Sonnet 82

by Lisa Marie Harmon

His eyes are gentle, glancing toward her face: 

Abashed to hold her gaze, they are not bold. 

His confidence slips in and out of Grace: 

Yet within the man, a will that keeps it's hold.

His words, like honey, stick, struggle to flow.

The sweetest of them, only God has heard. 

His heart knows secrets her heart needs to know. 

He prays there really is a little bird. 

For lack of words he offers up his form.

In sacrifice, a Greater Love has he. 

Each limb and muscle pressed against the storm; 

No harbor safer than his arms could be. 

The white winged Dove does whisper in her ears; 

All to the man she gives, joys, tears, and years. 

Sniper

by Lisa Marie Harmon

He leaps and bounds, and spins around, 

A giddy grin has he. 

When ere I open full his gate, 

His heart is filled with glee. 

He doesn't spy a cat to fright

Or hunt for morsels free, 

But sits, instead, square at my feet

And waits obediently.

For the fulfillment of his need, 

His fervent reverie,

A hug, a rub, and yes, a kiss, 

Then by my side, to be. 

For if a dog finds joy in life, 

It certainly is he. 

But the object of his overt love

Is absolutely me. 

Those eyes that shine aim deep in mine; 

He knows not what I see.

That I'm the one to receive from

A heart as true as he. 

Doggie Daycare

By Lisa Marie Harmon

Doggie day care, what is that?
My dog is simply not a cat.
He doesn't like it when I leave.
I hope he's good but I'm naive.
If left alone to his device,
I'll be the one to pay the price.
Plus I don't want him to be sad;
Doggie pals might make him glad!
And so, today, I dropped him here;
I must admit I shed a tear.
He's not my kid, I know that fact,
But like my kid is how I act.
And after work I'll pick him up,
And hug and kiss that silly pup.
Doggie daycare, what is that?
It's where my puppy kid is at!

Farm Cat

Farm Cat

By Lisa Marie Harmon

Where’re you going, Jackson?

With a mighty leap, to the top of your lookout post, statuesque and proud, you survey every barnyard happening

Where’re you going Jackson?

To the top of my shoulders, to purr and nudge and insist I caress your glorious, silky coat of tabby stripes, and hypnotize me with piercing yellow-green eyes

Where’re you going Jackson?

On a family hike through the woods, to the pond, with kids and dogs, you and sister, June, both meowing so loud, “Wait for us!” when we get too far ahead

Where’re you going, Jackson?

Into the hay barn where it’s quiet and warm to take your nap in the middle of a summer’s day

Where’re you going, Jackson?

On a rodent hunt in the feed room at dusk and then maybe to get a drink from the goat pen water trough, or chase a cricket through the tall yellow grass

Where’re you going, Jackson?

Down the dusty farm road to greet ClaireAnna as she walks to the barnyard to do her chores, then roll onto your back at her feet so she has to pick you up and carry you back to the barn

What’s the matter, Jackson?

Just days ago, the picture of health, now your coat is dull and those piercing eyes are pleading and the doctor says there is no hope

Where’re you going, Jackson?

As my hand is closed around the handle of a small, empty crate and the doctor hands me the towel you were wrapped in when they carried you away

Where’re you going, Jackson?

Where Junie can’t find you and we can’t see you anymore or hear your thunderous purrs or feel your glorious, silky, beautiful, tabby-striped coat or marvel at what a wonderful farm cat you are

On Harding Road

By Lisa Marie Harmon

In a tiny house, on Harding Road

as breezes through the oak leaves flowed

in a quiet midwest lakeside town,

kindly neighbors all around,

a mother in a kitchen stood,

a sister asking if she could

watch one more show or maybe two

Dora, Barney, Scooby Do?

Warm beams of light on golden floor

where ninja turtles fight a war

A sleeping dog lies near the chair

A loyal guard, her name is Bear

Dad’s out hosing down the walk

washing away the sisters’ chalk

A little boy hears such a noise

he quickly drops his favorite toys

and runs to flatten down his nose

and stand on tippy tippy toes

He’s looking out the window pane

the view outside hard to attain

because he is so very small,

just four years old, and not so tall

And then he sees, to his delight

just two doors down, a wondrous sight

The biggest truck on God’s green Earth

spinning round for all it’s worth

And men in working boots with spades

setting up the barricades

On Harding Road in the summer sun

some manly work is getting done

Now running fast down front porch stair

the boy has grabbed his favorite chair

He can’t believe his lucky day

A concrete truck just steps away!

He places close his little seat,

Sits right down and plants his feet

And happily he spends the hours

watching men with manly powers

pushing buttons, pulling levers

letting flow the concrete rivers

Filling frames and floating flat
the liquid rock from the rolling vat

And as he watched, the little boy

thought "One day I won’t play with toys."

At least not Ninja turtle kind

Imaginations filled his mind

And he was big and all grown up

And driving his own concrete truck

Too soon the sun began to set

Don’t touch the sidewalk, it’s still wet

The work is done, the truck is gone,

and Josh, the boy, is walking home

His tiny chair, he puts away

He calls for Bear to come and play

Soon dinner time and then goodnight

His mother tucks him in just right

In a tiny house, on Harding Street

a special day is now complete

Valentine

By Lisa Marie Harmon

This is a Happy Valentine

to all the children that are mine

To say you’re children is a lie

but mine you are, I won’t deny

The first, beloved daughter, Jes

A love unknown, I now posses

Then Josh, the one and only boy

My sympathies he can employ

Dear Kate, so sweet and very kind

does play a favorite in my mind

Then came a final, precious jewel

In all our hearts, ClaireAnna rules

A mother blessed beyond deserve

My joy expressed, I won’t reserve

I love you all more than my breath

I’ll love you true till my own death

Till Death

Till Death

By Lisa Marie Harmon

It’s said a man will leave his home and cleave to his new wife,

And she and he will then be We as long as both have life.

But promised not, is any pair, full freedom from contention.

In love and life there is more strife then passion dares to mention.

And just because they now are one in flesh and life and purpose,

It would be foolish to pretend that conflict will not surface.

And when it does, the two are shocked and saddened to discover,

That pride and sin and discontent are certain to uncover.

They must, instead of giving up, a war against these wage.

Hold not a grip on bitterness; turn every damaged page.

Remember well that love is not based on the way you feel.

But rather it’s a gift you give with purpose strong as steel.

It doesn’t come; it doesn’t go. True love is not unfaithful.

It holds no record, casts no blame; it’s patient and it’s graceful.

So when you take that sacred vow, and make it from the heart,

You Stay, you Keep, you Persevere, till death, you do not part.

Questions

This one just came flying out of me this morning.  I had no choice but to write it.  I LOVE it. 

Questions

By Lisa Marie Harmon


Does distance-perfect golden sun emit sustaining light?

Does lightning bright with thunder boom a wondrous show ignite?


Do ranges surge forth from the earth? Do Tetons pierce the sky?

Do canyons grand and river’s rage a shocking view supply?


Do far beneath the crusted firm the molten mantles stream?

Do crystal pools of azure blue in mountain valleys gleam?


Is winter cold in farthest north white deep in glacial snow?

Is spring with cherry blossoms pink a certainly to show?


Do creatures strange of deep abyss in lightless pressure thrive?

Do killers breach and dolphins leap? Do seabirds hunting, dive?


Do eagles glide on currents high in swift and glorious soar?

Do redwoods live a thousand years to harbor forest floor?


Does single cell to infant form in less than forty weeks?

Does newborn’s wisdom urge him just and mother’s breast he seeks?


Did all of universal realm, in random chaos form,

Or God but whisper His command and all that is was born?

Daughter

Haiku about a certain girl I know with curly hair. (Love you!)

Seeking direction
Willful, striving, divergent
The hair and the girl

Love Song

By Lisa Marie Harmon

I wish that I could write a song

An opus just for thee

Love manifest in measured verse

My desperate rhapsody

A major hymn with lyrics strong

On notes that rise and fall

That voice my tender passions
For my One, my Love, my All

But when I put my pen to leaf

A rest is all I see

Love’s lexicon fails to supply

A single line for me

The longest words are less than small

Impotent to impart

The essence of my love for you

Your lock upon my heart

And for the pitch, what intervals?

What rhythm in what time?

Fast like the beating of my heart?

Slow like your breath with mine?

No chords could possibly progress

With sound to justify

No harmony, no melody

That wouldn't’ be a lie

I know I’ll never write the song

There’s nothing on the page

My song of love for you, my love

Is silent for the age

A song’s but whispers in a life

A life can louder sing

For all my days, to you, my love,

My life, my song will bring

I Like You the Way That You Came

I wrote this poem awhile ago after looking through a fashion magazine and thinking about all the ways people in our modern times try to change themselves physically.  With plastic surgery, steroid enhanced body building, excessive tattoos, multitudes of piercings and gauges, body changing implants, exorbitance of fashion and/or jewelry and metamorphosing make-up, we can literally become unrecognizable as ourselves. Sure, we all want to express our individuality and creativity and often we humans do that through our physical appearance. But I also think that a lot of people are so deeply unhappy with who they really are or so petrified of not being accepted by others that they go to spirit crushing lengths to become someone they were never intended to be.  And I just wanted to say to those people.....Every single one of you was created in the image of God. You are endowed according to His Will and Wisdom with totally unique and intrinsic value and natural beauty. Nothing could be more perfect than that. He loves you beyond measure just exactly as you are. You are already different from every single other human being.  You are already special, amazing and precious. Nothing you do to your physical self can make you more valued, important or loved. 

I Like You the Way That You Came
By Lisa Marie Harmon

Your long hair is lily hot flame. 

Your tresses are blacker than night. 

Your curls sing canary gold fun.   

Your braids are mahogany light. 

 

Your smooth skin is cocoa dark brown. 

You shimmer an effloresce white. 

Your tan skin glows beachy sun gold. 

But your skin is red like a fight. 

 

Your eyes are a Bonnie bell blue. 

Your eyes melt a chocolate sea. 

You've got eyes of spruce hazel true. 

Your eyes can look straight into me.  

 

Your soft body rolls like the surf. 

Your body is spindles of thin. 

You'r tall and you're mountainly stout.. 

Your strong body races to win.  

Your shoulders are broad and they're square. 

But you have the smallest of mass.  

And you have a button small nose.  
You’re kind hands are wispy like grass.  

Your square face is solemn and stern. 

And your face is quiet with pride.  

You favor a whimsical grin. 
And your face shows happiness wide. 

No two can be one in reflection. 
Each one wears a crown of his own. 
Brilliantly made with intention.
Not chance like two dice that are thrown.  

  

So how are your stars all aligned?   

And what dispensation is true? 

What way are your textures combined? 

Just who is the authentic you?  

Some people don’t like their own book

As it was designed and imprinted.

They just can’t accept how they look

In the form that they were minted.

Each one of us changes with time.

In ways we both shrink and we grow.

But don’t change your natural rhyme

Into somebody nobody knows.

I like you the way that you came. 

Your features combine to a T.

You are the most perfect you.

And that you is just fine with me.

Upon the Pillow, Soft

By Lisa Marie Harmon

When to the darkness of the night she finds herself resigned,

It’s time to rest and let the Lord renew her tired mind.

And so she lays her weary head upon the pillow, soft.

The worries of her day, in prayer, she sweetly sends aloft.

Tomorrow is another day with troubles in reserve.

Tonight she feels the Peace she knows she doesn't dare deserve.

This Peace, it comes from just one source, 
the Name Above All Names.

It washes all her sins away and swallows all her shames.

It fills her thoughts with gratitude; it fills her soul with joy,

A happiness no truth can shake, no circumstance destroy.

Her life has not been easy; she has known her share of pain.

But every night, this Peace, it comes, and in her heart it reigns.

The pillow’s feeling softer now; the comforter is warm.

Her eyes are growing heavier; her dreams are taking form.

But just before she falls asleep, a smile crosses her face.

For she’s received the Promise of His never ending Grace.

And In His Grace she knows she will find all the Strength she must,

To rise upon the morrow and that day, to Him, she’ll trust.

The Farmer's Daughter

There was a man who owned a farm.

He had a daughter blessed with charm.

She was a sweet and loving child,

Her spirit kind. Her manner mild.

Though some would say that she was spoiled,

On the farm she daily toiled.

Without complaint, she'd feed and care

for every critter quartered there.

She mowed the yard, lugged bales of hay.

She gave the shots on cattle day.

Her father beamed with pride to see

how helpful she would try to be.

But watching how she loved her pets,
made him the proudest daddy yet.

And just because he loved her so,

he never could quite tell her no.

Whenever she'd say, "Daddy please?"

He'd shake his head, though just to tease.

Then he would listen to her plea,

and grant her fancy hastily. 

He's bought her puppies, kittens, goats

"Santa" brought a donkey colt.

He's bought her ponies, ducks and hens.

Her lambs and ewes are in their pens.

A show hog for the county fair.

Alpacas came here in a pair.

Her latest gift from Dad, do tell,

A Jersey milk calf she named Belle.

To Look into His Eyes......

     I remember looking into the eyes of my babies, not as newborns, but as they got older and started participating in our relationship. I'd hold them and rock them and we'd just stare at each other so passionately. It was deep, intentional eye contact born out of the closest of relationships. Through it, we shared our deepest feelings with each other. Long before they could speak, they told me clearly with their eyes, "I love you, Mama. You make me feel safe. You are all I need" And I believe that on a very real and emotional level, they knew what I was saying to them. "You are the most perfect thing I have ever seen. I love you with every fiber of my being. I am here to take care of you and protect you. I will ALWAYS be here for you. I will give up my very life for you. I would die for you." It is these quiet moments, staring deep into each other’s eyes and sharing our desperate feelings for each other, that I miss the most about the greatest love I have ever known here on earth, the love between my babies and I.

     So on Sunday, Pastor Jeff encouraged us to focus on Heaven and what it is going to be like. "What are you looking forward to in Heaven?" He asked. My answer is this: to look into the eyes of Jesus and feel His love for me and share my love for Him. Just to look into His eyes will be enough. No words will be needed. We'll both know.

And for Another Thirty Years

There was a girl who loved a boy;
He was her true soul mate.
She did believe that God above
Chose him for her, not fate.

For thirty years he gave to her
True friendship and devotion.
Her faith in him, by all accounts,
Was deeper than the ocean.

And even though they knew hard times
They never did lose hope,
Or give a thought to giving up,
Or slide that slippery slope.

Now you might think that these two souls
Had special compensation.
His character, impeccable.
Her patience of long duration.

But flawlessness neither possessed.
They couldn't claim perfection.
They practiced just one habit.
From The Word they took direction.

In Philippians they learned to put
The other person first,
To set aside their own desires,
In serving, be well versed.

In Mathew, Jesus taught them
To forgive each other’s sin,
Seventy times seven times.
Don’t let resentment win.

Galatians says the Holy Ghost
Dwells within producing fruit.
Love, joy and peace and all the rest
Leave sinfulness dilute.

Proverbs says, don’t be so proud;
A humble soul is blessed.
In Psalms they learned to trust in God’s
Unfailing faithfulness.

In Corinthians, Paul says to run
The race as if to win it.
Keep your eyes trained on the prize
And determine to stay in it.

But first among the Laws to heed is
Love your God the Lord,
With all your heart and soul and mind.
Then great is your reward.

For as you give your love to God,
Serve Him in all you do,
Your love for other people
Becomes more perfect too.

A lasting, happy marriage
Calls for more than just a pair.
It’s a man, a woman and the Lord.
A triune love affair.

So with the help of God above,
Though weak in human flesh,
Their relationship has not grown stale
But joyful, strong and fresh.

The girl no longer is a girl;
The boy’s black hair is gray,
And for another 30 years
To God they daily pray.

Wasting Time

My eyes are still closed, as my dreams fade away.  I’m cozy and I’m wrapped.

But even before I’m fully awake, the day is being mapped.

Time is so precious.  It’s of the essence. Must use it wisely, they say.

It’s Saturday morning.  Farm chores are warning, don’t while the minutes away.

I’m making my list. Mentally ordering tasks, and wiping out the sleep.

Near seven o’clock.  Time to wake him up, and out of bed we’ll creep.

So I scoot to his side, put my hand on his arm and give a gentle shake.

He rolls over and sighs, and gathers me up, and whispers, “I’m awake.”

Now wrapped in his arms, I settle back in to a semi-conscious state.

Another half hour of quiet half-sleep.  Our chores might have to wait.

I should be up, cooking bacon and eggs. The morning bells are ringing.

But here, in this room, there’s a tranquil peace, as birds outside are singing.

He should be dressed and out in the fields, before the afternoon heat.

But instead he smooths my hair from my face, and gently, our lips meet.

Almost eight o’clock and we’re still soaking up the love that we are sharing.

As the minutes pass by, our priorities lie in the rings that we are wearing.

We cuddle awhile and I make him laugh with some silly conversation.

“Get up!” he jokes, as my side he pokes, “You think you’re on vacation?”

That long list of chores that runs through my head won’t be finished in forever.

But this time we are spending is time we are mending our very hearts together.

What a loss to the Us if we hadn't shared the tenderness we've tasted.

At nine, as I rise, I proclaim with a wink, “Another morning… wasted!”

Silver Fox

This poem is very tongue in cheek! A silly poem to make my sweetheart laugh. 

There was an older man
Who thought his wife was weird
Because she was in love
With his prickly silver beard.

His face, to her, was handsome,
Encased in only air,
But, oh, so much more gorgeous,
When covered with gray hair.

He says, "I just look older."
He wants to stem the tide.
She says, "You're main objective
Is to excite your bride."

She tells him almost daily
That if every strand falls out,
She'll love him still, forever.
He has no cause for doubt.

But when he threatens shaving,
She feels a vengeful state
and warns him, should he prune it
She will retaliate.

She leaves for him to figure,
The punishment he's due.
Without much mental effort,
You may just guess it too.

A Different Path

By Lisa Marie Harmon

Cruising down the highway of your dreams

It really can’t get better than this.

Smooth roads ahead are all you can see.

Who do you thank for this ignorant bliss?

Then something comes at you from far below,

And jerks the wheel sharply to the left.

A more unexpected jolt you've never known.

A sharper turn would have meant your death.

Your eyes are filling up with your blood.

You’re dangling just above the savage cliff.

Fear runs through your bones just like a flood.

Against the fall, your very soul grows stiff.

Straining, you look up for a line,

Though you think you know it doesn’t exist.

Why waste your time hoping for a sign?

It makes more sense to shake an angry fist.

So in midair you find yourself trapped,

Between the wicked rocks and twisted steel.

Within the wreckage you have been strapped.

There’s no way out; no Let’s Make a Deal.

You fall into a deep but restless sleep,

And in your dreams you find you’re not alone.

Was someone sitting in the other seat?

Someone that you know you’ve always known.

You look into his eyes and see him wince.

His wounds must be far greater than your own.

You look into his loving eyes again.

And feel a desperate longing for your home.

As you wake, your body trembles cold.

You wonder if your dream was only shock.

But deep within you, peace has taken hold.

“Don’t be afraid.  I will be your Rock.”

It wasn’t belts and straps that held you firm,

And prevented you from being torn apart.

It was His steadfast everlasting arms,

Arms that bound His Spirit to your heart.

Today you’re headed down a different path.

In your gut you feel a dreadful grip.

No longer do you travel blind or fast.

This isn't going to be a blissful trip.

But now you know with every twist and turn,

As you anticipate a rugged ride,

A fire within your soul forever burns,

That travels strong and present by your side. 

Mother

There is a woman close to me.

I've known her all my days.

She makes me raise my eyebrows

With her "interesting" ways.

Sometimes she is quite normal.

Many people call her friend.

She gets along with everyone;

Tries hard not to offend.

Her favorite food is chocolate.

She likes the color blue.

She has a love for animals.

To Jesus, she is true.

A writer of fine poetry.

Her verses often rhyme.

She likes iambic rhythm

In a syncopated time.

Her emotions overcome her

In a tender circumstance

She cries at sappy movies,

Loves to watch a good romance.

But not everything about her

is as perfect as can be.

With all her little quirks

She can drive you up a tree.

Odd faces, silly nick names,

Funny songs she loves to sing.

She talks too loud and much;

She can be embarrassing

 And often she’ll confound you.

She’s as loony as a toon.

Her reason comes and goes

with the phases of the moon..

Wait a minute I’m confused;

A conundrum I can see.

Is the reflection in that mirror

Of my mother or of me?

National Poetry Writing Month, day 11

Prompt: Mother