Poetry by J.H. Sweet

 

 

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.
When the vine found his leaves he could no longer lift,
He longed to be given a truly special gift.

To be near the One Who had saved him from the fall,
The One mighty and strong standing taller than tall.
Gazing at the window, he saw a hand reach through,
One that gathered him gently from under the yew.

Taken into the white gate so lustrous and tall,
The vine stayed near the One watching over us all.
Jesus is the window we all need to step through,
To be close to Our Father, so loving and true.

 

Learn to Roar

We must let His truth and light be well known.

If the Lord Jesus we simply adore,
We must decide to be quiet no more.
Our great joy and fervor we shouldn't hide;
To be most outspoken, we should decide.
The Good News kept silent, we should abhor.

With help from Jesus, we can truly soar.
His love alone brings happiness galore.
During life's trials, He often walks beside.
To every sinner, His mercy is shown.

Tell all on the mountains and each far shore.
For those who are hiding, knock on each door.
We can't wait until souls are hard and dried.
Tell all that He comforts every tear cried.
About Him, we simply must learn to roar.

To every corner, let the shouts be thrown!

 

The Wardrobe and the Closet

A man of around age thirty lived in a fairly small house,
By himself, for the most part, except for a secretive mouse.
A tall wardrobe and a closet occupied the largest room;
Not much separated them, just a bed and a wooden loom.
In debating which one was best, the mouse heard the wardrobe say,
"If the man moves, he'll take me with him, while you will have to stay."
The closet replied, "I'm sturdier, connected to the floor.
Besides that," he added, "I'm twice as large, so I hold much more.
Plus, he stores his loom supplies on my shelves, along with his books."
"But he hangs his clothes," the wardrobe said, "on my large metal hooks."
"The bible on my shelf," the closet countered, "he reads each day."
"But I hold shoes," the wardrobe replied, "which help him find his way.
And his warm coat, which he finds handy when snow falls from the sky."
"The umbrella in my corner," said the closet, "keeps him dry."
"Being mobile," the wardrobe answered, "I can move into halls."
"While you can only hug one," the closet said, "I'm made of walls."
When by chance a large tornado tore them both to smithereens,
The two rivals stopped comparing; they no longer had the means.
From the small house, the man salvaged every single thing he could,
Even taking quite a few pieces of badly splintered wood.
In his new home, the closet scraps edged a mirror on the wall.
For the man the height was just right; for the mouse it was too tall.
With the pieces of the wardrobe, the man made a picture frame.
Here, the wardrobe and closet were now pretty much the same.

 

The Magic of Wonder

For everything we seek a reason,
Because the magic of wonder is always in season.

Have you ever stopped to wonder about certain things,
Such as how the Chinese dragon can fly without wings,
Or how the lark tells a story when no words he sings,
     Or taken a quick look, at the end of a mystery book?

Although unknown as to where a path through fog might lead,
Words of caution we often find difficult to heed;
To explore everything, people always find the need.
     When life seems very bland, we seek thrilling adventures most grand.

Have you thought how a rainbow can hold colors so bright,
When raindrops are nothing more than clear with glints of white,
Or how a single cloud hides a thousand stars at night,
     Or why a hummingbird, flying backwards, we don't find absurd?

We wonder and wonder over mysteries galore.
Even when we don't find answers, puzzles we adore,
And always find ourselves craving more and more and more.
     Nothing can satisfy, our brains, unless we are asking why.

One thing we need not question, the love of our Savior,
For through it we once again find God's blessed favor,
No matter as to where, when, or what our endeavor.
     The cross the way does pave; through His Grace, He is able to save.

For everything we seek a reason,
Because the magic of wonder is always in season.

 

Under Heaven's Ever-Watchful Blue Eyes

Grey boulders greeted me as a dear friend,
Overlooking the vast deep canyon bend.
Daring the steep path down slowly I went,
Letting switchbacks safely guide my descent.
Often I did pause to take in the views,
Varied by more than just breathtaking hues.
Eagles I spied in the skies far above,
Soaring alongside a most wondrous Dove.
Yearning, my heart joined them in the wide skies,
On the wings of the One Who satisfies,
Under Heaven's Ever-Watchful Blue Eyes.

 

The Magic of the Bible

For anyone who might wonder why
Christians tend to believe they can fly,
Not just on their own but on horses with wings,
And in magic airships with prophets and kings,
Or on enormous eagles soaring most high:

The answer is in our Written Guide,
In all the wondrous stories inside;
Tales to surprise more than any great fable,
How unlikely--Our Lord born in a stable!
And according to song, the Babe never cried.

With gardens and rainbows to adore,
Tales of night hags, sorcerers, and more,
It's easy to see why we love magic things,
Such as trolls and elves and tiny sprites with wings;
There are krakens and mermaids off every shore.

In some tales, our futures look quite bleak,
When tyrants and wizards find their peak.
Some of the stories make us tremble with fear;
But some hold warm fuzzies, like when the deaf hear,
Or like when the dumb gain the power to speak.

Prisoners of hope, believers are,
Ever followers of our True Star,
In bondage to One riding a horse most white,
Accompanied by a host blindingly bright.
So a swim with sea monsters isn't bizarre.

With mud on the eyes, a blind man sees.
Slaves can rise to rule as they might please.
The righteous defeat an army with a song.
Mouths of hungry lions are shut all night long.
An angel moves a ton stone with perfect ease.

Water from stone is in great supply;
Food of angels rains down from the sky.
A man survives being swallowed by a whale;
Evil ends up destroyed by locusts and hail.
Angels and dragons are seen to soar on high.

Fanciful things--water turned to wine,
A talking donkey, pearls before swine.
Tax paid with a coin from the mouth of a fish;
Get all things good simply from making a wish;
Two loaves and five fish on which thousands can dine.

With a single word, the dead awake;
Some of the tales can make our hearts break.
Better than yarns because these stories are real,
And teach lessons, like don't envy and don't steal.
Escape a furnace without blister or bake.

The magic of bible history;
It's not myth or even mystery.
The answer is in the twinkling of an eye--
A Good Book given to us by the Most High.
For those who wonder, read for yourself and see.

 

A Midnight Walk

Jonquils in neat rows gaze at star-filled skies,
Enjoying the sight of purple cloud strings
Sailing smoothly past a tawny owl's eyes
Until meeting a flurry of bat wings
Slicing pieces of sky like pie wedges.
Savoring the soft breath of a Chinook
Answering the distant chimes of a clock,
Voices of foxes bark from high ledges,
Echoing songs of frogs in stream and brook.
Such are the delights of a midnight walk.

 

The Dandelion's Journey

A city dandelion once lived right between
A straight sidewalk and a large door painted bright green.
Stepping onto the walk, he readied for a trip;
Slipping on his shoes, he fixed his pack to his hip.
Into his hip pack, he placed his small wooden comb,
So that he could look tidy when far from his home.
In the country, he passed gardens without a weed;
Here, dandelions weren't allowed to go to seed.
While he knew many folks did not favor his kind,
In the bright open air, he found he didn't mind.
To pull and yank, some people felt they simply must,
But although life wasn't always fair, God was just.
He gave the dandelion most wondrous powers,
To grow just about anywhere as wildflowers,
In all sorts of grand spots, on a log, in a crack;
One once even grew on a tortoise's broad back.
Reaching a spot near where his seed parent once stood,
He met his brothers and sisters in a small wood.
They shared tales of their start seeds, blown many places,
Some even fitting into really tight spaces.
One brother landed in a tree with a good view,
Until along came a strong wind, which blew and blew,
Sending him to sit on an alpaca's soft nose,
Before a sneeze left him on a fox's small toes.
Another sat on the brim of a wide blue hat,
Until falling down to the whiskers of a cat.
One the wind picked up to fly high with a red kite,
Before setting him on a blanket soft and light.
They all made it to the ground as their final stops,
Where they were watered by dew and falling raindrops.
While they roasted marshmallows and drank sweet iced tea,
He learned from his sister, who had grown by the sea,
He was the only one to have seen city lights,
With cars whizzing by him both long days and long nights.
He was sad for those who would never learn to skate,
Or play hopscotch under street lamps left on 'til late.
After the sharing, he started the journey home.
With the evening windy, he stopped to use his comb.
But the first stroke caught something in his silky locks,
Something most glistening and coming out in flocks.
Knowing he was seeding, he dared pick up his pace;
To reach his home in time, he must run a hard race.
Swiftly he ran for many long bumpy hours,
Because he knew the city needed more flowers.
He wasn't sad seeding; it was part of the Plan,
For growing things to begin again and again.
When his stem bent down to sleep, he had many dreams,
And he saw where his seeds landed in fields and streams.
Winds carried others over roofs and across plains,
To floors of great forests to await the spring rains.
In the city, by a chapel, quiet and still,
Some landed at the foot of a cross on a hill.
On this specific hill, not much else was growing,
Amidst intense sun and wind constantly blowing.
So the city folk deemed the sight a great delight,
And they didn't pull or yank the flowers so bright.
Many came to visit the spot, year after year,
And view the yellow hillside so treasured and dear.
The flowers held the memories of ones before,
Especially the one who lived by the green door.

 

The Bee's Knees

When trying to please God, we often strive
With fervent vigor and a healthy drive.
But we should know that in His loving sight,
We already are His greatest delight.
When working very hard without abate,
We might think that what we've done is just great.
However, it is often much too soon,
To revel and think that we've hung the moon.
Whether we sit down, stand up, go or stay,
In truth, we need only hear and obey.
When we wear ourselves to shadows most thin,
And get in a state not fit to be in,
Feeling oh so tired and ever weary,
The days can start to look rather dreary.
God never told us to earn His favors;
Just being ourselves is what He savors.
In trying too hard, we often stumble,
Thank goodness He ne'er minds when we fumble.
When we mess up, we should quickly move on,
Not beating ourselves up a time most long.
No human being is perfect in the flesh;
Blessedly, our spirits He does refresh.
The Lord loves us so much just as we are,
Each of His children a bright shining star.
He already loves us, rest most assured;
To think otherwise is truly absurd.
We do not need to try so hard to please,
To Him we are already the bee's knees.

 

 

 

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