Misc Poems
Direction
I’ve been following counsel from those who aspireto remodel my life by directing my choices.I enjoy the attention when it’s me they admirebut it puts me off course; I’m confused by their voices.
My focus is blurred; I grapple with doubt.I shun God’s commands while reading His Word.Should opinions of others get so much cloutI neglect God’s voice when my heart is stirred?
Dear parent, brother or sister in Christ,don’t take offense if I turn a deaf ear.God’s will is my mission, I have but one life;my status in heaven is formed while I’m here.
Pain exaggerates time. Still my days are few.I must take instructions from God, not you.
Janice Cooley Jones
I’ve been following counsel from those who aspireto remodel my life by directing my choices.I enjoy the attention when it’s me they admirebut it puts me off course; I’m confused by their voices.
My focus is blurred; I grapple with doubt.I shun God’s commands while reading His Word.Should opinions of others get so much cloutI neglect God’s voice when my heart is stirred?
Dear parent, brother or sister in Christ,don’t take offense if I turn a deaf ear.God’s will is my mission, I have but one life;my status in heaven is formed while I’m here.
Pain exaggerates time. Still my days are few.I must take instructions from God, not you.
Janice Cooley Jones
Harmonica
My grandpa has a little cagewith music hiding inside.It’s flat and thin, not very long,and only one inch wide.
The music tucked inside is shy;to get it out, you blow.Grandpa blew, and out it came;that’s how I know.
He scoots the cage inside a boxand stores it on a shelf.He says when I am big enough,I’ll play it by myself.
Grandpa whispers to the notes,“Come out now, don’t be shy.”The music slips out through the holes,a lullaby.
Janice Cooley Jones
The music tucked inside is shy;to get it out, you blow.Grandpa blew, and out it came;that’s how I know.
He scoots the cage inside a boxand stores it on a shelf.He says when I am big enough,I’ll play it by myself.
Grandpa whispers to the notes,“Come out now, don’t be shy.”The music slips out through the holes,a lullaby.
Janice Cooley Jones
Iris
Statelystalk punctures air.Spicy perfume ripens.Incense wrapped in a purple sashexplodes.
Janice Cooley Jones
Statelystalk punctures air.Spicy perfume ripens.Incense wrapped in a purple sashexplodes.
Janice Cooley Jones
That’s My Point!
I ordered fine-point pens from Amazon.These sharpened quills help me compose my best.With oily pens I’m apt to mold a yawn;another shelved attempt would just congest.
All greasy agents slip and slide. They’re brash!(I’m older now; I need to plod along.)With scratchy quills, we writers shun whiplash,and words end up on lines where they belong.
This story’s silly, but it’s also true.I fancy oceans, puppies, fine-point pens.I’ll write down couplets, quatrains, clerihews,and hopefully crisp words will not offend.
My instrument should match my goal, I find-concise, succinct, or I’ll leave point behind.
Janice Cooley Jones
All greasy agents slip and slide. They’re brash!(I’m older now; I need to plod along.)With scratchy quills, we writers shun whiplash,and words end up on lines where they belong.
This story’s silly, but it’s also true.I fancy oceans, puppies, fine-point pens.I’ll write down couplets, quatrains, clerihews,and hopefully crisp words will not offend.
My instrument should match my goal, I find-concise, succinct, or I’ll leave point behind.
Janice Cooley Jones
MY DAUGHTER
Soon enough my daughter will knowthat this world is not entirely made of butterflies and caterpillars, long walks near pebbled streams, blowing bubbles, or sweet songs and kisses.But during these years—these precious years—let me drink in and enjoy her giggles and laughter, ruffles and bows, drawings for Mother, birthdays with playmates, sweetness and innocence.And may these memories linger,helping us both through the difficult years that surely will come, bridging childhood to adulthood where we will bond again- this time, as friends.
Janice Cooley Jones
Janice Cooley Jones