A day in the country
I went to the country
To see my Bro's Land
I saw he had worked hard
His land looked so grand
For a second this envy
It tapped on my soul
But then I looked deeper
Saw things as a whole!
I looked at his features
All the lines on his face
Not character lines
Those lines that add grace
Just sad saggy lines
From worry and stress
There was naught in his manner
That read happiness.
I’m a loser to his type
I have no ambition
I live for today
He lives for his mission
But I have a smile
And a generous heart
While he, how I see him
Is a grumpy old fart.
10 August 2013 @ 1700hrs
a trumpet sounds
but refuses to blare
it just doesn't know
how to harm
what it takes
to infect the living
out last the past
bond brothers and sisters
as it loses
to a force
because the vibration knows god
and is ONE
and though human imperfections
sit in the shadows of it's path
and forever will
we choose to destroy
but how can we concentrate
on methods of malcontent
when god sits at our breakfast table?
as father urges child
"stand on two feet!"
he tolls the bell
as we lay on deaf ears
he loosens ties with anger
as the path warns and wears
driving this cosmic ship
of no loses
and he smiles
for he knows
what we yet
have to find...
and all is well.
In Florida one right hot summer
A free soul was havin' a bummer
So in spray painted undies
Next holiday Monday
He split to the Springs with his rummer.
Equally inspired by a net(te) comment and the lovely natural resources in North Florida
What can I render to the Lord for all His gifts to me
He who took MY SINS
His abounding Mercy
His fathomless love
His total commitment to my salvation
To my wholeness
To my welfare
To my emotional stability
To giving me eternal life
He gave a pure white robe to cover me with HIS RIGHTEOUSNESS
Because of Jesus-I now know Him as an adoring Father.
A Brother who will always walk so close I feel His presence and who always watches over me.
A mother whose words and affections surround me daily with care like a Mother hen
What can I render to the Lord who took my pain
Who in His own body was wounded and bore the sorrows and my grief I was to going through and the mistakes and the sin ready at every moment to try and trick me out through my life-time-
He sent His WORD- His LIGHT to enlighten my darkness and show me clearly the road I should take-(Proverbs: chapters 1to 9)
Yes YOU were always ready to defend me, a helpless orphan- for without YOU as my Dad and as my mother- I was abandoned to this world-
But Now I can cry with all my heart- ABBA FATHER I love you - But YOU say
LOVE Y MORE
What can I render to the LORD- MY God- whose precious pure blood was spilt to bear the sins of all our humanity- I will take ‘the cup’ of Your salvation and honor your name with my life- For only your pure blood is worthy to pay for all sin-I will confess your name before the world for which you died to save -and I will call upon your HOLY name - for your name alone is WORTHY- JESUS.
© Brenda V Northeast 28th January 2012
Out across the country lanes
and down into the woods,
these places we would play
for they had all “the Goods”.
It didn’t matter the time of year,
Spring, Summer , Winter or Fall-
we were ready as each one drew near
for we played hard through them all.
Adventures of the highest kind
as we’d run to the chasm again.
We’d swing across on monkey vines,
not walking around it instead.
Our sleds would speed the power lines,
shooting down the treacherous slopes.
Careful to miss the towering pines,
we’d hold tightly to the ropes.
How carefree were our younger days
as I look back across the years.
We spent our youth under sun’s gold rays
and conquered our childhood fears.
Many quests filled these gallant years,
these quests for “the other side”.
Memories like these become more dear
as I sail upon life’s tide.
we are one spirit...
there shall be no division...
edify each soul...
My head rested
on the pillow of her smooth skin.
She opened the curtains of her being,
My hands slip into indulgence while
they explored her expansive dark skin.
With half words she whispered moans,
followed by screams of passion.
With her shadow I bounded, as she
swarmed waters of our endless longing passed.
Perspiration beads my beleaguered brow,
running in rivulets down cheeks aglow.
A hazy miasma the air does plough,
electric energy begins to flow.
Distant rumblings, crowned palm trees start to shake,
gorgeously lush green fronds partner their dance.
Waves rippling the ground harbinger earthquake,
eerie silence, then lightning’s jagged lance.
An earth shrieking crescendo tears dark skies,
a tsunami of sound deafens each mind.
Birds of Paradise scream with fearful cries,
as two tectonic plates viciously grind.
Silence resumes, a young friend lifts his head,
widened eyes white within a dusky den.
I speak, “See brother we live we’re not dead,
dispela wantok bilong Jackson Ken.”
I lived in Papua New Guinea for four years in the 1990’s.
The earthquake was 6.5 on the Richter scale, epicentre within 50 mile away.
Jackson Ken is a young Papua New Guinean man whom I befriended and who ended
up working for the company that I was managing.
The last line is Pidgin English, widely spoken in P.N.G., its root bases are German,
Dutch and ‘modified’ English. It basically means that this fellow/man (dispela, which
is me) is a cousin brother (wantok, usually associated with another member of your
own village) belonging (bilong) to Jackson Ken.
As the wild bear ate the wild berry
She noticed a wild beauty of her own-rain.
She lived in Michigan
Blue rain kissed the green trees
But only one tree made her heart sing
Did the rain feel sorry for itself
Was the question ringing from dusk to dawn it did
And no one heard it but her.
A storm was coming in the distance
A hurricane of peace forced her to dream big dreams
A dream from the younger version of herself
The tenacious one
who would chow down on freshly carved crayons
Thinking thoughts of a sunny moon
Or who hear her taste buds
Singing among tall tall trees, blue blue rains.
She too has grown fond of wild things
As the night of regret fades
The bear, the berry, the rain, the wild
All beautifully crafted
Were these new sculptors of art
Proper artists without knives
So she sang of ol’ Michigan’s nature to gray skies.
This rainstorm was a storm of all storms
For she cried, she wept, and then she fainted
For she was the lonely wild berry
Desperate for more than rain
But oh t’was Michigan’s nature who lived in her
Pain was a mirror whose tears resembled her,
for she was rain.
And all wild, sinful things were washed away
But what about the many sins of my dearest brother?
Was he not forgiven by his foolish wife
It was in his latter days,
That she finally had crept up close enough
To taste the voice of my brother’s sight
He too was a wild berry,
So we placed a wild red rose on his warm stone.
Why was my brother’s wife at this funeral?
She was not of him nor the rest of my family
My brother was blind enough to still seek
After Michigan’s beauty
Its nature he hungered for more and more
Wanting his thirst to be quenched
By that tangy orange sun, the blue rains,
The wild berries, the tall green trees.
But it rained the morning of brother’s funeral
A funeral that hadn’t happened yet
For Michigan rain was but a dream with in dream
Screaming chaos ever so silently, and so gently
That morning I reckoned the only
Stranger at my brother’s funeral was his wife
Yes, for we knew him
Even more so after his death
And that moment, Michigan’s nature, too, embraced us.
Mary fought until her last day
gazing at the stars of the bay,
" I will soon die, but deep pain
I won't feel...Heaven is my gain! "
And muttering those courageous words,
her pale face pierced by hazel eyes held off
her tears not to make me profoundly sad,
but my caresses warmer than sunshine
consoled her by not making her afraid...
all she saw was a brother praying by her side!
Mary sang many songs and smiled feeling only joy,
not seeing her bold head and missing breast
and despite her suffering, she kept abreast...
wanting to be another survivor and tell her story.
That October evening Mary died without a breath of air,
and with semi open eyes turned to a pink sky...
seeing a sun redder than scarlet;
she stepped into the realm of death
to join mother and sister already there...
why wasn't a cure found? She didn't have to die!
Written by Andrew Crisci
The most powerful note:
" Wanting to be another survivor and tell her story. "