smarter than I ever was, excellent at all he does.

He will never know the love I carry in me, forever in my heart he will always be.

Jill L. Ware