tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-285987912011-11-27T17:31:10.904-06:00A spinoff blog where I post my poetry. Please visit me at <a href="http://www.beneaththeivywreath.blogspot.com">Beneath the Ivy Wreath</a>.C. H. Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14705844985645635308noreply@blogger.comBlogger191100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28598791.post-7854618830345150322011-10-12T21:09:00.001-05:002011-10-12T21:09:28.948-05:00

For Linda—  His Spirit in her honors His name--  She lights the temple with the flame.  Selfless and smiling—that sweet Swedish smile  That beckons you in to sit for a while.   She lifts heavy hearts, she comforts, she prays. She teaches His servants the Master’s ways.  And when her shepherd takes Christ overseas,  The faithful wife then falls on her knees.   She prays for his safety

C. H. Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14705844985645635308noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28598791.post-25467315710533159982011-06-15T01:17:00.001-05:002011-06-15T01:20:20.920-05:00

I am saddened by your loss--I know there is a voidThat no one else can fill.I know that are you lost,And filled with grief that is beyondWhat you can possibly tell.I just wanted to tell you That I am here. I care--That there is a place Beyond your sorrowAnd sunshine awaits you there.Someday sweet memoriesWill make you smile again.And though the pain will linger,You will hug that moment to your

Cynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12734669065717203716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28598791.post-65013945663522682342011-06-15T01:09:00.000-05:002011-06-15T01:15:35.881-05:00

Because I have memories of youMaking me breakfast And tying my shoesAnd brushing my hair--Because you fed me,Clothed me, loved me,And taught me to be a lady--Because you had faithThat I could become Anything, and nudgedMe out of the nest When it was way past time--Because you held me After I made my mistakesAnd listened to me cry--And loved me just the same.For all this and so much moreI thank

Cynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12734669065717203716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28598791.post-55262829505090054812011-05-20T19:05:00.001-05:002011-05-20T19:08:15.705-05:00

Black bile boils up in your throatWanting to spit, you start to chokeOn all the wrongs unjustly received--As jealous hands connived and deceived;Your stomach rolls at the thought that theyAbused your trust and walked away, And they now hold the golden keyWhile you lie wasting in misery.--C.H. Green©2005

C. H. Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14705844985645635308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28598791.post-63697402242489111022011-05-20T19:03:00.002-05:002011-05-20T19:04:13.805-05:00

Poison paranoia. Diagnosis: Imbalance Of chemical origin. This revealed in voices All too real from doctor's lips. I hear the words, but deny Their meaning. Not me, not mine... “We're fine,” I say, stumbling Over scientific nomenclature Like marbles scattered Along my path. Unsuspecting of such I am defenseless. I cannot stop reeling From these

C. H. Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14705844985645635308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28598791.post-53904156658824913192011-05-20T18:56:00.001-05:002011-05-20T19:00:32.190-05:00

My Heart--calls me softly sometimes Like a dove on a summer day. On the edge of memory she sits And beckons me to play. To soothe her gypsy soul, With a song or two and then Open the door to the gilded cage And let her see beyond the bend. At times she flies towards heaven-- But gets caught in a bitter wind And then she flutters near the earth Thinking it better to pretend, That she and I are

C. H. Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14705844985645635308noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28598791.post-77128162850026486242009-03-05T19:12:00.000-06:002009-03-05T19:13:15.981-06:00

When rain falls,sometimes we are standingin the low spot where it pools--And fills our galoshesSo that we slosh with each step.And when we peer into the puddlesThe image of us keeps changing.Yet while we are looking downAt the flood rising to our knees,The sky before us has forgiven all--And is busy painting pretty promises Of light and hope which we mustLook up to see. --C. H. Greenn @2007

C. H. Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14705844985645635308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28598791.post-40403762258957119222008-01-13T18:01:00.001-06:002008-01-13T18:01:52.290-06:00

Happiness by Raymond CarverSo early it's still almost dark out.I'm near the window with coffee,and the usual early morning stuffthat passes for thought.When I see the boy and his friendwalking up the roadto deliver the newspaper.They wear caps and sweaters,and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.They are so happythey aren't saying anything, these boys.I think if they could, they would takeeach

C. H. Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14705844985645635308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28598791.post-21729561037069411292007-11-05T17:06:00.001-06:002007-11-05T17:13:45.512-06:00

Let the rain kiss youLet the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid dropsLet the rain sing you a lullabyThe rain makes still pools on the sidewalkThe rain makes running pools in the gutterThe rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at nightAnd I love the rain. Langston Hughes I know it's not April, but it is raining here..."and I love the rain."

C. H. Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14705844985645635308noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28598791.post-6387580194140778332007-11-02T14:39:00.000-05:002007-11-02T14:40:16.164-05:00

Today on Martha Stewart I happened to notice the guest was the phenomenal Dr. Maya Angelou, the "People's Poet." She not only shared her caramel cake recipe but the story behind it. She also spoke of her writing work habits. This I found most interesting. She rises at 5:30 and goes to a local hotel room which has been stripped of all decor. There is a bed, a desk, and a chair, her Roget's

C. H. Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14705844985645635308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28598791.post-4263685675064966112007-07-25T23:17:00.000-05:002007-07-26T11:23:57.885-05:00

AwakeningBeneath this rubble lies the spiritOf America.Rumbling, mumbling as she isSuddenly stirred from her slumber.As the one who is frightened awake by a soundAnd not knowing exactly from whenceIt comes, she moves to investigate.She is Armed and ready to defend her houseFor she knows it was not just the windBlowing through the trees...It was evil that brought this soundThis sound of

C. H. Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14705844985645635308noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28598791.post-36763708569066954972007-07-24T13:00:00.000-05:002007-07-24T13:08:43.867-05:00

Writer UnemployedAre you sleeping or hidingbehind the secretsYou keep buried?I ask.Begging your forgiveness,butI have to work, you say,I cannot stay awakeAnd talk the night away...I have a lifebeyond this bed.And so,I flip the switchTo Horatio deliveringDeadpan one-liners on CSIMaking mental notesOn murder, knowingI cannot retire untilHis socks and shorts are dry.--CHGreen ©2005

C. H. Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14705844985645635308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28598791.post-85889845492328043832007-07-24T12:51:00.000-05:002007-07-24T12:54:07.817-05:00

From Hand to Mouth Behind her crimson curtainsShe sits and sips coffee,Saddened by the prospectOf losing her home.She pads in socked feetSilently to the windowAnd wonders if next winterWill find her here--Still sipping her coffeeBehind her crimson curtains,Saddened by the prospectOf losing her home.--C.H. Green @2005

C. H. Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14705844985645635308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28598791.post-14567037361397659402007-07-24T12:44:00.000-05:002007-07-24T13:00:06.096-05:00

DeceptionHeavy with the prideof his jeweled body,The angel fellfrom his spot so heavenlyAnd so another spotless worldwas marredFrom the boughs of that perfect Tree.Thick scales formedand the wings with which he'd flownTransformed themselvesinto an ugly sheath,and he cleverly cloaked himselfa creature of her world.Oh my friendhow could she know or see...The prince of Darknessas an enemy?He offered

C. H. Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14705844985645635308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28598791.post-61519393934256926442007-07-21T17:09:00.000-05:002007-07-24T12:57:01.135-05:00

if sleep evades you,do not count sheep...for all their cuddlyness is but an illusion...they bleat and bleed and die on the slaughterhouse floor...and all that's left is the woolen blanket that you wrap your sorrows in. Instead count friends and enemies, and if your foes are few, then sweet sleep will surely come as a feather floating from heaven sending you beautiful dreams--dreams where all your

C. H. Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14705844985645635308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28598791.post-43498322057232908162007-07-21T16:55:00.001-05:002007-07-24T12:57:29.608-05:00

Until then--Embrace eternal life, dear oneFor peace is Heaven's gift;Rest beneath her boughs and waitFor in due time we all will meet--Where sorrows never darken the dayAnd praise takes place of pain.Then shall you drink deeply from the riverWater--holy, pure, and sweet,And I, with you when my time has come,Will worship at His feet.--Cynthia H. Green06-04-2007

C. H. Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14705844985645635308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28598791.post-29757851876395878392007-07-21T16:55:00.000-05:002007-07-24T12:58:39.179-05:00

Mama’s TriumphThe door closed quietly behind herAs Death crept with silent feet--Ending a lifetime of memories,The album now complete.Leaving behind love's legacy,Children close in prayer--Sorrow's arms enfold themYet Mercy has met them there.For in the dawn of this new day,They see beyond earth's realmA ship that's headed out to seaOur Father at its helm.He's guiding her to safetyAs onward her

C. H. Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14705844985645635308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28598791.post-17212935377502417772007-07-21T16:50:00.000-05:002007-07-26T11:23:14.590-05:00

When Sometimes Shattered--When sometimes shattered, we seek to save ourselves as best we can.Preferring to suffer in silence and to cry alone--Than have pity place us in a lower rank, we writhe In darkened corners crumbling at the edges of sanity--Almost, but not yet too far gone to feel the pain.Bemoaning lost chances, lost words that dissipatedLike dew in the mid-morning sun, we grieve,And our

C. H. Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14705844985645635308noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28598791.post-1159280524813131072006-09-26T09:21:00.000-05:002006-09-26T09:22:04.823-05:00

This is a test post.

C. H. Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14705844985645635308noreply@blogger.com2