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 We live much of life amid unique choices. Joy is anchored in The One beyond our life. |
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“There are times when solitude is better than society, and silence is wiser than speech. We should be better Christians if we were more alone, waiting upon God, and gathering through meditation on His Word spiritual strength for labour in his service. We ought to muse upon the things of God, because we thus get the real nutriment out of them. . . . Why is it that some Christians, although they hear many sermons, make but slow advances in the divine life? Because they neglect their closets, and do not thoughtfully meditate on God's Word. They love the wheat, but they do not grind it; they would have the corn, but they will not go forth into the fields to gather it; the fruit hangs upon the tree, but they will not pluck it; the water flows at their feet, but they will not stoop to drink it. From such folly deliver us, O Lord. . . .” ― Charles Spurgeon “Our anxiety does not empty tomorrow of its sorrows, but only empties today of its strengths.” ― C. H. Spurgeon “Hope itself is like a star- not to be seen in the sunshine of prosperity, and only to be discovered in the night of adversity.” ― Charles Haddon Spurgeon “If sinners be damned, at least let them leap to Hell over our dead bodies. And if they perish, let them perish with our arms wrapped about their knees, imploring them to stay. If Hell must be filled, let it be filled in the teeth of our exertions, and let not one go unwarned and unprayed for.” ― Charles Spurgeon “A Bible that’s falling apart usually belongs to someone who isn’t.” ― Charles Spurgeon “Visit many good books, but live in the Bible.” ― Charles Spurgeon “When your will is God's will, you will have your will.” ― Charles Spurgeon https://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/2876959.Charles_Haddon_Spurgeon (Philippians 2:13, KJV)    |
So, here we go, two poems more, and then a month-long break. Mayhaps three weeks as prose doth soar for focused novel's sake. I can't say yet, but maybe poems will show as novel's writ, but rhythm, rhyme might need to store 'em, though it's quite hard to quit. Iambic feet do often greet the poem reader's eyes as tris and tetras seem quite meet to fit the poem's size. How long 'til novels come apace, like poems often do? True. Books take up a lot of space as poems are small for you. The daily poems often seem, like treats Mom daily made. Her poundcakes we did "famous" deem, and for them quite obeyed. So quickly cooked as a daily sweet this bored cook used some drops, Food coloring to change the treat in lemon, chocolate swaps. Lemon poundcake on one day, chocolate on the next, like what poems have to say, changing just the text. As I take a break to poems refresh the breathing time is good as tastebuds need some time to stop to better taste the food. by Jay O’Toole on October 30th, 2025    |
The last two months of every year bring joy to childlike hearts. The open door past every fear is where the real fun starts! October has no holidays, but should with Jesus born when flocks can see moon's glowing rays, no frost upon the morn. But what of 31, November's Eve when evil is expressed? That "holiday" doth all deceive. Unholy day, it wrests. November builds with gifts to buy, and music oft to play. The novel writ is very nigh. What childlike joys each day! Thanksgiving turkey, much to eat, when football has its day. The stores are full, the cards are not, but shopping come what may. The parties and the carols much, throughout December weeks. The frost is on each nose and such, on 25 it peaks. On 26 all slam the door on Christmas for the year. The budget's black, New Year's before. No Christmas music,... CLEAR. But one child's heart will Christmas keep throughout each livelong day. With Jesus born, there's life to reap, and Hope is ever on display. by Jay O’Toole on October 29th, 2025 |
| Through the trees low sounds of wind. Status yet unknown. Swaying limbs, trunks that rend with lives forever flown. "Survivor's Guilt" along the Eastern Coast, while islands fair not well? Ofttimes the storms do make their boast. Our ears hear the sad song's knell. Our hands be tied to stop the 'cane near one thousand miles away, but pray we now, then pray again to spare their nights 'til day. Soft rumbling winds their presence known, reminding of the blast of awful winds as islands groan, while the storm its hours last. The winter comes. The seasons change as Judgment nears our Time. Will God's Wind seem so very strange 'tween Hell and Life Sublime? by Jay O’Toole on October 28th, 2025 |
| Brightest life of gifted boy, paintings with no match, many years of often Joy, lived with great dispatch. When one day the lights went out, creations durst not made. Agony inside would shout, "A stony path's now laid!" When Depression's months laid spent, Courage found its voice, "I've no eyes for paintings' bent, but I to live have choice!" "If my wife doth give me aid, then paintings I'll produce. They're not by sight, but never staid. No whit shall I reduce!" He tried each day to paint anew, but something real was lost. He felt his life must be quite through, but restorations cost. Jewelry could be made by hand with eyes, that see no thing. 'Tis true another helps his plan of color threads, that sing. To tie these knots 'round metal shapes, to make the bracelets rare, as grouping knots of threaded "grapes" with friends these gifts to share. Experience tells me not long hence, his painting he may do with Hope that leads, no spared expense, the world to bless anew. by Jay O’Toole on October 27th, 2025 |
| Where is the light to see the day? 'Tis late, the day is done. Before the night takes all away, please, call upon the Son. Where is the Day of lasting peace for we, who need some now? The fear of Ever needs release. Before the Son we bow. Where is the time we spent today attributed and known? Were all the things we breathed to say the best with good now grown? Where is the prayer time, that we lift? Where are the hearts we shine? Where is the Hope to others gift to make forever fine? Where is the light? Where is the day? How late! The day now flies! The Gospel speak in words we say. Saved souls, the Lord's great prize! by Jay O’Toole on October 26th, 2025 |
Wispy rivers of thinnest clouds, thumbnail of the moon, purple-est of night, that shrouds tunes we need to croon. Two months more 'til Christmas Day, silhouetted Joy. Trees in black now hide the display for ev'ry girl and boy. Night shades pulled as the sun escapes. It's dark and time to sleep. See the quilt as one long cape as you to dreamworld leap. by Jay O’Toole on October 25th, 2025 |
Changing leaves. Changing days. Changing lives we live. Darker nights. Light displays. Giving what's to give. Gifted words. Hopeful goals. Sharing lively hearts. Breezy nights. Soon quite cold. Freezing winter starts. But for now. Mild the temps. Gentle on the mind. Lightest hair now unkempt. Wooded walks to find. Quite alone 'mong the trees. Whispered words to know. Walking slow, stress it frees. Safely there we grow. Changing leaves. Changing weeks. Changing what we do. Lighter hearts as we seek Time with Christ anew. by Jay O’Toole on October 24th, 2025 |
What human can be perfect? None, but Jesus Christ, the Lord. How is the Victory finally won? In Merits, He affords. Is one mistake the cause to throw up hands, and hang the head? In Christ is safety, that we know, this One, Who rose from the dead. What chance hath one of Adam's sons to lift off of this dirt? Can he find Grace in "victories" won to lasting Hell avert? Can he find Grace in doing things, that clearly need be done? The Gospel Truth in songs he sings 'til lost souls there be none? Oh, fearsome words, "Depart from me" in The Sermon on the Mount. No good deeds can our souls, yet free, this flimsy, small redoubt. Take heart, Old Soldier, striped by sin in daily harsh assault. The victory's yours for Christ did win, your punishment to halt. "For all the sufferings of this day are worthy not, I trow compared" to what God's word doth say, "is glory, that we'll know." (Romans 8:18, KJV) "I get knocked down, but I get up, again," yet not by my own try. What worldly words of self-made sin, that I can get me by. The falling down and getting up hath strength from sources two. The self in pride hath much to sup, but in Christ it's not of you. "All things in Christ are made to last. He keeps things bonded true." All sins of life, from first to last He's paid to make us new. (Colossians 1:16-17, KJV) --------------------------------------------- The reference to Chumbawumba's 1997 song, "Tubthumping" is intended to contrast worldly tenacity with reliance on Jesus Christ, the Lord. The first has a short shelf-life. The second is eternal. https://www.musixmatch.com/lyrics/Chumbawamba/Tubthumping-Radio-Edit --------------------------------------------- by Jay O’Toole on October 23rd, 2025 |
not so hot today chilly breezes come this month freeze is nearly here by Jay O’Toole on October 22nd, 2025 |
| To write a novel, yet unwrit with characters we make requires a bit of strength and wit to start and undertake. Have they great skills and foibles rare? Do they need others or walk alone? What makes the readers stay and care? At ending have the leads yet grown? Where are we now? Where will we go? And how will we succeed? Exciting chase? Or what we don't know? Great joy for those who read! A month of days spent writing fast. A rough draft when we're done. How many days when this one's past will we spend finishing one? by Jay O’Toole on October 21st, 2025 {/center}Image #2273458 over display limit. -?- Image #2291665 over display limit. -?- Image #2333342 over display limit. -?- |
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