Hearing God

Posted on May 25, 2014 by Timothy S.

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Hearing God.
God is always talking. There is a man that is financially poor at my church and he is not ashamed to say he accepts donations.

The first time he mentioned this to me, I was a little taken-back. I think I responded, “Yeah me too.” Like most people, I prefer to give voluntarily rather than be shaken-down whether it is on a city street, in a hot summer subway or in a church.

As time went on and my economic situation improved, I gave a few shekels to this man when it was unsolicited. I did it anonymously to avoid encouraging his behavior each Sunday.

Well…today the Lord placed on my heart to give him a few bucks directly. I wanted to know this thought is of the Lord so I prayed about it. I ask God if this is of you, let my Psalm/Proverb of the day pertain to the poor.

I open my daily app on my phone and sure enough the words “Blessed is he that considereth the poor.” – Ps. 41:1 are etched across my screen.

I knew God spoke to me. I share this story to show how God often speaks to us. We just need to ask.

I feel good about my small contribution for there is joy in giving and helping others. God always provides to those that trust Him.
He is also always talking. Just ask and listen.

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Rain Showers

Posted on April 22, 2014 by Timothy S.

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Along a dale of rivers refreshment flows effortlessly

Pails of rain deliver abundance for us to see

Tasty and liquid waters brought to earth by his daughters

The rain keeps pounding always astounding

Open knocks click my door, love bleeds out from my credent core

Clapton says “Let it rain.”

God speaks refreshment.

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The Bridge

Posted on April 14, 2014 by Timothy S.

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Containers of lids, sealed bids, a heart can close at anytime

Shanks of tools playing by the rules
awaiting a gracious new-bloom

Fresh-flowers for us to see, opening one’s precious and purposeful eyes

City of lights, bridge the night for an amazing journey

The vision is partially whole,
teaching me my role, enchanting hope and dreams

Counting cost, letting go of loss, a bridge connects a new-life

People get ready, it comes so fast, quicker than the past, brightness blazes across the river

The lights will feed another need for the time is here now,

golden-oil fills the sound.

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162

Posted on April 2, 2014 by Timothy S.

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What if you’re a boy of the summer striking out Derek Jeter? And that is your claim to fame

What if you were the pitcher for his very last game?

Hundred 62 games played in the season

If you strike him out almost seems like treason

Separating toys of words from chalk and cheap

Interrupting moments of sleep

Shouting whispers of this and that

With the eye of the tiger for one more at bat

Walked, talked, plenty of chatter,

you always remember your favorite batter

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A Mountain

Posted on April 2, 2014 by Timothy S.

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Bon Jovi says the poet needs the pain

a drought will always need the rain

Rain in due-season is more than refreshing

bewildered words…court is in session

The darkest of nights end endless-lights

Lancers and lovers have no rights

This is only a mountain

Mountains behoove, mountains move

this is only a mountain

Questioning kinks from the sickly,
this mountain will move quickly

This is only a mountain,

You WILL will get over it!

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Branched Out Birds

Posted on March 30, 2014 by Timothy S.

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Spinning and winning a weathervane sails vigorously propelled by the breeze flipped by the flapping of a blue-bird’s wings

A robin sets sail singing her song she sweetly brings

a tunnel gets funneled while a breed creates a home-filled half

The two make one the same way a bloated bull spins off a calf

Spending a secular-season joining God’s creation

Bringing seeds of treats to the nest brings the birds elation

Which way do they need to go? Certainly nature will guide the show

Crossing channels tweeting sagacity in selection

Met on the ground, joined in the air whistling natural-selection

It winks well. It works well! Completely refreshed at a pumped-out well.

Peace forever in a blessed monumental gazebo

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The Stream

Posted on March 30, 2014 by Timothy S.

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Tossed with toes dangling in the sun-setting stream I’m so thankful for my golden-dream…

Rushing waters, rivers bending,
No holding back no pretending,

A sun-fish sinks nibbling for a kernel, a river-bed Reflects, permeating love eternal

reflecting clandestine pearls and white rippled-lace

This body of water wakes up meeting the prettiest face

Bubbling clear and pure it’s begging to loan a drink,

Water so peaceful doubts quickly shrink

Muskrat-love among the cattails
Storms all settled, dissipating all gales

If she was a ’32 Ford her motor I would crank.

Blasted with fuel, God bless a full-tank

Hearing flowers laugh along the mountain-ridge,

Another embrace takes place under the lake-driven bridge

Nature airs perfect peace,

We were teenagers acting out the musical Grease

Tasting better and sweeter than any sticky candy,

my eyes light up same way as Travolta’s when he saw his Sandy!

Soon to be at Friendly’s, conversation over a Fish a Ma Jig,

I never knew that eyes could be baked this big

Thank you Lord, thank you!

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The Smoker

Posted on March 29, 2014 by Timothy S.

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“The Smoker”

She scratches off that ticket looking to win the lotto, living one day at a time is her daily motto

Working hard broiling oil, tin-man on a tin

Looking for her coffee-mate but he hid in a covered bin

Jaded and spaded dinner served in ungrateful fashion

Never finding comfort her soul is always crashing

Turning to a succulent paper down-graded and coarsely wrapped in loud yet silent smoke,

Those burning leaves will eventually scheme a life-threatening and stain-filled stroke

Jawing and drawing the ash turns bright-red

She did not have to say another word enough was already said

I am no Don Draper,

I avoid fumes of cancer birthing stenchful vapor

She took her hair out of a bun, gunning quickly I did run

More than smoke I can’t handle any addiction,

This tale is mostly true and completely non-fiction

Smoke up Sally, smoke up.

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In the Sand

Posted on March 28, 2014 by Timothy S.

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“In the Sand”

Shivering and glittering the night turns to gold,

looking into her eyes the night never gets old

Walking and giggling on the sand we did run,

not wanting the night to end, it feels like we’ve only just begun

The preschool song recalls in cheerful tune, the more we get together, together… together…the more we get together, the happier we’ll be

by glancing into the future I see myself on one knee,

A stallion and a mare colliding coming out of hiding, noses rubbing together,

every day is springtime regardless of the weather

Winter toils, the summer boils, soothness all around

The jealous dialed, I just smiled, I could not be knocked down,

In the sand, in the sand we did play, looking forward to a time we could do this every day

Wave after wave crashing on the joy-filled beach, I requested this moment in great beseech,

John Eddie sang about “Sleeping on the beach with you”, I find there are only a few things I would rather do

Two hearts, two hearts lined up to beat as one, waiting anxiously to see the morning sun

Yet in no rush waiting for the ball of fire to rise, my heart beats faster as I look deeper into her one-of-kind dove-like eyes

The sea tosses and a mermaid it did send, with great joy I welcome my lovely new friend

With the depths of the ocean telling me this is right, I want to hold her hand every single night

With an open heart I want this moment to be never-ending, I asked her Father for her hand, He said, permission pending…

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Sweet Cookies

Posted on March 26, 2014 by Timothy S.

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Eight hours with her feels like 60 seconds,

her heart screams love,
it makes me smile, it beckons

I brought her a cookie and it fell on the floor,

that’s okay I’ll bake a dozen more

Guys try to figure her out, they act real coy, I only see her as a bundle of joy

Flamed and embroiled she guards her heart,

dodging bullets she’s expecting a dart

Streaks of love laminate from her smile,

I’m so glad it’s my number she strikes to dial,

In Gypsy music she prefers Django,

bringing her to Rita’s she requests mango

It’s her taste, so it’s in my permanent note-book,

no one could steal it not even a crook

Boisterous and loud she draws an intimate crowd,

But those that listen to her, hear the silence of an innocent girl

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