Winter

Winter

©2020 Mollie Pearce McKibbon 

Snowy landscape

 

The winter howls; the winter blows;

The winter sleets; the winter snows.

The winter makes us put on clothes

In other climes we’d never wear, 

But here there’s winter everywhere.

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The winter’s white; the winter’s cold;

The winter’s ice; the winter’s bold.

The winter’s beauties do unfold

As we trample high and low,

Plowing pathways where we go.

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Winter’s fierce and winter’s mean;

Winter’s silver and so pristine.

Winter paints a magic scene

On earth, in sky and on the glass,

Enchantment never meant to last.

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The One Who Makes the Wind Obey

Jesus Calms the storm                                                                                               

The One Who Makes the Wind Obey
© 2019 Mollie Pearce McKibbon

1)
The ocean swells with the rising tide
And I cannot see the other side.
My craft is small and the water deep,
But I must cross it before I sleep.

refrain
How wonderful to trust my frail steps
To the One who made the ocean depths;
To the One who makes the wind obey,
My Jesus, who carries me all the way.

2)
As I sail over the bounding waves,
I trust my soul to the One who saves,
Mightier is He than any king,
God, the Maker of everything.

3)
I am never alone, have no fear,
For my Protector is always near.
He guides me through every storm
And shelters me from eternal harm.

Something About That Man

Jesus carrrying his Cross

 

Something About That Man

© 2016 Mollie Pearce McKibbon

 

Oh, what’s the hubub in the street?

I hear the sound of marching feet.

I hear the shouts of and angry crowd-

They’re coming near; they’re getting loud.

 

See the Man with the crown of thorns?

He is the one that King Herod scorns.

They’re driving him up Godgotha’s slope-

A merciless place without hope.

 

There’s something about that Man’s face

Reminds me of a time or place

Where he and his friends shared their meal

And went about to teach and heal.

 

They say he now claims to be God

And his miracles were a fraud.

But I saw the lame he made walk,

The blind to see, the mute to talk.

 

I heard the stories that he taught

And felt the hope that Man brought.

I must protest this awful fate

Brought on because of fear and hate.

 

Yet, I stand silent on the hill,

Urging my conscience to be still

And when they plant that awful tree,

My voice is stopped; my eyes won’t see.

 

As I gaze at the darkened sky,

I hear his words, his groaning cry,

“Father,  forgive them for my sake,’

And I feel my own heart break.

 

 

Little Brown Teapot

Brown betty teapot

Little Brown Teapot

©2018  Mollie Pearce McKibbon

 

This little brown teapot,

 through the years,

has welcomed strangers, 

sopped up tears,

celebrated good friendships,

patched up fights,

calmed in stormy weather,

and lonely nights.

It’s been a staunch server

through all woes;

has heard about troubles

no one knows.

This little brown teapot,

without a doubt,

is more than a handle,

body and spout.

Fireflies

Fireflies

© 2018 Mollie Pearce McKibbon

 

fireflies-at-night-tsuneaki-hiramatsu-6

Tiny flashes light the path

Winding through the forest dark,

Minute points of silver light

From  heavenly anvil spark.

There’s wonders in the night time

That can only be perceived

By wise and curious people

Who always have believed.

The brightest beam of sunlight

Is not as welcomed or fair

As those sparkling  lanterns

And the One who placed them there.

Burgeoning May

Burgeoning May

First Crocus close-up©2018 Mollie Pearce McKibbon

Winter’s ragged blanket withdraws

Washed away by April’s tears.

Crocuses open their purple petals

To a smiling, unbroken, blue sky.

Breezes gently nudge the trumpet daffodills

While drowsy bees awaken.

Squirrels and chipmunks stretch and yawn,

Aroused in budding branches 

By the joyful serenades of robins 

And red-winged blackbirds 

Responding to the warm coaxing 

Of a burgeoning May.

 

Senior Locomotion

Senior Locomotion
© 2018 Mollie McKibbon

 

My perfume is linament
And I walk most carefully
Because at any moment
I could buckle at the knee.
Stairs are quite a challenge;
Going up I have no speed.
Going down them, I wobble,
Scaring those whom I impede.
Rising from chairs and sofas
Takes time and determined skill,
While I remember fondly
Youthful springing up at will.

elderly man wearing glasses using caneAnd dance which was so graceful
When I was young and complete,
Is more a lurch and stumble
Than light skipping of the feet.
Though my strong cane is stylish,

Carrying it can be a boregreen-turtle-hi

‘Specially when I forget it
And it clatters to the floor.

If perilous my travel

Down life’s rugged trails,
I have some good companions
Among the turtles and the snails.