Poetry, Songs & Various Writings

The Latent Soul - Greg W

this latent soul sees images of decaying rose pedals falling no where and yet more then free do they fall...

(where are the voices?)

ever growing wearier in deed and wrought with action, they toil, they spin, they move -

as if they promote death, configure they ways of travel.

burnt sign posts; illegible guides -

does this trouble you?

[wondering feet are marching on the edge of fields guarded by burning apathetic scarecrows who smile and doubt. (where are the voices?)]

empty and moist are my efforts alone.






storm clouds slowly smile and wink at me... they laugh and reach thier hands to take ignorant sailors. they snare at me... they mock me. they rumble in laughter as they take the sailors.

shadows walk in uninterupted and steal the sleeping baby.

Jesus, I need your Holy Spirit. I need your help, and your burden.

break me

The Lonely Olive Mill

by Annie Johnson Flint (1866-1932)

Matthew 26:36 — Then cometh Jesus with them unto a place called Gethsemane, and saith unto the disciples, Sit ye here, while I go and pray yonder.

Gethsemane: means "oil-press"; the name of an olive-yard at the foot of the Mount of Olivess, to which Jesus was in the habit of retiring (Luke 22:39) with his disciples, and which is specially memorable as being the scene of his agony.

There’s a peaceful vale in a sunny land
Where the hills keep guard around,
And the soft breeze stirs the olive trees
And the grass that clothes the ground.

And in the hush and solitude
Where even the birds are still,
There stands untended and alone
An ancient olive mill.

Through the long bright day the mill wheel turns
And the fruit is crushed by the stone,
And quietly drips the fragrant oil
In silence and alone.

But somewhere out in the circling hills,
Unseen, unheard, unknown,
The Master of the olive mill
Is mindful of his own.

So many hours the wheel must turn,
And stone on stone must grind,
And then he will come to his olive mill,
His need of oil to find.

He knows how heavy the weight must be,
How long to let it lie,
Ere he can gather the precious oil
And throw the refuse by.

O child of God, are you being crushed
'Neath trial, pain or woe?
No eye to pity, no ear to hear,
No voice to whisper low?

Alone in your Gethsemane,
Christ watches with you there.
He will not suffer one ounce of weight
More than your strength can bear.

He chasteneth but to purify;
He crusheth but to raise;
In love he worketh his blessed will
To his glory’s endless praise.

In our affliction, afflicted still
He leaveth us not alone;
He will not forget, he will not forsake,
He is mindful of his own.

Short Biography of Annie Johnson Flint

"a pretty, dark-eyed girl, with a clear olive complexion, and long black curls. She was kindhearted, merry and vivacious-a general favorite with the boys and girls at school."

She started teaching the primary class in the same school that she had attended as a girl. According to her contract with the normal school she taught for three years, though early in the second year arthritis began to show itself. She tried several doctors in turn, but it steadily grew worse until it became difficult for her to walk at all, and she had a hard time finishing out the third year. After that she was obliged to give up her work, and there followed three years of increasing helplessness.

The death of both her adopted parents within a few months of each other left the two girls alone again. There was little money in the bank and the twice-orphaned children had come to a real "Red Sea Place" in their lives. It was just then that the faithful Aunt Susie again came to the rescue. She had been in the Sanitarium at Clifton Springs, New York and was convinced that Annie could find help and healing there. Accordingly arrangements were made for Annie to go and she was to have the rent of the house she was leaving for her income.

Picture if you can the hopelessness of Annie's position when she finally received the verdict of the doctors of the Clifton Springs Sanitarium, that henceforth she would be a helpless invalid. Her own parents had been taken from her in childhood, and her foster parents both passed away. Her one sister was very frail and struggling to meet her own situation bravely. Annie was in a condition where she was compelled to be dependent upon the care of others who could not afford to minister to her except as compensated by her. In after years she always stated that her poems were born of the need of others and not from her own need

But God hath promised strength for the day,
Rest for the labor, light for the way,
Grace for the trials, help from above,
Unfailing sympathy, undying love.

In Annie's own notes, her affliction receives little notice. She would have it so. Although crippled, she did not consider herself helpless and that she could do nothing but bemoan her lot.

No one but God and she knew what suffering she endured as the disease became worse with the passing of the years, and new complications developed.