Volume Eleven

Volume Eleven: Volume eleven is children's poetry, written by W. Diane Van Zwol, for little children as well as the child in everyone.


"I'M NOT GOING TO BED!"

(the day that the moon would not go to bed)


The sun, waking up, was just looking around,
Saw all was not right; he did not make one sound.
The moon, standing still, was not fading away,
Although it was time for the breaking of day.
The stars stopped their twinkling and one softly said,
"Oh, what is the matter? The moon's not in bed!"
The moon stood there angry; would not go away.
"It's really not fair cause the sun gets to play."
The sun was so stunned. "But I have work to do.
I waken the flowers; show pets at the zoo."
"But I can do that! I'm not going to bed!
Just go back to sleep now!" the grouchy moon said.
"The moon's staying up!" All the stars were amazed.
"Just go back to sleep now?" The sun looked so dazed.
"If you don't go to bed, you will be so tired,"
An old star said softly. He knew he'd get fired.
"There's no place for stars in the middle of day;
Ev'ry one knows that they must go away."
"I am the king," said the moon, "And I rule!"
"What kind of crazy?" thought the sun, keeping cool.
"You know Mother Nature's in total control;
It's she, who decides, for the earth as a whole."
The moon kept insisting on having some fun.
"What I really want is to jump and to run."
"At night, there are shadows; the night is so still.
Why can't I stay up? When I want to, I will!"
"You want to stay up? Oh my, what will we do?"
The moon burst out crying, soon sun and stars too.
"What kind of a day is this destined to be?"
"I don't know," the sun cried, "But soon we shall see."
The sun stayed in bed and went right back to sleep.
The stars hung there gently, not making a peep.
The moon roared with laughter, "I really do reign;
I rule both the night and the day once again."
And so the moon hung there, up high all the time.
The sun stayed in bed as it just could not climb.
The day was too dark for the flowers to grow.
The pets at the zoo hid; they too would not show.
Then one little boy, who was tired of sleep,
Cried out to the sunshine, "Oh, why won't you peep?"
"I'm in my pyjamas and here I must stay.
I want to get up! Make that moon go away!"
"I'm waiting and waiting. Oh please, do get up!
It really is morning. I must find my pup!"
My mommy and daddy, they must get up too!
Oh sun, please get up soon as we have things to do!
But the moon stayed high, hung there day after day,
"I am the moon and I'll never go away!"
The sun awakened when he heard that young voice,
"I am so rested, I can really rejoice!"
"Oh, I am so tired," the weary moon said,
"But if I would stay king, I can't go to bed."
He was really weary; became a half moon,
Then only a quarter and fading too soon.
The moon in full splendor, just bright for a while,
Was secretly snoozing and soon lost his smile.
Old Mother Nature was still watching there too,
"I see what's happened. I know what I'll do."
"You must be punished. You won't go to bed,
So I will just make you a half moon instead."
The moon looking stunned, did not know what to say,
"You mean that my other half's going away?"
"You are so dark and you think you are the king,
I want some laughter. I want children to sing."
"If you wish to argue, I can still make you less.
You just want to rule, so come on now, confess."
"I'll give you one cycle; you'll wax and you'll wane.
Now get off to bed as your dim light's a pain."
The sun jumped up quickly from his nice, warm bed.
"I've had such a good rest," the happy sun said.
"The sun rules the day and the moon rules the night
And now there'll be peace. That's the end of the fight!"
"But as for the moon, it's to wax and to wane;
It will never rule day or cause any star pain."
"Remember it tried, but from now, evermore,
For the sun and the stars, I've evened the score."
The moon was so weary, he went right to sleep.
The sun had forever, its own place to keep.
The moon slept and slept; he did not 'just have fun',
Not e'er in the land of the bright midnight sun.
"Awaken, oh moon," there are some who still say,
"We just get so weary when life is all play."
Now sometimes the moon still peeks out in the light,
When the sun is supreme, the moon brings delight.
The stars are now twinkling, once more as they should,
The sun's always shining, so bright, it feels good.
The flowers have blossomed. The pets at the zoo
Are all so delighted, they know what to do.
The little boy's growing and sings once again.
Love laughs up on high and says, "See, I still reign."

Volume Ten

Volume Ten: Volume ten consists of poetry written by W. Diane Van Zwol, beginning in the year 2007 AD and based upon personal reflections.

1. The Shoe Box

Christmas Eve, 2006, was a very mild, sunny day in northern Ontario, Canada. I decided to go for a walk and took my camera with me, to take a few photos while I enjoyed my walk. As I was taking pictures of a nativity scene at an intersection, in front of a local church, I was astonished to see that an open shoe box had been placed in front of the manger. Reflecting upon this at a later date, I was inspired to write this piece of poetry.

The Shoe Box

Across the far hills, it's only love fills
... the shoe box.
Nativity's door, the stable's dirt floor
... the shoe box.
Such glory on high, a wondrous lit sky
... the shoe box
For paupers and kings, a mite if one brings
... the shoe box.
A child has been born on this Christmas morn
... the shoe box.
What mystery birth, so joyous, such mirth
... the shoe box.
Elation and pain, a tragic refrain
... the shoe box.
A gift one can bring, what e'er for the king
... the shoe box.
The shoe box to fill, a sign of goodwill
... the shoe box.
The heart of all man, a part of God's plan
... the shoe box.
What blessed peace as all war can now cease
... the shoe box.
A new infant child, so meek and so mild
... the shoe box.
Eternity's sign, e'er yours and yet mine
... the shoe box.
The cattle convey simplicity's day
... the shoe box.
The widow for sure, the orphan secure
... the shoe box.
The beggar in rags, the high flying flags
... the shoe box.
A green Christmas tree, soon Easter to see
... the shoe box.
The mist of the morn, such laughter and scorn
... the shoe box.
Of justice a plan, what destiny man
... the shoe box.
Such love so complete, remarkable feat
... the shoe box.

2. I Stood

A number of years ago, when my life was very difficult, I went through an extremely remarkable experience. Several years later, I began to understand what I had gone through and why I had gone through it, as I was writing a paper on Job 28. While this poem is in some sense allegorical, it may help someone else to understand the experiences and complexities realized in his or her own life.

I Stood

I stood in the depths of deepest despair;
Alone, there I was with no one to care.
As I gazed around, my world seemed so black.
There was no hope, no help, just total lack.
So cold and empty, my whole life did seem,
More like a bad nightmare than any dream.
The void, just a hollow, deep depth of fears;
It held no answer for my vale of tears.
I cried out to God, but no answer heard.
I waited and waited; I knew His word
Held hope and promise for new life so free;
I longed for that freedom, just once to see.
It seemed to me that it would take fore'er.
I was still locked into tragic despair.
E'er gazing up, peering yet higher still,
Searching, I longed for the for true, higher hill.
And then I saw just one small spark of light,
Breaking the darkness of my blackest night.
One tiny thread, like a strong silver beam,
Awakened my hope, as if from some dream.
It bounced off the walls of my black pit, deep,
Wakened me fully, as if from sound sleep.
Looking up, I could see still higher ground,
Somehow the light of new truth, I had found.
And higher yet I gazed, suddenly knew,
The depths of dark sorrow, I had come through.
My realm of worldly pain, soon was erased,
As somehow with new life, I had been graced.
Above the deep pit, I could see a storm,
But I could sense it was much calmer, warm.
I sensed I had to rise still higher yet,
Beyond that new ground, I'd never forget.
Higher still, yes, I knew I had to climb,
To mountains greater, to truths far sublime.
I searched for my God; I knew that someway,
He'd meet all of my needs, fill my ev'ry day
With higher truths and with such tender grace.
I knew that there still had to be some place,
Beyond the cruel world where men have trod,
Revealing real life, true hope and my God.
That thread of light did continue to rise,
Beyond high mountains, torment of man's cries,
To heights way beyond, with far brighter days.
What brilliance, I saw in those new found rays!
More light there was and much fuller joy too
And peace, way beyond what we e'er pursue.
I had somehow found, a loss of all fear,
With true love to comfort my ev'ry tear.
I stood in the light, so stunned and amazed.
'Twas the person of Christ, on whom I gazed.
The light of His presence shone ever bright.
So blessed the peace and radiance, delight!
The love on His face, was divine and real;
The warmth of His Spirit, I did soon feel.
The light in His eyes, way beyond compare;
The love that He showed me, ever so rare.
His robe was so white; His hands, He reached out.
I knew right then just what Truth was about.
And through out the course of history, man,
Has seen the person of Christ, yes, he can.
To all of those who've claimed that He's not real
And for all who say that He cannot heal,
That light, so wondrous did e'er touch my soul.
I knew that for forever, I would stay whole.
History records that this happens to few,
But only in life, those predestined to.
What this could really mean, who is to say,
And why just to me on that one empty day?
Perhaps this truth, I may ne'er really know,
Why God to me, His real Person, did show.

3. In Total Poverty of Mind

It is now forty years since I graduated as a registered nurse in 1967, from St. Joseph's General Hospital, in Thunder Bay, Ontario (CANADA). During my nursing experience, I encountered many unique individuals, in many different kinds of settings and circumstances. Most of them have touched my life in some way, but few as deeply as this old gentleman, living in his own home, when I was doing private duty nursing. His mental faculties appeared to be fading, but to him, his world was still real.

In Total Poverty Of Mind

In total poverty of mind, the old man sits by the battered door,
Seemingly confused by the reality of the present,
While locked into some needless torments from the past.
In his mind, he is alone, completly consumed by former passions,
Now long gone in time, but not yet fully erased from his memory,
Or from the slowly shattering depths of his fragile mind.
Startled by his own racing thoughts, in a sudden panic,
He quickly jumps to his feet, almost falling over.
He appears to climb a non-existent stairwell,
Still vividly fixed in his lost and wandering imagination.
A while later, reaching into a back pocket, for a wallet that is not there,
He signals to his former barber to keep the change, again.
His right hand reaches up to touch the bristles of the new haircut,
Forever etched into the recesses of his fading mind.
"Who are you? I don't know you! I want to go home!"
He cries out to someone...but now less frequently every day.
In reality, he is at home, but in his increasingly shallow mind,
Home is forever somewhere else, somewhere he has been in the past,
While in truth, perhaps he may never truly know home again.
Suddenly, he senses the dawn, alert to the sounds of the cheeping robins.
Quietly, he opens the door and wanders outside into the quiet, dark street,
But now one which is no longer really familiar to him.
He tugs on the imaginary leash of his long deceased dog.
He takes a few more steps and then says, "Let's go home now, old scout,"
Nearby, the neighbours are watching and listening to him talk to his dog.
"Good dog," they hear the old man say, as he turns and heads back towards his home.
Entering the house, he sits back down in the rickety chair by the door,
As if waiting for the next time his waiting dog wants to go out.
Smiling vaguely, he stares off into space towards some abstract object.
Perhaps this is some figment of his mind that we may never see.
Maybe this is some place where life has kept his truncated mind tethered,
'No,' he cries out as he finally gives in to despair
And closes his eyes, as if no one else is in his world
And no one is present to actually care, even if they did dwell there.
The happy child in him, it seems, was never truly there
And neither is he there now, or so it might seem,
While love still hovers, awake in the old man's soul,
Never to depart, even in his total poverty of mind.

Volume Nine

Volume Nine: Volume nine consists of prosaic poetry written by W. Diane Van Zwol, with the the central theme, 'Do not fear'. It is a more central stand taken by the poet.


1. On Fear

With respect to my life, sometimes it seems that I have viewed a hurricane from the distance, from heights, far beyond which most human beings ever travel. I feel like I have wrestled with torment, even while resting in the eye of a hurricane; I have been tossed about by the winds of time and I have been thrown out of the hurricane's fury, only to land on a plain of perfect peace.

"I have given you a Sabbath rest. It is up to you how you would choose to use it."

I know that I shall not die, at least not now. How then shall I live?

I shall not live in fear or be bound by fear, in any ungodly way, shape or form, for I know that even as Job confessed, "I shall not die but live and confess the works of the Lord," God has given me a purpose in my life, a reason to be, a reason to live.

The only kind of fear that I will honor, or allow in my life, is that of Love's true 'fear', more properly expressed as love, awe, honour and respect for God.

I will regard all life as sacred and treat every man, woman and child with love, honour and respect, to the best of my ability.

My family will be those who are around me and thus my immediate family, whoever or wherever they may be. They shall all know that they are loved, whether they are my 'natural' family by birth, or my God-given, 'spiritual' family.

My home shall be wherever I am in this world, as by God's will, that is where I am at each moment in time.

I know that I am loved and protected by Him and so are those who are with me as my family or friends, whether nearby, or simply present in my heart or my thoughts.

I will live a life that is healthy, both for myself and for all of those around me, truly appreciating and valuing the life that has been given to me by God.

I will do the work of my hands, faithfully fufilling whichever task with which I have been blessed, each and every day of my life, to the best of my ability.

I will respect each person's space and personhood and seek to lead, guide and assist each one, as I am led to do so by God, in accordance with His perfect, divine will.

I am assured that I will be blessed, even as I bless others and will seek to live each day with thanksgiving and praise, treasuring each day's memories as mine, a gift of love and grace.

I will remain silent in a particular time or place, unless God wills to speak through me and I pray that He will, in His time and in His way.

I will seek to act on my words, based on truth and speak only truth, as led to do so with the guidance of God's Holy Spirit.

I will seek peace in my lifetime, not living at war with myself or others, while working towards good for all humankind.

I will bind the powers of darkness in the name of Jesus Christ, assured that He has overcome all evil.

I shall seek that which is positive and constructive in my life, avoiding that which is negative and destructive. I will be a builder and not a destroyer.

I shall walk placidly amidst the storms of life.

I shall not live in fear.

This is my desirata.

2. On Death

In my lifetime, I feel like I have walked through valley of the shadow of death,
Not just once, but time and time again;

It was as if I was destined to look death straight in the eye,

As if somehow death stared back at me and mocked me,

Both in terms of my own eternity and that of others.

I had to wrestle with my own mortality and serious attempts on my own life

And then somehow, simultaneously, with the mortality of others too.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil..."

'Death, you cannot take my life...it is my life, given to me by God,

You cannot control my life or rule my life, as God is in control.'

Tired, weak and weary, I stood alone, except for God 'in me'

Standing, when I no longer had the strength, or the courage to stand,

Or the will to fight back against that which I could not battle.

In the wee hours of the night, I would often awaken in a cold sweat,

Tormented and frightened, not knowing what to do or what to say;

There was no place to go, no place to run to, unless I would run to God.

Locked into the hellish shadows of death, unravelling before me,

With horror and hell breaking my spirit, in every possible direction,

I struggled in terms of death and dying, both for myself and for others.

Lost and heartbroken, saddened and terrified, I took my stand,

For those too weak and too sick to claim their own place,

In either life or death. Most of them had already lost their 'will to live'.

Their spirits had been broken too, long before I arrived on the scene.

I could not restore the 'will to live' in them, (not that I didn't try).

'What kind of life is this?' I asked myself, time and time again.

'What is this life if not lived for others?' I wondered. No answer came back to me.

'What was I to do?' I knew that I could at least acknowledge the dying,

Their silent suffering, possibly give them peace and joy in their final hours.

I had no knowledge or ability to overcome my own pain, my personal weakness,

Much less the raging cancers of death, claiming the lives of one after another.


I stood more and more helpless, beginning to realize that I could only be a channel,

A channel of peace, a source of comfort, in the darkness of the blackest nights,

For the dying, those lying there doing nothing, not even wanting or trying to live,

Or attempting to fight back against death's waiting hand and pending grasp.

I became a watchman of the night, a silent observer of death's stalking terror.

Quietly, I waited and I watched. I knew the horrific signs of pending death.

Death is no respector of race, creed, color, gender, or status in life;

Death walks where it will and hovers there, silently grasping its helpless prey.

I could only pray, waiting, watching the dancing shadows that were creating

Mysterious images on the wall, in the breaking light of early morning.

I saw the shadow of a cross; a figure emerged on it, as if to claim the victory,

But soon the life of the person beside me, that had merely been hanging by a thread,

Faded and was gone. I sadly drew a black rose and laid it at the foot of the cross,

But joyfully, claiming the victory, I maintained my stand, "I shall fear no evil..."

This is my desirata.

3. On Anger

"Be angry, but sin not."
There have been many times in my life when I have been angry, angry about extreme injustice or senseless cruelty, on a personal plane or an impersonal plane of existence.

Deep inside myself, not even aware of what I was actually doing, I have listened to the pounding thunder of anger, immediately aroused in my being, by some external, sometimes unknown factor and have sensed the searing flashes of lightning, experienced during the fierce storms of rage, somehow striking inside me so deeply that there was no measure of pounding rainfall that could possibly put out the burning coals.

I know that I have been angry enough to strike out with my tongue, like a lashing whip, angry enough to fight back physically, even with my bare fists, to stand in bold, direct confrontation with my oppressor or the oppressor of others, or to to stand my ground in fear and dread, totally paralysed into non-activity, only to finally realize with silent fury, that all of my anger was spent in vain.

Humbly, I had to admit defeat and allow that all of my feeble efforts only resulted in my energy being wasted. I often found that it did not resolve the issues or solve the problem; in fact often times, it simply made matters worse, like a chain reaction.

"Anger breeds more anger; contempt breeds more contempt."

I have been horrified to see the fury of absolute rage in my own eyes, so terrifying, when mirrored back, that it frightened even me.

I listened to the raving of my own tongue, cutting others deeply, in my fury, in my meagre attempts to correct wrongs, that subconsciously, I knew I could not possibly correct, at least not as a mere human being.

I have struck out in every way I possibly could against evil, but all in vain; nothing changed.
I began to see that evil has existed since time began and will continue to exist until the end of time.

I asked myself, 'Is it wrong to be angry against evil, injustice and cruelty, or to try to fight back against it?' In my heart of hearts, I knew that it was not wrong to fight back against these timeless foes.

I have been angry enough to run and wanting to run, was not able to do so; angry enough to cry tears of fury, but without the actual tears to cry, I could not cry. Only my soul could cry out, but no one was listening, or so it seemed. I could not make myself cry real tears, no matter how hard

I tried.

Hopelessly I queried, 'Of what use are dry tears anyhow, when they are but they are not'; somehow it seemed to be a timeless resolution of the question 'to be or not to be'.

I have been furious enough to take a stand on behalf of the weak, the poor, the hungry, the blind, only to find that all of my anger, all of my senseless 'dry' tears, simply amounted to nothing, the sum total of absolutely nothing, in the light of God's righteousness.

Helplessly, I struggled against anger, I sought for answers for my anger, for the anger and fury of others, becoming more and more aware that anger is an actual part of being human, that anger is an innate response of the entire human race to evil.
Still seeking answers, I read, "If a man is angry with his brother, it is the same as if he kills his brother."

Shocked, I asked myself, 'Who, including me, has never been angry at a brother, a sister, a father, a mother, or another person, including a child? I wondered, 'What is it in us, not just in me, but in all of humankind, that breeds this kind of anger, resulting in a fatal contempt for others?' I had no answer for myself, much less an answer for anyone else.

I continued to search, always pondering in my heart, 'Why do we as a human race get so angry about that which we may or may not be able to control or change?' Silently, I asked myself, 'Why do we get angry enough that we could actually kill one another?'

I saw the effects of anger on my own body and on the bodies of others and realized that anger is a silent killer of humankind. It grows like a cancer, spreading voraciously, slowly eating away, virtually consuming, destroying and ultimately eradicating the heart and mind of man.

I learned about adrenalin, how it is released in anger and realized that the flow of adrenalin is vital to the energy flow in the human body, possibly a vital part of its actual life force. Adrenalin creates energy, protects life and even sustains life.

I knew that I was guilty of the sin of anger, but also guilty of wasting my energy on needless anger, when more realistically, I could actually be creating a positive channel of energy flow, both for myself and for others, for good and not for evil, instead of perpetuating this senseless, negative energy, that resulted from my anger.

I knew that I had personalized and globalized my own anger and tried to justify both myself and my anger, with the excuse of anger being a universal response to injustice and evil. I could not justify it.

I found out that only Love could resolve that kind of guilt.

I realized that anger is an emotional response, a reaction rooted and grounded in basic fear, eg. fear of lack, fear of death, fear of life, fear of others, fear of change, but equally fearful, in the exact opposite direction, as fear of excess, fear of life, fear of self and fear of no change.

Laughing at my own folly, I said to myself, 'What a conundrum this silly thing called anger really is!'

"Laughter is the best medicine."

I knew that fear or mis-understanding often causes anger and thus a sudden surge, a release of life-giving, life-saving adrenalin results.

I began to analyse my own anger. I saw that what we do or what we say, when we get angry, how we re-act or choose not to re-act, is simply a matter of our own choice; more personally, my own choice.

I became aware that to some extent at least, it is an unconditioned response, or even a conditioned response but I saw how it can be a learned response, based upon what we were taught as children, by our parents, our siblings, our family, our friends and even our teachers.

How they reacted to anger, we react to anger; what they taught us, we learned and practised.

'What is the alternative?' I wondered and felt that there had to be a solution.

Suddenly, as if some light had just been turned on deep inside my mind, I knew the answer. I realized that anger, in itself is not wrong. It is the expression of anger that resolves or creates the problems. There is a right way and a wrong way to respond to anger.

Working out anger, through appropriate channels, is actually possible, practical, feasible, reasonable and very realistic.

I became aware that I was reacting to anger in the wrong way, when I was inwardly or outwardly raging about injustice or cruelty and that I could and should deal with anger in a totally different way, ie. dealing with it from a different perspective.

I began to understand how I could use anger for my own benefit and for the benefit of others, rather than having it become detrimental in my life or the lives of others.

I began to see that I could be angry about the wrong, the cruelty, the injustice, but still forgive and love the other person, who was somehow also reacting to fear or anger in his or her own way, probably the only way he or she knew how to respond; in other words, I could learn to hate the deed and love the person and to love that person or those people unconditionally.

I think that I always knew that the inappropriate expression of anger has never been and never will be acceptable, socially or otherwise. 'Yes,' I told myself, 'There is realistic justification for anger, but there is no justification, none whatsoever, for inappropriate expression of anger.'

More simply put and taking it one step further, there really is no excuse for mis-direction in the channeling of the energy, created by the adrenalin, released in the expression of anger.

Why? The mis-directed energy flow leads towards death, not towards life and life is to be considered as sacred. We should be seeking life not death.

"Be angry but sin not."

This is my desirata.

Volume Eight

Volume Eight: Volume eight consists of poetry written by W. Diane Van Zwol, on the central theme of 'war or peace'. In the year 2006, the world is still in turmoil with 'war and peace' hanging in the balance. Humankind still has not learned the basic lesson of 'Love' and thus war is constantly erupting in various parts of the world. There is no country in the world that is excempt from tragedy.

1. Fair Playing Field

Fair playing field for games of war, where anger, strife and tempers soar,
Where guns and ammunition playout strengths and weaknesses of day,
Where armored tanks pass, jet planes fly, blackening the earth and sky,
Where lives are spent and no one cares and if there's even one who dares
To stake his life or her life too, the place becomes more like a zoo,
Where man's an animal, not free and each must fight, if all would be.
Spectacular, that show has been, like drama from a movie screen.
Soldiers, sailors, maimed, won't lust for more of action, hate the dust
Of ashes strewn across the land, beg to return to home, their stand
And if there still might be a place, where anger's grief there, shows no face,
What's left of war, one soon will find, has robbed each soul of peace of mind,
But beckoning behind new greed, more threats of war, no mercy seed.
Fair place to play, a war games field, when fruit of war is thus the yield,
But ball parks, playgrounds, all have rules and ball games too, not played by fools.
They're played with love; the game is real. It is a game the players feel.
It's not who wins, who loses too, but how the game is played. That's true.
Fair playing fields for games of war, one must insist, right to the core.
When man would play barbarian ways, he'll see the tragedy of days.
The innocent, the poor, the child, oft' battered in a game, so wild,
Are victimized by unfair games. Each country in its own way names
The playing field , their war plan too; that's where war's battles should ensue.
The sacredness of human life must e'er transcend the game of strife.
If man does not hold tight to love and values true, from God above,
Then life, more lives, will e'er be lost and man himself will pay the cost.
Fair playing fields, for war play see, some grace, a new reality
And shame to man whose life is spent in wasting others, or is lent
To destroy homes or places where there is new tragedy's despair.
So wake up world; see what you do, in truth revealed and shame to you.
If man be man and man of grace, no matter in what time or place,
As humble, caring, loving, kind, he will e'er offer peace of mind
And spend his time in humble ways, prolonging life, throughout his days
And ever focused on love's joy, will find new projects to employ
Himself and others, for man's good. Pursue this task? Yes, each man should.
Humanity and fairness real, should ulimately bear the seal
Beyond the tragedy, the pain, of endless terror's tragic reign.
The spoils of war, not of much worth, In contrast to a new child's birth.

2. Awaken O World

Dedication: To My Aunt, Dr. Lucille Clinger (nee Danberger)

When I began writing 'love poetry' a number of years ago, I had no idea how vast the interpretations of 'love' could be. Nor did I comprehend how far reaching the scope of 'love' truly was, or the multiplicity of its possible implications for our hurting world. I write 'love poetry' when I am inspired to do so and it flows so freely that I often stand amazed.

While many people have been of a major influence in my life, my Aunt Lucille has been one person who has inspired me to write 'love poetry', so many times. Perhaps this is because she has also written 'love poetry' and it, as well as her spoken words, reveal her wonderful attitude towards life which is focused on 'love' and her understanding of it.

This poem is written with a ongoing, resounding refrain, 'Awaken O World', calling the world to become more aware of 'love' as revealed in my 'love poetry'.

With 'love', I dedicate this poem to my Aunt Lucille.

Awaken O World

Awaken O world, to the tragedy of day...
War or mere war games, are really not play.
Awaken O world, to the sorrow of the child...
Why is there no peace when God reconciled?
Awaken O world, tell terrorism to go...
The love of one another, always show.
Awaken O world, be gone suffering and pain...
'Peace for all mankind', eternal refrain.
Awaken O world, now let sanity proclaim...
'All truth is revealed only in His name.'
Awaken O world, know the true reality...
All men are equal; humankind is free.
Awaken O world, your destiny to fufill...
'Humanity is blessed; peace is God's will.'
Awaken O world, yes, if one man at a time...
Reaches beyond evil, good reigns sublime.
Awaken O world, may ungodly grief now end...
See fullness of God's promise; healing send.
Awaken O world, a celebration of 'love'...
Victory, as peace sent from God above.

Submitted to Barnes and Noble
April 15, 2007
for future publication in 'Centres Of Expression'

Volume Seven

Volume Seven: Volume seven contains a poetry collection written by W. Diane Van Zwol in 2006 AD, entitled 'What Kind Of Love Is This'? This poetry celebrates the topic of love from an analytical perspective, raising questions and delving into the mystery of love.

1. What Kind of Love is This?

What kind of love is this
That bids us stand apart,
When coupled in a tie so dear
That none can tear apart?
If love is e'er so wise,
Then is that love to see,
Us ever bound in fear or death,
Or locked in tragedy?
When love would have us stay,
Why does life bid us go,
As if to say it rules the world
And ne'er will kindness show?
We know that love will win;
Life, only at its best,
Is what we want and what we need
And life, perhaps a test.
Thus life will e'er move on
And closer, we will grow,
Proclaiming love as life supreme,
Thus letting true life show.

Written by W. Diane Van Zwol
Copyright 2006
Sent to Steve Michaels (International Society of Poets)
July 6, 2006

2. What Kind Of Love Is This?

What kind of love is this
That bids a shuttle go,
So high, around the world,
That even winds can't blow?
What destiny has man
That bids him to go, fill,
Horizons vast escape,
Upon his whims, at will?
What love puts life at risk
And bids folly prevail,
When life as sacred e'er,
Unfurls each morning's sail?
If love is to succeed
And yes, it surely will,
Then God, who stands above
Time's passing says, 'Be still.'
While time enfolds the pain
And worlds apart lie man,
There are a few who'll know
What genius man can.
The heights, the depths of love
Are destined to increase
And in this realm stands man,
Who here-in shall know peace.

Written by W. Diane Van Zwol
Copyright 2006
Sent to Steve Michaels (International Society of Poets)
July 18, 2006

Volume Six

Volume Six: Volume six contains poems from the LOVE 2000 AD collection, written and revised by W. Diane Van Zwol and published previously on the Independent Nurses International web site, http://www.geocities.com/phded as individual pieces of poetry.

1. Ol' Friend

What pathway brought you home, Ol' Friend,
The road you trod that had no end?
What tender pasture did you graze?
How have you spent your younger days?
There's much about you I don't know
But still you have a certain glow.
Your quiet manner, gentle way,
Speaks more than any words might say.
'Twas Love that brought you here for me.
I see your peace, serenity.
In warmth of pasture's gentle sun,
I know you want to jump and run,
But time gone by forbids that joy
And other tasks that would employ.
The days of yours, soon winding down;
If you could smile, there'd be no frown.
You stand there contemplating still,
Your path of life and always will.
Within my soul and depth of thought,
I'll think about you as I ought.
So thanks for coming home, Ol' Friend;
God brought you round that stormy bend.
Together, we are safe and free
As destined from eternity.

2. Wee Laddie

The wee laddie marched on as he played.
Stalwart did he seem; to watch, I stayed.
The bagpipes were piping loud and clear;
Crowds began to gather close to hear.
His kilt swayed so gently in the breeze.
Ev'ry song he played, the crowd did please.
I thought as I saw him standing tall,
Surely Love inspired him, was his call.
The wee laddie played and marched along,
Round and round his stage with ev'ry song.
Now and then someone would wipe a tear,
As his music roused a mem'ry dear.
The melodies, yes, one that I heard,
Resounding as sweetly as a bird,
Showed me the wee laddie in each man,
Softly playing bagpipes in God's plan.

Published in 'The Sounds of Silence'
'The National Library of Poetry' anthology
1998

3. The Mist of Green Mantle

As you stand beside the river and you feel the misty breeze,
Try to let your spirit wander, wherever it might please.
Take a moment just to ponder and let history unfold,
The ancient Indian legend, the Ojibway tribe oft' told.
The chief of the Ojibway, Ogama Eagle was his name,
Had a daughter named Green Mantle, who was soon to come to fame.
A tall and graceful princess, with dark black eyes and jet black hair,
At seventeen, was a captive of the Sioux Tribe warring there.
While being forced to guide her captives, Green Mantle led the way,
Down the Kaministiquia River, toward her camp that day;
Seeming to betray her people, travelled to the waterfall.
Some say that she swam the river; some say that she gave her all.
Today the mist of Green Mantle speaks of Love of a rare kind,
Love that is so sacrificial, Love that one can seldom find.
In the mist above the water and the sky, yet one can see,
The spirit of the Princess, down the 'Old Road', flying free.

4. Artists and Poets and Lovers

Artist and poets and lovers, all three,
Dream of new hope in a land that is free.
The artist, a painter, encaptures the peace
The poet can find in poetic release.
The joy of a lover enraptured, so sweet,
Makes life in its fullness, seem ever complete.
Artists and poets and lovers, all three,
Treasure a blessedness, serenity.
The artist portrays from the depths of his soul,
The unspoken word in the poet's control,
That gives to the lovers who tenderly play,
The zest for new life in their quest, day by day.
Artists and poets and lovers, all three,
In our hurting world, each one needs to see.
What artists portray is what poets can speak
Of true lovers in love, with love at its peak.
What artists can draw, only poets can write,
But in it the lovers find greater delight.

Published in the anthology 'The Images of Time'
Poetry Institute of Canada
1997

5. There is a Gift That You May Give

There is a gift that you may give;
It's deep within your soul.
It is the one thing all man needs
In order to be whole.
It springs from love within your heart;
You feel it deep inside.
Compassion is that special gift;
In you, it does abide.
The race of man cries in his pain;
Each one can hear the cry.
In answer to his humble plea,
Please open wide your eye,
And see his need, that deepest need,
For what his heart still seeks.
When you allow your soul to move,
Then your compassion speaks.
Compassion is that unique grace
That you'll need someday too.
Oh share the gift, that you may give
And some may share with you.

Published in 'Best Poems of 1995'
The National Library of Poetry
1995

6. Sleep On, O Gentle Giant

Sleep on, O gentle Giant, while the morning breezes slumber;
If we would haste to count your days, the years, we could never number.
Sleep on, O gently Giant. Know early sunrise light will show
A new peace within each dawning, as Nanabijou love does glow.
Sleep on, O gentle Giant. Lake Superior's waters roll,
From high waves to little wavelets; its rhythm ever calms the soul.
Sleep on, O gentle Giant. You'll rest forever and a day.
So much joy you shall awaken, in morning's beauty you portray.
Sleep on O gentle Giant. Your myst'ry ever shall run deep;
Perhaps no one will ever know all the secrets that you shall keep.

7. The First Lady

Waikiki's first lady, this grand hotel,
On O'ahu Island, weaves its own spell.
'Moana', it stands on volcanic shore;
Tourists and limosines come by the score.
Tropical flowers and palms waving high,
All bid 'aloha' while waves roll on by.
Surfriding tradition...monarch's delight,
Gath'ring of people while surf's at its height.
Tall pillars standing, yet breezeway floors slant...
Palatial grandeur...but somehow one can't
Justify windows that stand at half mast...
Soft mournful breezes...war's shadow still cast.
An artist's portrayal of unspoken sound;
Architect's splendor...myst'ry all around.
Victorian elegance holding sway...
Verandah, spindles...grand piano play.
A banyan tree terrance, shaded white beach...
Extinction of monarchy...branches reach
Far back in history, ancient folk lore...
Hawaiian mem'ries erupting once more.

Sheraton 'Moana' Surfrider Hotel
Waikiki Beach, O'ahu
1901-2001

8. Speak Gently

For some women, life seems to be an ongoing battle.
It is like being locked into a reality
Where they are forever trying to swim upstream,
Against a formidable current in a raging river,
And where they are never really able to climb
Up onto the safety of the rocks,
Or when they swim and swim but can never reach
That ever elusive distant shore.
Each time one of these women appears
To be reasonably safe and secure,
Another terrifying reality arises for her.
Why should this kind of torment be allowed?
Who is there that will try to help these women?
Can anyone really intervene on their behalf?
There is one still small voice
Who will speak gently with Love.
He will say, "Be still and know that I am God."

9. Walk in the Light

Walk in the light of truth and of deed;
Walk as a leader, planting His seed.
Walk in the joy of purest desire;
Holiest passion, to that, aspire.
Walk in the peace that only God gives,
Telling of Jesus, that He still lives.
Walk in the grace of His presence here,
Knowing each moment, freedom from fear.
Walk in His Love while doing His will;
Work for His pleasure, your life to fill.

Published in the anthology "Treasured Poems of America"
Sparrowgrass Poetry Forum, Inc.(Fall)
1996

10. Perhaps Love's Best Answer?

The waters of the lake never seem to stop moving,
Not even on the quietest day.
There is a continual lapping of the waves.
Sometimes the waves touch the shore very gently;
At other times they pound relentlessly on the rocks.
But bit by bit, the rocks are reduced in size.
Perhaps love's best answer to what ails man,
Lies in the continual lapping of the waves?

11. I Shall Not Live in Fear and Dread

I shall not live in fear and dread,
But reach out a hand of friendship instead.
I know "perfect love casts out fear"
And caring friends can help dry ev'ry tear.
Though war may rage all around me,
I know that our God, shall my comfort be.
Bombs may be bursting in the night,
I never shall give in to fear or fright.
I pray that man may live in peace
And that all warfare shall evermore cease.
Life is sacred; this I believe.
The fullness of blessings, I shall receive.
True freedom lies in seeds we sow;
The good ones we plant continue to grow.

Volume Five

Volume Five: Volume five consists of poems, written by W. Diane Van Zwol that have not been published previously.

1. I Called For Man

I called for man but none arose,
They were all busy I suppose.
I called for woman but found none,
They were too busy in the sun.
I called for God and found Him there,
He seemed to be the one to care.

2. Where Winds Will Blow

Where winds will blow, the rain will fall;
Where tides will rise, the sands will all
Move with the waters of the day
And sometimes they'll be washed away.
Where sun will shine, shadows will grow;
Where ice will freeze, there'll be a glow
Of rosy cheeks and noses too,
For frost bite knows just what to do.
Where children play, there will be joy;
Where daylight dawns, death will destroy.
Life, in it fullness, will go on
As surely as the pending dawn.
Where rivers flow, waters will rise;
Where there is life, there's no disguise,
As life just cannot wear a mask
And never ending is its task.
Where love abounds, there will be peace;
Where grace e'er lives, hope cannot cease,
For God is gracious and He's good
And gives fresh mercy as He should.

3. Thundering in Righteousness

Thundering in righteousness, the skies burst forth in streams of wrath,
That have no end and little mercy for the lost and lonely soul
Adrift on the sea of iniquity and engaged in futile transgression,
A hopeless search for passion's endless unsatisfying fufillment.
Crying out in agony, the man, who no longer sees himself as man,
But rather only as a worm at the mercy of a vengeful God,
Utters just a single word in his hour of tragedy and pain.
'Help' he cries out in his terror and fright. 'But is it too late?' he wonders.
'Has he over extended the longest hours of his darkest night,
Merely to find himself a total stranger to a supposedly forgiving God?'
With no where else to run, he turns to face the God he had once turned his back on.
God, with outstretched arms and loving hands, is waiting to take him in
And to give him the comfort which he has long forgotten ever existed
And the forgiveness of the love that only a truly righteous God can give.
No one has ever turned to God in vain, for God is ultimately good;
Thus he finds peace even in the midst of the thundering of righteousness.

Volume Four

Volume Four: Volume four is a collection of poems written and revised by W. Diane Van Zwol, that have not been published previously as individual poems.

1. To This, I Aspire

Toward a higher pathway than desire,
To this, I aspire.
Towards a more complete and fuller life,
To this, I aspire.
Towards a humbler walk than vanity,
To this, I aspire.
Towards the fufillment of glory to God,
To this, I aspire.

2. Mystery 2 - The Giant

The Giant coupled in the waves
Of windy day and water's slaves,
If viewed from regions other than
A forward view, does show a plan.
What does appear a male to be,
Becomes a female mystery;
The profile of a dormant guy,
Becomes a lady, by and by.
At Chippewa, the female see,
If fog does lift and weather be
Co-operating on a day
When wind has lifted fog away.
Perhaps it's love unveils the veil
And then exposes nature's tale?
The Sleeping Giant's just a man,
Unless perceived as poet can.
And either way, it matters not,
The poet can perceive the cot
Of Lake Superior's mystery,
Awaiting there for you and me.

3. The Expectation Thereof

The fullness and complete surrender
of total control,
actualizing the awakening
of the horizon of perfect passion,
embracing the ultimate moment
of pure awareness,
perfect peace,
pure thought
and pure feeling,
human sensuality and sexuality
perfectly tuned
to the ultimate, divine vibration
of the melting into oneness,
encompassing, unfolding, unravelling
within the gentle hands of time;
the expectation thereof
in the thoughts and minds
of hearts and souls
like mine.

4. The Realization

The realization thereof accomplished
with a hand into which I place mine
in trust and faith,
the signification of which
even I am at best only partly aware,
the implications therein boundless.
A gentle nudge, a whisper,
an almost touching,
a transitory vibration,
the electricity, ecstatic joy
beyond denial.
The warmth of embracing enclosure,
penetrating, releasing,
fufilling, capturing forever
the most miniscule of miracles,
life in its fullness,
its essence,
its very being,
the conception and the birth
of love, timeless and eternal.

5. First, I'm Going To Find A Mountain

First, I'm going to find a mountain
And I'll buy it for a song,
Then I'll chisel out a fountain
And I know it won't take long.
When I get the water flowing
And it will, in my own time,
I will turn it to a pipeline,
Not a bucket of mere rhyme.
Soon it will be overflowing;
Others too, in pools, will bathe,
Or they'll walk the streets of gold built
From the nuggets they all save
And they'll be such special nuggets,
Gems of truth exposed in deed,
Everyone of them is planted;
Each in turn will bear new seed.
Build a dream,yes, build a mountain,
Reaching ever to the sky,
Where the birds fly or the sunbeams.
You can reach eternal high.

6. Splendor

Splendor, as in the morning sunrise;
The sun awakening,
Radiating beams into the hollows of the clouds
Waiting to embrace them.
Splendor, as in the wintery morning;
Sentinels of frozen mist,
Rising above the icy waters of the lake
Lined up as waves, row by row.
Splendor, as in the diamonds
Twinkling in the dew
Of freshly fallen rain on a spider web
Weighed down by water droplets.
Splendor, as in the light;
Sparkling in a child's eyes
As he or she reaches for someone who
Is already known and loved.
Splendor, as in the totality of life
Reflected in the blossoming of a rose
Unfolding in its glory,
To the noonday sun.
Splendor, as in the fullness of love,
Its expression so explicit, so implicit,
In the divine
Fully portrayed in man.

7. Love, In Its Anthem

Love, in its anthem, eternal refrain,
Wafting on winds and waves ever again.
Drifting through hist'ry, like snow piling high,
Rising to new heights beyond just mere sky.
Speaks to the heart of man, not just a word,
Opens the eye to see rainbow unheard.
Raises the hope of each eternal joy,
Searching for new ways, as love to employ.
Truth bounding forth like a new lamb in spring,
Echoes in time with each song that we sing.
Tenders the heart of man, renders the soul;
Helpless surrender to love in control.
Say, can you hear it, the anthem again?
Say, can you sing it, eternal refrain?
Oh, do you feel it now, or can you see
What love as an anthem would have you be?

8. Write Me A Windsong

Write me a windsong, eternal in time,
Write it in metres, write it in rhyme.
Write me a windsong that would live on,
Just as the sunset gives way to the dawn.
Write me a windsong just like a breeze,
Laughing and dancing, daring to tease.
Write me a windsong, one I can sing,
One that is special, new joy can bring.
Write me a windsong, that floats on the waves,
And gurgles like brooks as new freedom braves.
Write me a windsong, soft like a sigh,
Swift as an seagull winging it high.
Write me a windsong touching my soul,
Baring the depth of eternity whole.
Write me a windsong, full of true love,
As if by God's pen, sent from above.

9. If Passions Tears

If passion's tears would end the plight
Of fear and terror, horror's flight,
Then floods of grief could then suffice,
If not just once, then maybe twice.
But passion's tears can't mend the tear,
In fact, 'twill render greater there,
The rift, the cleft, within the rock
Upholding pathways where we walk.
Must we not have a ladder higher
Than human passion and desire,
To climb beyond the pit of grief,
To heights of hope and true relief?
In passion's tears, we'll float away
Or sail off to a better day,
Where love intact fore'er supreme,
Enhances life with all its dream.
So savor not the shallow end
And seek on further, past the bend
Of river's stream and gentle flow
Where destiny would have you go.

10. On Truth

If your currency be that of truth,
Then we can negotiate peace.
If your currency is anything other than truth,
It is impossible to negotiate any kind of peace.
Peace is of the realm of truth;
True currency is also of the realm of truth.
May we negotiate peace as love
In its highest expression
Would negotiate peace,
That is in terms of the currency of truth?

11. If I Walk

If I walk in the footsteps where someone else has trod,
I may never really find my own path,
And touched by the fury of the master storms in life,
Bear the agony of their aftermath.
If I seek to learn and to walk in the direction
That I know my own real destiny lies,
Then I am absolutely certain and convinced that
What I'll find is my true eternal ties.
My feet can't fit into the shoes of any strangers
And nor would I want to wear their old shoes,
For if I would try to walk on their eternal path
There is so much I find that I might lose,
My own sense of direction and my own peace of mind,
The integrity with which I was born.
While for some the seemed loss of another soul's pathway
Might seem a legitimate cause to mourn,
For me it's not a reason for sorrow or to weep
Because of one thing I am very sure,
And that is with Love as my sole direction in life,
Here my entire future lies secure.

Volume Three

Volume Three: Volume three is a collection of poems, written and revised by W. Diane Van Zwol, pending publication or previously published as individual pieces of poetry.

1. Poised (Haiku)

Carved into the trunk
Of a declining oak tree,
The woman stands poised.

2. Mystery 1 - The Giant

Gone the Giant...none can see
What lies o'er there...a mystery.
The Giant poses in repose,
But gone today...I do suppose
That hidden by gray blanket thick,
Hours away, the clock will tick,
Without the Giant waking up...
Too early in the day to sup.
Secure within a hidden veil
That oft' obscures an early sail,
The Giant sleeps, just rests a day,
Until the fog wills self away.
But beauty often hides beneath
The pow'r of Love or nature's sheath.
Awake the Giant, no one can...
But surely, there's a higher plan
As nature changes ev'ry day.
The Giant is still here to stay.
No imag'ry this early morn...
Just one alert...a deep fog horn.
The Giant's there...one cannot see,
Creating thus that mystery.
Reality...the Giant's gone
Until full bursting of the dawn.

DEDICATION

This poem is dedicated to my father, Edwin W. Kukkee, who taught me to see beauty in all things. He too wrote poetry and always had music in his life as he played a very sweet violin.

Like my father, I write on inspiration. I began writing poetry when I was young but gained a more serious appreciation of poetry as an adult.

In the 1990's I began to publish internationally. I believe that poetry is an amazing gift to be treasured by all who write or simply read it.

Most of my adult years, I worked as a registered nurse or as a counsellor. I have a Bachelor of Arts in Religious Studies and a Master of Arts in Philosophy. I learned web design so that I could publish my poetry and photography as well as that of others.

I feel that this is the new mode of publication and it makes international publication challenging and exciting.

3. I Can Draw You Closer

I can draw you closer than the blackest hours of darkest night penetrating and encompassing your weeping soul, to comfort you in your hour of total devastation and utter loneliness.

I can hold you tighter than the strongest cords of life or death that bind, with soft tendrils of warm, sincere compassion to mend your hurting wounds and comfort your aching, broken heart.

I can touch you deeper than the longest, sharpest sword of tragedy, piercing beyond the bones and marrow of your existence to strengthen you with a warm ray of eternal love, to bring you to my self.

I can make you cleaner and purer than the wisps of feathered clouds that float so gently and graciously across the autumn sky and free you from a life of torment, pain, endless suffering and grief.

I can seal you in my heart with love so strong that none can tear apart the very depths of being, the essential core of life itself. This is simply a claim in faith for you and yours, for generations yet to come.

4. Imagine!

Imagine!
Imagine the possibility!
Picture the impossible becoming the possible!
Envision the expansion of your horizon and reach your destiny!
Open new horizons that will help you to fufill your dreams and reach new goals!
Picture many others following in your footsteps as you climb up!
See yourself awakening their dreams and their visions!
Be the leader not the follower!
You will lead!

Volume Two

Volume Two: Volume two is a collection of poems on the 'Diamond' theme, written and revised by W. Diane VanZwol and published previously on the Ner-A-Ner web site.

1. If You Think You Are a Diamond

If you think you are a diamond, you may be; you may be not.
If you see you're like a diamond, it could be that you've been taught.
If you think you've found a diamond, it could be another stone.
If you think you own a diamond, it may not be what you own.
If you think you love a diamond, you may not know what you love.
If you sparkle like a diamond, it could be light from above.
If you want to wear a diamond, if it's not you might feel lost.
If you know the price of diamonds, then you truly know the cost.
If you seek to find just diamonds, there are also other stones.
If you choose to throw out diamonds, you may find another owns.
If you cherish ev'ry diamond, then you realize their worth.
If you recognize a diamond, you may give a diamond birth.
If you want to be a diamond, you may need to be refined.
If you have the fire of diamonds, you've found love and peace of mind.

2. Of Diamonds I Have Known

Of diamonds I have known, and yes, there've been a few;
It seems it's not just who they are or what they say or do
That plots the course for diamondship, a path they cannot hew.
There's clarity of thought and purity of mind,
A vision with a mission true, a brilliancy we find
That sparkles with a certain glow, portraying love as kind.
A fingerprint remains, one left for all to see,
Of leaders generating peace with certain harmony.
Of flaws, there are of course a few; light's truth, a legacy.
With grace, they leave a word that's oft' not understood.
Their energy, integrity, soon turns out for man's good.
Perhaps the diamonds that you know, you envy and you should?
A diamond, you may be; adversity, your fire;
Refinement in its highest form, masked in you as desire.
Your personality, you'll find, when you seek values higher.

3. Diamonds Are Forever

They say diamonds are forever, yes, forever and a day,
But if diamonds are forever, then they must be here to stay.
I think love will live forever, way beyond forever's day,
It's not diamonds as eternal, no, no matter what they say.
Diamonds are a fleeting fancy, look and soon they will be gone,
But if love is your true diamond, it will ever linger on.
So if you are seeking diamonds, and I know you always will,
Then just find the kind of diamonds, that your life with love will fill.

4. Diamonds in the Rough

In the world that's all around us, in that mirror, we can see
A reflection glowing brightly that portrays a 'you' or 'me'.
We may shine a little brighter; we may glow a little less,
But in truth and love eternal, diamonds....those whom God does bless.
So just be a little diamond, even though you see you're rough
And enjoy your life's true journey even though it may seem tough.
You may meet a few more diamonds and like you, they too will find,
As a diamond, called to be one, diamond's just a state of mind.

5. A Double Diamond Dreamer

A double diamond dreamer, one who finds
The wondrous heights of joy, a path that winds,
Beyond mere realm of hope's reality,
Surpassing any simple fantasy.
A double diamond dreamer stands inspired,
With hopes and dreams beyond the faint or tired,
With knowing far beyond that of man's will,
With comfort from our God who says, "Be still."
A double diamond dreamer sees those dreams
As if accomplished, even though it seems
The dreams are still impossiblity,
In terms of something that can ever be.
A double diamond dreamer takes a thought
And places it where dreamers really ought,
In other words, beyond the realm of man,
And sees it as a part of God's true plan.
The double diamond dreamer sets a goal,
In spite of seeing part and not the whole,
And builds upon that double dream each day,
Instead of simply dreaming it away.
A double diamond dreamer dreams of love,
And knows that God can work from up above,
To make a single dream a double dream,

A double portion promised, is His scheme.

Volume One

Volume One - Volume one contains poetry previously written by W. Diane Van Zwol and published on the www.poetry.com web site.

1. If I

If I on sacred wings could fly,
Pedantic as a butterfly,
And wing my words into the sky,
Then I might be a poem.
If I could be a summer breeze,
Afloat among the leaves of trees,
And flow wherever I might please,
Then I might be a poem.
If I could render songs unsung,
Climb to the heavens, rung by rung,
Unpaint the paintings yet still hung,
Then I might be a poem.
If I could live upon a star,
Or know the truth of who you are,
And reach my God, who seems so far,
Then I might be a poem.
If I could swim in every moat,
Or cross all rivers with no boat,
Or even wear young Joseph's coat,
Then I might be a poem.

2. There Are Those In Time Who Seek To Learn

There are those in time who seek to learn,
For knowledge true, they ever would yearn,
While others seek for some kind of bliss,
Not knowing what they will ever miss.
Some love to know about ev'rything,
With all of the secrets life can bring,
But others bound in their ignorance,
Relate to some barbarian dance.
It's our choice in time, to learn or not,
And if we are doing what we ought,
We will ever seek for knowledge right,
With Love as our focus, one true Light.
If ignorance is what we would choose,
We have so much, even life, to lose.
Just pray that God will lead you today.
Ask for enlightenment and then say
'Thankyou' to those who helped to teach you
To walk in His pathways. What you do
And what you say, will show ev'ryone
What work through you, Truth has now begun.

3. Displaced

Displaced, the new homeless stand dazed,
Wearing a brave mask of courage,
While still harbouring deep inside,
The silent terror of the unknown.
Everywhere, the eye of compassion looks on,
Bearing silent witness to the disaster,
Always waiting to embrace with love,
Those battered by the thunderous fury
Of the hurricane's relentless devastation.
But few can see beyond the momentary pain,
The suffering, the senseless loss of life,
In the horrific moment or hour of tragedy,
And tear at the living with anger and scorn,
As if they can not mourn or know horror too.
The ones who are controlled by fear's domain
Can seldom see beyond its stark reality;
Only love can cast out that kind of fear
And awaken them to feel compassion's touch.

4. Sounds

Sounds of serenity caressing a new day
Waking to joys of early morning light...
Murmur of a trembling breeze
The sleepy robin to tease...
Whisper of trickling water
Sprinkled with rainbow hues...
Plaintive call of the mourning dove
Reminding the world of its plight...
Sounds of serenity seem to end
The darkness of blackest night.

5. Coming Up Daisies

A cool but gentle wash of heavy autumn mist,
Heavily weighing leaves on weary branches,
Soon breaks them free from their maple tree.
Hovering reluctantly on the wings of change,
Like airplanes, they seem to stall in mid-air,
Long enough to seek a new place of refuge.
During one breathless moment of silence,
They spiral, plunging down to the ground.
Four tiny sparrows, exploring an icy puddle,
Alerted to footsteps invading their domain,
Suddenly take wing, flying just a few feet,
Towards a fifth, who moves over to make room
On an unpainted cedar fence, warped in time.
Beams of sunlight, scattered by tree limbs,
Display the legacy of a broken sidewalk.
The last vestiges of early fall flowers
Invading the icy cracks, still proclaim
The actual reality of love's fond embrace,
That everything is still 'coming up daisies',
Just exactly as the world was ordained to be.

6. Autumn Reflection

Stunning vibrant rainbow hues reflect
The brilliant glow of mid-morning sun,
Transformed into gleaming waves
Of crackling icy grass, where footsteps trod.
A solemn, somber silence momentarily
Becomes a quiet moment of reflection,
As a single sacred voice, without a quiver,
Bursts forth in grace filled anthem.
The warmth of sunshine's heightening rays
Tenderly warms the welcoming soul.
A smile, a gentle handshake, a hug,
The lengthening black shadow of light.
But what is Love if unaware
Of passion's deep embrace, e'en where
Death in its final hour
Has graced and touched another autumn day?

7. Wee Laddie

The wee laddie marched on as he played.
Stalwart did he seem; to watch I stayed.
His bagpipes were piping loud and clear.
Crowds began to gather close to hear.
His kilt swayed so gently in the breeze.
Every song he played, the crowd did please.
I thought as I saw him standing tall,
Surely love inspired him, was his call.
The wee laddie played and marched along,
Round and round his stage with ev'ry song.
Now and then someone would wipe a tear,
As his music roused a mem'ry dear.
The melodies, yes, one that I heard,
Resounding as sweetly as a bird,
Showed me the wee laddie in each man,
Softly playing bagpipes in God's plan.

8. What Ecstasy! What Agony!

What ecstasy! What agony! It's poetry in rhyme,
The flowing of a stream of love within a frame of time.
O joyful mirth of gentle birth, in words that sound divine,
Descend today, bless us we pray, as we write line by line.
What wondrous star has led afar the wise men as of old?
What shining light, so burning bright, is this of which is told?
What beckons on, calls far and yon, to young and old today?
A voice is clear for those who hear and will not go astray.
In morning fair, there's still despair, but hope is rising too.
In agony, still ecstasy, for God knows what to do.
His gentle soul can make man whole and this man needs to hear.
What other love than God above can drive away his fear?
O slender thread of fear and dread, be banished now from sight.
True love and peace shall never cease as God is always right.
What night or dawn still moving on, can change the life of man?
Just look above, once more at love and realize God's plan.
A silent voice can still rejoice though waters may run deep.
For man in pain yet once again, our God is not asleep.
No need to cry for God is nigh; He'll prove it o'er and o'er,
Until some way, some future day, He beckons to His shore.

9. Life Is A Question Of Justice

Life is a question of justice,
The answer to which is God's love.Life needs compassion and mercy,
But mercy that comes from above.
Life is the hope of salvation,
Salvation of your soul and mine.
Life, in itself, is held sacred,
By those who see life as divine.
Life is a blessed existence,
A gift to be treasured by all.
Life in its greatest outworking,
Brings love and new hope to us all.
Life to be lived to its fullest,
Is staying in constant accord,
Loving each sister and brother,
As led by the Word of the Lord.
Life as we know it, imperfect,
It seems is a test of our faith.
Justice and mercy with goodness,
Is love granted to us by grace.

10. Sweet Gentle Beams Of Morning

Sweet gentle beams of morning,
Caressing sparkling dew,
With tender touch enfolding,
Suggesting `I love you.'
A slender peaking crocus,
Refreshing wondrous rain,
A robin preening feathers,
Proclaiming love's refrain.
A surging of the waters,
Lets icebergs float on through.
The dripping of the syrup
Calls out `What shall we do?'
The echo of a whisper,
Of breezes wafting by,
Announces spring's day dawning,
Not even asking why.
A touch of Easter morning,
Arouses me and you,
To hopes of blessed tidings,
That Christ has risen anew.

11. Diamonds in the Rough

In the world that's all around us,
In that mirror, we can see,
A reflection glowing brightly
That portrays a you or me.
We may shine a little brighter;
We may glow a little less;
But in truth and love eternal,
Diamonds...those whom God does bless.
So just be a little diamond,
Even if you see you're rough
And enjoy your life's true journey
Even though it may seem tough.
You will meet a few more diamonds,
And like you, they too will find,
As a diamond, called to be one,
Diamondship's a state of mind.

LOVE 2005 AD

LOVE 2005 AD

A Poetry Collection

Written by

W. Diane Van Zwol R.N.

B.A. (Honors) Religious Studies

M.A. Philosophy

Certified Counselor

Web Designer

Photography by Amazon Art Reproductions

Copyright 2009 AD