Autumnal tones and winter.

Photo by Ian Beckley on Pexels.com

Joseph’s coat of many colours,

looks pale beside the autumn leaves.

Summers days all clad in green,

so mundane ‘gainst late year eves.

Golden hues from beige to crimson,

crisp and fresh on dew soaked grounds.

Carried on late summer breezes,

blocking byways, forming mounds.

Autumn, fall, what ever you call it,

its beauty shown at every turn.

It harkens winter’s frosts and snowfall,

when naked trees begin nocturn.

August followed by September,

and October then begins.

With icy hands and frosty bowers,

autumn fruits and huge pumpkins.

So each year comes and each year goes,

as we think back and remember.

That life is just a splendid time,

as autumn leaves September.

©joseph r mason 2020

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The Drunk.

© Reg Smythe, The Daily Mirror and DMG.

“Home sweet home you call it?

I’ll give you home sweet home.

You arrive back here gone midnight

You poisionous little gnome!”

“I’ve had a drink, a couple,

maybe three or more,

I’ve come home to my loving wife

Who’s been waiting by the door.”

“Loving wife you call me?

I’ll give you loving wife!

I’ll wack you with my rolling pin

You epitamy of lowlife!”

“My sweet, my blossom, angel.

No need to be so cross.

Just a few drinks with the boys,

Then back home to the boss.”

“ The boss? The boss? You call me.

I’ll show you who’s the boss!

I’m not just blooming angry,

I’m very, very cross!

You said you’d be in time for tea

And then you’d walk the dog

Instead it’s way past bedtime,

Making me the pedagogue.”

“My little angel of desire,

Why do you treat me so?

You know you love me dearly,

It’s something we both know.”

“To bed with you, to bed I say,

Your love I can’t resist.

You know I love you through and through

Even if your Brahms and Liszt!”

© joseph r mason 2020

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The true tree of life.

cross dawn dusk landscape

There is a tree that brings you life,

That takes your worries, takes your strife.

A tree that’s known by many names,

Forgives your sin and takes your blames.

The tree that’s in Golgotha set,

That takes away all we regret.

 

And that’s the only tree of life,

The one that sorts your afterlife.

I speak of course of Calvary’s tree

Where someone died for you, for me.

He’d done no wrong to call his own.

And now he sits on heavenly throne.

 

And on this tree, shaped to a cross,

Paid for my shame, my sin and dross.

There Jesus died, my pain endured,

There my sickness and pain were cured.

Give thanks to him, my sin he took.

If you don’t believe me, read the book.

 

©joseph r mason 2020

Revelation 22:14 NIV

Blessed are those who wash their robes, that they may have the right to the tree of life and may go through the gates into the city.

John 3:16 NIV

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

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Seasons

Golden trees of many a hue

Crisp cold mornings, skys so blue

Awake, awake oh winters frost

Pretending now that summers lost

The wind is up, to quite a squall

As summer transitions to into fall.

Not over yet, it’s only near

We’re hardly through another year

September comes, October goes

We long so much for winter snows

Soon be Christmas the elves all say

Best prepare old Santa’s sleigh.

Then Christmas comes, and then it’s gone

To the old, old year we say, “so long”

As new year comes and new year goes

It’s then the frost will bite our toes

Then winter changes into spring

We wonder what this summer’ll bring.

©joseph r mason 2020

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An English Dawn.

The owl ceases his haunting hoot,

Fluffs his feathers to sleep,

Locking in the heat,

His day is done.

The dim light of dawn rises over a misty morn,

Stars gently fade to nothing

Returning in the dullness of evening,

Switching on in a sequence known only to their maker.


Passerine birds awake the dawn.

Robins and wrens start the day,

Great tits follow soon,

then the chiffchaff

and the blackcap.

Blackbirds and thrushes follow on.

The orchestra of the morning works to a crescendo of sound.

Then, as the sun pushes its first fingers of light

Into the chill of the morning.


Silence.


Save for the sway of trees,

The rushing of a brook,

The scamper of rabbits.

The snap of a twig underfoot.

Dryads and Hamadryads come out, come to me.

Is it just the russell of leaves?

Or do the really trees sing?

As night meets day.


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gods – (small ‘g’).

Not one of my better missives or even near to good. But try to enjoy. All CONSTRUCTIVE criticism welcome.

August comes from the Latin word augustus, meaning “consecrated” or “venerable,” which in turn is related to the Latin augur, meaning “consecrated by augury” or “auspicious.” In 8 B.C. the Roman Senate honored Augustus Caesar, the first Roman emperor, by changing the name of their month Sextilis to Augustus

August by nature, he strode the palace floors.

Revered by all, feared by most, yet sad beyond his strength.

Ruler of the known world but not of his own.

Troubled and tormented by fear and guilt.

About which he knew not either why or how.

His problematic mind anathematic to his own.

In dreams he saw only what he dreaded.

The gods of Rome were powerless to abate.

What power can come from him who is not there.

Sacrifices to your empty deities bring no healing.

Waxing moons supposedly bring spiritual hope,

Waning  again like unrequited love on a distant shore,

White sand running through your fingers like the days of life.

No hope was found, no pity lost on mortal man.

Jupiter, supreme ruler of the gods, Juno his queen,

“Surely I am a god, does not Rome worship me?”

“Woe to you Minerva and Neptune, fake deities of Rome”

“Venus and Mars, you are planets not gods like me.”

“Apollo, son of Jupiter, loose your arrow and slay your father,

Thought he does not exist, but then, nor you.”

And so he curses every useless god he knows in hope of finding peace.

But no, each non-existent deity curses him back in incredulity.

How dare he say we don’t endure, just because we ……………..

There is no god save one.

Save one,

Save one.

He died

He lives.

©joseph r mason 2020

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What if?

I don’t normally write rap, but this is my first attempt. I hope you like it.

If white was black and black was white,
If light was dark and dark was light,
How different the world would be.
Not only for you, but also for me.

But what if colour did not exist.
No such thing as a white racist.
If we were all the same,
Would that be such a shame?

What if, when we were girls and boys,
No guns, no dolls, just neutral toys.
Would we all grow up the same?
Would our life be rather lame?

What if we all lived in harmony?
There is no you, there is no me.
Would that be really tragic?
Or would it be, just magic?

©️ joseph r mason 2020

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Eugi’s Weekly Prompt “Magic” July 27, 2020

Who is my Neighbour?

Picture is Connecticut 10th grader Sarah Harrison’s Doodle, “A Peaceful Future”

Who is my neighbour, do they live next door?
What if they’re ugly, or drunk or a whore?
What if they really are just not like us?
Quiet, refined, not making a fuss.

Who is my neighbour? Not just in my street,
Surely my neighbour is all whom I meet.
They’re black, they are white, they are straight, they are gay
They’re the every day folk, that I meet every day.

I shall not judge them and they’ll not judge me.
They’re my brothers, my sisters, and all should be free.
My neighbours, they cover the face of this earth,
So I’ll love and respect them for all they are worth.

But one day there will be a reckoning for all,
Black, white and ugly, the big and the small.
On that day, a sorting, the wheat from the chaff,
And then the down trodden will have the last laugh.
The wheat go to heaven, the chaff down to hell,
You’d best love your neighbour or you’ll go down as well.

Penned for Eugenie’s weekly prompt. https://amanpan.com/2020/07/20/eugis-weekly-prompt-neighbors-july-20-2020/

DailyVerses.net

Harmonious Echoes

Like a pebble dropped into a pond
my thoughts go out to all around.
My thoughts are quite, quite silent,
dispersing ripples with no sound.

Two stones hit the water now.
double circles undulating round.
your thoughts mixed with mine
but still they do not make a sound.

But then you speak.
I hear your voice.
My heart it fills
with great rejoice.
The circles rush,
like waters falling,
because I hear
that you are calling.

And then you sing so sweet a melody
And then I feel, like some epiphany.
Your song of love that brings me to my knee
And then I ask, if will you marry me?

You answer, yes. My joy complete.
I stand again on unsure feet.
But we both know, it cannot be.
For I am four, and you are three.

I’ll ask again in twenty years
For now, just wipe away our tears.
And we just hope that it will be,
That we may live in harmony.

Eugi’s Weekly Prompt “Harmony” May 11, 2020