Frank Lee's poetry corner

[Frank Lee]

Mountain home

About 8-10 years before being saved I wrote a prophetic poem one winter's night when we still lived in the city. It came to pass two years later.



A Mountain Home

By Frank Lee Jennings
Ca. 1969


Someday I’ll have a mountain home
With forests all around
And through the hollows I will roam
With gun and baying hounds

To hunt the mountain game, all wild
Turkey, deer and Squirrels
Land not yet by man defiled
Best land in the world

The beauty of an autumn’s day
Or winter’s stark delight
Chipmunks on the ridge at play
A flock of Crows in flight

A long day’s hunt, a pleasant one
The tired hounds all close by
The evening chill, a winter’s sun
Sets in a cloud streaked sky

Then homeward trail at twilight time
Lest darkness come too soon
And we must wend through Oak and Pine by light of winter moon

Crispy leaves crunch neath’ my tread
This frosty winter night
The hounds, all anxious to be fed
And fight their daily fight

Then through the branches shafts of light all softened by the fog
A guiding beacon in the night
A huntsman and his dogs

kenneled dogs howl for their grub and feeding them's a trial
Each thinks the food is his alone
And fights from pile to pile

Once more the hunt is over
And ended where began
A home out on the mountain
In a whispering White Oak stand

 

[Helen]

 

[Hidden In Him]

Mountain home

About 8-10 years before being saved I wrote a prophetic poem one winter's night when we still lived in the city. It came to pass two years later.

View attachment 2861

A Mountain Home

By Frank Lee Jennings
Ca. 1969


Someday I’ll have a mountain home
With forests all around
And through the hollows I will roam
With gun and baying hounds

To hunt the mountain game, all wild
Turkey, deer and Squirrels
Land not yet by man defiled
Best land in the world

The beauty of an autumn’s day
Or winter’s stark delight
Chipmunks on the ridge at play
A flock of Crows in flight

A long day’s hunt, a pleasant one
The tired hounds all close by
The evening chill, a winter’s sun
Sets in a cloud streaked sky

Then homeward trail at twilight time
Lest darkness come too soon
And we must wend through Oak and Pine by light of winter moon

Crispy leaves crunch neath’ my tread
This frosty winter night
The hounds, all anxious to be fed
And fight their daily fight

Then through the branches shafts of light all softened by the fog
A guiding beacon in the night
A huntsman and his dogs

kenneled dogs howl for their grub and feeding them's a trial
Each thinks the food is his alone
And fights from pile to pile

Once more the hunt is over
And ended where began
A home out on the mountain
In a whispering White Oak stand

I had always desired a mountain home myself Frank.
Not sure if it will happen this side of eternity, but my life is ever in His hands.

 

[Hidden In Him]

Lord clothe our naked bodies
fill our purse with purest gold
shod our feet with peace and patience
courage needed to be bold

Sing to give you all the glory
share so souls can see your face
reinforce the gospel story
of your free and pardoning grace.

Glory to God!
There's more scripture contained in these two stanzas than would take me three days to write up a piece on! Wonderful work! This reminds me of the Odes the early church used to write. Very scripture based, and stressing the greatness of His Presence among them.

Did you know what you were writing here, Quiet Thinker, or did these words simply flow through you? These verses read like they were written by a Pentecostal.

 

[quietthinker]

Glory to God!
There's more scripture contained in these two stanzas than would take me three days to write up a piece on! Wonderful work! This reminds me of the Odes the early church used to write. Very scripture based, and stressing the greatness of His Presence among them.

Did you know what you were writing here, Quiet Thinker, or did these words simply flow through you? These verses read like they were written by a Pentecostal.

They are the outpouring of my view from observing people and reading the Scriptures Hidden. Written July 02

 

[Frank Lee]

Haiku Gospel

Haiku poetry, 3 lines, 5 syllables in first line, 7 in second, 5 again in third. A variation over the Japanese standard is allowed, accepted in America but I tend to adhere to the original form.

I've started what I refer to as Haiku Gospel verses. Here are a few. Feel free to add your own!
Frank


Jesus died for us
Died for our multiple sins
We receive you Lord

I cry out to God
Heal my broken heart, wash me
Only your blood can

Jesus wept, I weep
Common tears at my failures
He wipes them away

Yes, call unto me
I will hear and answer you
Swift was His answer

Fear not, do not fear
I am with you, live in you
I say do not fear

Jesus was wearied
Lord hear, I too am wearied
Rest in me he says

A treasure in me
It cannot plainly be seen
Break me Lord, they see

Come Holy spirit
Jesus baptize me in Him
Give me a new tongue

Crying to the Lord
Heal my soul for I have sinned
He heard me, healed me

Come ye unto me
I will take you, make you whole
You can then see me

Consider your life
A vapor, flower petal
Turn ye unto me

Love is my completion
For our God, Jesus, is love
His love replaced hate

Man, God has shown you
justice, mercy, be humble
God asks this of you

God loves us so much
His only begotten son
sacrificed Himself

Denominations
man worships his creations
more than those of God

Peace of the Father
Jesus prince of peace gives you
As you yield to Him

Never think it strange
The firey trials that come
To you that believe

What nation so great
That has God so near to them
in all we ask Him

What were you before
He came by and washed you off
with His Holy blood

Come Holy Spirit
fill us, though they say God's changed
His promise denied

My prayers seem weak
Jesus said to continue
I will continue

alone is so hard
Jesus was alone He knows
Jesus never leaves

Jesus sees all those
who think that nobody sees
cares, or considers

 

[quietthinker]

Kisses

kisses with fire that drown out doubt
faces drawn higher, eyes with light.

 

[Hidden In Him]

They are the outpouring of my view from observing people and reading the Scriptures Hidden. Written July 02

It's excellent. Gives the believer plenty to munch on.

 

[Mayflower]

This was the first one I wrote. I was like 10, and it got published in some book called "Celebration of Poets" I don't remember it exactly as written, but this should be pretty close.

"In the Meadow"

When I go into the meadow, I hear a sweet, sweet song
Of birds, plants, and animals, nothing can go wrong
The meadow with the sun so bright, shines in yellow, radiant light
The flowers bloom, the birds all sing,
That song goes out in a sweet, sweet ring
You can come in with me too
But it is only for me and you
You can hear the sweet, sweet song
You can see nothing can go wrong
It is quiet and peaceful, it is a place to play
Laying down in the cool of day
Listening to the beautiful blue jay
Come into the meadow, come into the place
Where the river is flowing with milk and honey and you can play
Nothing can go wrong when the birds are singing a song
So come into the meadow, come in their right now
Come in where every flower will sprout

I think I wrote it like a story at the time. so it is hard now getting it to look like a poem, but it is when I started writing.

I was thinking about Heaven when I wrote it though. I remember that

 

[Mayflower]

Worthy is Your Name

You dried my tears, never asking for perfection
You sent Your Son, when You knew it meant His crucifixion
You picked up my broken pieces and put them back together
You stand by me through the calm and stormy weather
As a sinner, I could have died
But You forgave my sins and gave me life
You healed my broken soul and gave me wings
I was broken and made whole
You are my Savior and my King
Worthy is the great "I Am"
Worthy is the Spotless Lamb
Worthy is the Holy Dove
Worthy is the Lord of Love

 

[Mayflower]

Frank, what do you think of having your thread moved to the new Creative Writing Subforum?

I am not posting much these days, but was so excited about this. Writerssssss unite for Christ!!!

 

[Helen]

Frank, what do you think of having your thread moved to the new Creative Writing Subforum?

I am not posting much these days, but was so excited about this. Writerssssss unite for Christ!!!

Hey there
So you have seen that Angelina created the sub-forum ?
Creative Writing

 

[Mayflower]

@Angelina

 

[Frank Lee]

A balm in Gilead
Frank Lee Jennings

There is a balm in Gilead
an oil from God's own hand
to the heal the things unhealable
by means of mortal man

your shredded heart so torn by things
that you so blindly sought
then found they were not treasure
but only sorrow brought

without within the world's assaults
and Satan's fiery darts
to pierce and wound the hearts of men
and drive us all apart

the world hearkens to his urgings
then deny he is at all
he fools them in their thinking
but they're at his beck and call

he takes them captive at his will
and guides them in their thoughts
they move like they are marionettes
not knowing they've been caught

But when the savior beckons
you can come to know that sin
is a fearful life's companion
and a helpess state you're in

If you fall before the savior
and ask him to forgive
your miserable transgressions
so in him you may live

He will grant you life eternal
and bid you enter there
to the Father's Holy City
with Saints and angels share

In the glory of his presence
and purest burning light
with eyes as coals of fire
His words pure power and might

So with his blood and his alone
he ransomed you from sin
and bade you fall before his cross
so you might enter in

to the presence of his glory
and joy of drawing near
for love and close communion
to serve him without fear

so receive the balm of Gilead
to heal your wounded soul
the savior has prepared it
to make you free and whole

cry out in joyful praises
and worship him alone
who from your sins has saved you
and claimed you as his own

that balm of his salvation
it touches every part
of your miserable transgressions
so transforms stony hearts

a new creation in him
a cure you never had
the blood of God's son Jesus
is the balm of Gilead

 

[Dave L]

This was the first one I wrote. I was like 10, and it got published in some book called "Celebration of Poets" I don't remember it exactly as written, but this should be pretty close.

"In the Meadow"

When I go into the meadow, I hear a sweet, sweet song
Of birds, plants, and animals, nothing can go wrong
The meadow with the sun so bright, shines in yellow, radiant light
The flowers bloom, the birds all sing,
That song goes out in a sweet, sweet ring
You can come in with me too
But it is only for me and you
You can hear the sweet, sweet song
You can see nothing can go wrong
It is quiet and peaceful, it is a place to play
Laying down in the cool of day
Listening to the beautiful blue jay
Come into the meadow, come into the place
Where the river is flowing with milk and honey and you can play
Nothing can go wrong when the birds are singing a song
So come into the meadow, come in their right now
Come in where every flower will sprout

I think I wrote it like a story at the time. so it is hard now getting it to look like a poem, but it is when I started writing.

I was thinking about Heaven when I wrote it though. I remember that

I like beat and rhyme poetry most. And this is a great example. Thanks for sharing....

 

[farouk]

I like your poetry, Sir!

 

[Frank Lee]

Were I the wind
by FLJ

Were I the wind I’d go
no matter where, I’d go
Racing swift and low over
the rippling face of secluded waters

Rolling herds of leaves along
Icy cold with frost on my breath
causing passersby to cringe
pull in their coats, hold their hats

I laugh at their notice of me
They consider my presence
Wisely change their plans
Deferring to my powerful presence

I move slowly then up into the heavens
Stampeding slothful clouds on their way
White clouds of rainless days
brooding clouds burdened with rain

dipping, twisting earthward again
So circling mountain peaks
then down against the plains
wheat bowing and waving before me

raising dust on country roads
as I push ahead for the sea
herding tiny sand boulders
multitudes gallop over the dunes

raising up the white capped waves
They salute me as I pass
choppy and small then
large and foaming standing tall

all must pay me my due
acknowledge my presence
bow before my demanding gales
sigh at my passing coolness

Forested armies wave me by
Their arms saluting my might
They bow from the waist
Pruning their dead from among the living

Through city canyons I sweep
Moving the people along
I breeze through one window
Then back out another

Scattering the papers before me
I rush along rearranging things
Taking grasshoppers by storm
Feeding them to the fishes

My play grows tiresome
The day is finished, out of breath
My gales are grown weary, I repent
Twilight brings my lying down

I must rest now from my travels
The darkening stillness ends my day
Considering the morrow I
Turn upon my secret bed

My empowering friend, the sun
Has fallen away, leaving me alone
I await his return, his warmth
His light, bidding me arise

Still but not for long
I anxiously roll over in the night
so rustling the small leaves in
my impatience, to ever move
is my destiny, my life's breath

PS: can you imagine that you're with the wind carried along on it's journey as a sightseer like a heavenly railway passenger?

 

[farouk]

We're I the wind
by FLJ

Were I the wind I’d go
no matter where, I’d go
Racing swift and low over
the rippling face of secluded waters

Rolling herds of leaves along
Icy cold with frost on my breath
causing passersby to cringe
pull in their coats, hold their hats

I laugh at their notice of me
They consider my presence
Wisely change their plans
Deferring to my powerful presence

I move slowly then up into the heavens
Stampeding slothful clouds on their way
White clouds of rainless days
brooding clouds burdened with rain

dipping, twisting earthward again
So circling mountain peaks
then down against the plains
wheat bowing and waving before me

raising dust on country roads
as I push ahead for the sea
herding tiny sand boulders
multitudes gallop over the dunes

raising up the white capped waves
They salute me as I pass
choppy and small then
large and foaming standing tall

all must pay me my due
acknowledge my presence
bow before my demanding gales
sigh at my passing coolness

Forested armies wave me by
Their arms saluting my might
They bow from the waist
Pruning their dead from among the living

Through city canyons I sweep
Moving the people along
I breeze through one window
Then back out another

Scattering the papers before me
I rush along rearranging things
Taking grasshoppers by storm
Feeding them to the fishes

My play grows tiresome
The day is finished, out of breath
My gales are grown weary, I repent
Twilight brings my lying down

I must rest now from my travels
The darkening stillness ends my day
Considering the morrow I
Turn upon my secret bed

My empowering friend, the sun
Has fallen away, leaving me alone
I await his return, his warmth
His light, bidding me arise

Still but not for long
I anxiously roll over in the night
so rustling the small leaves in
my impatience, to ever move
is my destiny, my life's breath

PS: can you imagine that you're with the wind carried along on it's journey as a sightseer like a heavenly railway passenger?

Maybe your dear daughter, Sir, will one day receive a line or two of your poetry inked into her skin...

 

[Frank Lee]

A few for fun! Chicken limericks

A chicken named Myra was pooped
no eggs had she laid in her coop
then came the tax man
with an ax in his hand
Myra paid with one felling swoop

A Rooster named Davey, quite rude
never gave all the hens their just due
instead of amour
he read books by the door
giving hen pecks to only a few

Betsy Trotwood was quite the slick chicken
she only pecked at the best pickens
she laid apple pies
to the farmer's surprise
so he said now don't
that beat the Dickens!

A teen Rooster, Hoke, drove through town
long hot summer, car windows down
looking out for a bride
now Hoke's quite satisfied
by driving Miss Daisy around

Greg was a Rooster by heck
frayed nerves had made him a wreck
shame made him so shy
that he ate on the sly
so the hens never saw Gregory peck

A clever young hen named veronica
loved to sing, dance and play the harmonica
she'd play for the flock
in a bright yellow frock
while they all danced to Hava Nagila

Trixie Whitemeat was a pretty hot chicken
her drumsticks looked just finger lickin
had a swing in her hips
and a pout on her lips
Colonel Sanders soon picked her for pickin

A crafty old hawk on the prowl
spied a chicken, a tender young gal
wheeling down from a limb
to complete the mayhem
so committing a murder most fowl

Young chickens turned onto the rap
to the farmer it felt like a slap
so he unplugged the speakers
enraging those beakers
now the whole thing has caused quite a flap

 

[farouk]

Keep up with the poetry, Sir...