The Broken Rose

Her branch pricked him

It pierced his heart

Blood dripping

Love pouring out

As she would

Never allow

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The Broken Rose

Her branch pricked him

It pierced his heart

Blood dripping

Love pouring out

As she would

Never allow

Any man to

Get too close

For pain remains

Still alive from

Many years ago

When she let

One soul pick

Her petals

Her beautiful

Tender rose                                                           

Now singed

Edges blackened

From hurtful words

Now she stands

Alone with the

Most beautiful

Petals that have

Ever been seen

But too afraid

To love again

And soon she

Will die never

Giving  the chance

To let another

Touch  her beauty.

Written by,

Terry Shepherd

09/16/2013

 

The Sowing of Souls

In the middle of a flower

The petals hide the prize

Of what gives her life

And  waits to open to skies.

It needs nurtured

And watered and

Fed the right food

For it to turn out to be any good.

A strong sturdy stem

Holds the weight in its hand

And shows off the beauty

Of the soul that’s so grand.

The petals have opened

Her soul has been bared

People are looking

And some have stared.

They didn’t realize because no one asked

That God grew this flower for a very special task

Where no one had ever dared to look twice

Now they were saying, oh wow, she’s so nice.

So when you see someone you don’t really know

Nurture them with kind words and watch how they grow

Help them to blossom in who God hath made

Plant seeds in the sun, and not in the shade.

Continuation of Picture and Write It July 22, 2012, Part 2

Sophie was standing among other little girls and boys and they were all awaiting for the dance instructor to come in. Parents were fussing with hair and dresses, and shirts, making sure that their child stood out in the crowd and was noticed by the teacher.

The teacher walked in, breezing by the children, paying no notice to any particular child, heading straight to the parents and saying only once, that all parents needed to remove themselves from the floor and take their places in the seats to the back. One by one, each parent left, but not before whispering in their child’s ear, to smile and do their best. In no time at all, the only ones standing were the students and one teacher.

Dahlia looked out over the class and saw some with fingers in their mouths, others acted like they ants in their pants, and couldn’t stand still. Others were seen with tears in their eyes, and one had to use the restroom. She made a sigh and thought to herself what a mess. It was going to take much work to get these children in line.

She cleared her throat, and tapped a wand on the table sitting before her, drawing all eyes upon her. Tears were stopped, and hands were lowered. She asked them to all have a seat on the floor, and the direct order was played out.

Dahlia was an old-time teacher of dance. She had been brought up by two very strict parents. Both of her parents had been in the military, and her home life had been of military style. Rules were made, and not to be broken. If they were, there was a strict punishment to be followed.

Her family moved several times during her life at home, and she never made the attachment of having close friends, like other children did. Dahlia had a bicycle, but was not allowed to ride it anywhere other than the yard. Some days you could almost see the yearning in her eyes, as other children rode by, and she was not allowed to go also.

There was too much to be done to waste time with day dreaming, so playing with dolls was being idle. Dahlia had one doll that she called her own. It was a stiff doll, that would not bend, and refused to be loved and cuddled. It had dark curly hair and blue eyes, and a few freckles on her nose. With stiff posture, Dahlia would imagine the doll dancing and would take her by the head and spin her around and around. She would raise the doll’s arms in the air, to twirl like a ballerina.

Dahlia was allowed play time only when all chores were done. She had to help hang the washing on the line outside of the kitchen window. She helped to wash windows, and scrub the floors. One of her earliest things she was taught, was to cook. She could make biscuits and cook up a fryer chicken. She could even make a great cherry pie, but during these times of training,  her mind would drift to her doll and the ballerina she had created.

When Dahlia was sweeping the floor, she would twirl around the broomstick, using it as a way to balance in order  to try to stand on her toes.  She would try making jumps in the air, mimicking the dancers she watched on her parents black and white television.

Each Saturday night, her parents would tune in one of the three channels they received, and watch a program that was a variety of singers and dancers. If Dahlia had been good that day, she was sometimes allowed to stay up to watch this, as long as she remained quiet and sitting in one spot. She glued her eyes to the dancers and memorized the steps they each took, and envisioned herself doing this also. Her heart would skip beats as she admired the beautiful clothes they wore, and promised herself that one day she would have such beautiful clothes also.

As Dahlia became a teenager, there was more opportunities to read, as the older children were able to enter the school library. She always made sure that she was one of the ones chosen to be able to go browse through the books on library day. She would spend her time gazing at all the titles, and then when it was about time to leave she would  pick out one special book and rent it for the week.

Dahlia did well enough in school, her grades always up to par, but as she matured, she knew with no uncertainty, that she wanted to be a dancer. She made this known to her teacher one day, and the teacher said that if she wanted something bad enough in her life, she should work for it and then obtain it. Dahlia asked the teacher for her help in reaching her goal, and the teacher’s response was positive. She explained to her that the most important thing for the next three years of school was her grades. She explained how any college that taught arts would first look at this.

Dahlia knew she had good grades, but what the teacher impressed on her, was that she needed excellent grades. She was also impressed with the idea of no missing school, adding some subjects to her lessons learned, and to open her mind to the opportunities of the world. Each thing the teacher said, Dahlia’s sponge took in, and she became a determined student.

Calling All Flower People!

The bottom picture is one of my flowers I planted in the early spring. Although I have watered frequently, it shows that it doesn’t like my soft water near as well as God’s water. If I remember right, it is a hydrangea flower. Over three feet tall, and I have 13 bulbs in all. I am disappointed in the wilting of the leaves, but I can not control the drought here in Indiana.

The top photo is what I am hoping is called Chicken and her hens? I am not sure, so I need your help. Is this what it is? I saw it all by itself, in the middle of spring, and felt bad for it, so I got some potting soil and gave it a new home. It has now grown over four inches in height.  What should I do with it when the frost comes? I hate to see it die.

You see, I love to photograph beautiful flowers, and look at them, but I can not identify them. I can not have them in the house, as I am allergic to fresh flowers. I tell everyone with laughter in my voice, that if you know me personally and are a family member or friend, you will NOT send roses to my funeral, as I am terribly allergic to roses more than any other flower. I promise I will scare the pants off of you by rising up out of the coffin and sneezing and giving signals that I need a kleenex.

What I Want And Who I Am

Lavender (Photo credit: Pete Reed)

Each morning she awoke to the same routine. She put a pretty, flowery leisure dress on, her silk stockings, and black shoes, and the added touch was her straw hat to keep the sun out of her eyes.

She would fix herself a slice of toast, and take her pills with her cup of coffee, then she would go outside to the love of her life, her garden.

In this garden were many colorful flowers. You could see that much effort was placed in the seeding, as the tall ones were in the back with each row coming forth, growing shorter in height. Also, the colors were matching, blues and reds among each other, lavender and pinks in another part of the beds.

She would go to her shed and unlock it and take out her work gloves and the hoe. For however long it took, she would pick out each tiny weed, that had appeared between yesterday and today. She then hoed gently the dirt between each life and loosen it up so it had the best opportunity to breathe and grow. When she had this all done, she would step out of the beds and look at her work and smile. Lastly, she would turn the water on to the hose, and spread droplets to each flower, and they would thank her by giving her lots of bright, beautiful colors.

This woman is an example of being committed to something she loves. She never neglected her garden, even when she didn’t feel too well, or she had plans for the day.  Even when the summer was over, she would tend to the land, embedding fertilizer, and turning the ground for its rest during the cold days of winter.

Once winter got here and she could no longer work in her garden, she worked and planned for the new spring. She gazed over flower books, she sketched on paper, designs of how her next years bed would look, and once the new year arrived, she started placing her orders for new bulbs and seeds. Her walk with her garden never ended, and her love for it was with her each day.

This is how I want to be, but I am far from it. My walk with God. It is a personal issue with each of us, and yet it should be so noticed, the same as the woman in her garden.

We should read the bible daily, to fertilize our minds as she did her land. We should tend to our attitudes and make sure that what we show others is pleasing to God, just as her flowers showed the world who mattered most in her world.

We also need the right tools, a hoe to dig deeper into the word, and our hands to dig out the bad weeds that pop up in our lives each new day.

I want people to stand back and take notice of me, as the lady stood back and took notice of her flowers. I want all to notice and not to wonder where I stand in my life. They will wish for what I want, and I will sit with them and spread my seeds into their unfertilized minds. I will be the witness God wants me to be, and I too, will have a beautiful prize for the work I have done, a place waiting in heaven for me.