Tuesday, January 20, 2009



The sound of Roman soldiers in the night

Coming closer to His place of prayer

Jesus knelt and prayed to God with all His might

As His disciples, cluelessly, were sleeping there

Louder rang the bell of prophecy

That lonely night in dark Gethsemane

Jesus stood and saw the soldiers standing

Asking for the one who bore the name

“Jesus the Nazarene!” they were demanding

“King of the Jews who claims He reigns!”

The soldiers saw that this man was surely this

As Judas stepped forward with a shallow kiss

Before legalistic priest, Jesus stood silent

Through a trial that would end in unfair death

He was sent to be judged by Harod the Great and Pilate

And be beaten almost until his final breath

A crown of thorns pressed on his head

And royal robes of purple thread

But still the bloodthirsty Jews were yelling

Crucifixion was their utmost want

The prophets’ Old Testament foretelling

In Jesus heart began violently to haunt

Another cup much sweeter he wished to choose

But he would have to die King of the Jews

A heavy cross He had to bear

His poor back was ripped and torn

Blood dripped and intertwined within his hair

And he could feel the prick of every thorn

Pain shot through every single little vein

He longed to be with His Heavenly Father once again

They pulled and stretched his arms out tightly

Nails were driven through his palms

His pain grew worse not just slightly

As He recalled David’s twenty-second psalm

People exclaiming sheer gladness

But to His followers it was unbearable sadness

He hung there looking ever up

“Why hast My Father God forsaken Me?”

If only I could drink from one last cup

To quench my thirst and let Me be

The vinegar was lifted up, His thirst had been diminished

Then he humbly bowed his head for now, “It was finished.”

And so dear Jesus Christ gave up the ghost

Blood and water poured from His side

He joined His Father’s heavenly host

He marched to Zion in the sky

Did Jesus hate those that crucified Him?

No, he asked His Father, “Please forgive them.”

Saturday, January 10, 2009


A certain type of beauty

In an infant, there it lies

In their cheeks so round and crimson

In the blueness of their eyes

But another sort of beauty

Adorns a mother’s face

For the birth of all her children

Surely is her grace

The flowering of her youth

Is beautiful and sweet

It coincides with the beauty

Of her darling baby’s feet

The strength of the young man

Has a beauty of its own

Like the tale of youthful David

With his strength, and sling, and stone

But oh the awesome beauty

When this man then takes a wife

He becomes father of the children

God puts into his life

The beauty of a golden head

That rests on folded hands

The father that taught her how to pray

Proudly by her stands

Her lisping prayers are heard

By the Almighty One above

Oh, the beauty of this moment

Full of wisdom, faith, and love

That same father who taught little ones

To pray and go to bed

Is now so beautiful—majestic

With his God-given hoary head

He picks up a wandering grandchild

To hold them nearer still

Yes the beauty of this moment sweet

Remember if you will

But so happy are these beauties

A wedding, birth, and such

We don’t often talk of hurtful things

Or if so, not quite so much

But did you know that once

Such beauty came to me

When I pictured our dear Savior

Hanging helpless on a tree

Crying out and bleeding ever

Sweet blood thus shed for me!

Yes how beautiful the day, my soul!

When Jesus died on Calvary

But this beauty fills most with sorrow

It makes us cringe with mental pain

But my face is always smiling

For my Jesus rose again

The beauty of this sacrifice

The beauty of His grace

The beauty of the kingdom where

I’ll soon behold His face!

The Good Ole' Towel

People working in the fields
Bent backs and callused hands
Puffy bulbs straight from the plants
Strewn about in cotton lands

Then the spinning wheels get ready
Women spin the cotton from the fields
Look and see the basket yonder
With the string this spinning yields

Weavers gearing up their looms
Weaving cloth from the vibrant strings
Purple, yellow, scarlet, blue
Browns, magentas, and forest green

Radiant fabric meets the needle
Pulled together by colorful thread
Some might make it a quilt, a dress
But this cloth will be a towel instead

A plushy towel so soft and clean
To wipe small dirty hands and faces
Children’s fussy turning heads
Then Mama’s, “Stay out of filthy places.”

This towel will dry the babies’ backs
Clean a scrape and dry the tears
This will be Mama’s best friend
When things get spilt throughout the years

But because it grew so stained
It became torn and full of holes
This towel lost its lovely feel
Like two shoes without their soles

So they decided that their favorite towel
With its stains and faded tag
Would no longer be a plushy towel
But instead a handsome rag

So they cut it up and sewed the seams
And they used it just as much
It no longer wiped the babies’ backs
But it still wiped tears and such

Soon the rag grew rough and worn
And because they never got ‘em
They made the rag a diaper,
To fit on Baby’s bottom

So a few more years the rag lived on
Until it came to the brink of trash
But they cut it into strips and sewed
Until it made an apron sash

Then years and years went by like that
As an apron sash at ease
And then it was ripped and used as bandages
To cover scraped-up knees

And on and on the towel went on
That once the weavers weaved
The sewers sewed and then at last
The family, a towel, received

These bandages went from knee scrapes
To little finger scratches
Or burns on Baby’s pinkie toe
When her brother played with matches

And one day decades later on
A Grandma told a story
To all the little young ones
About the towel’s life of glory

That glorious towel that was once a bulb
A string and then at last
A towel so lovely and so unique
Its first days zipping past

It lived a life so long and good
Then became a rag and then a sash
And then four little bandages so worn out
They finally met the trash

The moral of this story
That was told over and again
Was that things can be used a long time
Even with a hole or stain

“Use things until they fall apart,
Don’t just use them once or twice
Because even as a bandage
Our towel was just as nice!”

By: Allix in honor of her Mam-mal as she was raising her first three children in the 60’s

Little Blond Head

In Honor of Maggie Grace

The sun shines sweet, on Baby’s feet

The wind whips round her head

The blue birds always twit and tweet

And you bring her to bed

Baby likes to hold your hand

Her fingers firmly put

She sinks her toes into the sand

And covers them with soot

Baby likes to dress for tea

And show her pearls and things

She likes the fresh, crisp morning breeze

She loves when Mommy sings

But most of all she loves the sun

Though it stains her skin quite red

She loves the way you play so fun

And kiss her sweet blond head

Birds of a Feather

Birds of a Feather

A robin in the treetops

With its breast so red and bright

It waits until the wind stops

And then he starts his flight

The blue jay sings so gaily

While it shows its feathers blue

The sun shows the mighty navy

And it shines on every hue

A mockingbird is listening

For another bird to call

And as his eyes are glistening

He then repeats it all

The wren with its dappled crown

Builds on his nest so strong

Watchers admire the darkish brown

And hear his lovely song

A gull with his ocean smell

Flies above the waters deep

He finds a rock where he can dwell

And then he falls asleep

A hummingbird is sipping

At the nectar oh so sweet

As its wings are ever whipping

It makes a gentle beat

A black wing is seen in vain

As a farmer sees a crow

In his garden he must watch in pain

As the greedy bird does go

Bright round eyes illuminate

The darkness of a cave

A mouse’s sorrowful, sad fate

The owl has sent him to his grave

A flash of red against the white

A cardinal in the snow

A strike of color when in flight

One of the prettiest things we know

Their figures fly around

So gracefully they glide

When in their nest, safe and sound

They sing with loving pride

Muddy Mademoiselles

Sarah Grace and Lizzie, dear

Were playing in the sand

One had dust all in her hair

The other in her hand~

They buried treasure and swam around

They played all sorts of games

They played like they were married

And had to change their names~

Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Jones

Were wading in the soot

One with some on her dress

The other on her foot~

But no matter how dirty so

Each little figure was

They played and tried to forget

They’d soon be bathed in suds

Friday, January 9, 2009


She’s here to Stay

In honor of Bella Joy

A darling baby from a faraway place

Soft little hands and a smiling face

We thank God for His amazing grace

Now she’s here to stay! ~

Little dresses and matching shoes

So many toys for her to choose

A day to play and an hour to snooze

Now’s she’s here, HOORAY! ~

It’s time to put her in her bed

Tuck her in and kiss her head

She’s been dressed, washed, and fed

And tomorrow, again, she’ll play!


Palms and Fingers
Knuckles and Nails
Crevices, creases
All other details~
Love and memories
Hard-work and care
These are the traits
That all hands share

The Little Things Preface

Dear Reader,

My hobbies are reading, writing, and taking pictures. I love enjoying the world, the WONDERFUL world, that the Lord has created. I write poetry and take pictures of all kinds of things but I most enjoy focusing on the little things. Little things being: a budding flower, the way a valley looks from the mountain top, the way grass feels underneath your bare feet, a baby's laugh, babies' hands, any hands, any babies!! lol I heard a rhyme once that says, "All things both great and small, God hath made them all." I love that! Because even the "little things" can be so vast once you think of the Almighty God that took His time in creating them with the greatest detail. And so, without further ado, I pray that you enjoy both my poetry and photography of.....

"The Little Things"


The Potter's Blessings

The Potter's Blessings
Blessings from Heaven,
Are given to Earth,
At the time of every,
Child's birth.~

All baby boys and girls alike,
Are made with love and extra care,
With the perfect hue of shining eyes,
The perfect number of downy hairs.~

Each one is fashioned day by day,
Tucked inside the mother's womb,
And as a vase made out of clay,
He sends His work to the proper home.