"Sleep Well"

I can hear all the voices, of our children at play,

as they skip in the winds, of a cool autumn day.

Headed for homes, with their best of friends,

they haven't a care, as their school day has end.

Their minds still so tender, and free of life's cares,

as they sing to the music, of the songs that they hear.

Children laughing and playing as they scurry along,

to their places of shelter, where they're free of harm.

In the voices I hear, there's one now who's missing,

in it's place only quiet, where once there was dancing.

For the voice of a child, full of life and it's dream's,

has been silenced in sleep, far to soon as it seems.

I dream of a place, where every child can play,

dancing in green fields, of safer worlds than today.

Where the fear of harm, is never on their young mind,

and the dangers we know, will be erased for all time.

Sleep well every little one, who has left us too soon,

wear stars in your crown, as you dance on the moon.

Lay safe in the shelter, of the one, who gave you to us,

where you rest, are the angels, and a God you can trust!

Written By : Barbara A. Carlan 10/23/2009

I suppose nothing has touched me more than the recent headlines of a young girls life being taken too soon at the hands of an evil predator. This little girls life was precious in the sight of the Lord. Somer Renee Thompson belonged to all of us as Americans. She is every mother's daughter, every father's little girl and every grandparent's grandchild. Her story has touched me so profoundly that I felt compelled to write a poem in her memory. May you rest in peace little Somer Renee Thompson and may your family know the conforting arms of Christ love, in your abscence!

In His Love,

Barbara A. Carlan

"Bridges"

Rather than mend, what we've power to change,

we can live in denial, and look for others to blame.

Chasing rainbows like gold, in search of our dreams,

while we travel to places, that we've never seen.

In our new destinations, we will eventually find,

that the problems, we knew, came along for the ride.

For our troubles in life, aren't without as it seems,

for they lurk in the shadows, of the lives that we glean.

In time we discover, in our search for life's meaning,

relationships hoped, were always there for the keeping.

They would never be found, by always running away,

but by mending the bridges, we destroy in each day.

Saying I'm sorry, when we've hurt those we love,

when we're willing to start, where we've left off before.

Joy's not always found, in discovering new places,

but in denying one's self, to put smiles on those faces.

Of the people in life, that still share in our journey,

loved ones we have, and our friends without money.

Those broken down bridges, of our relationships lost,

might have been salvaged, had we just paid the cost!

Written By: Barbara A. Carlan 10/18/2009

"Autumn's Dancers"

The cooling temps, of the mornings haze,

reminds creation that fall's in place.

Gentle breezes break loose their holds,

as the leaves begin, their dance of old.

This dance of nature, in bejeweled colors,

performed by limbs, of leaves that flutter.

The rhythmic gait, of their dying members,

delights spectator's, thru late November.

The delicate leaves, of autumn's dancers,

reminds all nature, that winter slumbers.

As though by rote, they narrate their scores,

to show in death, there's beauty more.

The jeweled dancers, red, orange, and gold,

show forth their splendor, like days of old.

Earth's shortened days, of September's sun,

blow sweet smells of embers, by mornings dawn.

This swirling dance of the autumn's dancers,

broadcast the lingering, cold nights of winter.

Declaring the harvest, for earth's work is done,

as sod must rest, till it's spring has sprung!

Written By: Barbara A. Carlan 10/12/2009

""It's A Rainy Day in Georgia"" in Journal - franticflagwave - RedBubble

""It's A Rainy Day in Georgia"" in Journal - franticflagwave - RedBubble

"Tears" A Language

The silent language, of broken hearts,

is soaked in tears, right from the start.

Most often heard, by Heavens throne,

from rooms of darkness, before the dawn.

From anguished sorrow, tears river flow,

to quell each fear, and loose their hold.

The moistened speech, of early morn,

cries for relief, from earths sorrows born.

In Heavens realm, each tear is coddled,

then carefully placed, in crystal bottles.

God has purposed, each tear a treasure,

meant for his keeping, and for his pleasure.

Now in the silence, of days earliest morn,

should tearful waters, chance their flow.

Each tear the contrite heart must speak,

our God above, wipes from each cheek.

No tears are lost, nor goes unnoticed,

and must be used, just as He purposed.

He's chanced the laborious tears of sorrow,

to mend our wounds for Heavens morrow!

Written by: Barbara A. Carlan 10/9/2009

"He's harvest each, for vessels treasured, suplussing flows, for Heavens rivers"

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"Thought's Of A Homemaker"

The photo is representative of the life of women several generations ago. I remember when a woman would spend the entire day just doing laundry. Today women have a much different experience. The poem below is a brief glimps into our modren homemakers world, the only thing missing is the possibilities of a holding a job too. It's a playful take on the role of women in today's world, I hope you enjoy!

The weatherman says it's raining today,

my hair is a mess and I've nothing to wear.

The house is dirty and it needs to be cleaned,

now where did I place that vaccum machine?

Time to change all the sheets and strip the beds,

take down every cobweb above my head.

Wash all the laundry and empty the trash,

run to the market, then mow all the grass.

Somewhere inbetween, make plans for our dinner,

then run to the Mall to get junior his swimmer.

Running from here, to who really knows where,

oh my, I forgot to brush out my hair!

Time to pull the weeds, from my best flower beds,

pour them a drink, so they don't end up dead.

Take the dog for a walk, just so he can poop,

with a napkin in hand and maybe a scoop.

It seems everyday, there is so much to do,

without anytime, just to buy me new shoes.

What is this craziness, I live everyday,

will I ever find moments, for me just to play.

I dream of long baths with bubbles in ears,

and soap in my eyes, that cause them to tear.

A nap in the shade of the afternoon sun,

with time to reflect on my life over lunch.

The weatherman says that it's raining today,

the house still a mess and I've nothing to wear.

The floors are all dirty and need to be cleaned,

now where did I hide that vaccum machine?

Barbara A. Carlan 6/17/2009

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