Dragon… #3LineTales Week145


three line tales, week 145: a steam train crossing the Glenfinnan Viaduct

Once again, they ran for cover beneath the jungle canopy.

The dragon had reappeared , and by the looks of the smoke was furious.

The high ridge would not be safe today.



Prompt found here:  https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/47859859


The Red Planet…#3LineTales Week 127

This is a site that I saw posted by a fellow blogger, so I thought I’d give it shot.  Why not?



“I knew it was true!

There once was life on Mars, as anyone can plainly see.

Perhaps, one day, I too will be that topic of debate.”

Continue reading “The Red Planet…#3LineTales Week 127”

Gift of Love… a Christian poem

adult background beach blue
Photo by Lukas on Pexels.com


When the hand reached out

I had a choice.

Should I take it in my own

And, in doing so, lend my voice.

First, in adoration,

To He who gives me life.

And took away all sins

In the form of Jesus Christ.

Next, for all the gifts He gives

Each, and every day.

The beauty all around us

To lead us on our way.

And finally, but not the least,

What He gives us from above.

A blessed gift for all to have

That blessed gift of love.

The Custodian… a poem

black and white man person street
Photo by Gratisography on Pexels.com


It was the custodian who showed me grace.

Never did he wear a frown.

Always, he had a smile on his face.

Hands rough from labor

Clothes dirty and brown.

But, when looking into his caring eyes

You could tell that God was there.

Maybe it was the twinkle.

Maybe the gray in his hair.

Maybe it was something else

I guess I’ll never know why.

And though the years have trickled past

I still remember him from time to time.

The gentle, kindly, sweet old man

That always had time for a laugh.

Thank you, Lord, for all that you do,

And for putting that man in my path.

Alabaster Hands… a poem

monochrome photo of statue

Photo by Alain Frechette on Pexels.com


Her alabaster hands looked so delicate and real.

A precision gift crafted in every detail.

Strength comes in many forms,

So, reach out and touch and feel

To keep you safe from harm when there’s a gale.


Surely, you can see it there if opened are your eyes.

Beneath the simple stone or rock or clay.

Not so hardened is the heart

To those who seek the wise.

In this, but one small portion of your day.


Donatello, in the Renaissance, sculpted into life,

Many forms that still stand firm and tall.

With hammer, and with chisel,

Did he work until he died.

A lesson that to many has been lost.


Within us let’s reflect the strength or mercy we portray.

To those here on this earth, we leave behind.

And deep down within each one of us

Before we reach that day,

A hope that it is love that was our guide.

Dry Eyes… a song or poem

woman in black top standing near white wall
Photo by Mihai Stefan Photography on Pexels.com


Don’t cry me a river with dry eyes.

Don’t say that you care for me

When all you tell are lies.

You weren’t there when I needed you.

What else was I supposed to do?

Don’t cry me a river with dry eyes…


Don’t pretend you love me, it’s not fair.

All the time I believed in you,

You didn’t really care.

In the darkest of my needs.

See how my heart and soul now bleeds?

Don’t’ pretend you love me, it’s not fair.


My life is getting stronger every day.

Looking through these clearing eyes,

I’m seeing past the haze.

Happiness begins with me.

It’s what and who I’m going to be.

My life is getting stronger every day.


I hope you find your way out in this life.

We fought for years but in the end

I couldn’t be your wife.

I gave you all that I could give.

My prayer for you – go out and live.

I hope you find your way out in this life.


Don’t cry me a river with dry eyes…

Oh-oh, don’t cry me a river with dry eyes…