Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Narrative Prayer Poems | Narrative Poems About Prayer

These Narrative Prayer poems are examples of Narrative poems about Prayer. These are the best examples of Narrative Prayer poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

Details | Narrative | |

A Song of Michael's Rose

Dedicated to Deb Radke

The cottage reeks with
fluid tides of hope,
incessantly commanding.
My baby’s here.
I’ve still no word 
coming down the line from Dover.
Winter’s gone...
Spring rains have come
and with it comes the tears all over.  
I weep again, my child it seems,
will never know her father. 

Today down by the spring
I prayed the prayer so often said,
sorrow turned desperation.
I found a ring left in the cup, since
yesterday laying there, scribed “M” 
upon a jeweled stone.
My heart leaped in
expectation.

I heard his voice inside my head,
where also his face I saw. 
I turned and looked... 
no one was there...
please God give me 
this one discretion.
There must be peace somewhere to find.  
I look but must be led
by your grace and mercy.  

Again at chores, the babe 
asleep, the knock came loudly.
A letter from Michael O’brian maam, 
please sign here for delivery.
I hurriedly skimmed, 
he was dead,
two days before,
of pneumonia.  

Our little Rose, still in my care,
to receive his name 
if she so chose
and all else he owned in Dover.
A ring for me
it seems was gone, 
a large garnet with the letter M
on the stone, had disappeared
completely.  

EPILOGUE:
	A seed was planted in winter,
	planted in sweetness of youth. 
	It was a gift from Michael.
	He left me alone in the spring---yet,
	his flower grew in my garden.
	Our error was human.
	First feeling trapped, then love,
	from this Rose in my life.
	Forgiveness is divine.
	Love is eternal.
                              

11 Jan 2011  Charles Henderson


Details | Narrative | |

Battle Scars

Don’t judge that kid with her arms all scarred
Don’t brand that kid as bad
You never would have survived 
If you had the life she had
So say a prayer and show you care
She’s paid more than her share of dues
Don’t put her down or say bad things
Until you’ve walked that mile in her shoes
Those who suffered in war earn respect
They are greeted like super stars
She came from a war you wouldn’t understand
On her arms, the battle scars
Her own home was the battle zone
The desperation, feeling all alone
A situation she felt no escape from
Then late at night the urges come
Innocence lost like a bad dream
No self respect, no self esteem
It is an ongoing battle to feel whole
You can see the beauty within her soul
Sometimes I pray for a Judgement day
You have no heart if you look away
Flashbacks come and the anger stirs
The guilt she carries isn’t hers
There is a need for justice long past due
A need for acceptance from me and you
With anger, despair and fear demanding
The child needs some understanding
In spite of all the tears she cried
There are still battle scars deep inside


Details | Narrative | |

Night Angel

They needed help
Walking alone in the dark.
The man.
The child.
A broken down car.
The child frightened,
But not understanding
The terror
That would soon
Come her way.
Her parents petrified
That their baby was gone,
Agonizing
Over forbidden images
That crowded their way
Past ice cream sundays
And birthday parties
And wedding days.
A passer-by.
A doer of good deeds.
He stops.
He sees.
He looks into
the little girl's eyes.
Bravely
The girl speaks,
"This is not my dad"
And the coward
who took her,
He runs.
He hides.
The passer-by,
Believing he saved
A child
From a long, cold walk,
In reality
Saved a child
From a long, cold death.


Details | Narrative | |

You're Still With Me

Rushing  to your bedside,
cars blurred, people passed me by
yet I still looked for a sign
to know you would be all right
but I only felt God's tears on my cheeks that day

You just lay there,
the fire in you set to low
and I could not see your bright smile
but your heart still beat, ever so strong
and I felt God’s arms embrace me that day

For seven days you held on,
a day for each of us 
even then you were so thoughtful...
you could not speak, but we still heard you breathe
then I heard God whisper to me that day…

As I left with papa to buy your mattress
to soothe your aching sores
I heard His voice say, “Go back and kiss him,”
“This just may be your last.”
And true enough, it was.

We left you there still breathing,
not on your own though, but still
Then that dreaded phone call...
No more need to buy that mattress,
your heart had already gone still

A part of my heart will always be numb,
and I shall never be the same again
a certain twinkle in my eye won’t shine anymore,
it died as you took your final breath
but my smile, how thankful I am I have a hint of yours...

Tears still flow from my soul you know
for all my mistakes, for my version of coping
I am just so sorry, I hope you have forgiven me
and I still hope to feel your embrace once more
when I reach Heaven’s door someday...

It may only be in dreams that I truly see you,
only in prayer do we speak
You are here no more and yet I feel you,
inside my heart, the depths of my soul…
Alive






** this is about the last image of seeing my only brother alive...
he was diagnosed with a brain tumor the size of a tennis ball 
5 months prior to his seizure which led to a 7-day coma, 
which he finally succumbed to, 
just 2 days before I turned 23...he was 32...

** originally wrote this for Frank's Images contest- 
thanks Frank for coming up with this, 
it's helped me to write and share this... 
please say a prayer for Raphael, my brother--thank you...

** submitting this as well for HG's Personify a Tear contest

--nikko palmario


Details | Narrative | |

Winter Slumber

Winter be but two weeks old and already they lament.
No passion seems as strong as their loudest prayer for spring.
Spring will come when it will and wake the grasses and willow.
Let Natures brief time of slumber last long enough to rest her.

The winter be time for beauty to be found on ice etched panes,
And bayonets of glass, hanging from every eave to be seen.
Winter be found in crystalline air so pure only heroes inhale it.
And footsteps crunch like breaking luttuce upon the snowy ground.

Beyond winter times will speed and rush their way forward.
Spring then Summer and Autumn sprinting to their ultimate ends.
Let winter luff her way on tiny frozen feet while fire warms yours.
Add another log and settle in for a long nap and a dream.


Details | Narrative | |

Remains

Here
In this centrifuge of sanctimony
Where I sip the atrophied air of my ancestors
The shipwrecked tide of my unborn children
Angels dangle from a precipice of silence
Strained by strings of a theoretical God
Sung by eyes of defiance
Which navigate the jagged epitaphs below
Searching
For that one sediment of salvation
That one moment of submission
Hoping he will see
His wonders, atrocities, his indifference
To cast a shadow of conviction
Over shivering light
There
Across the inlet where ivory columns crumbled
And modernity now deftly mumbles
Its fleets of fortune baptized
Nigh the bronze dust of golden millennia
Where history lies with its victims
A fugue of fossilized souls
A silent prayer remains
Here


Details | Narrative | |

The enemy of Depression (Believing in Prayer's) pt.2

The family was all gather in the waiting room at the local hospital. The new's of
Anthony being shot had everyone there in a state of shock and feeling dispeckable.
Just about a month ago the elder Anthony (Sr.) died after a serious car accident that
left 3-people's dead and a little boy in a coma, after recieving a large cut on his head.
So now his mother is deeply in need, and all are praying as they wait for answers-about
what seem like a hundred year's a doctor dress in hospital garment steps in the waiting 
room, "sorry to be the bearier of bad new's, but Anthony injury was to seveered-we did
all we could, but sad to say....he's dead". The outcry of emotion was unbearable, Anthony
mother is given a shot to help her calm down and relax. "The enemy of depression is stat-
ed to begin when the enemy think's you're vulnerable at your most perplex stage".
But the power of prayer is a medicated antidode that wards off when the mind is slated.
Believing in Prayer's, Justifie's my stronghold on hope. "For faith is the substance of things
hope for, and the evidence of things not seen". Member's of Anthony family prayed inclusi-
vily for the carjacker to be caught, for he shot Anthony and stole his car, being depress
already she kept on praying thru-out this ordeal, and within hours, he's caught.
   Thank God for being so real, his younger sister is heard as she shouts-after they're told
of the capture and still very sadden about Anthony ordeal, God has a way that brings about
hope--hope brings this family some thrill.
A whole lot of people deal with depression, some in the most provocative way. I myself
Believe's in faith, when the enemy tries to ruin my day.


Details | Narrative | |

Say Goodbye

 I seen your face
 I felt your embrace
 And it just wasn't the same
 I finally walked away without lookin' back to call out your name
 
 Once you were my best friend
 Once I swore I'd be yours to the end

 But I guess its time to say goodbye
 Many of times you have clipped my wings but now its time for me to fly
 I  still remember all the drunken fights
 I still remember all the sad lonely nights
 It was constant infedlity
 My only prayer was to be set free
 
 Thats not a place a girl can call home
 Life is better when I'm out on my own
 
 Sleepin' in alleys, living off dumpster buffets, and seeking dope
 Stealing and lying is no longer my only hope
 
 I won't fall for what you have to say
 I refuse to cry for you today
 I have come so far and moved onto something more
 Life is better than ever before

 But I guess its time to say goodbye
 Many of times you have clipped my wings but now its time for me to fly
 
 


Details | Narrative | |

Satan Rules

Speak, and be heard, let those feelings be set free,
our God given right, I once heard, freedom for you, and me.

Look at the picture, some paint covered in clouds,
isn't it our right, to speak out loud?

History in high school, was taught with pride,
now all those Americans we studied about, have long died.

With them went hope, and a chance of equality,
these are the things they fought for, not selfish greed.

The Pledge of Allegiance we said everyday,
and everyone stood, as the words were said.

The Constitution was studied, and reports were made,
in front of the class the next day, we would stand up, and say.

All our freedoms that were given to us,
now narrowing down,  "help,"  who do we trust.

A prayer was given, with our heads humbly bowed,
using our freedom of speech, we thanked God out loud.

Everything has changed, now we worry about safety in schools,
shootings, perverts, and God was evicted, now Satan rules.


Details | Narrative | |

Me, Myself, and I - (Part 1)

Hello Friends... I suffer from Severe Bi-Polar Disorder and this submission was inspired by 
actual events that occured during one of my especially critical manic episodes. Be sure and 
read Part 2 to complete the poem and leave your comments on the Part 2 submission. Thank 
you for allowing me to share my pain for pain shared is pain diminished 


Me, Myself, and I...


“There are things that concern us,”
		Consensed my “Selves” in earnest
““We” fear that “I” have succumbed to delusion”

“And after careful deliberation
		It is with much hesitation
That we choose to delineate upon this confusion”


“Fact is your intuition
		Is riddled with superstition
And your judgment leaves much to be desired”

“So you leave us no recourse
		Don’t push us to use force”
It is then that the “I” was summarily fired


I exclaimed “By whose authority?” Response, “Rule of majority”
“The “Myself” and the “Me,” (forthwith the “We”), are experts in our field”

“And with much technique and time
		And some forays into the sublime
The nature of your malady will be revealed”


“So to keep yourself from having a fit
		Step back and just calm down a bit”
“We,” they said, “certainly have this under control”

“We swear this won’t hurt at all”
		Then I felt my inhibitions fall
Still I said a prayer to God that He keep my soul


You know, fact is I do feel off axis
		As evidenced by such parapraxis
As this prose that I, (or is it “Us”), seek to pen

And with my mind feeling numb
		I finally chose to succumb
And allow the “Me” and the “Myself” to begin


And then came questions in a flurry
		Answer, answer and please do hurry
Not one moment of respite did they give

They pushed and they prodded
		With every “T” crossed and “I” dotted
My mind felt like it had gone through a sieve


And all this psycho-analysis
		Is causing my mind paralysis
The questions, can you stop with the questions please

“Yes, oh yes indeed
		I do believe we have what we need
To make an attempt to identify your unknown neuroses”


Details | Narrative | |

My Conversation With God

I have been praying to God ever since I first understood the concept of a deity.  Although I have struggled through life with my acceptance of and belief in the religion I was force fed as a child, the praying has always stayed with me – on an almost every day basis.  In some way or some form or for some reason, it seems, I find myself praying to a God I am not sure I believe in.

Over the years, some of the things I have prayed for or prayed against have worked out in my favor.  Other things didn’t quite work out the way I had hoped.  So, I wondered, was this proof that my prayers are sometimes answered or simply the law of averages?  It really didn’t matter, I was programed to pray and so pray I do.

This has been going on pretty routinely for over 50 years; so, imagine my surprise when, for the first time last night, God talked back to me!

I may not get this exactly right, but, in essence, this is what He had to say:

(I am not sure what font to type God’s words in, so I will just keep on with the default.)

“Joe, Joe, Joe.  I have been listening to you for all your life.  And, whereas I do enjoy your thoughts; your words; and your sentiments; I find it is time for me to respond.

You really do pray a lot for lots of things.  Mostly good and humane things.  Mostly with a pure and caring heart.  But, son, you need to stop doing so much praying and start doing more stuff on your own.  I am not up here to make your life easier and to do things for you.

When you were young, instead of praying for that bicycle, you should have been doing chores to earn money towards buying it.  You could have cut more lawns, washed more cars, got a paper route, sold lemonade, or many other things other young boys were doing to earn money for the things that they wanted.

When you were in high school and prayed to me to help you do well in your wrestling matches, you should have, instead, been working harder at practice; spent more time on your conditioning; spent more time in the weight room; and studied harder on the art of wrestling.

In college, when you prayed for help on your mid-terms and finals, you should have, instead, spent more time studying and less time partying – I think that is something you already know.

Even when you pray on behalf of others – you should be doing more.

Instead of praying I would help old Mrs. Conner at the end of your street, you should have gotten up off your butt and walked down to the end of the street and looked in on her yourself.  You could have offered to go to the store for her, pick up her prescriptions or simply keep her company in her final years.

When you prayed for me to care for the starving children around the world, you should have been volunteering to help out yourself or donating more money towards this cause.  If you funneled all the money you spent on unnecessary junk food and extra meals you consumed throughout the years towards charities that help feed and clothe the poor, you could have saved many of the children you prayed that I would save.

Instead of praying that I cure your family, friends and acquaintances that you knew were ill or dying, you should have been visiting them in the hospital or writing them letters or providing assistance to their loved ones to help ease their pain.

Prayer is not the vehicle for you to be lazy and yet gain the rewards.  Prayer is not a means to have me do for others what you have the power and ability to do yourself.

I am glad that you talk to me, but you have been granted the ability and means to do so much more by yourself and yet you choose to take the easy way out and pray to me – the God that I know you are confused about.  Please, do me a favor, and before you pray, ask yourself, ‘Have I exhausted all avenues available to me to achieve the result I want God to perform?’ 

If, after you have done everything you can possibly do, then I may be more willing to consider what it is you ask for.

And now, my son, you can wake up.”

I sat up quickly in my bed, sweating and confused.  Was I just dreaming?  Was that really God talking to me?  Then, somewhere from deep inside, either from my conscious or a left-over message from the Almighty Himself, I thought (or heard): “What does it matter?  Whether it was God or not – the message is valid and something I probably already knew.”

“Well,” I said to myself, in prayer, “I will give it my best.  But, is it okay if we still talk?  It kind of helps to give me strength?”

Silence.

I will take that as a, “Yes”.


Details | Narrative | |

La Belle et La Bête (Beauty and the Beast)

The sweet neck of her life came adorned with dazzling jewels of the ages;
jewels imbued with holy virtues, long before she was born.
She rose, alone, Venus veiled above a sparkling sea,
her love light flashing wherever she gazed.

As she spun her cosmic spiral, a tiger, hungry with anger and bitterness,
tore at the veil, hoping to claim victory—fire and passion.
Each time she dipped her head, trying to free herself from the ships of ancient
torments that lay anchored at her throat, the tiger roared for more,
devouring jewel upon jewel—fire upon fire, passion upon passion.

She lay, alone, her carotid adornment shortened by the tiger’s every move,
her virtues struck down until she was left grasping at a choker
‘round her throat, her life soon to end.

Then, in the billowing clouds of her torment, she saw Diana rising from the sea.
She stood on an iridescent ivory shell, her arrow poised to strike.
The tiger raged, but could not pierce the clouds.
A red fury filled with fire and passion shot from its hell-born eyes;
its massive jaws spewed hot saliva that set the sea on fire.

The sea itself cried out, “Golden Diana, make your arrow swift and sure;
the world in Venus is quickly fading.
Strike now, the tiger, and restore all aright!”

Even while the prayer was being uttered,
Diana’s aim proved its power as the arrow found the tiger’s heart.

In a flash, Venus was restored,
her long strand of jewels aglow,
the tiger at her side.
Together they stood in a deep, iridescent ivory shell
and made their way out to sea
with a wind that was sure and true.

All was set aright.  All was free
as they sailed into the rising moon,
her Venus jewels lighting the way.



Written in contemplation of Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bee around a
Pomegranate, One Second before Awakening, by Salvador Dali. (1944)


Details | Narrative | |

Dreams Of Reality

Dreams Of Reality
By Nate Spears
Published 2013 in “Death OF A Rose” By Nate Spears

A difference of a world a way
A distance of a different kind
Love is blind and divine
Hold my hand
Let us touch the sunshine
On this hill of heaven we stand 
I pray

From one another 
Life and the world will never take us
Unless it’s together
Then we will become forever
Never leaving each others presence
Our bond becomes stronger in living
With every day
I stare into your glare
Wishing we live on; and long 
Strong and healthy 
We will grow old
In a happy union together
Looking beside me
Coming to a reality
You’re not there
My dreams are not reality 
My love has perished. 


Details | Narrative | |

Like Gold Dust

Pile up treasures; rise and fall.
And want the lake and not the land fall,
Hold the bizarre beast, I wish wife.
My life is abandoned to the Life.

Behold an ideal idol of a wife:
The down fall will soon be late,
Whilst the crescent lake will wait;
This day will emerge another life.

Now bread and butter set on the table,
But miss the compassionate ring of able,
And call for the lonely wandering widower,
This moment can’t afford losing her.

Should I accept the defeat of livelihood,
And immortalize the spirit of widowhood?

My life is given to the Light.
These episodes of testing I can’t face:
I plant prayer for its erase,
And wind for a save and safe alight.


Details | Narrative | |

A Spark of Hope

A little girl lost her home this year, for her, Christmas wouldn't be there.
Her family was angry from all the troubles, they simply couldn't repair.
Don’t bother us about presents her parents said, they were depressed by their fate.
With bitterness they said, you’d be lucky to have dinner tonight, or even a plate.
Life was harsh, nowhere to go, anger and fear had put their souls, in a terrible place.
The little girl had found no hope or joy, lurking near their old car, of late.
The car was their home, gas money was scarce, and with few places they could park.
Yes, their troubles had slowly extinguished, that precious hopeful spark.
Without that spark, they’d never find their way, from this terrible place of cold and dark.
And life’s darkness grew deeper nightly, as hope vanished under a reality so stark.
Even the very fiber of her family, seemed to be shattering slowly, slowly, apart.
The child felt alone here in this dark car, as sadness tried to engulf her little girls heart.
The future seemed filled with hopelessness, as shame and dread, were leaving their mark.
Embarrassment to be seen and turned away, made it hard for them to reach out, to restart.
But life goes on, and we can’t fear to rebuild, or the future will be hard to impart.
The girl suddenly declared there’s more to life, and she wouldn't let it conquer her heart.
She decided triumphs will come, and all will get better, if she held to that hopeful spark.
Seeing the desolation and anger here, she couldn't stay around, she had to get away…
So she climbed out of the car, and she walked into town, not so very far to stray.
She went and looked at the store windows, where Christmas was being displayed.
The music and people filled her heart, lifting her spirits, deep inside, that day.
She noticed a store, way down at the end of the row, on the next block, where it lay.
No one was there, it seemed lonely, and the darkness was again, spreading it’s decay.
She ran there in time to see an old man closing up, with sadness on his face betrayed.
What use were his goods, if no one would shop, or come down along his way?
The super store down the block, was daily making him lose more and more in the fray.
He could no longer afford to hire people, and the season had very little time, to stay.
As they talked the girl saw that she couldn't let the darkness take another, so she prayed.
Then she told the old man, if he’d open the shop, she’d bring customers down his way.
She added, she’d find reasonable workers, if her family could live upstairs, she portrayed.
First bring the customers, he said, and the rest will be yours little friend, he conveyed.
She had him put his best toys, as a contest prize, and to add lots of lights on the display.
He set a contest, “Winners-the best collectors for families in need” on Christmas Eve.
He put out a bright contest sign, but still nobody came to his end of the block, to survey.
So she had him call the Salvation Army, for a kettle, Bell ringer, and Carolers, who came 
Lickety split, their way.
Then she had him call a dear old friend, and farmer, to bring a tractor full of bails of hay.
Another volunteered his horse and sleigh, both, to see the city lights thru New Years Day.
This was a great idea, since the older drivers, could use the help, for their bills to pay.
The girl ran all over spreading the excitement, and to come see the prizes, his way.
The families suddenly started heading toward his door, and to those wondrous rides.
At that moment her parents came, and she explained what her hope, had improvised.
Her father talked a contractor into building a disabled family a home, to help advertise.
He could get a tax break; come to this store for supplies, and hire unemployed workers, he devised, so wise.
In the end, each night grew brighter, because of a girls hope, and heart-warming delight.
And the old man began smiling for the first time, in a long, long, time, starting that night.
All was saved, a home was found, and another built, as a sad little girl taught grownups to smile along the way… 
You might say, A Spark of Hope lit a candle, then a raging fire, which was burning bright by Christmas day.

The moral to my story is:
Never give up on Hope; it’s your best friend, as life brings its troubles your way…
Know that with time, a good heart, good will, and friendly ways… 
You can find God’s gifts again, if you don’t let the dark take you away…


Details | Narrative | |

A Land Bearing Green White Green

Which way leads to the 
land of green white 
green?
Which way are we 
heading?
   A country the wicked 
bears the rulership, and 
the people sighing 
continuously.
   A terrible thing sprouts 
beneath the sun: a 
pregnant woman 
delivering not.
Imps come to lime-light 
by snuffing air from the 
goose that laid the 
golden eggs.
The blind guiding the un
blind.
The weak suppressing 
the strong-a terrible 
thing.
Like the overthrow of the 
gods at Mt. Olympus by 
the Titans.
A country where also 
thieves appear as men of 
integrity.
Land of green white 
green,which way?
A land where the 
enlightened ones are 
overshadowed and 
peanuts given to them.
The masses are dogs that 
eat the crumbs.
 Which way to go you 
Land?
Iliterates stand on 
podium of power 
bellowing orders as milk 
of sorrow known as 
dividends of democracy 
is passed around.
The machine of progress 
manned by the 
unproductive.
"There is better 
tomorrow" we hear.
Land of green white 
green,my country 
where rule of law walk 
beside anarchy.
The proles are sentenced 
to adversity,and there 
endured death-like trials.
Chai! Aru! People 
dancing on thorns 
whimpering as they 
throng 
along.
  I see a new sun rising 
from the horizon,hope is 
rekindled as its rays 
grace on hopeless bodies.
 Look!! there soon be 
change!



Note: 
This 
is 
poem 
full 
of 
Nigeria 
political
 angst.


Details | Narrative | |

Mother

In her womb she carried her child nine months,
Bliss and joy he brought forth.
Satiate her a ray of hope in newborn eyes,
She bosomed her gracile in first cry;
Nurtured, fostered and fledged.
He grew up a young lad,
Belligerent and wasteful he turned;
Scathe her emotions and physical,
Never heed mother’s wist.
deplore her for damsel beauty,
Abandoned and ill he felt;
Whence mother’s forbearing love aided.
Spued blood for months,
And in no hope of survival;
Mother’s earnest prayer and supplication convalesced him.
Lackadaisical and Impenitent natured,
By and by he erst;
Wend the lady who abased him his manhood,
His love forsook,
His last days embodied in insobriety.
On the day of funeral oration,
Mother retold unchanging love for her child,
And tears that never dried,
Bid her son last adieu.
And lived the rest of her life bewailing,
Till one day her body gave away to ageing,
And died a mother whose love for her son
Never be bought by any gold or silver.


Details | Narrative | |

The Wisdom of a Simple Man

I remember eating dinner in the glow of the burning lamps.
We all dipped our bread into a common bowl of oil.
A little bread, a little cheese, some salt, an apple, a little wine.
But for the salt all the fruits of our own labors. And Gods.
The enjoyment of fellowship and family at table and fireside.
Laughter and the soft sounds of evening chores and talk.
Discussing the work to be done tomorrow and next week.
Telling the old tales,  the good ones, and the family stories.
Children learn who they are from this and will remember.
Maybe a song or two, all voices raised, some sweet, some not.
Childrens prayers before bed, every night, from this comes faith.
A cuddle and a kiss with your wife, to let her know she's beautiful.
A snuggle with her beneath the warm blankets, face on a cool pillow,
And a whispered prayer of thanksgiving before sleep takes you.
God gave every man a brain, two hands and a heart.
With these tools we can build all of these things.
With all of these gifts, who needs more?


Details | Narrative | |

A CHAIR: DESTINY FULFILLED


Regardless of THE LONELY HOURS it must have sat IN SHADOWS EMPTY and 
BANISHED since 1864, the CHAIR OF DESPAIR CONTEST(ed) is not LOST IN THE 
PAST. It has evolved into GRANDPA’S PRAYER CHAIR even though it was nearly 
FORGOTTEN amongst the BIRTH AND DEATH(s) of the family’s history. This is a CHAIR 
NOT FOR SIT-DOWN TYPE because it isn’t plush, comfy or frequently used. Its’ true 
DISCOVERY is seeing AN AGING PAGE of family dreams where you can 
SIT WITH MEMORIES  and be SOLACED by this CHAIR IN A SHADOWED ROOM.

To say NOTHING HAPPENED HERE only applies to events BEFORE THE SHAKERS SEAT 
was in place. THE CHAIR has become the fabric of the family mosaic, fulfilling its’ 
destiny as A MUSEUM PEACE for all who have vision and are willing to see. 

This narrative was inspired by poets’ winning titles in the “Chair in Shadowed Room” 
contest. JT


Details | Narrative | |

Hostile Times II

Hostile Times II
By Nate Spears
	

Busted love is my Crystal Ball's fortune
My heart hurts in a torturing way
Nothing ever works in my favor
Standing still 
I lower my head and pray 
Confessing to God 
All I have to give

A 16 year old rebellious daughter
A 13 year old son that’s dead
My father is in prison; so is the one of my two kids
Is this really a way of living?
I didn’t have a choice from the days beginning
Anything different
Would have a given me a chance
at living

Walls of barriers bearing on us 
On this earth we stand
Refusing to let go of this curse
If no bill is signed by Congress
My unemployment runs out next Thursday 
Now I contemplate what’s next?
Sex dollars or Creflo's Dollars?
Be an honest woman; or
Be a fool that’s starving?
When pushed to the limit
All governors are discarded.

Hostile Times rains upon us
Other nations joins the honors
The Elite makes me vomit
There’s plenty of resources among us
God have mercy and let it trickle down on us
Rather than become degrading
In this pew 
I choose prayer
Becoming Sunday Mornings best
Washing away my pains that become abreast; with my chest
Bringing in a new day, 
A today, 
For a better way
In these hostile times we live in.


Details | Narrative | |

If I Were A Stone

If I Were A Stone If I were a stone…without a doubt I would be a lovely marbled granite… the center of attention in a newly updated kitchen. All eyes would be upon me…the first choice of decorators and would- be buyers everywhere. I would be a “must have” and a “deal breaker” for purchasers the world over. I would lord it over the mundane and dull kitchen cabinets no matter what the style. While their doors would be slammed shut a thousand times a day and scrubbed till they were sore…(ouch!)… I would be lovingly and carefully wiped down until they could almost see their reflection in me. My island would be the gathering place and hub of the home…children would utilize me for their homework…my mistress would cheerfully hum a happy tune while rolling out delicious pies or cookies for dessert... my master would lay his briefcase down on me in order to hug the cook! Unlike the living room rug (who thinks he’s king by the way.) I would not be stepped on, stomped on with dirty or muddy sneakers or roller skated on, (boys will be boys) or taken for granted in any way. I would be the `piece de resistance` of the household and the most admired feature of the home. And last …but not least…I would be carefully selected and carved, to serve as a towering memorial for loved ones to come and say a silent prayer for our nation’s fallen …and… bravest men! I would be more than proud to be a granite stone!
For the "Stoned" contest.


Details | Narrative | |

A Talk With Dad

Hi Dad, I guess we all will see our time and all will pass
Sometimes I lie awake and cry, longing for another chance
So much I never said, so often I said too much
Once in a while i'll drive by where Grandma's house was
Stop and reminisce awhile
Wonder what Mom's childhood was like in that old farm house
Remember you saying how you loved the place
Talking about how you walked all those miles to see Mom
At night the sounds of crickets and the truck traffic miles away on 54
Fourth of July gathering on the back porch and in the yard, beer on tap
Burnt fingers holding sparklers at night, Grandma's cooking
Old Jack barking and howling, uncles throwing horse shoes
Kids playing baseball in the grass between Grandma's and Chick's place
Did we lose the Utopia we dreamed about, never recognizing it
What I'd give to take you for a ride again, through your old haunts
Caught up in the nostalgia of your childhood and mine.
Times were tougher, times were better, Paradise lost.
You measured riches in family, friends and neighbors
Somewhere, somehow the present generation lost that
Seems as I got older, you got wiser,  couldn't see it as a child 
Never said I love you, Dad often enough
Never said thank you, Dad for the lessons on life and living
Got to go now, i'll say a prayer for you and mom
Who knows, maybe we'll find that peace within us
That we had growing up and you were here.


Details | Narrative | |

Prayer for Healing and Hope

Almighty Eternal God, we give You thanks
For You are the Creator
Of all life and goodness
We praise You for the world
You have made us to build up and enjoy

Loving Eternal God, help us to be
Faithful heralds of Healing and Hope
Grant us the awareness of healing needs
Of those around us and the compassion to 
Respond willingly to those needs
We ask this through Lord Eternal God
Father Christ Your Eternal Son
Our Healer and source of all Hope


Details | Narrative | |

BELIEVE

The scarf, on my head, 
Everyday, I beg.
To Allah, and His Messenger, 
Am I not one of His?

I Obey!
I Respect!
I Pray!
I Believe!
I Proclaim!

Is it all out of nature?

Five times in a day, 
I Pray, 
Bowing down to Allah,
I Beg.

The Decency of my nature, 
Leads me into a venture,
Simultaneously, a juncture,
That I, conjecture.

My Believe in Allah. 
My Pride in Islam.




15-10-2014
Islam.


Details | Narrative | |

The Monastary / Japanese Alps 2008

Incense hung in the evening air
like the mist and the chains of prayer cranes.
Ferocious gilded guardian framed the gate
through the aged arched travelers trooped
Pilgrims all.

Monks diminutive in form,
draped in square clothes 
of sacred orange, bow.
Prayer hands copped over beating hearts.
Business begins.
The business of lodging and lodgers.

The entrance holds the footwear of the prayerful;
worn, unkempt, yet colorful.
Inside the shrine futons fly to ta tami floors.
Teapots boil whistling in the mist soaked wind.
Coins clink into altar boxes before smiling Buddha’s.
Courtyards filled with fall blossoms of crimson mums.
Persimmon colored koi swim in small prayer ponds.
The bustle of the small alpine city does not intrude,
nor follow the faithful as into the moss covered
cemetery with its red cedar groves; 
they walk.


Details | Narrative | |

SHADOWS OF BLIND NIGHT






In a flash of minutes, steel wheels turn to crumbs;
a mirage of broken stars flood my mind…
suffocation clogs  an overcast isolation;
bam! boom!... am I trapped, pinned, flown
out into outer space? In moccasin shoes,
feet roll along a far-off lane…quietly, shadows
of gnomes try to pin my neck; the car half-buried
in a pile of mud sinking, sinking.. and creatures 
laugh as if to rake my body into two…is there a 
way out from this turn turtle of maze? A whip lash
drives me between zones of sanity and insanity:
I could not recall the quick slide on a curve.
Twilight silent, claustrophobic. Until wheezing
sounds from the radio awakes tingles of
red lights not from my head, but from
a sea of hands dragging my weight away
from a deep slope.. and what was  once a familiar
highway is now a vision of smoke-blind trail.

I slip in and out from hazed trance to reality fog,
imagining  a slide-show of ravine’s edge and rows
of bloody daisies: still, the gnomes appear as if 
to climb inside walls of my head.
In a quick gap , dried lips recite a frail prayer  as
a stranger  wheels me to a  white bed… oxygen revives
the lungs almost snuffed from a collision of heady
chain-link speed. Blind night, crazed truck, autumn 
spell combust to  almost shatter my bones. 
The gnomes disappear, at last, as the night stranger
leads me safely back home.




                       ©

by nette onclaud for Gail Doyle’s Stranded

*some parts are personal accounts of a car accident





Details | Narrative | |

Hugger

He woke and he got down on the creaking knees

He didn't know if God listened but  tried

His grandson was in a coma and God was asleep

But he said the prayer but  was afraid of the silence

God was the great politician in the sky

And his son Jesus would listen to the poll

When there was trouble God was the first name

Grabbing  his coffee he humbly turned to God

In his eyes it was humbly but he loved the sugar

As he sat stirring and  sweetened  thoughts 

The prayers flowed with his coffee

"Maybe God only listens to the regulars"

And he definitely wasn't one

It was  years and God was famished

The whispered prayer ended with death and the anger

"Why did you not take me"

"I have lived and gladly would take the grandson's place"

The pastor warmed up and the sisters hummed

The cup spilled over as the prayer of the faithful

He became a hugger and he covered each drink 

And the Irish believed in wake and liquor

He hugged the people tight and the salt became a scab

And God left him there with his drink


Details | Narrative | |

I've Got You Covered

We'd scarcely begun our journey
to the sunny south when the sky's roof
descended and hung a shelf overhead.
"God is now joining us," she said.

On the long bridge over the ocean
toward Madeira Beach, an ear-splitting
screech interrupted speech. Brakes 
screamed as an auto coming forward 

crossed the median into our lane.
She immediately jerked the wheel
to the right. He missed us by inches.
We moved on in stunned silence.

Clearly, we had looked death
in the face, and won. Mere seconds
measured the difference.

Driving home in heavy fog, she fretted.
Zero visibility brought anxiety.
"I've got you covered," she heard. 
"Haven't I had you covered,
from the beginning?"

cfa © 1/31/11


Details | Narrative | |

when i leave

When I‘ll get over with this,
With this suffocation,
I want you my Creator,
To make it a memorable day.

Be it unlike a usual day,
though their hearts would still beat,
sun would rise and set,
life would be just as it was before,

so Let me write down something at least,
my shroud be unlike some others,
Even I would've aged, powder me,
THE END should end beautifully.

Don’t widen your eyes,
I’m a simple person with simple unfulfilled Desires,
That meant life, accept that,
Be careful because I was too a bastion like you.

When I’m done with the later offerings,
I 'll know, 
I will be listening __
For all the answers that I have awaited for so long.

closely, in the dust, in the air, 
Out there, I‘ll be watching , vehemently.


Details | Narrative | |

Boggled Down

Boggled down and dragging behind,
maybe I'm carrying around to much weight.
I would never ask but I am really in need of a helping hand,
vulnerable and helpless, two emotions I really hate.

My brain is always running in overdrive,
it's hard for me to keep things straight.
I can't concentrate and I lack the ability to stay focused,
I have a lot stacked up on my plate.

The pile just keeps getting bigger,
a little more and more each day.
As each day passes  it's all getting harder to hide,
I might as well place all of my business out on display.

Each morning when I wake up and every night before bed,
I ask the Lord above to grant me one prayer request.
Take away this mental madness, I don't want it anymore,
so I finally can put my mind to rest.

I don't understand why me, 
why did I get saddled with this horrible disease.
After talking with the Lord it was because I was strong enough,
to be able to handle whatever it turned out to be.


Details | Narrative | |

My Farewell

Dad, this my apology and a prayer of farewell.
To you and me.
So maybe I can feel that you have forgiven me.
And all the things in my life now make since.
Your sad gray eyes haunt me at night.
I can never forget that you have left.
I can’t seem to let go because it feels as I am letting go of my past.
Goodbye to a little girl who misses the comfort of being a daddy’s girl.
Goodbye to cuddles at night and chocolate-chip pancakes in the morning.
I cried for your soul and hope that your happy where you are.
Please send me a sign so I know your al right.
Goodbye to memories of a man singing as he played his guitar with his soul.
 How can I explain the pain when I remember my life as before.
 Goodbye to the roughness of your cheek each time I kissed you goodbye.
I have forever changed and feel I haven’t ever made you proud.
So now I long to pick up a phone and call to say “Hi!”.
I would have given my life just for a hour to tell you thanks.
I need your courage and strength when life strikes me down.
Goodbye to stern lectures of life.
I miss seeing your face and laughter when it rains.
Or how your face lighten up when my children yelled,,“Grandpa!”.
I never thought it would ever end up this way.
I feel that chance played a hard joke on us and now I am paying for it.
 I just can’t get past this because your not here to guide me through this.
 So I sit and ponder on streams full of memories and times that seemed so long gone.
Like the vast ocean I drown away trying to drift back to some kind of sanity.
I close my eyes and here the jingle-jangle of your keys as you limp on by.
I miss the pat on the back or the tightness of my hand enclosed in yours to reassure me it 
would be al right.
I think of so many goodbye to you..
Goodbye to the way your hair stood up after waking up.
 Or how we laughed when you snored.
Goodbye to yelling at the boys when they were misbehaving.
 But the most that always hurt is the goodbye to you.
Because it seems that centuries have passed since I last saw you.
  Even if it’s been a few years.
The world is cruel and I often wonder what to do?
I question that this is the end, for the pain isn’t gone.
It consumes my soul as I try to go on.
As a reminder of finer things in life.
I look to the sky and search for a sign that you are up there somewhere near by as always 
before.


Details | Narrative | |

Crossroads

One person, homeless, in soiled clothes
stands at intersection of two roads, stares continuously towards the road 
where palatial houses with beautiful flowered gardens are lined up.

Mesmerized imagines himself inside those bungalows
servants in queues, to serve masters, with best wines
and mistresses, bejeweled, freshly serviced from parlors 
dining tables laid with tastiest food, excess later thrown in dustbins.

Thought of food makes him come out into the present, with a jerk
a pained cry emanates from his thin empty stomach
he had not chanced upon to eat food for days now
except for water which perhaps everyone could get free
but not anymore, water is also sold nowadays.

He is, no doubt, poor but surely owns some compassion for fellow beings
but who values it in today's world?
wants to earn his food, and other needs with his sweat 
but who employs people in tatters except for exploitation, perhaps?

His attention gets drawn to other side of crossroads 
he hears a faint noise of continuous cries emanating from a lame man, in rags, like him
who, with effort, is signaling for help
a nauseating smell is emanating from the lame 
who apparently had not bathed, for long, for water is not anymore free.

Ignoring the stench, he comes near the lame
who indicates his utter state of thirst, through dry swollen lips
he falls into remorse as he is also helpless
a little less, maybe, he can still walk on his legs and seek necessities
with effort, he procures a bottle of water for the lame.
 
The lame man does not rise to drink it, alarmed he shakes him but alas! 
the lame sleeps like a drugged man, with no troubles
his widely parted lips, however, betraying his peaceful demeanor 
still waiting for their thirst to be quenched.

Disgusted, he prays god to transcend the lame to a planet 
where he has access to basic things such as water
saddened, he slowly pulls himself back to the crossroad
looks longingly to that side with palatial houses 
maybe he also wants to avoid the path of deprivation
and tread the path of being provided for, a more meaningful path.

When will they get right to live with dignity like a respected citizen?
feels anguished  that poor people themselves do not have answers 
to such simple yet important questions.

Wonders what stops people of palatial houses to let arrangements succeed  
so that a helpless smelly thirsty hungry lame man need not go cold, waiting for water?
when would humanity's collective consciousness be fully awakened?


Details | Narrative | |

Christ Puissant Touch

The hills of Nagaland, his Motherland, 
A countryside plenteous cultural, scenic landscapes.
When first he cried mamma, 
Father's loving eye called a feast.
At juvenile being send for literature
Still jejune, naive he grew more to drug.
Spend half his life white plagued; 
Homecoming a peddler, 
Potentate dealer of variant hard drug.
Evil favored, sadist none would ostracise heretofore, 
Not until the weakening lying in hospital bed.
No purpose driven laying waste discomfited; 
Anathematize and bescorned.
Doctors ceased this man of multiple organ failure; 
Counted his days of life be lived.
Betwixt life and death: 
'Christ puissant touch mended, healed his feeble body.'
Abhorred by gentiles despite found his lost soul, 
Alleulia Rabbi Jesus he wailed agonizely
Lackaday he knelt and read Psalms 51, 
whence all his sins brought to The Cross where Christ atoned.
With contrite, repentant heart; 
Thenceforth made The Word of God his purpose for life.
Benison, born-again, edified, ordain and sanctified; 
Redeemed many a lives of friends similitude.
Counsel prisoners, addiction where once he dwelled; 
Still lives a servant of Christ mightily being wield.
Speaks of Mark 8: 34, renders Matthew 11: 28; 
Manifest ‘His' omnipresence, unconditional love.
And in him was when I found Christ in me.


Details | Narrative | |

Blasphemy

In the dawn of destruction, eyes look for salvation, hearts look for the lost prayer that could ease the pain, souls look for redemption from the screams and yells of men and women.

What have we become? Who are we?
Have we lost our humanity? Have we no sensuality?
Have we become a useless number that can be deposited with a bullet?
Have we turned into animals that can be hunted?
Have we no right?

Children who've lost their parents crying for righteousness, looking for pity from the eyes that caused blasphemy because of greed!
Why do we shoot bullets instead of handing flowers?
Why do we spit instead of swallow?!
Why are we trying our best to become heartless?
Why is your life more precious than mine?
Why do you live in the light of safety and warmth while we live in opacity and darkness?

We do not want your tears; we do not want your sympathy... Leave them to yourself; we do not need this help.
We are strong, our voice is loud and one day our hearts will be unbound.
This is my letter for the people who still have the heart and strength to raise their voice against dictatorship and colonialism. 
Raise your hands and pray that the judgment day does not come soon, for we are not yet ready to go to hell.


Details | Narrative | |

Averted Hurricane

Urgent request from
a friend; asking for prayer
for her daughter Caschel—
directly in hurricane's path—
refusing to evacuate.

No hotel will take 
her, with all her animals.
She's holed up in her
bathroom, animals in cages.

My friend asks,
How do I pray for her
do I ask God to save 
her from her own stupidity?

            Later, as I pray,
            I remind God that he created
            animals, as well as humans;
            gave Caschel a loving heart.

            Remembering his promise,
            if we ask anything
            in his name—believing—
            it will be granted.

            So I asked, trusting . . .

Hurricane Charlie 
abruptly changed course.












Details | Narrative | |

A Prayer For Him

A Prayer For Him Dear Lord, Our Father in Heaven I pray this prayer to you again You know that special one That I pray for him If we are supposed to be together Thank You for keeping him in my heart If we are not supposed to be together Then let these feelings for him depart If it is Your will And really meant to be Then please let him also Feel the same for me I’ll follow wherever You may lead For I know You have big plans in store As long as I have these feelings for him My faith and hope keeps growing more Whether or not we are to be together Please always keep happiness in his heart As the wonderful feelings I get from him I want him to also feel every happy part I don’t know the next step of Your plan But I want to thank You for how I feel today Full of content and peacefulness all around I leave it in Your Hands to be handled Your way AMEN Florence McMillian (Flo)


Details | Narrative | |

Limitless Lust

Introduction: Limit itself has a limit of its own…


A walk, mile after mile
In quest for my lost soul,
I had forgotten how to smile
Everything felt out of control,
I fought too hard to be worthwhile
By that I got lost in my life’s hole

The regrets for mistakes I’ve made
It took me off the edge, way too far away;
Yet I tried again so hard to get off from that shade
But got caught up in my brutal fray,
The same song keeps playing with such a vicious rage,
I find myself down to my knees, nowhere to go - So I pray

A prayer to leave the worst and move onto more,
Come off this fantasy and onto reality, to be -
Closer to something I’ve been fighting for
The touch of the light cutting through the night, it rains down upon me
As I overcome the grief and believe, recovery lies ashore,
Only three steps remain, to be fixed and free.

A lesson of value I earned from my faults -
Never push yourself off the edge,
You’ll lose the only key to the vault
A life you never had to live – It too could forever be lost,
So stay confined within the limits of the limit
As it seems - Your control over lust, only can make you complete.


Details | Narrative | |

KUNDUN, a movie about the Dalai Lama

What struck me is that it showed him
Always leaving
And sadly looking back
At his family home
Going to Llasa
To be (re)educated
Tenzin Gyatso was found as a young child
Went through many tests to prove
That he was the 13th Dalai Lama
Reincarnated
He passed the tests
“That cup is mine”
“These prayer beads are mine”
“There is where I kept my (false) teeth”

His family was allowed to follow
And were set up in a new household
Where Tenzin was allowed to visit
Merely visit
He lived at the palace
Away from his mother
He had to learn 
Duties of state

As he matured,
He had to leave
His childhood
And take his title
At age 15
To deal with the Chinese
Who forced him 
To leave his country
His people, although some followed
The last scene shows him 
Standing in his new room
Near the Indian Tibetan border
Looking back through his telescope

I then watched JESUS CHRIST SUPERSTAR;
then went to bed
And woke up sad; remembering:

Jesus was always leaving
Although I think He looked forward
He must have looked back
At His family
At His town
At His new found friends
At His enemies
Each time, although some followed
Until He was forced to leave
Life

Why was I sad?
I grew up the youngest in my family
It seems everyone was always leaving
Me
Some looking back; others not

As I grew older
I left, too
And rarely looked back

Life seems full of leavings
Friends and family
Go to live elsewhere
Or die
to play in heaven without me

You ask what
Day I would like to relive
I say 
None
I think of the play OUR TOWN
Where the newly deceased protagonist
Is given a day to relive
With advice to pick an ‘ordinary day’
And even then, 
She found it painful

Looking back on memories is enough
The mind tends to play tricks
And nothing is as it seemed
(Check family stories 
The ‘truth’ varies from person to person)

Reliving a day past
Might be disappointing
Or not
But different
Reliving anything would be impossible

The Dalai Lama looked back at his beloved country
Changing even as he looked
I don’t think he can ever go back; since there is 
No longer a ‘back’

I never met the Dalai Lama
In any lifetimes, I think
But I do remember Jesus
I watched Him leave many times
Sometimes I followed
But that last time
He went where I couldn’t follow
And I couldn’t keep Him here

So when you ask me what day
I would like to relive
I say none
How many goodbyes is one
Expected to survive?







Details | Narrative | |

Bottle

A common occurance lately is to see a discarded bottle floating in the creek or on the 
side of the road. It was three am and I had a serious delirium working on my mental 
state; and a bottle started spinning and morphing into a rocket ship. The ship formed 
before my eyes into a bright lime green beauty of a vessel. The speaker stated that 
the flight will be leaving as scheduled and all should board appropriately and 
promptly. I decided well why not! I need a big adventure to tell my grandkids one 
day. I was fitted with a special space suit and mask. The monitors were all lit and 
flashing then the count down started. I wanted to run but could not get off the 
vessel due to the doors had been sealed tight. I said a prayer and closed my eyes as 
the g-force melted me to the seat with an intensity I had never known before; It was 
like my eyes were about to explode into space. Suddenly there was silence and 
weightlessness and I could not comprehend reality. The speaker stated that it would 
be docking  on the moon in one hour and I should be ready for a moon walk. Well 
who would not want to walk on the moon?? Right on schedule I took a giant leap for 
women being the first to walk on the moon. Hillary was real mad she couldn't beat 
me to the door! Bill was still stuck in his seat with Monica. Yep I was glad to catch 
the morphing bottle late that night...what a wild ride to tell the grandkids!


Details | Narrative | |

NEVER MADE IT

NEVER MADE IT............................a blind man's prayer 


whenever i look towards the sky, 
i can feel your your radiant smile spreading it's wings 
around the heavenly dark skies 



it doesn't bother me why i never made it so high in life 
i couldn't be a wise man for i never had the sense and humour 
i couldn't preach god cause i had no hope 
i couldn't feel the sun for i was so lost in my drems 


now im here all by myself waiting for a new beginning, 
waiting for someone to show me the way 
all i my life i have carried over my thoughts 
i couldn't raise a family cause no one would want me 
i feel so lost, that i no longer need to see where im going 
it's surely not home where im headed 
for my eyes are so tired that i can never see the world 


Details | Narrative | |

SOUNDS OF MUSIC


Sounds of music
are here, there, everywhere!
in this, in that, in that!
They give rhythm to everything around us;
be it the crack of dawn,
fiery sunny days, 
or mellow  twilights.

I hear the sounds of music
when the cock crows faithfully signaling dawn;
Cocko-ree-oo-cooo mmmm! 
and when the Muslim devotees 
are called to prayer by the mwazin;
Allaaaah….Akubar!

Sounds of music confer zeal to my hands
as I kneel at the grinding stone,
grinding millet seeds and dried cassava pieces.
As the stones kiss each other they sing out to me;
Kigwak-kigwak-kigwak Itendo kwon ga’ngo?
Atendo kwon girigo ma nyoro baba onyewo!

Sounds of music that silence my rumbling belly
as I cook magira at noontime;
while the flames lick the blackened ayiga bottom,
she sings out in giddiness;
Alu-lu-lu chal ayidha mugoy pyere umaido!
Alu-lu-lu chal ayidha mugoy pyere umaido!

Sounds of music swing me to action
when I hear the milk cow mooing 
in tune to the herdsman’s calming whistles;
and before adhadha orders me
I rush gaily for the milk stool
turning and twirling in tune
to the whistles of the milkman and the mooos.

Ah, the enticing sounds of music
that thrill us around the night fire
as adhadha regales us with folktales;
awili nyoro ‘wili nyoro fodi ‘kitwi dhudho?
a mama, mama, dhudho nyaka woc.
Mama dikini ‘kidwok nwangan
Mama ogwang nyoro ‘luwo kodan
 Mama dikini ‘kidwok nwangan
Mama ogwang nyoro ‘luwo kodan.



Details | Narrative | |

Boggled Down Aug 7 2011

Boggled down and dragging behind,
maybe I'm carrying around to much weight.
I would never ask but I am really in need of a helping hand,
vulnerable and helpless, two emotions I really hate.

My brain is always running in overdrive,
it's hard for me to keep things straight.
I can't concentrate and I lack the ability to stay focused,
I have alot stacked up on my plate.

The pile just keeps getting bigger,
a little more and more each day.
As each day passes  it's all getting harder to hide,
I might as well place all of my business out on display.

Each morning when I wake up and every night before bed,
I ask the Lord above to grant me one prayer request.
Take away this mental madness, I don't want it anymore,
so I finally can put my mind to rest.

I don't understand why me, 
why did I get saddled with this horrible disease.
After talking with the Lord it was because I was strong enough,
to be able to handle whatever it turned out to be.


Details | Narrative | |

ABBREVIATIONS

ABBREVIATIONS

I have this wonderful experience: 6:00 PM The opportunity to be with my granddaughters Aged seven and nine. Dancing with them with the WII thing Following the girating bodies in the screen The fun was priceless with these two “princesses”. Past 11:00 PM Time to go to sleep, crimp our bodies in a single bed For we really want to sleep together The prayer was heartful started with Dear LORD So many thanks and so many “May you please LORD” It is a heart-warming experience. 6:00 AM Their tiny hands pounding One of them has a pink color about 4”x3” The other has a white color same size What are those? DS they chorusly replied. It dawned on me From last night what are all these abbreviations means? WII, DS, lol, btw, among others The evolution or creation of these words Mind-boggling for some baby boomers like me! 11:00AM Spent my time googling these words!


Details | Narrative | |

Emerald Fields

(May Birthstone: Emeralds)

            1935
On May 2nd, I attempted 
to enter the world,
 feet first.

To save both Mother and baby, 
the midwife's cruel hands 
reached in
and flipped me over.

My lack of cries,
a clue not understood.

            1942
Nighttime seizures, 
memory lapses, confusion.
Pills for Epilepsy prescribed 
and normal life restored.

            1971
Prayer for healing, in faith,
stronger than a mustard seed . . .
Ask, and you shall receive.
Pills dumped in the waste-bin.

Suddenly, freedom came,
as soft wind which caresses 
emerald fields of grain.


Matthew 17:20, Luke 17:6,
     John 16:24 RSV







Details | Narrative | |

Stuff In The Back Of My Pickup Truck

I was asking a friend just the other day 
If there was anything he'd do to help me on my way 
He said he'd like to but I was asking to much 
All that stuff in the back of my pickup truck 
I haul it around every where I go 
Where its gonna end up I don't know 
One day I'm gonna get rid of that junk 
That stuff in the back of my pickup truck 
It's full of broken promises and wasted prayers 
A lot of hurt feelings caused by I don't cares 
Love gone bad loaded up with pain 
Its enough to drive a normal man insane 
Every place I go, I think I don't belong 
I just can't understand where I went wrong 
But people don't care why my life is so tough 
Damned that stuff in the back of my pickup truck 
Could unload any place, of no use, not very fair 
Lord I am on my knees with a foxhole prayer 
Please take this hell away from this old drunk 
Rid me of the stuff in the back of my pickup truck 

 

 

David Gary Pennington 

 

 

 

 

 


Details | Narrative | |

thanksgiving

One of America’s most treasured holiday and tradition is known as the celebration of Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving a plentiful feast of food and a gathering of friends and family a holiday began as a feast in the beginning days of Americans is one of the most celebrated traditions .To some thanksgiving is just another holiday that is  unimportant just another reminder that Christmas is just around the calendar .Just a day off of work or school ,a tradition passed on over the years, commonly excuse to over eat , an occasion that is between two months ,November the 4th  Thursday and October the 2nd Monday  for Canadians . 
But in November 1621 ,after the pilgrims first  harvest the Governor William Bradford established a feast and invited a group of the Native American allies .Now remembered as the “first Thanksgiving “ by Americans even though the pilgrims used this terms to describe the feast it was held for three consecutive days .Even though there isn’t a known historic banquet menu of there was record of that several of the Wampanoag guests arrived Bearing five dear by Edward Winslow who wrote in his journal .Also Many Historians suggest that many of the meals were served in traditional Native American spices and cooking methods . Because none of the pilgrims had oven and the Mayflower sugar supply had dwindled there was not the modern day traditional that featured pies, cakes and other desserts .The celebration of Thanksgiving has never changed through the year weather your nationality or faith background it is always been a time to express the thankfulness of family Thanksgiving is the day to reunite with family and feast upon food.
There are many traditions that come with thanksgiving but one that is know over all of America is the food. This tradition is know by many  households is that many families struggle to finish out the thanksgiving without having a Ham or turkey on thanksgiving . Also many us have all heard you cant have a turkey day with football, Not every family in America makes football a part of their tradition but the most do .This could range form watching the game to having a little fun playing a game outside .
But you cant forget the essence of thankfulness this can be saying a prayer of thanks to the family gathering to tell what there most thankful for and There are many ways that this can be expressed.


Details | Narrative | |

Then I Saw her -2

I looked away and tried to shake her. I can't really describe what I  felt in her presence. In 
fact,  if it was a feeling I was experiencing, it felt great .  But there she was anyway…smiling 
and kind of bubbly I guess you could say... right above and just behind the priest….kind of 
floating I guess.  I kept pretending she wasn’t there, looking away and thinking of the person 
I was praying for even while feeling giddy because she WAS there and  
the priest obviously couldn’t see her……… She would flit to that person I was saying a prayer 
for in my mind’s eye and above the picture formed in my mind of that person,.. spread her 
hands palms up in an outward position while smiling gaily as if to say ..okay we’ve got her 
covered!  But she never said a word. Somehow she made me feel wonderful. I did not know 
who she was. I just knew she was dressed as a nun and she was a lively bubbly, loving 
person. My priest friend was still reading and a couple of times he looked up at me and 
asked me if anything was wrong… I said no but couldn’t help smiling and did not want to tell 
him what was happening. I thought he would think I fell off my rocker on this fine Easter day. 
I felt sorry for him trying to help me by reading this for me and here I was lost in 
an adventure of sorts with this nun! So I said a Hail Mary for him. Quick as a wink 
she “floated” above him, spread her palms out, kissed him on top of his head and looked at 
me again with that fun loving smile! I thought I would bust with glee. I laughed out 
loud. My poor pastor looked up at me and again inquired. I thought I would chance telling 
him. 
     It did not seem to surprise him a bit. I told him I had to go home. All this while I was 
overwhelmed with an unmistakable feeling or knowledge that this nun was going to be with 
me forever and wherever I went. I was even trying to plan ahead how to act in my everyday 
life with her keeping me in such joyful ....


Details | Narrative | |

We Were All There That Day

All of us were there that day/
Yet not in the physical aspect,
It was a very spiritual notion/
Not some encounter from a heavenly omen,
Beneath the soil amidst a great gulf fix,
Some have become a bit transparent/

Perhaps a little cumbersome ?

While other's having claimed to experience all the fullness,
Little did they know that king's and queen's would all bow to thee,
Amidst the given turmoil of the unfortunate vast excursion !
Still in the garden that day they all fell asleep/
Yet still all of us were there,
When the roman solder's ripped off your beard !

Still some of us it's too hard to fathom it,
Some finding it to intense and a bit weird !
Having common passerby's spit in his face/
While still there were many angels in waiting to take vengeance on those,
Yet Jesus didn't choose that route of passage,

With no sense of remorse nor a common disgrace,

We were all their that day !
Even when beloved Mary your loving mother wept !
Fashioned with real tears for her son,
While they tore into his flesh !
Until there was nothing left but exposed bone,
When all the nails had mounted you to the rugged cross/
We all knew that this wasn't some tragic loss !

With words', "Father please forgive them for they know not what they do ?"
He said the prayer now the rest is up to you ?
We all had learned Lord what your beloved father really knew/
We were all there that day/
When after three days you suddenly rose from the grave !
Although still many had rejected you ?

The god of this world had blinded many eyes/
Does all of this come at some big surprise for it is written in the scriptures for our benefit ?
Lest they all should see and be healed,
For even Pilate had found no fault in thee,
Yet he gave into the crowds cry's and demands !
Having vicious fangs nor swollen teeth/
Which all gnash abruptly !

Having a fish dinner with Peter for breakfast/
The was fully after your grand exit,
We were all there that day/
Henceforth, even to this present moment in time,
Today, everything we pray for we can all visualize you being there,

For we were all their that day !


Details | Narrative | |

Then I Saw Her

The pastor I had met a couple months ago was sitting across the table from me reading 
from a book by a Doctor of the Church or Saint or from scripture. I can’t remember which. 
We had been doing this twice a week for four to five hours a night since he crossed my path 
as an answer to my prayer yelled to the ceiling at God to show me the truth! 
    I even tried to get rid of God by that time in my life but I couldn’t shake Him. Hadn’t been 
to Church in 25 years and never intended to again. I knew better….until I finally hit bottom. I 
had been raised a Catholic by my parents but I jettisoned that when I hit the service and 
basically never looked back. I knew by this time in my life that I would never go back to that 
church but here I was discussing God the Trinity with a Catholic priest every spare moment 
he and 
I had. No room here for details but it was a more than obvious answer to a prayer yelled out 
to God in frustration that even I ,in my stubborness, could not fight . We took turns reading 
and discussing various books, but today was special. It was Easter 1992 about ten pm or so. 
He was reading . I can’t remember what. I wasn’t paying attention. I was busy praying a Hail 
Mary that he had taught me again, for certain people. I was worried for them and couldn’t 
keep my mind on the task at hand even though it was enjoyable enough. ………..Then I saw 
her. I didn’t believe I saw her. But there she was....   
    continued in parts 2 and 3.


Details | Narrative | |

Billie's Voice

I do not think I will go to heaven
Since the life I led in the past
Will surely send me on that path
Straight to hell with vastly heat

I did my best to make things right
I quit the drugs and the life that was fast
To give birth to my only child, my son, my life
For which the life of the past will catch on me one day
I only wish I knew how it would portray

I fell in love for the first time past forty
With the best love ever to stow upon me
A women would you believe – she set me free
To be who I wanted – to fly with ease
We have such a bond unlike the others
My eternal comeuppance I believe

There are no drugs in me except to cure HEP C
A mistake I made before I was twenty
My life is the best it has been for what I see
I did not count on parting this new life I lead
I did my best to make things right
Now my only prayer is to see the light

I lived with my heart and loved with my mind
I touched many souls as I did my own
I had no idea how life could be
If it were not for that fast life in my teens
I would still be here in this life, with all my dreams
					
G. Goodwin 9/11/07


Details | Narrative | |

Rockfield Road

 Rockfield Road
   
 
A blend of northern grasses fields 
a forest of homestead trees; the saplings, 
long overcome by maturity, bear witness
to the prayer of Native sons; to give back 
what you take from Mother Earth.

In the midst of this green-crowned bark, 
a sacrificial altar of oak remains; 
its once tall spine gives strength
to the walls that house my children. 
a beauty lost to hearth from need.

One over-populated crab apple, 
draws deer at dusk and dawn. 
Thank God for a pre-set Mr Coffee, 
and a strangulated teapot 
for morning routines, 
worked in first light,cease, 
as the four-legged creatures near. 
I smile, as the collective intake 
of breath is held and released
without accompanying speech.

Breaking the moment to be on time
for artificial satisfaction, 
is not the legacy I choose 
to leave my children. 

 
 


Details | Narrative | |

Guardian Angel

A little girl lie asleep in bed
Enjoying the dreams within her head
She dreamed that she was in a cloud
Then heard an angel call aloud
Her name once more
She knew she'd heard that voice before
Then there before her stood a figure all 
Wrapped in white with wings much bigger
For a moment she felt she couldnt breathe
She knew her prayer had been recieved
That god had sent a guardian angel
To guide her as her life went fatal
He came to take her in her sleep
He couldnt stand to watch her weep
He had to take away her pain
He knew she had no more to gain
That night the girl had passed away 
In heaven she will always stay


Details | Narrative | |

Love's Strong Bond And Guiding Hand

There once was a young, freckled faced girl, who had the world
wrapped around her finger. 
The world was glad to be touched by such a precious hand as hers. 
Talent did flow from 
these precious hands to the artist's canvas. 
Dreams never ceased, and love did flow. The 
sky was the limit, of what God and this young girl could achieve.  

In a small farming town, there was a young man, 
the fourth brown eyed, curly haired son of five boys from a 
loving couple. He worshipped God, 
and worked hard on his job and also at church for Jesus. He had 
a simple prayer one day to find a christian wife to 
be his help mate. God has a plan for your 
life, even if we don't see it.

The freckled face girl, was not expecting
to find a life long mate in Butler, GA, the home of 
her grandparents, because she too had 
prayed for a christian man to share her life. The girl 
had to mature and find her way in the world, 
then God put a matchmaker into her life.

The Curly haired young man of twently nine,
thought that God had not heard his prayer, he 
moved out of his parents home to make his
way in the world. His neighbor Mrs. Laurette 
Stewart, thought he would make a fine husband
for the freckled face girl. A blind date was 
set, it was love at first sight and God had
found a mate for the young couple that prayed.

Inspried by James Fraser's poem Farm Girl


Details | Narrative | |

A PRAYER UNANSWERED

Waking I find
Another chill encrusted day 
Awaits me
Where I shall walk alone in step of time
To the blighted rhythm 
Of what must be
And the looming shadows 
Of what might have been

My only solace 
Comes of looking back
Upon the horizon of 
Memories past
Where the fluxing tapestry 
Of life and chance 
Carried you soft and safe 
Into my arms

And I held you 
And you held me
And for a time
No wind of change
Could bear us sway

But somehow…
Some dreadful way how
My eyes left the beauty of yours
My arms reached out
For ambitions of pointless return
And in deafened silence
You slipped from me 
For I held you not

And now I am left to search 
Across the rolling linen waves
Of life and consequence
Holding hope that
Fate will grant me pardon
And bring you to me 
Once again

But I age in waiting
I tire of hoping
I stammer in broken steps
For each night your vigil kept
Brings me aside my bed
To utter yet again 
A prayer unanswered

                 …Jeff Bresee   


Details | Narrative | |

Toy boat in the Fountains

Out of the good
the bad emerges.
The cold wind bites.
The ocean surges.
Waves appearing
as big as mountains.
Like a toy boat
in the fountains.
Your miles from land
and it doesn't look good.
So you say a prayer to God
that's understood.
You've been here before
when all your hope died.
The promises were made.
I'm gonna change, you lied.
This time I really mean it
you convince yourself.
On your knees knowing it's over.
Again you plead for his help.
Please Lord, if I make it this time
no more lies will I be caught in.
But then the sun comes out
and the promises are forgotten.


Details | Narrative | |

VALOR AND SACRIFICE

Who could forget what happened on that unsuspecting and sunny day,
when no visible clouds drifted over the Twin Towers?
Little after midnight, the cool rain adds to the melancholy 
of the descending angels; and I join them in prayer to remember the tragedy! 
This should be a day of remembrance, not of hatred for the ignoble acts 
the wicked committed, but would God accept unkindness instead of merciful deeds?



They called it another day of infamy,
and like Pearl Harbor we were taken by surprise;
that was an attack aimed at the military,
but on September 11 the terrorists attacked the civilians!
It seemed like lightning striking down sturdy trees,
and then fire broke out with smoke trails of a thousands feet;
" O my God! ", every employee screamed...quickly running down 
the stairs engulfed by fire...causing an indescribable chaos everywhere! 
" Take my hand, I will lead you to safety! " the firefighter said to the coughing woman. 
" Hold onto my arm! " the policeman yelled out to the frail man,
who had dropped his eyeglasses and couldn't see! 
Every firefighter and policeman acted like them, rescuing many without fearing death;
and hundreds of them, that awful morning, never returned home alive...
what a tragedy for their families that watched in horror and couldn't help!



Who wouldn't remember the courage of their noble and willing hearts?
And furthermore, who wouldn't engrave their valorous names on plaques and monuments?
Up above, by the gates of Paradise...Christ and His Father awaited them to accept their souls;
while archangels surrounding God's throne, sung hymns that humans couldn't sing...
those hymns that all the earthly heroes will sing with them when Heaven mourns again! 
 


Their portraits, pictures and memorabilia hang above the fireplaces,
and on the decorated walls of the victims' homes, precincts and firehouses;
how could anybody take them down as they were worthless items?
Prize them more than gold or diamonds, o friends grieving that tremendous loss even today;
don't hate those who caused you sorrow and unbearable pain, be forgiving and show mercy...
as God does toward us; o friends remember your heroes for their valor and sacrifice!  


My poem is dedicated to the victims and survivors of the September 11 attacks on America.

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


Details | Narrative | |

IF YOUR EYE'S WERE MINE

I know it's coming, I have seen the night,
it's out there searching for a new set of 

eyes. I hear it humming by, the light of 
the old church and when you step outside

you feel as if,something isn't right.I left
you a message on the window saying 

to be careful, this will be the night it
hunts in darkness, looking for eyes. 

In the old church cellar victims lay, one
by one hundred are they, stacked side 

by side ten layers high. In a storage of 
molded death, you could smell the stench

20 miles wide so, don't be suprised
when you see it,  just cover up your eyes. 

I know he's out there watching, as a chill
from the nights wind hits me broadside,

then the hunt begins.  It stands before
you, thirsting for body parts due it. I fear

it will come at daylight, while I am awake.
I hear it mumbling the names of souls it's

here to take.  It's standing there on the 
corner, underneath the steet light.

I get this wierd feeling that, something's
not right. I left a prayer for you, in front of 

your house and it needs to be read out loud
It just might save your life you might make

it out. In a time frame, hence it might find.
The tasteful fear it smells as it pours out of,

your mind. It spreads its wings and takes 
flight, takes what it wants then, it leaves 

flesh without thought as it disappears in 
the night. One by one hundred laid out in

a cell as, it came bursting straight out of
hell but, not a soul did I hear dare yell, 
     
you feel it in your bones that something
not right, you wake to find you woke in its

darkest night. No formal invitation needed
just, bring your fright. Most of all bring with
 
you if, you still have them, your eye's

Robert Hernandez/David Bear


Details | Narrative | |

BRIAN

In my youth, I dreamed of my son-
Blonde hair, blue eyes, and lots of fun-
Then to my surprise there came a time,
When he became real, and he is mine.

Brian is the son of my dream-
The son that I cherish as part of our team,
You would think God had sent him on a moonbeam,
So he could join our family as part of my scheme.

I have written of Brian times before-
And I may write of him many more,
But you have to understand about his birth-
He was my miracle come to earth.

Before Brian cam, I had lost babies-no fault of mine-
When I conceived Brian it seemed like just one more time,,
But I screamed at God,"NO! Give him to me!!"
For a baby boy I felt him to be-.

God answers prayer when it is time,
So my Brian came because it WAS his time!
He is 36 now and he is so fine-
I still can't believe that he is mine.


Details | Narrative | |

Vigil

Dusk’s gathering of souls each gesturing in solemn code Remembering their dead kindred’s past As flowers and their last remains are cast into the ocean’s embrace Nothing fulfilled their heart’s void or replaced Lost love , stolen during their most tender time Sometimes a child’s fate’s unkind Each kindred child yearning an intimate past An Inherent truth of fate , poisoned their sacred blood will everlast The lost’s kindred mature through solemn emulation How the young children integrate without elder expectations Practiced verbatim...echoes, remind... many of their trying times Each immersed in solemn prayer , in memory of the past Unseen their faithful savior’s task Some fail to realize some miracles are invisible to pain veiled eyes and to strangers whom the lost remain statistical Perhaps divine intervention’s mythical to those grieving whose belief is now disdain The dead number as the stars , each is a candle flamed burning in celebration of those unnamed Withheld faithless anger is diffused by regret as the elders were unable to avoid their children’s death Wisdom , blind faith, and prayer is critical Though most would trade this fate , to escape pain of vigil


Details | Narrative | |

My Prayer, The Only Choice

Our Father 
Almighty King above
Give to us your faithful servants
Give to us your love

Holy Lord 
Hallowed be thy name
Touch us with your loving hands
Our lives will never be the same

Heavenly Savior
Thy will be surely done
Give to us your shining light
Shining brighter than the sun

Forgiving God
Redeem us from our sins
Give to us your salvation
And everlasting life that comes from deep within

Let our faith
Guide us all to believe
With you here by my side
There is nothing I cannot achieve
This is my prayer to you
In hopes you here my voice
No that you are to me my Lord
My one and only choice

The End
By Greg P


Details | Narrative | |

ONE BOLD BLACK SOUL

often in the grand scheme of God's desires
He will use mankind to do what He requires
His providential purposes God's master plans
will utilize any and all types of man

the Pharoah declared a most horrendous decree
of infanticide on Jewish male babies
to put them to death to keep their numbers down
fearful of having too many Jewish males around
but history has a way of repeating itself again and again
as the young Black male populations today hangs by a fringe
with incarcerations, police brutality and killing each other
we're on the verge of eradicating our young Black brothers
a supposed threat to society that same old racist mentality

yet all it takes is for God to send someone to be bold
one person unafraid to break away from the mold
over 400 years of praying and keeping hope alive
a people once in slavery but today they now thrive
from Moses to Jeremiah to the Rev. Dr. King
to President Barak Obama God can change anything
One Bold Black Soul to say what needs to be said
One Bold Black Soul whose life is spirit-led

don't let the world compromise your moral integrity
let prayer be the tool you use to claim the victory
you need some solitude to simply reflect
on that which God desires of you and what of you He expects
God will be what you want no matter what you need
and He will do whatever is needed to help you succeed
so walk in the spirit and just wait for your time
and be ready to act when God gives you a sign
to be called into place with God's saving grace

Jeremiah told the people of the prophecy
about their demise if they confront their enemy
he was then thrown into a pit full of mud and slime
his death to be a certainty in a very short time
but One Bold Black Soul stepped up to the plate
and told the King to save Jeremiah before it was too late
One Bold Black Soul an Ethiopian man
told of the soldiers diabolical plans

to be bold, to be risky, to be resilient in your resolve
to step out of your comfort zone until the problem is solved
from Rosa Parks to Medgar Evers to Malcolm X
to do what is prevalent and not what society expects
creative in courage, inspired with innovation
by any means necessary to change the situation
One Bold Black Soul willing to step out on a limb
to stop history from repeating itself once again


Details | Narrative | |

The River

Cracks of corral emerged between the Earth’s proud crown of evergreen
Gleaming down on grateful Father whose arms in bloom embraced his Daughter
Moon upon Moon in prayer he spent that God would grant his heart’s content
Now all his dreams no longer dreams but infant in his arms serene
They traveled on til trails converged and River’s roar ahead was heard 
Then there upon the shore was laid, a bless’ed barge of birchbark made.

From the River’s roots they rowed, embarking on a fate unknown
Wide-eyed Child soothed by Father’s song amidst echoes of the Wild’s call
Sweetly metered by sweeping oar he told her tales of life before
The great divide of Earth and Sky, of Land and Sea, of Day and Night 
How God by grace named each creature each fish and fowl each fir and fur
Then in His hands mixed clay and sand, the gift of life breathed into Man.

Between each bend dear Daughter grew and saw the world from worn canoe
Floating onward until the day she traded hums and howls to say
Father, Father, I understand! With lamb and wolf we share this land!
How scattered seed grew into tree and tree we carved for pole to feed
Father you’ve grown and given me your faith and love so I might be
Someday just like you a Giver on the road of life, the River! 


Details | Narrative | |

In tune with what matters

What a day with all the errands to run!
having other commitments to attend to;
it’s really busy; it’s saturated with preoccupations;
a hefty day that no one can just ignore thus far.

Where there’s time to find a space at least for each day,
to commune with God amid the bustle of the week;
it’s good to make it as a habit both heart and mind,
that prayer even in a short moment can mean so much.

Phone calls, follow-ups with some friends are appreciated
especially for one who needs to share and be with someone;
a kind of diversion, affably reckoned as human relations –
being interconnected in the sphere of living with others.

Some activities can really knock one down in bed right away at night,
with all the exhaustion, pressures, and tensions heretofore;
gauged with loss of energy, passion and enthusiasm,
a failure, a discouraging result that goes with physical limitation.

It’s true that a human body needs rest like any machine we have;
it’s something one has to take it into consideration,
with other factors through which one may look at them with actions
that life compared with seasons need some kind of variations.


Details | Narrative | |

Kaddosh

Elsewhere in biblical literature or in many human experiences
the act of being in the world with others speaks volumes
about who we are and how we form our interconnectedness;
as men and women who walk with our God –
the giver of Life, source of hope and love.

  Along with prayer and listening to the promptings
  of the holy Spirit – there lies the hidden wisdom
  that helps us nourish that sense of otherness within us
  henceforth, this leads us to connect with our loving God;
  with a deeper value that leads us to the mystical otherness. 

Our Lord, our God whose radiance in our hearts
keeps us aligned to the perspective of being one –
one in faith, one in a life of spiritual engagement.
Our prayer, contemplation, meditation, and solitude
enable us to see beyond the mystery of God’s otherness.

  His life-giving presence and sacredness within
  oh, like a mountaintop experience of that of Moses,
  of Peter, James, and John when Christ transfigured before them,
  even those two who’re heading for Emmaus;
  Moses glowed and these disciples too turned out with awe,
  a  miracle of wonder, a deep experience of God’s presence.


Note:

kaddosh - In Hebrew it means “otherness,” a radical separation.  Indeed, this sense of the Wholly Other cannot even be said to ‘exist’ because it has no place in our normal scheme of reality.’


Details | Narrative | |

The Hospital

Five months in the hospital.
They don't know what is wrong.
I.C.U. and feeding tubes.
What the hell is going on?

They've run every test known to man.
Still can't say why she's sick again.
Amputate the leg. Shave the head.
Dialysis on stand-by.
Shots here. Procedures there.
And specialists of all kind.

You get to know the hospital staff.
Patients come and go.
Visitors cry and patients die.
People you get to know.

He stays in the hotel right next door.
What's it all for?
He's been here for every meal.
Late night calls and four bare walls.
Talk on the phone, at least twice a week.
Keep her on the prayer list at church.
And try not to cry.

"Hold on strong. It won't be long.
And home you soon will go."
Then, "Where do I begin?
There's an infection again."
Two more weeks to stay.

She looks at her husband
and she cries again.
"If I'm gonna die
I'd rather die at home.
Not here all alone."


Details | Narrative | |

The Banquet Feast

As I sit down at the Banquet feast,
With Abraham, Isaac and Jacob,
Oh, what a day it is—
In the Kingdom of Heaven sacred.
But Jesus is the one—
I want to see face to face.
For Jesus is the reason,
I’ve the privilege, this table to grace.

This Banquet table is the longest—
My eyes have ever seen.
There’s many famous people here;
It seems just like a dream.
Moses sits there patiently—
Christ’s strong but humble servant;
Waiting for the prayer of grace,
Before eating this food, so magnificant.

Isaiah, Ezekiel and Jeremiah—
Are seen seated together.
These great prophets of old
Foretold God’s plans for the future.
King Solomon and King David
Sit regally in the middle.
David softly plays his harp;
More beautiful than any fiddle.

The atmosphere’s electric;
Such joy is present on every face.
Excitement for this occasion
Is felt throughout the entire place.
Jesus, our Host, now stands to speak—
To His redeemed made righteous.
Such great love and mercy,
Made all His guests spiritually prosperous.

He didn’t say, “Thank you all for being here”;
For that would have been rather trite.
Instead He said, “Thank you for your choice
To follow My Father’s ways, so right.
Thank you all for witnessing
To your fellow man;
Showing My Father’s love,
So all my children could understand.”

The Banquet experience
Is like nothing ever before.
To see Jesus face to face—
I can only love Him more.
Should I have missed this opportunity,
I would have experienced such deep regret;
To be shut out and placed in darkness—
Away from this momentous Banquet!

Heaven is so awesome—
My words cannot describe.
For these words have never been written
By any reporter or scribe.
Paradise and the Tree of Life—
In the past were but a dream;
Now so very, very real—
For all of God’s redeemed.

There’s not a single sacrifice
That I would not have made;
To be at this special Banquet Feast,
With a perfect character remade.
Life on earth was difficult,
But it’s memory’s almost gone.
Condemned as a heretic;
I simply sang Christ’s victory song!

Featured in my book No. 2, "Poetry To Touch the Heart & Soul"
Copyright © 2009-2011 Maureen LeFanue
www.godsgreetings.org



Details | Narrative | |

Try Not To Judge

Come take my hand,
don't turn away,
try not to judge,
I just lost my way.
My journey began,
trying to be cool,
following friends,
who were lost too.
Deeper, and deeper,
into the fire,
without a net,
walking on high wires.
Everything lost,
my family, and faith,
dwelling in misery,
in the hell I made.
Beyond this grave,
I see a light,
oh so faint,
but a wonderful sight.
Positive I must be,
if I am to survive,
does anyone care,
if I am alive?
Alone, and crying,
I clench my fist,
how could I allow,
a tragedy like this?
A new beginning,
someone does care,
help is coming,
from the light somewhere.
A hand I see,
is reaching for me,
please heal me Lord,
from this addicts need.

A prayer for my son..his journey to recovery is about to begin... please pray for him...


Details | Narrative | |

Our Time Is Running Out

  
What is going to happen when every ones credit gets shut off? 
   We will be like a bunch of pigs scrambling, only to find no food is in the trough.

If  the National Debt were paid off today, do you know how much it would cost 
every man, woman, and child?
    Each person would have to pay $29,000.00, now ain’t that wild?

It’s like we’ve gotten ourselves into a bog with no way out.
   Well I know of but one way but skeptics will argue and try to show their clout.

How did we get to be this great power, the Home of the Free?
   It was when God was given the honor and glory, this some will agree.

God is our Father and He only wants to give us His best.
   And all He asks in return is for us to honor and praise Him, such a simple 
request.

But no something happened we let the minority rule,
   By taking away the simplest of things like prayer in our schools.

If you felt unwanted somewhere I wonder if you’d stay?
   Did you ever stop and think just maybe God too feels this way?

Has the Doom Day clock already been set?
    I think it can be turned around there maybe hope for us yet.

But first we must unlock and open the door and invite Him back again.
   Then we will see a change in things when our Savior is home my friend.

We’ve tried both ways and the latter did not work.
    So bend your knees and ask Him back, stop listening to those jerks.


Details | Narrative | |

Opening Day

With breathless haste and trembling hope 
Comes April's long awaited day. 
Flannels fitted, cleats are cleared. 
Bats all polished, heroes cheered. 
The rosters set, the lineups made. 
Dispel all such reproachful pain, 
Of past defeats, these thoughts remain, 
Avenge those days with plans well laid. 

Green pastures accent early mists; 
High skies with soaring hearts abound. 
Impatient folk with childish joy 
In this Cathedral gather 'round. 
The banners flapping overhead 
To worship at the shrine of sport 
As music from the organ run 
To see a legacy is won. 

Appease the gods with humble prayer 
To bless this grand auspicious day! 
With golden echoes sweet shall call 
The anthem to begin the play. 
"Play Ball!" The shout goes out to all. 
Ten thousand voices rise and fall. 
The spirits lift to heaven's gate 
To root and share a common fate! 


Details | Narrative | |

To The Band Of Brothers From Viet Nam

  
What did I do when I was a kid?
    Loved life, had fun that’s what I did.
Enjoyed what I had, and had what I enjoyed.
    Never to be bothered seldom ever annoyed.
Stood tall, felt proud, proud of this country, The Home Of The Free!
    Proud to be an American, lucky to be a part of such a great society.
Then something happened that ripped this country apart.
    It was called a police action but it ripped and tore at the very soul of this country 
it tore at her heart.
 Was it right or was it wrong?
    So many mixed emotions were played out in the words of yesteryears songs.
The seventy’s brought on free love, drugs, and the start of a decline in our morals 
in this story.
    Viet Nam brought both shame and honor, but very little was given in the name 
of glory.
Many young Americans lost their life or were crippled and maimed.
   And had to come home to a country that held them in contempt or made them 
feel ashamed.
They were pushed aside refused work treated like second class dirt.
    And what did they do they too had feelings they too could hurt.
We blamed our soldiers instead of the politicians that sent them there.
    They were the ones that were dying but no one seemed to care.
So to the Viet Nam Vets I say I for one am proud of you this very day.
   And may God Bless you all each and every one is the prayer for you I pray.
And maybe someday there will no longer be wars are reason for blood shed.
   In thanks to The Band Of Brothers from Nam we should all give thanks as we 
bow our heads.


Details | Narrative | |

The Minister

A man named Ryan ran full speed in the pouring rain
Because he was burdened
With unbearing loneliness and pain
All because of his and his wife’s divorce

It had made Ryan drink the whiskey
He was not looking for forgiveness
But somehow the Holy Spirit would set him free
From the pain he was feeling

But sometimes Ryan doubted that God was there
Or that He would even help him
Never had Ryan once in his life had spoken a word of prayer
Not even as a child at his bedside

But this time Ryan said a prayer straight from the soul
And as he hit his knees in that front pew he saw the light
And just as he asked Jesus Christ in his heart
And just like that he felt alright;

Far more better than he had felt before
And now he is not only known as a horse trainer
But he is known as Reverend Ryan Moore;
A minister who knows Jesus and the Bible very well


Details | Narrative | |

Shyness

Nature shows
conspicuous as it may be;
others would say so,
‘no, you’re not!
however, it doesn’t jibe
what you’re and the needs you’ve got,
quite contrary to the values of Christian life.

Again, it’s superficial
judging from the surface
without getting deeper from it;
a helpless failure.

It’s a way to endeavor
on certain issues to determine
the why’s and what’s as they prevail
in the mainstream of being shy.

Well, individual differences
can excuse us to be judged, then.
That shyness in me articulates 
God’s spirit and love. 

In prayer and in silence
of the heart willing to inspire
to anyone who cares to know who really I am.


Details | Narrative | |

The awesome power of prayer

 

What is the power that is found in prayer?
   That is the question I asked all through our little town square.
And the answers would range from cynical to prophetic.
   It wasn’t hard to tell those who believed and those who were skeptic.
And to the question are we living in our final days?
   You could see it on their faces how they had lost their ways.
It must of raised some torment to say the very least.
   When I tried to tell them that sinful living was a mark of the beast.
Some wanted to know more, while others turned and fled.
   They must have felt the power of the holy words I said.
To me it’s plain and simple we must adhere to God and His word.
   Or be lost in the rubble and our voices never heard.
Be careful who you follow for the devils on the loose.
   It’s your soul that he’s after, he’s out to cook your goose.
The devil is not your friend so please don’t believe his lies.
   What I’m trying to tell you, these are words to the wise.
Give it all to Jesus, give Him the whole ball of wax.
   He’ll stand up for you, He’ll stop the devil in his tracks.
Back to the question of the power of prayer.
   It seems I must have opened up a can of worms here in our little town square.
And it was to my delight how a few would still stand and fight.
  
    The power of prayer is what it takes if you’re seeking Gods awesome might.
Pray for your country, family, friends, and church, pray that your pastor has an 
anointing to spread the Holy Word.
    Pray on your knees, standing, or sitting anywhere , Pray fervently to our Savior 
and  rest assured your prayer and every word was  heard. 


Details | Narrative | |

Leave This City

I danced with the hoodlum priestess, in the temple of the sacred pool.
The candles burned down low and jasmine incense from censors, filled the night.
While attendents at the altars, worried prayer beads and chanted sacred rhymes.
The daughters of the moon veiled their faces, and led me to the sea; the sea.

That night in the mighty City, after a day at the bizarre, I conveyed myself-
To the "Gates Of Cerdes" inn. Minstrels sang sagas by the fire; I lounged outside.
Dancing bears and mummers made merry in the courtyard 'neath starlight;
Against the city wall I sat and, sharpened my dagger upon a stone.

Patricians and visors rode King's high way, whores with tinkling bells walked alley-ways.
Any ragged beggar, with two teeth or more, fed on penny bowls of roasted rat.
There were vampires lurked among the trees and werewolves nestled in the eaves.
Spirits walked the earth in the dark and scattered flowers and, sang in the night.

The wine dark waters did roil and rumble, storm clouds boiled up in the sky.
Within the vault of night lovers did pluck and strum and stoke on lute strings;
Serenades and sonnets saluted vestigal virgins, abed in perfumed budiors.
And, this ancient City of enigma and riddle lay coiled, like a serpent wearing new skin.

Come away with me my love;
Steal away, journey with me.
We will cross the mystic mountains,
To fertile, verdant vales below.
All who knew will question "whence?"
The sinister City will never know


Details | Narrative | |

An Answer To A Poem

 I read a poem just today. 
   Called the ignorant Christian and I felt sympathy almost right away.
It’s been over two thousand years since our Savior died. 
   But every day I see His name being unfairly crucified.
And to those of us who follow we’re called the ignorant ones.
   For wanting a better life when this one is done.
You can’t take the Bible and turn into just certain things you want to hear.
   Although it teaches forgiveness it also teaches fear.
Jesus says repent and from our sins we must turn away.
   It’s not an easy battle but one we must fight each and every day.
Being a Christian is not always an easy road.
   We face some of what Jesus went through with a much lesser load.
Personally I feel the time is near.
   It’s time for Christians to boldly stand up for Jesus and stand up without fear.
When the reckoning days have come and He reaches for His book.
   Is your name going to be in it wouldn’t you like to take a look?
Would you like to be set free?
   Then say this simple sinners’ prayer with me:
Lord please forgive me, I repent and seek Your forgiveness of all my earthly sins.
   I know you died for my sins, You were nailed to the cross, were buried but 
death couldn’t hold You, for You arose again.
I accept you as my Savior and will share Your mighty word.
   If you say that and mean it you can be sure our Savior heard.
   
Thank you and God bless you.
      


Details | Narrative | |

Earthbound sobriety

While crossing Verrazano Narrows Bridge
recurring mem’ries of New York recapture 
history and civilization of the two boroughs
provide me with deep interest and emphasis.

Brooklyn in its old Dutch for “broken land,”
and Staten Island named “Staaten Eylandt”
named in the early 1600s by Henry Hudson,
trailed off on a tangent through centuries.

A myth or perhaps a legend, the island thus far,
was like a quagmire of townships and disputes;
its meaning to immigrants’ culture and religion,
favored silence, security, peace, and integration.

The burden of too many choices based on clans,
growing businesses and stories of interactions;
new immigrants in droves through generations
like an orchestra combined with a sense of drama.

Reflections of their struggles to make ends meet,
reminded me of articulation through interpretation;
in sobriety of heeding of the composer’s intent,
such a musical piece made me suffer and sweat.

Oh, the pedal, rhythmic vitality and expression!
all these elements comprise what piano playing is,
the technique, in a special way, a benchmark item
indeed, a struggle to interiorize those conventions.

But as a human person with some limitations,
with my own history and capability in playing,
I see where I can be fit and freely express myself;
through movements in diverse missionary works.

As it says in French, “bon débarras, il est partí.” 
my life continues with a backlog of other issues,
a different world focused on service to the Lord;
with my own repertory – its beauty to humanity.

It’s true that my prayer for the church at large,
is also a bridge across the gulf of separation;
coming to this borough of Staten Island
a hodge-podge of concerns, covenanted within.

Now that relationship with God and people
brings me to nourish that faith and commitment;
with that long stretch of Verrazano Narrows Bridge,
a metaphor to my own journey as a missionary.


Details | Narrative | |

Governor Sonny Perdue, God Bless You

 
Three cheers for Governor Sonny Perdue,
    Such a welcome sight these things you do.
Showing your faith is a thing quite rare,
    Leading your state in open prayer.
You my friend are an answer to many a prayer,
    Showing you trust God and you really care.
Georgia is facing such a devastating drought,
    Rivers and lakes are drying up across the south.
The whole country needs to join the governor in his plight,
    Strong in prayer and as brothers and sisters in Christ we need to unite.
You made my day Brother Sonny Perdue,
    And for what you did I’ll stand with you!


Details | Narrative | |

Have You Been Saved ? I Was Saved By A Tree!

 
Sitting by the creek one day, watching as two little ducks swam by.
   They were in such a rush it seemed, to catch a floating dragon fly.
I started to erect myself, when I slipped and fell.
   I must have hurt my leg somehow, for it began to swell.
The current was mighty swift as it pulled me on my way.
   I knew I was getting in too deep and I began to pray.
It seems the only time we talk is when I’m in a bind.
   A feeling just came over me, what if He should pay me no mind.
He wouldn’t do that to me, I thought, that would be unfair.
   Maybe He’s trying to show to me, what it’s like when no one’s there.
 Lord I’m getting in too deep, and I’m getting mighty scared.
   I never learned to swim at all, this secret I’ve never shared. 
 All of a sudden a log came by, and I caught hold of a branch or two.
   I thought how, did this log happen by, was it a gift from you.
As the water began to shallow some, I made it to dry ground.
   My leg was really sore I guess, but it seemed to be quite sound.
He answers our prayers in many ways, often though we do not see.
   For me, my prayer was answered, by Him floating me a tree.


Details | Narrative | |

Why Do I Pray?


As she got in the car and drove away.
    I said a prayer to keep her safe and let her feel my love throughout the day.
You never know what lies ahead.
    That’s why I say the things I said.
Lord please keep her safe till she comes back.
    For you never know how the devil may attack.
The world itself has become a threat.
    That is why I thank God for America it still is the best country yet.
Although we have slipped and nearly fell.
    As long as we keep trusting in the Lord we will prevail.
But all of this I am saying is but one mans opinion.
    Right now the world has the capability of blowing itself to oblivion.
Right now each country is poised and ready to strike.
   All it would take is just one computer glitch or voltage spike.
I feel for certain it will happen but I don’t know when.
    Every weapon created has been used over and over again.
And the weapons we have today are the most savage in every way.
    Capable of killing everything on this planet all in just one day.
To say I’m concerned I guess you’re right.
    My only defense is my prayers to God, morning, noon, and night.
I pray for my family and my fellow man as well.
    And I pray that the devil goes straight back to hell.


Details | Narrative | |

War

 You know America ( Our Country ) was founded on Christian Beliefs.
   When we stood up for God, He led us through hard times, despair, and our 
times of grief.
I’ve seen our Ten Commandments removed from public places, and prayer 
banished from our schools.
   Satan is trying to take over, trying to force us to play by his set of rules.
Christians are being pushed and pushed hard, they are putting our backs to the 
wall.
   America is Gods’ country, and if we don’t make a stand we’re going to see her 
fall.
Christians are going to have to stop quarreling amongst each other.
   Show the world we are united in Christ as sisters and brothers.
Let God lead us on the righteous path of the straight and narrow.
   While we strap on our armor, sharpen our sword, and make ready our arrows.
The war was brought home to us when the twin towers fell.
   Do you remember that day, I remember it well?
Called a “ Jihad “ a holy war, The infidels must die was their battle cry.
   We just hung our heads and asked the question why.
We are a God fearing nation, well we used to be.
   If we would just open our eyes and look we’d have to see.
Brother I tell you there is going to be a fight, shucks that ain’t nothing new.
   Just pray God stands with us, and the old red, white, and blue.


Details | Narrative | |

A Letter From Paul Harvey

      
Here I sit reading our local rag. 
    Our little newspaper full of good stuff and hometown brag.
Anyway a story caught my eye. 
    A story by Paul Harvey in his quest to find the answer why.
He speaks of different religions in our land.
    But the majority is Christianity, and the point he makes, makes you understand.
He said get your phone book out and let it prove my point I try to make.
    Christian churches outnumber all other by 200 to 1 for goodness sake.
He said a thirty second prayer before a football game isn’t asking that much.
    We’re not praying to change the world, just let our boys be safe and have a 
safe trip home and such and such.
Just humor our wish is all we ask.
     Surely your god will look the other way while we perform this simple task.
We’re not out to convert no one or asking that you even share.
      And the atheist’s can even take a toilet break while we say our prayer.
 But speaking as the majority why is it that we have to ask?
     No one is asking to come home with you just let us perform this one simple 
task.
If I were in Bagdad at a soccer game, I’m sure they would say a Muslim prayer.
     Which I would understand and that would be okay, I don’t think I ‘d care.
Or someone praying to Buddha in China at a ping pong match.
    It wouldn’t upset me or cause an itch, you know one that you cannot scratch..
Paul goes on to say we have been silent for much too long.
   We live in a country where majority rules so let that be the name of this song.
In closing he says God bless us all especially those that denounce Him.
   God bless our service men and women, God please bless them.
This is the year the silent majority needs to be heard.
   And bring our troops home was his final word.
Well I for one agree with Paul.
    He puts his job and reputation on the line to stand for one and all.
He’s a man of honor and conviction.
    He loves this country and to him with God there should be no restriction.
Thank you Paul Harvey .

     And that’s the way it was!!!!!!


Details | Narrative | |

Tiny Little Castle

The rain came suddenly to ease the drought,
a prayer was answered today, no doubt.
While visiting a friend, my heart came forth,
revealing such misery, buried to the core.
She showed me a castle, just two doors down,
a place of freedom, that she had found.
While walking through, I could see a home,
where life could blossom, and such peace could be known.
So very small, but with so much room,
no evil was present, I felt no gloom.
My eyes lit up, for God was telling me,
you ask for my help, now what do you see.
My friend had prayed so many prayers for me,
to give me strength, and help me break free.
We never expected to find such a place,
but there it was, a tiny little castle, and a home I'll make.



Details | Narrative | |

Beautiful Rain

Finally, the rain is here,
but too late for the grass, I fear.

That is fine, I will plant some more,
all brown, and dead, yes, that is for sure.

Rain, rain, what a beautiful sight,
maybe, if it keeps up, I can sleep good tonight.

That old metal roof, will put me right out,
as the rain drenches everything, all about.

Two weeks, and counting of 102%, and more,
this is a beauty, as I look out the door.

Thank you Jesus, my prayer you heard,





Details | Narrative | |

Questions

When our grand-children get grown,
and have families of their own,
what will be our answer,
when these questions are asked?
Did you really say a prayer in school,
and was our flag really, Red, White, and
Blue?
Why did you sit idly by, and let foreign
countries drain America dry?
Why did that war last so many years,
and why are we not safer, we still have fears.
Why is our country changing the language we speak,
and why do the children still not have the things they need?
These might be a few, add your suggestions,
please do.


Details | Narrative | |

Waiting For The Truth

The little man sits, and waits for the truth,
but all we get is gibberish in business suits.
Patient, we all have been, no, not al all,
but, who do we, the little man call? 
Numbers that get us no where, 
and letters thrown in the trash way up there,
 only brings frustration, but who cares.
Hoping a miracle will happen overnight, well
don't hold your breath, it ain't looking too bright.
Innocence is gone, and now greed moves in,
guard your family, we have started to descend.
The removal of prayer so cleverly done,
another victory old satan has won.
Our forefathers were smart, but they are gone,
now all that's left, is this strange place we call home.



Details | Narrative | |

from gazing to amazing

why are you sitting in the church looking all a dazed
looking at the pulpit with a confused gaze
some church goers in all actuality
need a good healthy dose of spirituality

every Sunday the Tators come to church with ungodly designs
but a spirit-filled Christian will discern and often find 
that you had better depose of  the deacon Dick Tator
you cannot wait on Sister Hessie Tator
you won't get any praise from Trustee Spec Tator
and to disregard the pretentiousness of Mother Aggy Tator

a church's true prosperity 
is not measure by It's religiosity
It should be totally based on the notion
of the number of those who come for spiritual devotion
Instead of all that feasting and playing
they need to be more fasting and praying

and when the angels spoke to the Disciples on Mount Olivet
they asked them,  why were they just gazing at the Holy Spirit
go on to Jerusalem, go pray and keep the faith
stay in Jerusalem and on The Lord just await
and on the day of Pentacost, the day of appointing
they were all drunk and speaking in tongue
waiting for the anointing
they were all very happy and truly amazed
no longer in a state of fear and to God they gave praise

to be truly in Christ , you must learn to live by faith and not on fear
whether it takes you an hour, a day, a month, a week or even a year
pray, keep the faith , stop running and stand still
just wait on God and surrender to Him you ways and your will
and while you are waiting for The Holy Spirit to emerge
worship and praise God whenever you feel the urge
as worship and prayer are the tools that help you heal
acquiesce to The Lord  God and all truths will be revealed

don't worry about anything as long  as your heart is contrite and true
wait on the grace of God , It will pull you through
and If you find yourself sitting near the Tators, dazing and gazing
just keep praying to The Lord God for He is truly amazing 



Details | Narrative | |

Revealed

Now, as I lay me down to sleep,
I close my eyes, and in silence
I weep.
I know somewhere a heart holds
grief, so many kinds, so many
we never see.
My prayer I say, for each, and all,
God  please protect them, don't let your
child fall.
I know He hears these words I pray,
I know He lifts them, out of harms
way.
He is our creator, His Kingdom
is real, and when He is ready,
these wonders will be revealed.


Details | Narrative | |

My Dream

  

I had a dream earlier this morning,
   It was like I was receiving some type of a warning.
I was told to reach out to all I could,
   And that things are fixing to happen that may not be good.
Repent and turn from sin,
   These few words kept playing over and over again.
It was a dream but was it real,
    I feel like we are living and seeing the breaking of seals.
Look up look up keep watching the sky,
    Is another thing that keeps flashing in my minds eye.
I feel so strange writing this down,
     But I was told to share it all around.
I saw a lot of fire throughout my dream,
     And I felt as if I could hear people scream.
There was blood all over the ground, 
     And your feet would stick as you walked around.
There is only one thing I know to say,
    We must turn to the Lord and shed our evil ways.
Ask for redemption before it’s too late,
    Seek out Jesus and change your fate.
Seek Him in prayer on bended knees,
    Seek Him and ask Him to honor your pleas.
God bless you all that read my letter,
    Jesus is the only way things will get better.


Details | Narrative | |

Soups On

  

Sometimes I come and just sit and read,
     Some write stories we all should heed.
My old buddy Jack Reed well he writes a lot,
     And I say if it makes him happy then why the heck not.
Then there is Christy her words somehow reach out to me,
     She writes about things that are interesting to see.
There are so many friends on soup I’d like to name a few,
    There is Rhoda, Beth, Alexandra, Vince, Carol, Sharon, and then there is Sue.
All you guys really mean a lot, I treasure you as friend.
     CeeCee, Karen, Ruby, Louise, Wilfredo, Heidie, and Patricia, I’m still not quite 
to the end.
There’s Sean K. and Carmen P., Joe D, and John H just want to say thanks for 
encouraging me.
     There is some I’ve left out on this list you see.
And I apologize it wasn’t meant to be.
Vince and his brothers were honorable military men,
     And I just want to thank them for what they did back then, 
If you ever need prayer I think I’d call on Louise to say a word for you.
    And there are many other ladies who’ll do the same thing too.
Just a super thank you for being a friend.
     You guys have made an everlasting impression that will last till the end.