Lord Jesus Christ,
I pray unto thee
that you open my eyes
so that I may see
the righteous path
thou has set for me.
Heal my heart
and mend my soul.
Help me to play
my servant role.

Lord Jesus Christ,
let me feel
thy precious, holy spirit
from head to heel.
Lead me through the paths
of which I may go.
Please, Lord, you lead the way
so that I may follow.

Lord Jesus Christ,
send blessings from above,
and send peace through my household
by sending the holy dove.
Guide me through this world
and keep sin from me away,
so I may better serve you
through each and everyday.

Lord Jesus Christ,
I ask you once again
to forgive me for my sins
ans deliver me from pain.
I love you,God, my father,
and still can’t understand why
that you took the place of THIS sinner
and bore the cross to die.

Lord Jesus Christ,
help me to understand
that I am here for a reason
and that’s why you made me who I am.
Chastise me, Oh loving God,
when you feel the time is right,
and when I’ve lost my way back home
shine me a heavenly light.

Lord Jesus Christ,
I pray unto thee
to search my heart thoroughly
as I give you the key.
I end this prayer with love
and tears streaming down my face.
Lord, thank you for the cross,
and your sweet Amazing Grace.

Amen.

Written by: Miranda Patterson (A.K.A Heart 4 Poetry)
December 30,2009.

Author Notes: These are my true feelings about my Lord God and Saviour, and if you have not met him yet, now is the right time. Call upon his name and he shall surley answer thee. Although I am in my teenage years, I know that what I feel is real and you can feel it too if you just Call upon his name.
God Bless you!

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at My Personal Prayer Poem.

• The Promise (3)
• Au Revoir (4)
• True Friendship (STORY) (2)

At 16 young Eben designed a device which would rapidly miniaturize

The boy and then teleport him to the place of his choosing at much reduced size.

He used it at random, and found himself suddenly out in a lady’s backyard.

The 21 year old housewife soon detected his presence; and his way was barred.

She captured the boy, and went into her kitchen, and taunted the boy, with great mirth,

Announcing intentions to eat him for lunch. So he looked at her favourable girth.

She warmed up the oven, and placed him inside it, until he was warm, but not hot.

He wondered if he would remain in her thoughts, or become the meal she soon forgot.

She went to the table, with him on a plate, and sat down, with her huge threatening tongue

Preparing to act as a path to her throat and her stomach, where fate had now flung

His future. He looked at her opening mouth, as she lifted him into the air.

Now laughing, she soon placed him into her mouth; and she gobbled him down without care.

He settled himself in her stomach, enjoying the comforts of its inner wall,

Until, to his utter surprise, the device brought him home with its auto-recall,

Restoring his size. Then the boy was reluctant to go on a second shrink test.

He thought of the woman who’d willingly gulped him to somewhere quite close to her chest.

At twenty he went to a party and met her again. She had been through divorce,

But still enjoyed life, thinking she had consumed him forever, devoid of remorse.

She wasn’t aware, that the boy at this party had once been diminutive prey,

Which she had enjoyed, in the past, when he’d gone to her backyard, so tiny, that day.

She asked the boy out on a date, and he welcomed the chance to enjoy a nice kiss.

Then after three months, he proposed, and he knew that it would be most surely remiss

Of him, not to tell her how they’d met before. So he did, and enjoyed the riposte.

She said, “If you don’t wish to marry me now, then the love that we have will be lost.”

“I do,” said the boy, “So I wanted to tell you the truth of that day when I shrank.

You’ve made me so happy, since we started dating, that I can remember your prank,

With joy, since the mouth you made use of, to eat me, is now free to kiss me instead.”

So, once they’d prolonged their engagement, the boy and the love of his young life were wed.

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(for Amanda, who wanted to shrink and eat me. Sorry I can’t agree, but here’s your fantasy brought to life as is best possible).

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at YOUTH IS TASTED ON THE TONGUE.

• Au Revoir (4)
• The Promise (3)
• THE MANSION IN MEMORY LANE (0)

(1)Young Tom visited his great aunt, until he was ten years old,

And soon after his next birthday, her old mansion would be sold,

Since she died, and he would miss them both, as nine years changed the date.

He completed school, did two years work, and started college late.

(2)At the end of his first Uni year, he used semester break,

To get on his pushbike, ride ten miles, and use the street to take

Some new photographs of that old house, that stood in Memory Lane.

Then a lady pulled up in the drive, and Tom had to explain.

(3)So he told her how he’d visited his great aunt, and she’d died.

She invited him to take more pictures of the house inside.

They exchanged their names, and hers was Angel. She had long blond hair,

And she wore a dark blue dress, which caught his eyes and made him stare.

(4)Angel showed him in, and chatted, as the camera’s shutters moved

More than those beside the windows, and he noticed she approved

Of his dedicated efforts to preserve the life he’d known.

He used up his roll of film, while she was talking on the phone.

(5)He soon asked her if he could come back, when he had bought some more.

She took out an unused roll of film she’d kept in her desk drawer.

“You can have this as a gift, if you could stay for lunch as well,”

Angel told him, and he found himself enchanted by her spell.

(6)With her wedding ring to think of, he stayed focused on the shots

That he took of her interiors, while Angel warmed some pots.

She prepared a tasty pasta, which they ate, while she detailed

How she’d married, bought the house, and then her husband’s health had failed.

(7)For two years she’d been a widow, and the house was now a shrine,

And the memories of their lost loved ones would start to intertwine,

As a thirty year old widow, and a boy were growing fond

Of each other, with that mansion as a setting for a bond.

(8)He told stories of old visits there, and picnics on the lawn.

Then the sunlight shone upon her face, as Angel had to yawn.

She proposed that they might have the next day’s lunch out on the grass,

And he thought of Angel married, when those years had had to pass.

(9)Now they shared the common ground, specifically that block of land,

And the ghosts they knew that no-one else could ever understand.

He accepted her proposal, and soon bought a “Thank you” card,

And some chocolates, which he handed her, as they walked through her yard.

(10)They enjoyed the picnic lunch, and she invited him to stay,

For a chat up on the balcony, and let him lead the way.

She was thrilled by how he knew his way around each nook and cranny,

And he told her how he’d used the cellar once, to hide from Nanny.

(11)They walked out onto the balcony, and Tom said, “When I came,

I was glad to see the garden and the house looked just the same.

It feels just like fifteen years ago, on days when my great aunt

And I both looked out at every creeper vine and growing plant.”

(12)”Tom, you’re sweet to buy me chocolates,” Angel candidly responded,

“And it’s nice the way we’ve shared the stories of this house and bonded.

For the first time, I’ve met someone who has helped me break the seal,

Of the lonely widow syndrome, but I don’t know how you feel.”

(13)”I feel nice,” said Tom, “It’s special to be spending two days here.”

Angel thanked him and then asked, “But have I got the wrong idea?
What I mean, is: Do you like me, or do you just like this place?”

He had never had a girlfriend. Now this doll was giving chase.

(14)”Yes, I really like you, Angel. I’m just scared to mix my past

With a future that could hurt me, if your feelings might not last.”

Her mouth opened in surprise, and she said, “You’re the younger man.

But you’ve thought this out so deeply, since your visits here began.

(15)I have turned away proposals from each Dick, and every Harry,

But not every Tom, because you’re one, whom I would love to carry

Me across the threshold in the future, once we two have dated

For the next two years, until such time as you have graduated.”

(16)Tom said, “When I first met you, I was unnerved about one thing,

As I came to take the pictures, and I saw your wedding ring.

I still thought it would be wrong to interrupt your right to grieve.

With my photographs all taken, I decided I should leave.”

(17)”You don’t have to leave,” said Angel, “With your help, my grief has gone.

If you’d like to see some more of me, I’m ready to move on.”

“I sure would,” said Tom, “if I don’t disappoint you. Being new

To this dating thing, I guess you’ll have to teach me what to do.”

(18)Summer sun lit up the garden, but the balcony was shady,

As she smiled and moved towards him. “Have you ever kissed a lady?”

Angel asked. He said, “I’ve never had a girlfriend, so to speak. ”

Then she smiled, and put one hand behind his neck, and kissed his cheek.

(19)Then she placed her other arm around his back, and took the lead,

As she taught him every kissing move, until they both agreed,

That the time had come to move inside and use the couch instead.

They were both too clean in mind, to jump the gun, and use the bed.

(20)They sat on the couch, and felt the cushions underneath them dip,

And he ran each finger slowly over her soft lower lip.

They embraced, and felt their touching cheeks was unity assured,

As Tom realized this vacation would leave no time to be bored.

(21)She’d inherited a chain of fashion stores, that dealt in flowers

As a sideline to enhance the atmosphere in business hours.

As the owner, she could take time off, to coincide with his,

Angel told him, as she poured some lemonade that kept its fizz.

(22)With the daylight saving sunlight still to last for quite a while,

Angel’s bicycle and his went wheeling round, until a mile

Of her suburb had been covered, and he hazarded a guess

That her own department store supplied her flowery white long dress.

(23)”I designed this one myself,” she said, “with flowers in pale red.

They’re the same as those that grow around the mansion’s old back shed.

Then the “tailor made” department had it made in several days.

Will you let me read your college work: those stories, and the plays?”

(24)She was lost in everything he wrote; and used her drawing skill

To make illustrations for the novels he worked on, until

One book publisher, who’d previously turned his books away,

Had a change of heart, and knew that now the customers would pay.

(25)When his college course was finished, and he didn’t have to cram,

Putting dates with her on hold, the night before his last exam,

He rode out of university, a bachelor of study

Up to Angel’s suburb, skidding on some road that rain made muddy.

(26)He fell off the bike, and hit his head, and passed out on the road,

Where his girlfriend lived, while clouds above went into downpour mode.

Then eventually her car pulled up, when she came driving by,

And she thought that he was dead, and stroked his head, and had to cry.

(27)”Tom, I loved you more than even my old husband. It’s not fair,”

Angel wept, as he woke up, and felt her fingers on his hair.

“It’s alright. I skidded off the road, fell down, and then I must

Have collapsed, once I had hit my head, and ended up concussed.

(28)Roadside grass has saved me from a bruise. I’m glad you came and found

Me down here, and kept me safe, since there was no-one else around.”

She secured the car, and left it, and they walked the pushbike in,

And she bandaged his right hand with rolls of something soft and thin.

(29)Angel gently held his hands and said, “I thought I’d lost another,

And before we could get married.” Then she used her lips to smother

Him with countless lovely kisses. Tom said, “Does this really mean,

That you’re seriously willing to get married? I’m still keen.

(30)And in fact, that’s why I cycled up. I hope this isn’t rash.

Could you help me open this? My hands are clumsy from the crash.”

He took out a small container, and she lifted up the lid,

And she saw a wedding ring, and said, “Of course I’m still keen, kid.

(31)Now I guess it’s time to take this old ring off, and start anew.”

“You don’t need to take it off,” said Tom, “I’m sure there’s room for two,

Your first ring is on your right hand, as a memory and a token,

And this new one tells the world the sleeping widow has awoken.”

(32)”I can’t believe how sweet you are,” said Angel, “I’ll do what you’ve said,

Now I think you should lie down, since you just hurt your handsome head.

I’ll still stay and keep you company, and make some wedding plans.”

They discussed things, and her sports car soon drove westward, dragging cans.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at THE MANSION IN MEMORY LANE.

• Au Revoir (4)
• The Promise (3)
• Etta (0)

Well I’ve never bought a garage, but my searching never fails

To provide me with some novelties, at all those garage sales;

And I don’t think I’d be interested to own a pachyderm;

But White Elephant retailing’s how to end a school’s third term.

I’ve a china cabinet (from a second hand store) filled with wares:

China animals in jungle grouping, farmyard. I’ve got shares

In the leftovers of households who, on one promoted date,

Will have opened up their front yards on a Saturday at eight.

I’ve got jackets you can’t find in any modern fashion store,
And a book collection, gathered from what others read before.

I must feel no shame in willingness to treasure someone’s trash,

When the value of their hand-me-outs exceeds the parting cash.

If you saw my rooms, you’d never tell which fine upmarket brand

Of equipment came with shop receipts, and which was second hand.

But the stuff that I end up with’s really only half the buzz.

It’s the driving ’round and finding it, that drives, as driving does.

There are friendly looks from people, who’ve enjoyed the goods they sell.

Now they’ll pass it on, just glad that you can use their things as well.

It’s a chance to meet the locals, just before they relocate,

Or perhaps it’s how you’ll find an old elusive china plate.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at SATURDAY’S GOODS.

• The Promise (3)
• Au Revoir (4)
• THE MANSION IN MEMORY LANE (0)

(1)My first Blue Mountains journeys were on Sydney’s country trains,

With scenery improving, once I’d gone past Emu Plains.

I did not know the passengers around me, but perhaps one

Might care to play a card game, since we’d only come to Lapstone

(2)I closed my vintage fiction novel fast. So I could then look,

To see surrounding bushland, as the train pulled out of Glenbrook.

The concrete steps and walkway, over roads and rails and tracks stand

Beside the station fences, built more recently in Blaxland.

(3)Excited tourists took in views, and were not sorry too,

That urban redevelopment had not occurred in Warrimoo.

The summer sun that made them hot, and burnt their skin shall be

Forgotten now in Springwood, not too far from Winmalee.

(4)The clear far western air was like that from an open fridge:

And all the fruit was tasty at the shops in Falconbridge.

I underlined one station on timetables, with a thin pen.

You need to tell the guard if you intend to stop at Linden.

(5)My carriage weaving past the hills would often strike a good chord,

As I looked up at overpasses linking roads to Woodford.

My adult self did not forget the early childhood days he took

Excursions with school second class beyond the streets of Hazelbrook.

(6)The bushwalks were worth doing, and these verses should endorse one.

My ears repressurized, to suit the greater heights of Lawson.

The fields were green, and gumtree trunks a somewhat duller colour,

And horses drank fresh water from a pond in Bullaburra.

(7)A roundhouse in a paddock, with tall arches in its walls,

Preceded several pine trees that I passed in Wentworth Falls.

The suburbs further on provided still more atmosphere:

The highest peaks and widest views that came with that lost year.

(8)The weekend trips grew cooler, as the months became a memory:

February, March and April. Each of them was only temporary.

The further up I went each time, before I’d be alighting,

The more the sights I saw up there were ever more exciting.

(9)The red leaves looked as they did, in a 1900s autumn.

I needed winter gloves, and found a clothing shop, and bought some.

The flowers in the gardens of a holiday retreat

In bloom would make the image in my photograph complete

(10)In Medlow Bath, a friend and I went searching for an airstrip

Out somewhere in the bush. I asked a lady with a hairclip,

If she might know the route we’d need to find our destination.

The travel map I’d used had aged too much since publication.

(11)That 1997 afternoon in mid-July

We waited for our fellow mountain walker’s best reply:

“I haven’t come across that place in any of my walks,”

She said, as night began to fall on dandelion stalks.

(12)My friend and I discussed new ways to make the night go well,

And watched the lights go on outside that suburb’s grand hotel,

Enjoyed its lounge room fire, and then went home by heavy rail,

Imagining those three explorers charting out a trail.

(13)Thankfully, since they produced their maps on ancient parchments,

No-one found a way to bulldoze through those high escarpments.

Now, years later, still convinced that mountain life was best,

I relocated to this land beyond the city’s west.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at NIGHTFALL IN MEDLOW BATH.

• Au Revoir (4)
• The Promise (3)
• THE MANSION IN MEMORY LANE (0)

Is she waiting in the snowfall of an unseen distant plateau,

That still lives today on Christmas cards all packed up now? Is that so?

Would the lamps that light the pathways put a glow upon her face?

Are these images of fantasies all gone without a trace?

Is she staring from the window of a house, with fascination,

And now totally enthralled by crystal clear precipitation,

Lightly falling down, to make the grass a darker shade of green,

And still willing for the happiness she sought at sweet sixteen?

Is she smiling in the sunshine of the inner city skylines;-

Looking pretty as a photograph unsuited to the bylines

All contained inside newspapers circulating with great speed?

Is she reaching for the clouds, and hoping that she’ll soon be freed?

Could she be a long lost princess, well-concealed within the fog?

Is she now beyond her thirties, and yet free to kiss the frog,

Thus transforming him into the prince he’d never ceased to be;

And especially if that prince of hers is someone just like me?

Is she free of all commitments made before the time was right,

And now open to her destiny in silent streets one night,

To become that part of me, which I have yet to find for sure,

That soft part that fills the void, so there can be no need for more?

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at LADY FROM SOMEWHERE ELSE.

• Au Revoir (4)
• The Promise (3)
• THE MANSION IN MEMORY LANE (0)

He stood on the edge of a suburb, where house windows faced an expanse

Of bushes and forest and small hills; and readied himself, with a chance.

He stood on the edge of a sunset, with houses not far from his rocks,

And somehow the sunset was lengthened, slowed up through a trick of the clocks.

He harnessed the wings he had fashioned, aware they’d permit him to glide,

But never to fly any higher; and planned his penultimate ride.

The suburb he’d wandered for decades had come to its outermost edge.

He felt like a pioneer, waiting for strength to step out from the ledge.

Around him the movement of minutes had now (from his viewpoint) grown slow.

But night can’t be held back forever, since time need continue its flow.

The slowdown had only extended the best hour of one summer’s day,

With sunburn unlikely, and also an hourglass providing delay.

Recalling his visits to galleries, with sunsets of canvas and paint;

He’d never seen anything like this, as time showed its generous restraint.

The colours of twilight would summon orion to twinkle and shine.

For once that could wait until someone had soared over branches and vine.

He bent his legs quickly and kicked out, so eager to see so much more.

Beneath him were fresh summer breezes; and he took his first chance to soar.

He curved over treetops, and wondered if branches beneath them were sharp.

With everything else in slow motion, he somehow could still hear a harp.

He veered in another direction, to mansions built next to the fern;

And spied, on a balcony-courtyard, the one who had caused him to turn:

A feminine woman, whose music was flowing in relative synch

With time’s little gift for the glider, who knew he had no need to think.

He had enough height left, and reached her, as nightfall and real time were set

Concurrent with both of them, once more; its duty done once, they had met.

Like him she’d spent all those years waiting, unaltered by children or change;

So both could embrace their fulfilment, which destiny chose to arrange.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at HAVENFLIGHT.

• Au Revoir (4)
• The Promise (3)
• Etta (0)

Soft footsteps walk through streets near school,

Past yesterday’s townhouses.

In each nostalgic molecule

Is something, which arouses.

Old lessons learned so long ago

(Viola, drums or trigon)

Resurface, just enough to know:

Those tunes aren’t fully bygone.

A new sound crashes near the bay,

And shakes the stone rotunda.
The sky shows nature’s cabaret,

With sudden roaring thunder.

Brief moments pass, and summer heat

(Which caused the town to swelter))

Gives way to frantic dampening feet,

Which find a tunnel’s shelter.

Some recent wounds are laundered clean;

But past lives’ recollection

Remains, where tables and caffeine

Accompany retrospection.

The railway tracks are drowned in rain,

Up on the bridge, forestalling

The movement of the peak hour train;

As time froze memories falling.

An hour of this would irk some folk;

But nature gives a quarter,

So ferns and flowers can quickly soak
Themselves in purest water.

Then skies, which were extremely dark

(To back-project on lightning)

Conclude their cloud-to-cloud skylark,

With sunshine slowly brightening.

Those footsteps cling to water drops,

When they resume their movement:

Brief souvenirs of how life stops,

And starts with cleansed improvement.

Should company find its calling here,

The call would be for cuddles,

And sharing views of boats and pier,

With boots in smaller puddles.

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This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at CABARET OF THE CLOUDS.

• Au Revoir (4)
• The Promise (3)
• THE MANSION IN MEMORY LANE (0)

I was well prepared to build my house on firm foundation rock.

I had gathered each material and every building block.

I’d seen many things, that life could be whilst imitating art.

I could cull the very best of these in each component part.

I’d explored all possibilities, and worked out all the rules,

As I stood beside the ocean, hearing bubbles from its pools.

Then a whirlpool came and beckoned me to make a reckless dive.

I was mindless of the danger that I might well not survive.

So I took a dip in carelessness, though very gently urged;

And forgot the shore’s appearance, once I’d been too long submerged.

As I paddled hopes and dreams away, those expectations sank;

And the water filled my lungs with salt and seaweed as I drank.

I’d thought life down there would work out like an animated show.

But I struggled (as I faced the currents in the undertow)

To continue breathing comfortably; while cunning plans were laid

(To remove my capabilities) with Neptune’s wildest maid.

When I couldn’t stand it anymore, nor bear the taste of salt;

I accepted that the problem wasn’t Neptune’s daughter’s fault,

But my own, for staying down there, once I’d seen the naughty game,

That was played with me; and so I found my way and overcame.

When I surfaced near the seaside, shaking flotsam off my chin,

I was nowhere near the place where I’d originally dived in.

There were months of rediscovery of places in between

Where I’d come up and the starting place at which I once had been.

Now I’ve come back to my building place, I feel the need to say:

If you didn’t come to build with me, it’s best you go away.

I don’t want the sea beneath me, when I need to feel the floor.

So I’m building like the man in Matthew 7:24

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at BACK TO MY BUILDING PLACE.

• Au Revoir (4)
• The Promise (3)
• Wistful memoirs (0)

We are told
Earth is eons old.
But
The world
As we know it is
Just about through.
Fossil fuels
Are doing it in
Earths atmosphere
Is growing thin.
Smog and green house gasses
are the reason why
However, cures are rather shy.
Temperatures on the rise
Antarcticas glaciers
On the demise.
Polar bears
Disappearing fast
Without ice
They cannot last.
The question asked
What to do
Without world’s intervention
There is no clue

- Tom Fenning
Sunday, March 16, 2008

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at We are told.

• Au Revoir (4)
• The Promise (3)
• Vanishing dreams… (3)