Writers' Corner

If you have a poem, song lyrics or a short story and you would like to share it with the readers of The Statesman now is your chance.

Email or mail us your submission and look for it in an upcoming issue of The Statesman.
        "At Play"
Little children out at play,
Their voices sweet, happy and gay,
Skipping gaily on the green, green grass.
The hours they spend so slowly pass;
They have no thoughts to bother them,
No fears, no heartaches or hate that's grim;
Shining eyes and laughter free,
Oh! how I wish that they were me.
-- Jeanne Mancini

        Priorities
Saturday night, stand and cheer,
Hi-five for my football team!
Sunday morning, sit in church,
Trying to stay awake,
Not even uttering an amen for Jesus.
Can't wait to get out of church,
I've got another game to watch.
Hurray!   Go team, go!
That's it!   I'm jumping out of my chair.
Oh, man, it's over ... but wait, another one might be on.
Can't go to church, I might miss that one great play.
... Well, I would go to church, but it's not convenient.
I'll have time for God some other day.

Why do we care so much about things of the world, but not about God? Why is it so easy to celebrate events, but so hard to glorify God?

"The end of all things is near." This phrase is repeated all through the Bible. It warns us of the end times. We do not know the hour or day in which the end will come.

As I age in years, I realize that life is very short. Death could come at any time. It would be too late to do anything about my choices or how I lived my life. One should make his/her choice about receiving Christ and having a personal relationship with Him. Put God first in your life. Give Him your best and don't let things of this world come between you and Him.

-- Darian Jones
    Our Old Oil Lamp
Grandmother's old oil lamp
Sits idle on the table now,
Used only once in a while.
Things aren't the same somehow.
Though from another time
It served its purpose well,
This treasured old oil lamp ...
So many stories it could tell.
When lighted, how soft its glow,
What memories it recalls
Of the joy and love and laughter
And finger-made shadows on the walls.
Each day we washed the chimney
And carefully trimmed the wick,
It kept vigil through the night
When one of us was sick.
It saw births and deaths and ills,
And lots of heartaches, too,
But amid all that happened
Its light saw us through.
In the evenings after supper
We did our homework by its light,
It saw the family gathered in,
And heard our prayers each night.
Today, it's known as a relic,
Retired to a place on the side,
But cherished for its memories
And pointed to with pride.
   -- Dorothy Miller Birdwell