New Diamonds and Old Gems: A Poet's Buried Treasure

By W.H. Shuttleworth

Weve all heard, Diamonds are Forever! But is it really true? If diamonds could talk, Im sure they would tell many stories of intrigue, lust, and greed, but also about a few beautiful love stories where fairy tale couples marry and live happily ever after.
On a tour of the Holyland, two decades ago, our group ventured into a somewhat exclusive diamond factory. We watched a meticulous diamond cutter at work at his bench. Although many enticing gems and decorative items of jewelry were on display, I shyly slipped away without even the tiniest free sample. However, very shortly thereafter, I grabbed up a beautiful gemstone necklace from a persistent Arab street vendor in the city of our Saviors birth. It later glistened like the Star of Bethlehem whenever my mom wore it.
Besides this, I noticed how a member of our tour group was picking up a worthless little stone at every holy site we would visit. Very soon I was following her example. What is the value of such a collection of stones? Only the memories it brings back to our minds every time we gaze upon it.
Hopefully, my bag of stones (or poems) will be of similar value to the reader if this book. But please dont altogether elude The Sacred Vault and The Cavern of Commentaries. At any rate, may you pursuer and enjoy the adventure of it all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 19, 2008
• ISBN: 9781477160244

W.H. Shuttleworth

About the Author We’ve all heard, “Diamonds are Forever!” But is it really true? If diamonds could talk, I’m sure they would tell many stories of intrigue, lust, and greed, but also about a few beautiful love stories where fairy tale couples marry and live happily ever after. On a tour of the Holyland, two decades ago, our group ventured into a somewhat exclusive “diamond factory.” We watched a meticulous diamond cutter at work at his bench. Although many enticing gems and decorative items of jewelry were on display, I shyly slipped away without even the tiniest free sample. However, very shortly thereafter, I grabbed up a beautiful gemstone necklace from a persistent Arab street vendor in the city of our Savior’s birth. It later glistened like the Star of Bethlehem whenever my mom wore it. Besides this, I noticed how a member of our tour group was picking up a worthless little stone at every holy site we would visit. Very soon I was following her example. What is the value of such a collection of stones? Only the memories it brings back to our minds every time we gaze upon it. Hopefully, my bag of stones (or poems) will be of similar value to the reader if this book. But please don’t altogether elude The Sacred Vault and The Cavern of Commentaries. At any rate, may you pursuer and enjoy the adventure of it all.

Book preview

Copyright © 2008 by W.H. Shuttleworth.

Library of Congress Control Number:                 2008900257

ISBN:                  Hardcover                              978-1-4363-1574-6

Softcover                                978-1-4363-1573-9

Ebook                                     978-1-4771-6024-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form

or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by

any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the

copyright owner.

Bible Quotes are from the King James Version except where noted

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CONTENTS

Introduction

The

Poems

I

A Bag of Stones

View from My Window

Time is Fleeting

Ode to a Waste Basket

The Poet’s Quill

Raised in Philly

My House in the South

A Thin Blue Line

Information Super Highway

Lighthouse

Alluring Marina

Voyage of Certainty

Sunken Treasure

More Than Driftwood

The Artist, The Poet and The Preacher

The Art Show

Tacky Art of the

Da Vinci Code

The Restaurant

Down the Road

Tacky Toothpick Twirler

Out of Doughnuts

Footprints of a Thief

Legal Minds And

Dimpled Chads

Super Bowl

XXXIX

Columbus and You

Fantasy Ride on the

D.C. Metro

Ballad of Saddam

A Cry for Freedom

Our Amazing American Flag

Mightier than the Sword

If Paul Revere

Would Ride Tonight

Hoop Shots Of Good And Evil

Silent Assassin

On Pondering Retirement

Joining the Y

What in the World?

Senior Citizen Superman

Glistening Golden Jackpot

Thanks Lord!

II

Love

Thoughts

My Mom

Valentine’s Way

To Find A Wife

Blossoming Bugsy

Good Vibrations

In A Root Canal

Glitter and Glamour

Pearl By The Sea

Sparkling Ring

Cinderella Waitress

Lady In The Wind

Phantom Engineer

of a Chandelier

Golden Anniversary

God’s Love

III

The Sacred Vault

Golden Bells

Journey to Mount Sinai

Those Resolutions

My Painting of Jesus

Morning Prayer

Heavenly Home

Dad’s Passing

Remembering Old C.O.D.

On the Rebound

V.I.P.’s at Church

Let Go! Let God!

The Essence of His Birth

Unspeakable Gift

Happy Hanukkah Too!

Bones and Bones

Those Nails

He’s Risen!

Raptured Away

A Greater than Solomon

Everlasting Treasure

A Holy City for A Holy People

Crowns and Rewards Coronation

IV

Creation

Speaks

Creator of Life

Finally It’s Spring!

Autumn Rose

O Comet, Where’d You Go?

Prehistoric Dream

Obscure Conquistador

Making Waves

Island Girl

Peek-A-Boo Census

Clones With Designer Genes

Once A Tree

Beyond the Stormy Cloud

God’s Little Songbird

Dark Night Rain

Rejoice O’ Spring

Volcano

Fury from the Sky

Earthshaking Series of ’89

Windy One Eye

The Laughing Hyenas Club

Save the Planet,

Save the Earth

Cavern

of

Commentaries

Movers, Shakers and

Bible Thumpers

Love, Passion and Rapture

Letter to My Professor Friend

Dedication

to my sister Violet and her husband Dave on their Golden Wedding Anniversary. Thanks for being a wonderful example of love and devotion for so many years.

Introduction

Why this book of poetry? I ask myself that very question. Every poet has a different perspective of life—has a different style—has very different learning experience to draw from.

I can’t see how any poet can suddenly decide to write a book of poetry. For me, at least, it’s more like a process of accumulation. To write a poem, a poet needs a moment of inspiration: in other words, an incident (whether personal, international or anywhere in between) to set his pen in motion. Then the poet seeks to take this fresh snapshot of life, thereby expressing his thoughts, feelings and opinions in an artistic manner, while unveiling hidden truth at the same time. A poet doesn’t really know what he’s going to write. But that’s the whole idea! To be creative! To think out of the box, as they say.

Each poem must be filed for safe-keeping and sometimes pruned inside the poet’s greenhouse nursery. When the nursery gets overcrowded, only then does the poet seek to compile his work into book form. Then he must view his poetry as the reader’s eyes would see it. He scans over his poems for common (or complementary) themes, placing poems in different sections that have a common or similar thread for the benefit of the reader. After this tedious task, an assembled book finally emerges. As one wise poet once said, The poem doesn’t belong to the poet, but rather to the one who needs it.

The

Poems

I

A Bag of Stones

The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer.

2 Samuel 22:2

View from My Window

I gaze from my window, nestled inside my room

Where simply glancing out, helps chase away the gloom

The river flows on by with all its ripply waves

Sometimes silky smooth, while choppy on other days

The leaves on each sturdy oak rustle in vibrant green

Also out flying about, a variety of birds grace the scene

Pelicans, seagulls and mourning dove

Swirling and twirling and somehow inspiring love

They sail along sweeping winds up through the sky

Making we humans wish we could fly

I look from my window as far as eye can see

Assured every moment my Heavenly Father cares about me

Time is Fleeting

Time is fleeting by, fleeting by, fleeting by

With lots of unanswered questions, wondering why,

wondering why, wondering why

Heartaches come and so I cry, tears I cry, oh me, oh my

I see truth staring through me in a mirror, not a lie,

not a lie, not a lie

But today I found the way, in my risen Savior, up on

high, up on high, up on high

Being embraced with God’s arms around me, from the

sky, from the sky, from the sky

So with steadfast purpose I will serve Him, till I die,

till I die, till I die

Ode to a Waste Basket

Who’s this nudging my side as I sit and write?

With mouth wide open eager to grab another bite?

My sweaty