Poetry by J.H. Sweet
Concerning Genie Wishes...
Genies only grant wishes of the selfless kind,
The ones made for others, without ourselves in mind.
And to the myth of their being in servitude,
A genie might reply, "Well, that seems rather crude."
Their devoted service is only to the One,
Also known as the Truth and the Light and the Son.
So when we make wishes on our birthday candles,
Like for a parachute with ten fancy handles,
Or a toy train set, bicycle, puzzle, or book,
Or just a blanket for our favorite reading nook,
We might think if these are the right kind of desires
In a world full of murder, theft, and arson fires.
If our wishes are for others, and not for selves,
Hungry people might find food on their empty shelves.
And the homeless man might have a roof overhead,
Along with a warm, cozy, and comfortable bed.
Plus, the sick and weary might find a little hope
So their lives don't finish on the end of a rope.
A Snail's Pace
A snail may be slow, but he has perfect timing,
Like a well-wound watch or a cuckoo clock chiming.
He doesn't pay attention to the word hurry,
Having long ago decided not to worry
About just how slow he might actually be,
When climbing to the top of the crabapple tree.
Being slow, he can help others along the way;
And he never wants them to provide any pay,
Like when moving a pebble for the ladybug,
Or helping a pill bug get unstuck from a rug.
Plus, he carries a load near heavy as a mouse.
How many creatures actually carry their house?
Also, going slow is what lets him leave the trail
Of glistening slime which, though small in scale,
Is often taken note of for its artistry
Of scrolling loops and squiggles, glorious to see.
In the snail's view, he shouldn't go any faster.
To be in a hurry could lead to disaster.
He might miss certain wonders, like those in the sky:
Cloud animals, falling stars, kites soaring on high.
After all, life should not be like running a race.
We should all of us strive to keep a steady pace,
In accordance with God's perfect timing and will,
His glorious plan for each that we must fulfill.
A Most Perfect Day
Soap animals made out of sudsy hair-
Impalas, hippos, a tall polar bear.
Making cookies and putting on lipstick,
Packing a hamper for a late picnic.
Lounging long amidst the deep garden moss,
In the skies, the clouds form a perfect cross,
Clearing weighted minds of all other things;
Instantly our hearts are given great wings,
To help us along our path without stray,
Yon sunset closes A Most Perfect Day.
The Birds' Invitation
Birds are showy and lyrical, with feathers painted bright,
And songs as full of wonder as the mystery of night.
Among natural creations, they seem to be the Star.
But they also seem to be saying, "Just come as you are.
I'll sing to you for hours, I think you are pretty too,
As pretty as the flowers and as shiny as the dew."
So how might we respond, since we know we can't match their height?
"Just do nothing and relax," the birds say, "enjoy the sight,
And the beautiful music, why not try to sing along?"
"Because most of us wouldn't dare drown out the lovely song,
From the amazing choir we've so grown to admire,
Oft more exquisite than expertly wielded flute and lyre."
"Okay, then just sit back and enjoy the musical show,
Playing sunny days, cloudy, rainy, even in the snow.
We're pleased to perform winter, summer, fall, or spring.
Whatever the weather, we just love to twitter and sing.
To preen and fly and nest, we birds do also truly love,
These skills given to us from the Heavenly One above."
"Even if you can't match our songs, or flight or showiness,
We know you have your own gifts, ones that do often impress,
Like building us strong houses, filling baths, and pots with seed.
Of your many services, we frequently have great need.
Like with birds, God knew what He was doing when He made you,
A treasure on this earth, but for much more than you can do."
Unique
If I were a jellybean, what flavor would I be?
Mint chocolate, apricot, popcorn, or perhaps green tea?
Or maybe a flavor no one has invented yet-
Nine-stalk ginger rhubarb, shrimp toast, or blue rose sherbet?
Each person is unique, interior and surface,
Of a different cloth cut, each with a separate purpose;
From a pattern designed by His loving hands and heart,
A wonderful creation, each of us set apart.
Kindled is the desire to be distinct from the throng;
Inside of us our souls each sing a much different song.
No two people are alike, as some might wish to claim,
Despite having a Father with the exact same name.
The Myth of Genie Lamps
Genies seldom live inside of lanterns or lamps,
Instead choosing something more like a cracker tin,
Mailbox, soup pot, carriage clock, tool chest, or fruit bin,
Or in a pocket in an album filled with stamps.
We might also find one in an old cigar box,
Matchstick holder, tall vase, butter churn, gravy boat,
Pepper mill, tissue case, pocket of a warm coat,
Or a sturdy sea trunk with two hefty brass locks.
A perfume bottle, sand bucket, upside down bell,
Canister, urn, egg carton, empty pickle jar,
Glass sphere, sewing basket, trunk of a blue toy car,
Ribbon dispenser, or even a dry inkwell.
Genies live in houses too, much like you and me:
Cottage, bungalow, Tudor, cabin, ranch, houseboat,
Renovated barn, dugout, castle with a moat,
Condo, yurt, trailer, apartment, loft, or teepee.
To genies, lamps and lanterns are mainly for light,
Like candles, open curtains, campfires, and torches,
And outdoor fixtures like those on many porches.
Now we have the truth, a little genie insight.
Slowing Down
I was moving too fast it seemed,
Or so others of my kind deemed.
"But I must head to the Tall Gate;
I surely don't want to be late."
"Someone Else keeps the countdown clock
Whether in life we run or walk."
This I was most certainly told
By those young, medium, and old.
While I understood the advice,
My old habits did not make nice.
There's always so much to be done-
Work, sleep, eating, and having fun.
To hurry these things still felt right,
Morning, noon, and also at night.
But something surely felt amiss,
Like an ungranted secret wish.
Thus, my brain raised an inner doubt.
What in my living was left out?
Perhaps time to truly enjoy
The results from my rushed employ.
And so I did slow myself down.
And the result did most astound.
I savored taking time to cook,
Also reading a treasured book.
The bible can't be read at speed
To obtain from it what we need:
There's really no need to hurry,
And also no need to worry.
God holds the countdown in His hand.
All will run in sync with His Plan.
We need only open the gift
(The one to heal the giant rift)
To have access to what's above
And be sheltered by His vast love.
Saving Up Wishes
If we saved wishes from the shooting stars we see,
We might change the great big world, rather splendidly.
Surely, our birthdays could still be a lot of fun,
Even if candle wishes, we saved every one.
A coin in a fountain, an eyelash from the cheek,
These wishes could add up, if saved week after week.
A breath held through a tunnel, save that one as well.
One from blown dandelion seeds would be just swell.
The first flower of spring, the first star seen at night,
A ladybug on the arm, a horse of snow white.
In not having certain things we might dream about,
It might be no problem to simply do without.
Following this plan, we managed to save them all,
So many wishes, rolled into a great big ball.
With so many saved, we decided not to wait;
To use the gathered wishes, we set a firm date.
As for what to wish for, just one thing came to mind,
For all to know Jesus, so none get left behind.
When the date arrived, it felt good to get it done,
In saving all our wishes, we saved everyone.
The Magic of Melancholy
If every day was a type of celebration,
Such as a ceremony to hand out awards,
Or a picnic or party full of elation,
We wouldn't be able to find our true rewards.
Every life must occasionally have some rain,
With clouds and trials leaving us to feel somewhat blue,
Because rain washes the thick cobwebs from the brain,
And most clouds do break up to let the sun shine through.
Our sad and trying days, we should truly treasure,
No matter the load, no matter how many miles.
The eventual distance is what brings the pleasure,
Certain to turn sadness into laughter and smiles.
We might learn from melancholy throughout the years,
That the soil of our soul is watered by our tears.
The Spirit to Fly
Inside each girl and boy lie hidden wings,
Given as a gift from the Lord on High.
What a wondrous blessing this surely brings;
With our wings, we gain the Spirit to Fly,
To soar with great height into the crisp air,
To visit a swallow, kestrel, or dove,
Or a bee, or a ladybug most fair,
Or simply bask in the warmth of God's love.
What a marvelous adventure, flying.
If we but stretch, our reach we can lengthen.
Our soar, we should practice, each girl and boy;
Nothing should ever keep us from trying,
In gaining greater height, our wings strengthen.
The Spirit to Fly, what amazing joy!
The Window in the Hedge
The little vine lived under the boughs of a yew,
Sheltered and shaded all the long while that he grew,
Beside a green hedge pruned nicely square, wide, and tall
That kept a gardener busy both in spring and fall.
A window cut into the hedge was a surprise,
For through it the little vine saw his first sunrise.
Seeing light at night too when he normally slept
Out from under the yew tree, the little vine crept.
He soon found the bright stars, so many in number,
For many long hours would keep him from slumber.
To turn them all off he did greatly desire,
Not knowing as to what the task might require.
Leaving the yew's safe shelter, he scaled the hedgerow;
Speedy and unpausing, he passed through the window.
Up, up, up the vine went, like the broom of a witch,
Most intent on reaching the stars' great big light switch.
Hopping cloud by cloud as though climbing a steep stair,
The vine enjoyed his time out in the brisk night air.
But with the great big switch still some distance away,
The man in the moon strived to keep him well at bay.
Puckering and puffing, the moon blew and he blew,
Until the vine tumbled right back down to the yew.
Though he ended up exactly where he began,
The little vine determined to try once again.
Laughing as he caught a swift barn owl by the tail,
Surely, the vine thought, this time I can't and won't fail.
But when sideswiped by a comet, just passing through,
Once more he fell back down to the boughs of the yew.
Still determined, he thought, The third time is a charm.
In trying once more, I can come to no great harm.
This time on a ladder he began the long climb,
And he reached the great big switch in pretty good time.
Sadly, a hefty breeze caused the ladder to tip,
And in the teeter totter, the vine lost his grip.
But a hand from above coming fast to his plight,
Steadied the ladder against a gate tall and white.
Shaken, the little vine did slowly climb back down,
Happy to have his leaves once more on the firm ground.
Peering up through the window at the vast night sky,
The vine glimpsed Who had saved him in a place most high.
Though probably safer to keep well out of sight
To try once more to climb, the vine thought he just might.
But he would leave the stars on, to see all around,
The great majesty and marvels sure to abound.
Each trip worth the effort to reach taller than tall,
He wanted to thank Who had saved him from the fall,
The One watching more than through windows in hedges,
Watching all - nooks, crannies, even under ledges.
Again and again, the vine climbed higher than high,
And he viewed many wonders in the vast night sky.
He saw marvelous things over many a year,
And became friends with the bright stars both far and near.
In stopping to inquire at the tall white gate,
He was told that to enter he must simply wait.