A poem for every day in July

I update every day around 8.30a.m. BST. This lens will grow daily. To see more of my poems go to the previous months, as seen below.

July already,
How time does fly
And light starts to fade
From the evening sky.

Soon comes the harvest
With berries so bright
To feed us well
And fill us with fight.

The sun shines on
To brighten our days.
The morning wakes
To a misty haze.

The sun starts to make
It's way to the South,
Leading us ever
Into the night's dark mouth.

But stop all this talk
Of winter and fall.
The summer's still young,
Let's enjoy it all.

A rising tide of light
Floods through my early morning window.
The sun bids me rise
To the new day's toil.

Oh sun why are you so merciless?
I wish to slumber still,
But you shout at me through the lattice
And chase my dreams of denial away.

O peace! Why do you clamour at my eyelids?
Will you never let me be?
What is it to you if I sleep till noon?

But you will not be gain said.
You will have your way
And I must rise to meet the day.

The summer sun is glowing
And cheering us each day
We love the way it transforms our lives,
Encouraging us on our way.

But now, of course, we're contrary
We think we need the rain.
We're always like this in Britain.
We really are a pain.

We're never satified
With what we are given.
There's always something else we want.
By what are we driven?

So please enjoy the sunshine
While you have it here.
The rain will surely come again
And stay for half the year.

A poem my love I bring to you,
A poem my love I sing to you.
For you are faithful
For you are kind
Your feet are swift,
Like the lithesome hind.

You showed your love for me
Came from above for me.
Holy, yet came for my sin
Died on a cross for me
Bringing me back to thee,
Making the way back to God.

Back from the paths of sin,
Bringing my soul back in,
Into your presence divine.
I don't deserve you Lord,
But you preserve me Lord.
I am wrapped in your love, my Lord.

Jesus, best lover
Died my sins to cover.
Wraps me around with his love.
Why should I complain I am lonely and sad?
Why should I ever want to be bad?
When this glorious one is ever beside me
Closer than breathing
Close as could be.

The shimmering sea
Calls out to me,
To launch in search of my love.

The boat rocks on the tide
And here is my guide
To take me safe over to him.

He has sent me this barque,
He has sent me this guide,
I can trust him fully
As I ride on the tide.

The sea may be choppy,
The sea may be rough,
But his promise holds,
For me that's enough.

He'll take me safe over
Though the seas roll and rage.
I will arrive safely
I'm writ clear on his page.

The page of his book,
The Lamb's Book of Life.
I'll join him in glory
With the church, his dear wife.

So roll at my feet Jordan,
Roll at my feet,
Your purpose to take me
My Saviour to meet.

A rocky landscape
In a arid land
Bleak and dry
Sundrenched and bland.

Nothing for miles
But barren rocks.
Red and bleak
That at your life mocks.

Don't get caught here
Without any water
Or you'll never see your son again
Or even your daughter.

This is no place
For a man to be,
It's a hard cruel land,
I'll not go there, not me.

But you if you must,
Make provision first,
Or you'll not last the trip
And you'll die of thirst.

For this land is cruel
And bitter and mean
It's the most desolate place
I have ever seen.

Come, will you not stay
By the fountains clear.
Here where you are known
By your folk so dear.

Put out of your head
This terrible quest.
Come lie by my side
You know that is best.

But he turned a deaf ear
To her pleading request
He had to be gone,
He had to go west.

Oh, my man has gone a-roving,
I shall never see him more
For he is in the wild lands
And oh, I miss him sore.

Those lands are wild and treacherous,
They will surely eat him whole
And I'll be left a widow,
A comfortless soul.

Why is my man so full
Of wanderlust and greed?
When I am all he ever wanted
Fulfilling every need.

My anger rises from my heart,
That he should be such a fool
To go where lands are dangerous,
To leave my gentle rule.

My heart is in my mouth,
My head is filled with fears.
I wring my hands in anguish,
I've cried buckets full of tears.

My heart is filled with anger
That he should leave me so,
To face the daily drudgery.
Why did he have to go?

His head is full of mystery
And challenge and delight.
While I sit here alone,
Mine is a sorry plight.

I'm lonely as an ostrich,
With its head stuck in the sand.
He needn't think I'll wait here,
Awaiting his command.

I once lived in the city,
Had a happy life.
He needn't think I'll wait here
Just because I am his wife.

He said he did not know
Just how long he'd be.
He needn't think I'll wait here
While he's across the sea.

I'll pack my bags this instant
Catch the next camel train.
All my loving of him
Has been in vain.

A fire burns vicious in my heart
And burns up all my love.
I turn my back upon him
I'm no passive dove.

If he can turn his back on me
with facile parting speech,
I'll make my way to Spain again,
Work by a golden beach.

My spirits lift at this resolve
I rue the day I met him.
While he's on his mad adventure
I'll also take this one whim.

Yes, life it's for the living,
I will wait no more.
If he returns to see me
He'll find a fast locked door.

Oh I will go a-roving too,
On better shores than these
He chose to go, to leave me
Now I myself will please.

She arrived at the shore
And her spirits were high.
She felt in control,
She didn't need a guy.

She was strong,
She could work all day
Provide for herself alone,
Get plenty of pay.

So she switched off the memories
Of him who had departed,
Tossed her dark hair,
Carried on as she had started.

She would be free of him
And his wild talk
Of mountains and mysteries,
Lands of granite, stone and chalk.

So she sailed for Spain
With her last small hoard of money,
Found some work in an orange grove,
In that land oh so sunny.

But still through her mind
Crept in unwanted themes,
Of the man who had loved her,
Before he had schemes.

The days spent in his company
Joyfully rang
Through her tortured brain
She felt such a pang.

They had been so happy,
Quite blissful in fact.
So what had happened?
What had their marriage lacked.

She had tried to please him
In every way.
Perhaps tried too hard.
Well, he had gone away.

So she cried on her pillow,
That first night in Spain
And vowed she would never
Get married again.

To understand the background of the last four poems you need to read the poems in the lens above by dEdgar.

Life settled down
To a comfortable lilt.
She saw plenty of folk
Some good friendships built

She told of the man
She had loved and lost,
Said how her freedom
Was worth the cost.

But a tear in her eye
Belied what she said.
Inwardly she wondered
"Is he alive or dead?"

When alone at night often
To the sky she would look
And wonder if he saw the same stars
On the road he took.

Or had he gone farther
To distant domains,
To lands that were cold,
Had persistent rains.

A month passed by
Then she realised inside
Was the hope of new life.
It could not be denied.

Her feelings were very mixed.
Why should it be now?
She would soon have to leave her job.
How would she survive? How?

She kept at her work
While the babe inside grew
Still not knowing
What she would do.

She went to her work
In the orange grove shady.
There she heard tell of
A high born lady.

A lady with child
Who would need a wet nurse.
Amalie realized
This could well fill her purse.

She washed and she dressed
As smartly as she could,
Went to the grand house
In the dark wood.

Such a wood she thought
Her man would have been drawn to.
It was hard not to think of him
When within her his child grew.

She had always wanted a child,
A son by her side.
She would bring him up well
Always with her to bide.

She came to the great door
And pulled on the bell.
She was sent round the back
The housekeeper to tell.

A message was sent
To the lady high.
Soon she was called
To a room domed neath the sky.

The lady was gentle
The lady was sweet
She lived in seclusion
In solemn retreat.

Amalie curtsied
And showed great respect.
Here was her chance
To keep her life from being wrecked.

The lady took to her.
Her name was Rosa.
And sweet indeed she was,
As sweet as mimosa.

They took to each other
Like strawberries and cream.
Amalie was taken on,
She felt like a queen.

She felt such relief
With the future secured.
Rosa wanted her there at once,
She would not be deterred.

So Amalie sent for
Her small pack of clothes
And settled down
In an attic repose.

Rosa's man was a merchant
Who sailed the Seven Seas.
Amalie wondered
At Rosa's lack of ill-ease.

She seemed quite content
That her man should be gone,
In dangerous seas battling,
Her sea captain Don.

He brought silks and laces
To keep her dressed fine.
Don Miguel his name,
For him she did not pine

She knew her place in life
Was to accept what came by.
She placidly waited his return
With no thought of "Why?"

So Amalie with wonder
Watched her mistress new
As they spent hours together
And their friendship grew.

Amalie was now a companion
Not just a waiting wet-nurse.
The bond grew stronger
Her fears began to disperse.

Where Amalie lived now
There was a courtyard fair
Where fountains played
And perfume of orange blossom filled the air

The sound of the water
Was soothing and calm
Like a thrush's sweet song,
Like a healing balm.

When Amalie was distressed
She would go here to sit.
Or she would walk up and down
Until she felt fit.

Fit to get on with her life
Which now seemed so set,
Set sure and secure
As good as she could get.

But a doubt still lingered
In her mind.
Still she had thoughts ,
Of the man left behind.

When he returned home
And found the place bare,
Would he pine for her,
Or just not care?

She had loved him so much
When first they had met.
"Why did it all go wrong?"
Was her regret.

Just a little poem
To bring to you today,
Just a little poem
To help us on our way.

Short and sweet
And simple.
My, your face is so cute
With that dimple.

I need a rest
From my friend Amalie
But she still creeps in
As you can see.

While she's in the sun,
We have rain here today,
For which we are thankful
Thus grows the sweet hay.

When my muse is asleep
In Morpheus arms deep,
What can I say to you?
How enthrall you?

I just have to mark time
Till the rhyme sublime
Comes to me again
For you comes again.

So stay waiting with me
For the muse again will be
At my side in the morn
Inspiring in the morn.

Summer passed
And rain swept in from the Atlantic.
Amalie's time drew near
Rosa became quite frantic.

She had never known her mother
Who had died while giving birth.
Rosa feared for Amalie,
It robbed her of all mirth.

But Amalie was young and strong
And took things in her stride.
A fine healthy boy she had,
She held him with such pride.

His cry was strong and lusty
He let the world know he was there.
Amalie held him gently to herself
With Rosa her joy did share.

About three weeks later
Rosa's time then came.
Despite her fears she soon gave birth
To a little girl, Annabel by name.

Is anything too hard for God?
He's the one who raised the mountains
And put the seas in place
The one who made waterfalls and fountains
And flung the stars into space.

He's the one who made our bodies
Which work in a wonderful way,
Each organ helping the other
In wondrous interplay.

And so this God can do anything
To help you on your way.
Nothing is too hard for him
Trust in him now, today.

The girls with their babies
Were merry and bright.
Laughter rang through the house
From morn till night.

Then one day Rosa said
"Tell me chief Overseer,
How long is it since your master left ?"
"Why mistress," he replied
It's time he was here."

So great were the preparations
To greet the master home.
Such cooking went on
Such decorating of the dome.

The babies grew chubby
Annabel had pride of place.
The master was coming
See the surprise upon his face.

A watch was kept from the western tower
To see where the master came,
Riding in power.

His men by his side
In glittering array
With many mules laden
With treasures from the bay.

The day came when the watchman cried
The girls hurried to the tower
Looked where pointed by their guide.

The flags were all flying,
Spears glistening in the sun
"Hurray," rang out,
"The master is come."

Such clatter of horses,
Such braying of mules.
Such kisses for Rosa,
And also some jewels.

Amalie came forward
with Annabel held out
handed her to Rosa
Who showed with no doubt.

But black Don Miguel's face.
He had been gone a year
"But the baby's three month's old, my love,"
Said Rosa in fear.

He questioned the doctor
Of the time the babe was born.
Rosa meantime felt wretched, forlorn.

How could he doubt her
When she had been such a good wife?
What shame she felt
Her heart felt as if pierced by a knife.

Amalie tried to console her,
Spoke of men's stupid ways,
Told her he would calm down again,
In the next few days.

Meanwhile Rosa was confined to her room,
While the man investigated
The fruit of her womb.

He was not very impressed
That Annabel was a girl.
The air was black
With the insults he would hurl.

Poor Rosa quite innocent
Grew thin and pale,
Began to realise the problem was
She had not produced a male.

The morning came
Don Miguel burst in
Declared Rosa must leave
Because of her sin.

Amalie caught up her possessions
Placed the babes on a mule
In pannier baskets
Shaded to keep them cool.

Rosa was allowed
To take her own horse.
They set out at once,
Not sure of their course.

Rosa's heart was broken
To be treated so.
Amalie remained stoical
Did not give in to woe.

By midday they had reached
A village ten miles away,
Decided this would do
As a place to stay.

The villagers were compassionate
And took them in.
Knowing the wiles of men
That you can't always win.

Rosa was ashen pale
And full of fear
How would they fare?
Were they safe here?

Amalie fed the babes and lay down to rest,
Pondered on a course of action,
It was quite a test.

The villagers thought they should
Go further away
For fear Don Miguel should come looking for them
If they should stay.

They housed them that night
And fed them well,
Then sent them away
With a glass ball and a bell.

The bell would ring
To warn them of danger.
The glass ball would show
The approach of a bad stranger.

They thanked them for their kindness
and went on their way,
Hoping to find shelter,
By the end of the day.

Rosa's spirits were low.
It made Amalie cross.
She couldn't bear all the burden
Of carrying their loss.

She spoke up sharply,
Said,"Rosa be strong,
Your babe needs you now
Or we'll not last long.

I need you to help me
This trouble to bear.
And everything now
We must learn to share."

Rosa with great effort
Straightened her back
And offered the horse to Amalie
While she walked the track.

Amalie was tired
And gratefully agreed
She needed her strength
The babies to feed.

Walking brought colour
Back to Rosa's cheeks
She lifted her eyes to the distant peaks.

"Why,Amalie," she cried
"I know this place.
The convent's not far
If we keep up this pace."

"What convent?" asked Amalie.
"Where I went to school.
They have gardens there
And a fountain cool.

The sisters will take us in.
We can work for our food,
From morning till night.
The sisters are good."

What relief and joy flooded
Through her face.
To think she was the one
To find them a place.

They strode out hopefully
with joy in their hearts
Knowing that refuge
Could be found in these parts.

"Well done!" said Amalie,
"Now you're playing your part."
They travelled happily
Feeling in good heart.

By a brook they stopped
At noon that day,
Ate the food they had been given,
Watched the farmer's make hay.

They took in the scene
Of beauty all around,
Began to relax
Now a solution seemed found.

Their meal revived them
The steeds enjoyed the rest,
Cropped grass from the roadside
Were renewed with zest.

The babies contented
Slept, blissfully unaware
Of the trauma their mothers'
Had to bear

With energy renewed
They set out again,
Climbed up a steep hill
Gasped at the beautiful terrain.

A long green valley
Lay below
With fields well tended
Where lush crops did grow.

And there on the hill
Stood a little white church
With buildings around.
They had no need to search.

For this was the convent
Of which Rosa had spoken,
Come sooner than she had thought.
She felt cheered though her heart still felt broken.

She was sure they would be welcome
And find here a home.
She would happily work here
And till the fine loam.

They quickened their pace
As they went down the hill
The little bell rang
To warn them of ill.

"Why surely," cried Rosa,
"There can be no danger here.
The nuns are so good,
I can sense no fear."

"Maybe," said Amalie
"It is just the roughness of the road."
And so they continued onward
As if coaxed by a goad.

They came through the gateway
And to the yard strode,
Took the horse and the mule to water,
They were tired from the road.

The little babes awoke
And were lifted up
By the two young mothers
Who shared this strange cup.

An officious, bustling nun
Came hurrying out,
Saw them there
Began to shout.

Rosa looked up
Very near to tears
This was not the welcome she had expected
After all her childhood years.

But thankfully Sister Peter came
And gave Rosa a hug.
She told Sister Charity
This was an old pupil.
Sister Charity gave a shrug.

She walked away
and left Sister Peter there,
Who listened to their story
And then did declare.

"But you must come in
with us to sup.
You must be very tired,
Come and drink a cup.

You shall eat and drink
And have a night's rest,
Then Mother Superior will see you
In the morning, I think that is best."

And so for a while
I'm feeling wan and pale.
I've had too much food
And found perhaps it was stale.

I'm weak and weary
No Amalie today,
But soon you'll discover
What she and Rosa have to say.

What an elegant poet you are
With such a turn of phrase,
Such similes and metaphor,
You have all my praise

My work is sparse and plain
Beside your sumptuous verse.
Each line a veritable feast,
Each phrase an opulent purse.

Each subject you address
Is stated and amply expressed.
You amaze with each turn of events
Within each line compressed.

As you see I am greatly smitten,
As I read each line you have written,
So keep on writing your poems,
They fit me like a mitten./p">

When a wrong is in sight
Fight for the right
Battle on with all your might

Don't give in
That would be a sin,
Fight to win.

When others are in a plight
You need all your might
To fight for the right.

Call on God's aid
For you will never be paid
It has to be said.

The battle may seem tough
But you have to give enough
Though it seems so rough.

If God is on your side
Opposition woe betide
We're not here for the ride.

Win we will,
We'll climb this hill
Of victory have the fill.

Caressing past me
The cool breeze,
Lost in the trees,
While birds chirrup,
Softly ticks the clock.

Time is passing
I cannot slow it,
Onward marching,
Wrinkles bestowing.

Time withers me outwardly,
Inwardly I am young
And vital.
Death shall not conquer
More than just my flesh

What sweet brightness
Marred by that horrid darkness.
But it was only her body he could crush.
Her spirit freed
From the uselessness he made of her body,
Winged its way
To the the final bright abode.
Nestling into the Father's
Welcoming arms.

You must go on
Without her beside you.
But your journey each day,
Will take you nearer
To the blessed and inevitable reunion.
May your grief be tempered
By this final reality,
The assurance of another meeting.

The still of night
Gently broken by an occasional late car,
With only a ripple of sound
Reaching above the stillness

A time for quiet reverie.
A time for thinking of the past day.
Moments of calm after the tension
Of the day's happenings.

And then comes sleep,
Great mystery of our life,
When the brain untwists
The twining and looping
Which our life brings.
A labyrinth to be explored
And made sense of,
Before the dawn arrives,
When the tortuous process
Begins again.

To conjure up a poem
Every day
Is a happy way
To spend the time

Drawing on life's experience
As I go.
It really does show
What a lot of poems are hidden there inside.

If I did not write each day
Many poems would slip away
Into obscurity,
Never see the light of day
Be lost forever.

And so I come to the end of July,
Thirty one poems is my supply.
And journey on I hope to do,
My year-long challenge to pursue.

Come join me in this blithesome quest.
I hope my poems are of the best.
If not I beg your pardon,
Go feast your eyes in the garden.
For I will still write on,
Until the challenge is done.