Kings' Corner

Enter this page, Beloved,.to enjoy the wisdom

and often prophetic pen of a man I deeply admire and respect, as a friend and personal mentor.

George is a prolific poet & author of 24 books!

An amazing Man of God, George will cause you

to stop and ponder what he has written, which is often prophetic, poignant, powerful, and even political. Many people wrongfully believe that Christians are never to get involved in politics.. which is a lie from hell! One that has paralyzed many saints of GOD and damaged our nation in a very real way. We are to be in the world, just not o it.. meaning, we are not to think or behave like the world at large. But we are to take the truth of GOD found in His Word, the Bible, and apply it to every area of our lives.. including socio-political areas.

Come with an open mind, ready to learn something.. and you will not be disappointed!

AS YOUNG AS THE MOUNTAINS

Though the butterfly never makes a sound,

As it flitters above the ground.

And the break of day is quiet also.

Am I, in my age of old, bound?

The thoughtless may have thoughts also, I'm told.

And the young seem to be so bold.

Here I am, as young as the mountains high;

Without a whimper or a sigh.

I let the grass grow and the rain to fall,

Because Nature has the last call.

Who am I to brag, though no one hears me,

A poet's voice, a memory.

Life may not escape me till my last breath,

And then a new life will be set.

I will hear sounds I've never heard before,

Coming from God, whom I adore.

This Side Of Mars

To finalize a thought,

Let it simmer for awhile.

It should reach a temperature

[Hot] Enough to boil two eggs.

Three minutes in the water

Should be sufficient

To tenderize rubber

To its most elastic point.

Served with a dash of salt

And you have the most

Tasty thought this side of Mars.

The taste will blow you away..

George Carroll

We pray you were blessed by your visit to Fruit of The Earth!

The Counseling Branch of "HE Writes the Words on My Heart!" Ministries

Rhonda S. Galizia, Founder & Scribe Unto The LORD

St. Matthew 13:52

True Friendship

I put trust in people,

Because they are good.

They become your friends,

And by your side stood.

They put to rest rumors

And lies of all sorts.

The truth is their banner,

Not concocted from false thoughts.

O find me a friend

Who will be this true.

And I will show you an angel,

God has given to you.

Looking Ahead

In a little rice paddy,

In a small China farm.

I saw these earnest people,

Working through the day.

They didn't stop to talk,

As that would cause delay.

And food must be planted,

If they are to live another day.

Starvation is known too well,

In this very large Country.

Only boys are welcome,

As they provide the labor.

But in the cities there is progress.

Many jobs to be had as

New factories have been built

By foreign investors, from other lands.

Now they are thriving and getting strong.

Capitalism just winked at by fat cats,

As the tanks keep rolling on,

With bright new soldiers marching.

A Country that now has few equals,

Smog is the color of their day, as is red.

But we are just a far away nation,

Borrowing our way to extinction.

The Color Of Thoughts

A thought came to me-

Do thoughts have color?

Of themselves, no.

It's our emotions

That can color our thoughts.

But only as an narrative.

We place a setting

In the reader's mind,

Which is our canvas.

Their memory supplies

The brush for our thoughts

And the color what they see.

Thinking is another process

By which we discern color.

Names of colors are what we learned.

We materialize what we see

Into words that reflect color,

But in themselves are colorless.

My Trip To Africa

My days in Africa,

I remember still.

Went on a safari-

Bagged a scared cat.

He was as black

As outer space.

But I let him go-

Now nary a trace.

But then there was

This leopard that sprang-

One shot rang out,

And he fell dead.

When I came to,

I was back in the States.

Never forget my trip

To Africa, did in one take.

She Was Real

When I met her, she took my breath away.

Her eyes and her lips shown in the night,

And their sparkle was more than I could bear.

Her beauty was that of something so rare.

My heart seemed to beat faster as I got close,

And when I was next to her, her beauty

was out of this world and overwhelmed me,

That I had to fall at her feet and bow my head.

For I was in the presence of a beautiful queen,

And she smiled, a longing smile at me.

I could no longer stand it, I had to hold her in my arms,

And kiss her waiting lips, to see if she was real.

Being a haphazard artist,

Wielding a paint filled brush.

Seeing objects with misty eyes-

Women I make to blush.

Amazed at abstract,

For it has beauty untold.

A few swirls of the brush,

Not ashamed to hang it up.

Love vibrant colors,

They leap off the canvas.

Give me those red and yellows,

And plenty of blue.

Not a poet, nor an artist,

But somehow I make do.

The only one I have to please,

Is the holder of the pen or brush.

From Out Of The Blue

Poetry is like falling off a cliff

And half way down you think of a poem.

And before you meet the bottom

The poem has been embedded in your mind.

Or it can be like a bicycle ride

On a sunny day and a thought

Comes out of the blue for a poem.

And as you peddle it now takes shape.

You never know when a poem

Will materialize, be ready when it does.

You may not have pen and paper,

But the outline can be remembered.

An Unknown

Can I, though yet ignorant,

Share my words with the best?

It seems a thought is a thought,

Regardless of who lays it to rest.

The stroke of a pen will attest

To the validity of my claim.

I boast not, but in a serious

And decisive manner, befitting my name.

I, an unknown, but know so well,

In a moment that can all change.

There is only a spark needed,

To burn through the longest range.

The simplest poet I know,

Can cast his bread on an ocean wide.

Yet his wondrous words are known,

Beyond every ocean's tide.

Fame and glory I seek not,

For they are vain at best.

But to have someone remember

A poem of mine, would be my humble request.

Cobwebs of Time

Wading through some muddled thoughts,

Of yesterdays memories sought.

Brushing aside the cobwebs of time,

To enter old thoughts, once sublime.

There in the avenues of long ago,

Where the road signs cautioned, go slow.

Always seemed to be in a rush,

Never listening to the warbling thrush.

I sat and pondered on my yesterdays;

Remembering them as if today.

Thank God for those gifts received,

And the bride I know, was in heaven conceived.

Not Out Of Reach

There are some mysteries

That may never be solved.

Look at the universe

And how little a speck are we.

Sure we have made giant strides,

Compared to centuries ago.

And maybe we will make more,

As much is yet to be known.

Scientists have not been born

With the answers to this universe.

Time is the biggest hurdle

To get us from place to place.

Even at the speed of light,

So much is beyond our reach.

Yet a single prayer at night

Reaches our Creator's ears.

Clothes Of Its Own

From the depth of thoughts

An idea lingers.

It was isolated;

No longer is it now.

We can shape it

And mold it easily.

It is but putty

In our mind's eye.

Care as we shape it,

To reflect our touch.

We create the story

Where its life begins.

Some will remember

The poem that is born.

But never the less,

It has clothes of its own.

excerpt, Forty Winks - George's 13th Book!

*Excerpts from Book 16, untitled as yet

Painting A Thought

Painting a thought with dreams

That I can blend with many hues.

My brush is always fluid, ready to go

Michelangelo hardly, but still a great show.

Mired in a thoughtless fog

That can only be lifted

When the clouds let it through

And I can reveal its content.

There can be absence of thoughts

But not oblivion of the writer.

The mask, at times, comes off

And you perceive the conflagration.

A fire only consumes what will burn

The rest lies twisted and deformed.

There can be no remorse for the worthless

If in our minds eye we visualize such.

Michelangelo hardly, but a great show.

At least that's what dreams are made of,

Though they seldom do come true.

But when I land a winner, now and then,

Like Picasso, you can see my grin.

Hazy Days

Often the days are hazy

As I brake a new dawn.

Just like to lie in bed,

Instead of cutting the lawn.

Seems I have no choice,

It just has to get done.

The shower wakes me up.

Life seems to have lost its fun.

Absence of Thoughts

Mired in a thoughtless fog

That can only be lifted

When the clouds let it through

And I can reveal its content.

There can be absence of thoughts

But not oblivion of the writer.

The mask, at times, comes off

And you perceive the conflagration.

A fire only consumes what will burn

The rest lies twisted and deformed.

There can be no remorse for the worthless

If in our minds eye we visualize such.

Heartless and rebuff for many so inclined,

To view a tragedy and never shed a tear.

Comfort those who are left with loss

And their hearts forever to grieve.

Catalyst Of A Thought

Beyond the catalyst of a thought

Lies the inauguration of an idea.

We must grasp at this straw and draw it in,

Lest it disappear and forever be lost.

We are not to understand its complexity,

But to look further into the idea given.

A puzzle must be unraveled when all the parts

Are lain before us for examination.

No part is insignificant, nor to be ignored.

Treat all aspects as if they contain the answer.

When our mind can transfix what we see;

It is then that the idea is released and understood.

Sower Of Words

Words can puncture an ego,

Like a sharp pin to a balloon.

Be wary of loose talk always,

As it can be copied, making you the ass.

Spray your words, as if on a canvas,

Needing just a deft touch.

I, the sower of words, need caution;

Before a throat I shall cut.

Old Glory

Hoist the sails, catch the winds that blow

Let us leave this harbor and earn our pay

For the sun has risen, giving the light of day.

Clear the decks, it's time to sail away

Tomorrow will see us in battle

And the enemy will feel our might.

Our flag will fly above all,

What a glorious sight!

Adventure

I’ve been on a steamboat,

A canoe and a yacht.

A speed boat gave me thrills

That I think of a lot.

The taste of the salty brine

From the spray in my face,

Is a thrill I’ll never forget

When we won the race.

I have been above the clouds,

Having reached the mountain's peak.

That was a piece of heaven

I can see as I speak.

Adventure is where you are,

Don’t let it slip by.

It can be a piece of cheesecake,

The thrill is in your eye.

Believe It Or Not

Where do my lost thoughts go,

As I can never recall them.

Bits and pieces remain

But not the whole substance.

Good thing I can remember

Other thoughts and put them to prose.

Other wise my memories would

Never be revealed, a life unfulfilled.

Seems a wonder I’ve been blessed with,

Late in life, thoughts to reveal.

Of course many are not true,

But that is up to the reader, believe it or not.

The Old Sailor

The ancient mariner stopped by

For a few laughs and a brew.

His stories of his travels far,

Always entertained us anew.

The Marybelle was the ship he sailed,

And she took him to many ports.

He would recount the happenings,

In his tales of every sort.

He was a sailor true and blue,

An adventurer who loved the sea.

Dropped anchor in many lands,

And saw all he could see.

He left us enriched by his tales,

And we will miss his jovial wit.

Until his journey is completed,

And new tales he will regale us with.

Thoughts Live On

Where do thoughts come from?

They are taken from our daily lives.

Captured and retained

To live one day again.

We who write these thoughts,

Must ever be on guard, less they flee.

For a thought can be microscopic

Until you add some words and set it free.

It then has a life in the meaning of words,

Which are the soul and the breath

That a poet tries to capture in his poem,

Giving a thought freedom to live on.

May the Spirit live on in all of us.

Civil Unrest

Civil unrest continues

To be a blot on our land.

Taking matters

into one's own hands

Is anarchy

and not a solution.

Violence should be condemned,

As the circumstances that create it

Are not solutions and denigrate

The cause for which it is addressing.

May peace and understanding

Overcome the lawless element.

Let's have all the facts on abuse

That are being claimed by the rioters.

Masquerade

The shadows of dusk

Mingle with the night air.

Leaving an eerie presence

At everything I stare.

Here on this lonesome bay

You can hear yesterday's thoughts.

The sounds of the midnight owl

Lets you know what he has sought.

Gone are my days of frolic,

When youth was full of vim.

Here my thoughts are aging

In a body that has aged within.

Aborted Baby's Thoughts

I never saw the oceans Or the mountains on high.

I never saw the lilies That on the valleys lie.

I never saw the wild life That in our forests roam.

Or had a dog to play with If I was home alone.

I never saw the sunlight Of a glorious new day.

Or witnessed the laughter Of my friends at play.

I never told my mother How much I loved her so,

Or thanked my father for his care As I continued to grow.

I never got to thank God For the wonders He has done.

For my life was ended, Before it had begun.