A poem for every day in October

Peeping through the greenery
I see the scene beyond
Where the fields have yielded
Their last late bounty of hay.
All is yet green
And has not yet given way
To brown and ochre tints.
When blessed with sun October days
Are pleasant enough.

A love as great
I've never known,
As that I know
Now I'm alone.

What I sought before
Was always missing.
No man could give
What I was wishing.

But now alone
I find my Lord
The heavenly husband
Who requires
My undivided attention.

Now I am undistracted
By the needs of a husband,
I can give my love
To my Lord.
And find myself in his presence,
When before I had not the time to look.

Little Miss sweetheart
In a pretty hat.
Not knowing what life will bring.

Smiling sweetly for the camera
And the man behind the camera.

Together they will share much of life.
Meet with divorce
And refind friendship.

Litttle Miss sweetheart,
Aren't you glad you don't know all this now?.

How pleasant 'tis to
Walk and talk
Along the merry lane.
To amble freely,
Tread the path
Where many folk
Have roamed before.
To view the scene
All bright and green
With leaves to yellow turning.
To chat with friend
And know no end
To friendship's
Special yearning.

Trees arching into the distance
Leafy canopy.
Joyously walking on the damp
Muddy path.
In company or
In blissful solitude.
Peace reigns
While the gentle rain falls.
The forest is moving
Towards its winter slumber
With none of the urgency of Spring.

Iridescent waters,
Golden fish below,
Rising to take a fly.
Light glints on scales.
Muscley bodies
Flick and chase
Through the green pool.
Sultry summer air
Brings the insects down.
So the swallows
Reflect in the water,
As they dive for their prey.

But now 'tis Autumn.
The swallows are flown away
On their epic journey
To the sun.
The fish grow languid,
The pool is still.
Earth prepares to sleep.

How long does the stately oak live?
One hundred years and more.
This one saw my Grandad
As a boy
And now it watches over me.

There is a plan to cut it down.
It's in the way of a new road.
Is this the way to treat an old friend
Of the family?

I shall camp in its branches
And refuse to come down.
I'll protect this companion
This bosom friend,
With the last breath in my body.

Reprieve came and the next night
There was a storm
Of mammoth proportions.
My old friend fell.

Why is lying in bed
Such a treat?
When the day stretches out
With infinite possibilities?
Is it the very nature of its unknown qualities
That keeps us safe under the duvet?
Sooner or later we have to face the day.

Better to face it sooner
And take it by the scruff
And shake it into shape.
Better than half-heartedly let it
Take you by the scruff
And limply succomb to it.

Rise up early
With a sense of purpose.
Prepare for the day
Quickly and with precision.
Then ride off briskly
To meet what must be met.
Draw from the day
Its rich juices,
To delight your palate
And feed your hunger.

I do not like
The amplified noise
Of guitars and drums
And keyboard
With raucous and shouting voice.

They call it worship
'Tis not so for me.
I can worship best
In the silence,
That is when I hear His voice.

I will not force
My silence on others,
Just as I will not
Deny them their noise.
But please allow me to be your sister
And yet allow me
To sit at a distance,
In quiet contemplation,
While you enjoy
Your exuberant noise.
Allow also that my silence
Has depth and exuberance too.

I come in
There is the smell of apples and flowers.
I remember years gone by
When the whole chapel was full of produce
Brought to praise the Lord
And to give to the poor.
Now we are the poor
And the rich outside are made poor by their riches.
They think they have everything they need
But the one they need they have not.
They do not know what is missing
They do not know where to look.
We know but we have forgotten how to go out to them
With this precious seed.
Awaken us Lord and send us out with the message of your love.

What I want before I die,
Said the young man from England,
Is to drive a Ferrari.

What I want before I die,
Said the little child from India,
Is a bucket a day
Of clean water.

What I want before I die,
Said the young girl from America
Is to have dinner
With Robert Pattinson.

What I want, said the young girl from Africa
Is a bucket of clean water a day,
Before I die.

You might like to give a donation to Water Aid.

We work hard
To accomplish something great
The day arrives
Finally we have succeeded
Our goal is reached
Bliss
Two days later
The taste in our mouth
Is not so sweet.
We start to aim
For the next milestone
Only to find
That it too Is not as wonderful
As we had anticipated
It would be.

Strange, this striving
Never to be satisfied.
What will fulfil us?
Where is our soul's true goal?
We have a God-shaped hole
In our lives.
We are restless
Till we find our rest
In Him.

Across windswept steppe
In Russia's land,
Travelled the intrepid pair.
Fulfilling youthful dreams
In middle age.
Through Mongolia
and into America
To view the splendour
Of the Grand Canyon.
A three- month trip,
A once-in-a lifetime opportunity.
Great for my friends,
But I will be content
With Albion's milder glories
And stay at home
Whilst enjoying their experience
Second hand.

The little tree
Stood in the October sun,
Seeming to have more leaves
Than its brothers.
And then the birds flew away
Revealing it in winter garb.

I sit and think
Of a poem to write,
But my throat is sore
And my chest is tight.
It's hard at a time like this
Don't you know
To find the words
And make them flow.

I've come this far,
I wont be beat
I'll write a poem
Oh so neat.

Though I am sneezing
And gently wheezing,
I will keep up my challenge.
I'll write a poem
Every day
Although I'm ill along the way.

What a cry-baby
'Tis only a cold
Surely I can
Be quite bold
And write a poem every day
'Til next April comes my way.

Lemon and honey
To cheer up my cold.
A few more hours in bed
While I'm feeling old.
The days will pass
And I will be well
Will perk up and plod on
And more stories tell.

How to write a poem,
When I'm full of gloom?
How to lift my spirits
When their full of doom.

'Tis only a little cold
Has done this.
Put me on the edge
Of an abyss.

Soon I will recover
And be full of bounce
My spirits will soar,
I'll be ready to pounce

October sun shines through my window
Bouncing off the clouds.
Cheering me
While I still feel poorly.

How much difference
A little sunshine makes

The frost nestles
On the roof opposite
As the Autumn sun
Seeks to melt it.

There is frost in your heart
Which I seek to melt
But the cause is helpless
You are adamantine.

There is frost on my own roof
Which I could melt from within
With the glow of my heart
But, no
It is you I want to melt
On another roof.
How perverse.

Mist along the valley
Licking at the hills.
Sun above
Show God's love
Fill my mind with thrills.

The weather
Has turned very cold
We are in winter's grip.
Rain will come
We'll feel numb
As the water's drip.

But Spring will
Come again
You'll see
The seasons
They will turn
The sun grow stronger
By the day
The times for which we yearn.

We traveled together,
My friends and I
And came upon the coast.
We had a light lunch
In a splendid hotel
But it wasn't a roast.

Twas a favourite haunt
Of theirs I found
As we talked and
Viewed the sea.
It wasn't where we were bound for
But that was o.k. with me.

Soon we moved on
To our destined abode.
A little in land you see.
There we met still more friends
And shared a chat
And also had some tea.

We were all from churches
Near my own.
We were meeting for fun and to learn.
To discuss war and peace,
Our money to share
And keep this world on the turn.

There was fun
There was food
And no one was rude
As we learned to recycle
And share, all in good mood.

It was a lovely weekend
With company congenial
But I love to get home
And do something menial.

No company's so good
As that I share with me.
We never fall out
Or disagree.

So time away is good
And pleasant and agreeable
But time with me
Is cosy and amenable.

So give me some time
With friends to chatter,
But let me come home
To peace from that clatter.

So let's settle in
To my daily routine.
My poem comes first
And I tell where I've been.

Next comes some tidying,
Put the case away.
Then what will I do with
The rest of the day?

Well, although I love
My company so much
I'll get on the phone
And then go out to lunch.

But when I come in
I can study for preaching
Hoping my words
Will be far-reaching.

Hoping my words
Will help and heal,
Touching a life
That's forgotten how to feel.

I don't want to be empty
Or pompous or condemning,
But broadcast hope
And life and love.
An evil tide stemming.

The night is singing
Softly to me,
But singing not of sleep.
My thoughts turn
To the departed one
And so I softly weep.

The night is singing to me
Of days that now are gone,
Of days when we were together.
It is a sweet, sweet song.

A shocking pink begonia
Adorns the window sill
And brings bright colour into gloom
And gives a happy thrill.

Such a small splash of colour
Can cheer me on my way
And help me forward
To a brighter day.

How good it is to chatter
With a friend who has just popped in.
She comes with lots of news
She blows away the blues.

Her little dog comes with her,
She always needs a drink.
I'm sure she gets plenty at home,
Well that is what I think.

We talk of difficult neighbours
And the problems that they cause
The little dog looks at its feet
Ending in little claws.

No matter what we say
Even of great import
That little dog just lies there
And utters to us naught.

For she has all she needs
And is perfectly calm,
Knowing all will be provided
From her mistress's palm.

So we may fret and fulminate
Across the room above her,
But she will be at ease,
Trusting in her "mother."

Today a backache
Impedes my progress.
I had planned to do so much.
Life often turns out like that
Some purpose meant by this touch.

Plans often go awry
'Tis best to accept
And go with the flow.
Who knows what may come
Where it leads I'll go.

Remembering the sea
And the warm sunshine
In winter is
A favourite pastime of mine

I hear the children
Shout as they run,
Enjoying the sand,
The sea and the sun.

Lying on the warm sand
In a happy haze.
Relaxing from work
In a Summer haze.

Looking back on things
Is a pleasure
Almost as good
As the moment's measure.

And so October
Comes to an end.
I hear the cars
Splashing over the
Rain-sodden roads.

The pretty leaves
Still cling to the cold trees.
But not for long.
Wind and rain
Will bring them down.

Now we walk
Into the wintry months,
Unsure of warmth
Until March arrives.

We will be much indoors
In the evenings,
Glad of pastimes
To help the hours along.
But it will be cosy.