Forever Apart

reblogging my published poetry

gaillovesgodspoetry

Devastatingly destroyed.
A love of pure romance.
A heart was tragically wounded
Before given a chance.

The dagger driven by the soul
Of one who had no pulse.
Falling into his ocean eyes
Was an entrance to his cult.

No one heard the victim’s cry
So no one came to aid.
No one saw the warning signs.
the mistake had to be made.

And what a terrible waste it is
To know it’s only blood
That can save the dying maiden
Whose only crime was love.

1989 Written by Gail Brookshire (by the grace of God)
(published in Voices, Volume 1, NO.3, Aug.1, 1994 Issue, page 5)
3 of my others beside it on same page were
As I Watch, Courtship, & Longing To Be There

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Flight Within The Love

Sunday… The eagle soars high in flight. Floating through the air. He soars in peace of mind. Not a care in the world. He doesn’t notice the world below him. The world in trouble. Instead he reminisces in the midst of his luxury of quietness. All he can hear is the sound of the wind going by.

As he passes through a cloud within each flutter of his wing, it reminds him of all the souls who have came and went so quickly in his life. And just as great as the impact of the breath-taking beauty of the cloud is, so were the souls of each friend that meant so much. It’s an empty, yet fulfilling emotion to have flown through so many clouds. They were the only value of the flight. For as each one went by, they caused such wind to swift up on his face, bringing tears to his eyes. And as soon as they were out of sight, the eyes were drying, but the memory of the cloud would always linger. For each cloud had its own unique shape and form. Its very special characteristic.

As the eagle is soon exhausted by the flight of passing clouds, he remembers there is a world below without clouds. For you can’t even see through the storm of the life to view a special sentiment. But even so, the eagle also remembers that this is the storm that keeps him from having to be haunted, by the reality that the clouds have moved on without him, because he’s not of their world and as much as he wishes he could be one of them, he has to be saddened to know that there will always be passing clouds for as long as the skies hold up. And they will be new ones each time. They will never be the same. He’ll only have the beautiful memory of each cloud.

So it is only natural that the eagle chooses to occasionally touch ground with reality and shelter himself from the rain, that the clouds will bring. But whenever he misses the unique feeling of flight within the love, all he has to do is look up and they are there. And if the world below just happens to be crashing with thunder and lightning, and stealing his view of what he loves, all he has to do is keep his spirits up, to have the strength to lift those wings of his and fight his way through the rain. He will rise above the storm and be once again in the midst of his luxury of quietness.

How wonderfully exquisite it must be to have that freedom. I envy that eagle to a point, but then again feel so very sorry that he cannot bear the storm and vision what it’s like to see the rainbow after the dark. And the fresh washed soil of the land giving love to the trees, who have roots and share such beauty. They would give such support to the eagle and even have room for nesting on the arms of their limbs. They would never leave the eagle without love and support. Then again the eagle may be giving in to the fear of the tree falling or being broken by the wind. A storm can be overpowering for a tree, as the storm gets stronger and the tree gets older. If only the eagle weren’t so insecure about the stability of love, he could have the exquisite beauty of care.

As you relax and view the eagle in flight, do you see him looking down from time to time? If you were the eagle, would you continue to fly or nest in the tree? I would make my home in the tree and occasionally when I felt the need, I would fly.

1989 Written by Gail Brookshire
(published in Flight magazine # 3, Spring ’94, pages 103-104)
(by the grace of God)

Death Is The Doctor

reblogging my published poetry

gaillovesgodspoetry

Death is the doctor
Diagnostic and smart.
Aiming to take you
Along with your heart.

Swift and sleek
Clever and coy.
Death is the destruction,
Destruction the ploy.

Candles are burning
For those yet to see.
It may only be hours
Before it’s to be.

Can’t escape it.
It cannot be excluded.
To win the whole game
We must all be included.

Don’t take the moment.
Don’t take the breath.
Don’t give up the edge.
The victor is death.

1989 Written by Gail Brookshire
(published in Treasured Poems of America, Winter ’95, page 23)
(by the grace of God)

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Courtship

reblogging my published poetry

gaillovesgodspoetry

Bells, shells,
The wishing wells
Are full of nickels and dimes.

Flowers, showers,
The midnight hours,
Clocks are sounding chimes.

Seas, oh please,
Upon my knees,
I hand my ring to you.

Aisle, Smile
Half the miles,
We’ll pause to say, “I Do.”

1989 Written by Gail Brookshire
(by the grace of God)
(published in Voices, Volume 1, NO.3, Aug.1, 1994 Issue, page 5)
3 of my others beside it on same page were:
As I Watch, Forever Apart, & Longing To Be There

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As I Watch

reblogging my published poetry

gaillovesgodspoetry

As I watch the hour glass
release the falling sand,
I feel as though I see your love,
Slipping through my hands.

As I watch the tide erase
the castles from the shore,
I feel as though I’m losing
the dream I know I’ve had before.

As I watch the butterfly
pass my open window,
I feel as though today’s the day
you will let me go.

1989 Written by Gail Brookshire
(by the grace of God)
(published in Voices,  Volume 1, NO. 3, Aug.1, 1994, page  5)
3 of my others beside it on same page were:
Forever Apart, Courtship, & Longing To Be There

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Apples Have Worms

reblogging my published poetry

gaillovesgodspoetry

Have you ever judged a book by its cover?
Have you ever been a friend and lover?
Has sex ever been a weapon to you?
Have you ever fell hoping to have someone pull you through?
Well don’t you know that roses have thorns,
And that all horses can not be unicorns,
That every seed has its options
To sour out or become a blossom,
And with every night follows a sunrise,
And there’s always more than meets the eye?
To tell a secret is to tell the world,
Or where there’s love you tend to hurt.
Out on the ocean arises the storms.
So remember, even the sweetest apples have worms.

1989 Written by Gail Brookshire
(published in Voices, Volume 1, NO.4, Sept.14, 1994, page 4)
(by the grace of God)

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Thankful 2017.1 gaillovesgodspoetry

Lord, thank you for helping me get the poetry copy and pasted onto the new site gaillovesgodspoetry. That blog is just as much yours as this one, and anything in my life. I was hoping to get it done in time to do some Thankful blogs for Thanksgiving… and maybe longer. However you lead. I keep following. Thank you for all of the love and support from so many with their views, likes, comments, follows, and e-mails. Even though it is all about you, you are so loving to encourage me. Please don’t let me fail to thank you and praise you with my reluctance to celebrate the numbers on each of these things. You deserve ALL of your praise!
And there it is, Lord, Thankful post #1 for 2017. I am thankful for you helping me getting the courage to get gaillovesgodspoetry started, and for helping me finish the copy and paste to get caught up in time to do the Thankful posts started for this week.
I love you, Father! ❤
I love you, Jesus Christ! ❤
I love you, Holy Spirit! ❤
I love the Trinity! ❤

Getting gaillovesgodspoetry Started

Hi, Guys! gaillovesgod here letting you know I’ve been working on getting my poetry on a separate blog  gaillovesgodspoetry, but as much as I have been struggling to have time and energy to learn how to do things… I am still learning.

I had difficulty with export downloading properly to load to gaillovesgodspoetry, so I gave up, choosing to copy and paste each poem. It means losing the loving and supportive comments, and the followers posting them, but I’m not tech savvy enough to figure it out, and it’s time consuming. My health doesn’t allow me that energy any more.

I do care about each of you who have been so supportive, so I’m leaving on gaillovesgod what poetry has been added thus far, but after also adding them on gaillovesgodspoetry I will post all new poetry there so that I can separate by years, then months, as I always have. There are literally thousands. The Lord led me years ago to do this to allow the testimony of what He has done in my life to show that growth in my writing… the spiritual gift He gave me. You are more than welcome to join me there as well.

The gaillovesgod blog will remain for… devotional journaling, challenges, reblogging as a prayer warrior at times, and simply spending time talking with the Lord, as well as sharing responses He gives at times. I ask your patience with me as I post several posts at a time on the poetry page to catch up. I’ve been checking and you shouldn’t get the notifications unless you have already clicked to follow gaillovesgodspoetry, and they will slow down when caught up.

Any feedback is helpful. Oh… and I haven’t decided 100% on a theme. I still have so much to learn, but with so much therapy (and far more to come) and the latest procedure I had this week, I am constantly falling asleep either as soon as I touch the keyboard, or worse… in the middle of talking with someone. So sorry.

I hope to get back to blogging soon. I even have an award to share… thanks to Lovely A!
Remember…. God loves you!!

 

KEEP FIGHTING

Come on, keep fighting.
Don’t give up.
Life was meant
to be this tough.
It’s not that easy
to have it all.
To rise above,
you must take the fall.
To read and write
is to live and learn.
To love and care
is to touch and burn.
To have a choice
is to know to choose.
To have something to gain
there must be something to lose.
To appreciate the gift
you must nurture the object.
To pass the class
you must study the subject.

Written by Gail Brookshire
(published in Expressions, June 9, 1994 Issue, page 4,
in Expressions, July 12, 1993 Issue, page 2,
and in J.O.B.S. Newsline, April, May, June 1993 Issue, page 4)
(by the grace of God)
This poem was my 1st assignment for the campus newspaper at my 1st college for my A.A. I was surprised at the response. The Editor made a note about the beautiful poem and my talent. Students and professors said it was beautiful, some asking for an autograph. I admit I laughed because I had never been asked before and thought they were teasing. Some I had been in class with for awhile and were good friends with. I was quickly made to understand I was mocking them. Praise the Lord to sign put a smile back on their face.  They were extra thankful when I gave permission to hang the poem on their fridge, mirror, and other places. I was shocked! Most surprising was everyone calling it BEAUTIFUL. It was a last minute assignment, and I felt like I “just done enough” to get it in. God is so good! And so surprising!

BEHIND THE DEGREE

Look there,
behind the degree.
Oh what a joy,
a whole new me.
A future, a plan,
a way to survive.
A way of succeeding
and feeling alive.
Supporting myself,
my family to be,
behind the door
of my promising.

What things I want.
What things I entice.
Oh the luxuries
will feel so nice.
For even with
the bills to pay,
I see a day
my work is play.
Behind the door
A little degree
creates the wonder,
a whole new me.

Written by Gail Brookshire
(published in Expressions, May 3, 1993 Issue, page 9)
(by the grace of God)
This was also written for a campus paper assignment that everyone loved so much. (See previous note on my poem Keep Fighting). God was making a whole new memory for me (I’ll explain that someday in a blog), and making so many people smile! How many times God blessed my ears with, “This encouraged me just when I needed it so much. Thank you for writing this!” Being thanked for writing? I LOVED writing! 🙂

Breaking & Entering

The crime was simple. The loss was hard.
He took some jewels, but gave his heart.
He entered the home that he thought was vacant.
He never expected for them to be waiting.
But when he picked the lock and opened the door,
He made his way inside to something even more.
An older man had heard the noise and came to investigate.
He saw the shadow at the door and didn’t hesitate.
To the dresser drawer he ran and pulled the revolver out,
Walked back to the living room and aimed without a doubt.
They took him to the emergency room, but it wasn’t of any use.
They called his wife to inform, that’s when I got the news.

Written by Gail Brookshire
(published in Expressions, May 24, 1994 Issue, page 6)
(by the grace of God)
This poem was written at a time I was trying to understand why people I grew up with were getting into committing crimes. I wrote the last part with 3 intentions.
1. So none of my friends thought I was trying to glorify what they did in a poem.
2. To make sure no on else would think I was into doing that.
3. My effort to be sympathetic to the mothers and grandmothers of my friends who were trying to get my friends to quit committing crimes.

Voices

Voices are a little joy that runs to you each day
Saying, Mommy, I love you” in the sweetest way.
Voices are a friend afar saying I wish I could be there.
And even on the telephone, you know they really care.
Voices are a mother calling, giving you her best,
To take a little medicine and give yourself a rest.
Voices are a father shouting for his child who made him proud,
So much he can’t control himself. He has to tell the crowd.
Voices are a lover’s whisper. to say how much he adores
The only one he’ll ever love and never want for more.
Voices are a special love, of a soothing characteristic.
Voices are of many souls. As for yours, I really miss it.

10-2-1990
Written by Gail Brookshire
(published in Expressions Feb.14, 1994 Issue, page 2)
(by the grace of God)
My son’s loving little voice started this poem,
and my thinking on other loving voices.

DEAR GOD

Dear God, I write to You,
The One I’ve been neglecting.
I could not live without Your love,
Yet it seems I keep rejecting.
I cannot come to understand
Why I run away,
For every hour of my life
With You I want to stay.
I’ve missed the times we used to share
To get to know each other.
You taught me how to live my life
And told me how You’ve suffered.
The pain You’ve felt within Your hands
Was a life You’ve sacrificed.
To show Your love for me was true,
You’ve willing paid the price.
I wish there were a way for me
To give You back the love.
It seems the harder I try to give,
It’s simply not enough.
As long as I’m within this world,
I’ll love You through and through
And pray that when the world is gone,
That I will live with You.

Written by Gail Brookshire
(published in Flight, Spring ’95, page 14)
(by the grace of God)

He Lifted His Glass to Toast

He lifted his glass to toast,
he said, “Here’s to our meeting.”
He had made our enchantment special
with alcohol as our greeting.

He lifted his glass to toast,
he said, “Here’s to my bride.”
He made another memory
with alcohol at our side.

He lifted his glass to toast,
he said, “Here’s to our night.”
He made a night to cherish
with alcohol in our sight.

He lifted his glass to toast,
he said, “Here’s to our son.”
He made a vow of fatherhood
with alcohol on his tongue.

He lifted his glass to toast,
he said, “Here’s to our girl.”
He made another vow for life
with alcohol in our world.

He lifted his glass to toast,
he said, “Here’s to our life.”
He made his last night memorable
with alcohol as his wife.

For when he went to raise his glass,
he said, “Here’s to each day”
Then dropped his glass to the floor.
Alcohol took him away.

So as we lift a glass to toast,
these words on his grave are read:
“He lifted his glass to toast.
Here’s to all he said.”

8-22-1990 Wednesday
Written by Gail Brookshire
(published in Flight #3, Spring ’94, pages 109-110, and Flight, Spring ’95, page 13)
(by the grace of God)
A lot of people constantly thanked me for writing this poem, assuming this was my story. I actually wrote it to show my disgust in what alcohol was doing to families. However, alcohol did have its unfortunate grip on some of my family too.

Teach

Teach: teach the children,
how to love,
how to live,
how to be happy.
Let them shine and be themselves.
And teach them to take pride in themselves.
Help them to succeed and excel,
and above all else… love themselves.
Teach: teach the teen-agers,
to be great for themselves,
to be a great leader for the future generations,
as they are the only ones children and teen-agers of the future have to rely on,
to count on.
Teach them respect.
To have it and to give it.
Elders may expect too much sometimes,
but they have the right to expect something.
Maybe a little humanity,
maybe a little love,
maybe a little respect in return.
What’s wrong with that?
That had to respect others too once,
and learned the secret of respect for themselves along the way.
Teach: teach the adults,
to let a child learn,
to let a teen-ager go,
to let a grown man or woman live their own life,
to let a day go by without bickering,
arguing,
expectations,
especially those too high,
to love a child,
small or grown,
for everything,
mistakes and all,
bad days and good,
bad habits,
addictions,
unexpected pregnancies,
dying from disease,
or living off the world,
living on the edge.
Teach them the world is not against them,
not even the young adults of the world.
As a matter of fact teach them how loved and admired they truly are.
Teach them to appreciate, being able to care for someone who actually cares about them,
and someone caring about them that they actually care about.
Last of all, but certainly not least.
Teach: for God’s sake (and I do mean for God)…
teach the world to get along,
to love one another,
to be a team,
a family,
a loving sector for the human animals to survive in.
Teach them to feed off of love and give up the hatred,
the greed,
the sick abuse going on in the world,
to quit being so morbid.
If we’re going to survive,
we need to learn to live together,
in peace.
If we’re all going to live together in this world,
we need to give a little love.
Teach: teach the world of God.
Teach the world of love.
Just teach the world.

Written by Gail Brookshire
(published in Flight magazine # 3, Spring of ’94, pages 105-107)
(by the grace of God)
This was also used by a woman of some National Woman’s group to open all of her speeches that year, but I could never find out who, other than her name was Gail also. My friends told me in excitement of hearing her read it and saying she wish she could meet me! God used me!