The Seasons: A Poem

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Sunrise over Amazing Grasses Family Farm The mad Artist wields His brush, Painted colors rush, To life and give flush, Before the quiet autumn hush. The life seems to pour, As colors fall to the floor, To be seen no more, Outside the dark, grey door. Brightness from below, Sun upon the snow, High, cold clouds blow, Flakes and ice appear to grow. The man melts with little seen, Underneath, pale, grey green, Hides life in dark unseen, Waits for warmth and to careen. Buds on branches show, Patience starts to grow, Trickles, streams and veins flow, Bringing fruits of melted snow. Sprung to life it springs, Bees, birds, sound rings, Lush green flings, Its gift bounty brings. Green growth gives one last rush, Underneath the Painter's brush. The mad Artist wields His brush, before the quiet autumn hush. More poetry is available from James M. Hahn in  The Last Dragon and Other Poems  available now. My new book of cryptogram puzzles " Secret Messages from the Saints " is avai
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The Seven Sorrows of Mary - Poem

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September 15th – Our Lady of Sorrows
Devotion to Our Lady of Sorrows

John 19:25-27

SEVEN SORROWS OF MARY

The Prophecy of Simeon

The Mother stands with infant child,
And in her mind thoughts run wild,
A prophecy he dared to say.
The first sword to pierce the day

The Flight into Egypt

Leave house and home and all you see,
Into the desert three must flee,
Death a king does cast your way.
The second sword to pierce the day.

The Loss of the boy Jesus in the Temple

The fear of loss does pierce thy heart,
You know not if the child did start,
Nor if he stayed or pulled away.
The third sword to pierce the day.

Meeting Jesus on the Way of the Cross

The eyes of Him now meets your own,
As He walks that road alone,
What can you do, what can you say?
The fourth sword to pierce the day.

The Crucifixion of Jesus

Your flesh and blood your only child,
Pierced by - a crowd gone wild,
All have left, they’ve run away.
The fifth sword to pierce the day.


The taking down of Jesus from the Cross

Into your arms, His life is spent,
His garments and his body rent,
You had hoped for some other way.
The sixth sword to pierce the day.

The burial of Jesus

The ground receives him dank and dark,
Yet still within pierced heart - a spark,
With head bowed down you went away.
The final sword to pierce the day.

More poetry is available from James M. Hahn in The Last Dragon and Other Poems available now.


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