My Poetry

Unity

With arms outstretched to welcome all
And a heart filled with understanding,
A Social Worker greets her day
With tasks that will be demanding.

A father who has lost his job
A mom who feels she is loosing her husband.
A child confused, who knows not what horror
May come from day to night.

A social worker is not afraid
To ask the dreaded questions.
With arms wide open to gather all in
And hope in her heart.
She says with empathy

"I Will Not Judge You."

Peggy Rudd Jones 2012/12/18

I wrote this poem and placed it in plastic envelope on the back of this painting I did for beth for Christmas 2012

 A shadorna

3/5/3/3/7/5
6 lines.


Each morning
I begin my day
greeting you
with a prayer
Your very presence gives hope
Heals my tender soul~
Peacefully Choatic
12/7/2011



-----------

 A Kick in The Ass

Bless the energy of sun upon my face

The breath of life flowing into my lungs.

Bless the softness of a breeze on my toes.

Tells me I am truly alive.

Bless the flutter of hummer's wings in my ears

The spectrum of color that excites my soul.

Bless the eyes of my loved ones that soothe my heart.

2 days ago I had denied it all

Lost in the selfish pain of me.

I choose life to share with you be it easy or be it hard.

Just steps away from my inner shell.

A kick in the ass

A gentle hand on my shoulder to activate that step I need to take.

Chest pain.
I will deal with you.

Peggy Jones 9/17/2011

 Balloon Glow


I once went to a balloon glow
With a handsome lad in tow.
I thought the heat from the bright fire
Might warm up his cool desire.
I dragged him over to the bellowing orb
And it caught his toupee on fire.


05/14/2011

04/17/2011

A Closer Look

Where are you, my heart?

Where are you, my soul?

I cannot find you any more.

I looked at him and I looked at her.

No, that's not what I want to see.

I searched down deep and poked around.

It hurt so much I turned back.

Halfway back I looked at nee.

No, not Mrs. or Miss could I see.

I only see what I had tried to be.

As I backed out of the hole I dug,

I heard myself say

"Here I am!"
"Look at me!"

"Here I am?"

Where did that spring from, this searching day?

I looked asky and I looked aground.

Nowhere could I be found.

I turned and saw a face aglow,

Absent of all worry and woe.

Because I looked just when I did,
Straight ahead.

Now I am found.

Peggy Jones

4/17/2011

Spring Rain Recital


The rain is pelting on my roof
life an angry drummer beating our his frustrations.

I love the sound of the rhythm 
as it lulls me off to sleep.


The wind is the maestro
directing the pace of the tempo.

I awake hours later and all is quiet.
The drummer is exhausted
the maestro is spent.

The end of the performance for now. 

No, wait, it is starting again.
The drummer is calmer now
More mellow.
The maestro is gentle with his direction.


I fall back to sleep.
Content in my feeling that  all is right 
in my  world.

Peggy Jones 4/2/2011

From My Place on the Deck

Our neighbor is singing
His kiddos are playing
Another neighbor is mowing
I hear his rooster crowing

The wind chimes are tinkling
The clematis are blooming
The fountain is soothing
The fish are busy noshing

So what is the message
Coming from this place
Our God is in His heaven
and all is in His embrace

But is anybody listening
To the message I hear
Does anybody feel the grace
Swirling all around this hub

I really think they feel the peace
That comes from knowing that
They can go about their business
Trusting in His care of us

Peggy Jones 6/14/2009

Walking for Answers

I walked alone in the snow today,

Thinking about what things to say.

Things to say to help you cope

With purpose that is beyond our scope.

Beyond our scope to know and understand.

Where it will take us in years to come.

Will it be easy or will it be hard?

Can we make it or will we bend til we break.

I didn't come up with any great thoughts.

Just a big hug to draw you close.

To walk with you to the final post,

My darling child. Peggy Jones 1/25/2011


signs of the ny times

i hear the news heralded about
and feel my soul shrink back
and try to hide away
so as not to feel attack

i know i'm acting like a coward
no one wants to feel a wound
it is the natural thing to do
this sadness came too soon

but that is not the seed of light
i know is there from God
i know i have the guts to trod
this road He put me on

rise up bright light
 and shine that beam
on what i hear today
i know not what it may seem
or good that it may bring


Peggy Jones
1-16-2011


Go here for more Jingle Poetry Monday Potluck

 When our son and his family, who live in Texas, did not come to Ky. for our Golden Anniversary
I sent this poem to him.
I heard nothing from him about it.

Although you are not here.

Our hearts are broken that's for sure, that you can't share this day.

But all the broken hearts we've had  soon healed and just remain a scar.

After all the heart's a muscle and it needs exercise,

So ours have had our share and will be stronger in the long run.

Our souls are not as fragile as our hearts tend to be

For they will take joy in this day and know that your are here.

For God dwells in that part of us and nothing can intrude,

to take away our love for you and all that you hold dear.

Our roses set upon the table and shower their gifts oer us

And help remind us the gift of you that came our way as the result of this day

Fifty years ago.

Our greatest achievement in our lives with be the six of you.

And here or there we share with you the gift of our lives that is this family.

Mom and Dad

April 23 2010

Raven Haired Beauty

Hair so black it looked blue

When twisted and twirled into a chignon

She looked like a royal princess

She walked on rose petals strewn by all who loved her

Her birthday soon it will be 

 Another year to moan her absence

She would be 70 

Would the hair so black it looked blue

Be white as mine

She's like a missing piece of me

Going where I cannot be

yet

My time will come

Then both of us will have raven black hair again

We will wear a chignon together again

Sister

Peggy Jones Jan 04 2011

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Poetry is the art of saying what you mean but disguising it. -Diane Wakoski, poet (b. 1937.

Merry Christmas

               May we all be kind and compassionate

               Even when it hurts to do so.

               Rare it will be to whine.

               Rare it will be to groan.

               Yes, lets all get along.

                Christ showed us all how.

                How could he endure all that pain and suffering?

                Rascals and rogues all around.

                It was his entire life to love.

                So many would not listen, even us, at times.

                Time is now to turn it around.

                May He be pleased with us

                As we try to make amends in this

                Season of joy and love.            

                            Peggy Jones , Dec 2010

My First Best Friend

He taught me to ride his bicycle,

bar and all, sometimes that hurt.

He taught me to ride and then steer his sled.

We took turns steering.

He taught me to get up and laugh when I fell off.

He taught me to ride his pony,

how to get up and laugh, with tears in my eyes because it hurt, when I fell off, backwards even, breaking my tailbone

He like being called Louis

He didn't like being called Taters.

I am the only one he told that.

He kissed me on the cheek when we played hide and seek and  hid behind the huge shrubs on the church grounds.

He died when we were 12 years old.

He was born with a congenital defect that was never fixed.

He died from peritonitis of the intestines.

I have never forgotten him.

Wonder what those who called him Taters remember?

P. Jones Dec. 2010

Too Late

I stumped my toe as I walked along

Tears so intense, no wonder I fell

Was looking for my lost raven haired daughter

She died away in another land

Why did she go so far away

Did she not love me any more

I raised my head and wiped the tears and blood from 

My face and saw why I had fallen

I found my Julia when I stumped my toe

She got my attention with a cracked stone

Oh why did I  not fall on my face and open my eyes

When she was young

Peggy Jones 2010

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So Cold

There is nothing so cold as a lamp

without a flame, for warmth and light,

without a wick to deliver the fuel,

without  fuel to feed it...

...unless it is a

soul without faith to warm and light it,

without hope to carry the fuel,

without love to feed it.

   Peggy Jones

Oct

2010

The blessings of the trees so green,

Of loved ones all around, can fill one's heart 

With happiness that is only from above.

To look out on a lake so calm and know that all is well

Is one of the greatest gifts of all and a million miles from hell.

My Rehab is in the land, is in the trees and in the circle of love.

A story so deeply written in my heart by the pen of God.

Peggy Jones Sept 2010.

My heart espied a butterfly and lifted it to the sun.

I felt the healing rays of God, a good thing I had done.

But what had caused me, this walk to take,

To get outside my funk?

 I was alone and listening to my ego lie. 

Move your ass my mind had said and your heart will go with you.

 Just do not listen to the part that says 

"You're just not worth it."

After listening to

"How Do We Breathe Under Water?"

The Gospel and 12 step Spirituality

by

Richard Rohr, OFM

Sept 18, 2010

Sept. 03 2010

This poem was written about 15 years ago, soon after the birth of our precious grandson Benjamin.

Where Is God?

"My Father in Heaven," He said.

These words of Jesus do not tell

Exactly where the Father may dwell.

Is heaven up "there" somewhere in the sky?

Or in the twinkle in baby Benjamins eye?

Is the Father residing somewhere in a church?

Or in the forest on a high perch?

Or maybe oer the ocean in the eye of a storm,

Or on a sandy beach with a crab, where it's warm.

"I know" a tiny voice inside me said, "He is in all these places,

Particularly in black, yellow, red and white faces.

Where is heaven and were does the Father dwell on this day?

For me, I found Him in myself as I learned to pray.

Look in the space that each one of us calls our own,

The space where our soul exists.

The space where there is no limits.

Just open your eyes and "see" with your soul.

Heaven is right in front of us, just as we were told.

         Peggy Jones 1995

Olivia Diamond, born 1947 in Chicago, writes short stories, novels and poetry. Before moving to Whitefish, Montana in 1998, she lived in Rockford, Illinois where she was active in public readings. She holds a B.A. from Northern Illinois University and an M.A. from the University of Missouri-Columbia. Her work has appeared in many literary magazines. She was a featured writer in Confluence: A Living Literary Legacy of the Rock River Valley, Rockford 2000 anthology. Women at the Well was first published by American Studies Press, Tampa, FL in 1989. Her second book of narrative poetry Land of the Four Quarters was published by Northwoods Press in 1994. With novelist/husband Rod Rogers she shares the writer's retreat, Montaña de Sueños, situated on forty acres bordering the Flathead National Forest, where they enjoy nature and pursue writing.