500.
Prayer For King Balthasar's Myrrh
Oh Father God, shower us with myrrh
Like that from a man with no fear
Oh Lord Jesus, beloved by King Balthasar
Who followed the path of the brightest star
Oh Holy Spirit, fill us with the riches of Asia
Like the Myrrh of Balthasar, King of Persia
This we beg to our Merciful God. Amen.
-12/30/2015
(Dumarao)
*Prayer Poems to the 3 Kings' Gifts
Elon Musk did not rise from rags,
He was born into a house of gold,
Wealth carved from shadows,
A family cradled by the crimes of Western capitalism.
This system—polished devil of our time—
Feeds on the sweat of workers,
Drinks from rivers it poisons,
And calls inequality “progress.”
Healthcare chained, education sold,
Housing turned into prisons of debt.
While the poor drown in hunger,
The rich soar on blood-stained rockets.
They crown him “genius,” “visionary,”
Yet he is no more than a tool—
A mask for governments in shadows,
A puppet dancing on stolen taxes.
Yes, Babylon once laughed in pride,
Its rulers blind to the cracks beneath their feet.
So too shall this empire of steel and screens crumble,
For the sorrow of the poor is never buried—
It rises, like fire, to devour the thrones of liars.
Elon Musk is not the miracle,
He is the mirror—
Reflecting the wicked face of a system
Worth nothing but shame.
As the ethereal guitar mesmerises
My soul responds
As if I dipped into a melodic bath
Of perfectly curated
Lovingly tempered
Heart massaging
Candle flickering
Water
A fragrant tune invades
My nostrils
Flaring as the warm
Moistened air tumbles by
The world merges into
Perfection
Harmony
Stirring
The resonance
Of childhood memory
Percolating through the mist
As sliding strings
Caress my ears
My mind drifting
Towards that past
Safer place
Yet this mesmerising medication
This tuneful tumult quelling
Perfect prescription
Is deeply welcome
Somewhere in my gut
My true being
Soothed as we surrender
To this soulful sabbath
May you never grow old
At the joyful table
Where your soul dines
Hear the whispers
Of the small pleasures
Taste the fermented flavours
Of the ordinary delights
Using all your available senses
When the music plays
To transport you
Run to catch the moment
Soak in the vapour
Embibe the elixir
Breathe it all in deeply
Holding in gratitude
Each heavenly moment
When claims are questioned?
Don't try to explain!
Or admit you're wrong!
Double up, Go All-In, Misère !
Along a Jersey creek, somebody
Made a crazy find –
500 pounds of pasta had been
Somehow left behind.
Whoever dumped the noodles
(Mainly elbows and spaghetti)
Isn’t known, but word got out and
There was lots of wordplay ready.
“Pastabilities were endless,”
Was reported and, as well,
“The perpetrators need
The penne-tentiary,” I heard tell.
My favorite was the mastermind
Whose capture is the aim.
Though it might be just an alias,
Al Dente is his name.
It is the Indianapolis 500, I am in the lead of course.
My car has the power of more than a buggy and horse.
Wait! Did that car just pass me? Racing for me is not a whim!
I am irritated and peeved, so I catch up and overtake him.
I hurry to not only catch up, but leave him in my dust.
His old jalopy is not pretty, and has a back fender of rust.
Hey wait! Cars pass on the left, they pass on the right.
They pass down the middle, it’s fight team, fight fight.
This is a challenge and I am more than ready to win.
I streak down the interstate highway with vigor and vim!
You can’t catch me! I yell as I pass everything on the road.
The cops are chasing me now, maybe winning is going to get old.
I would like to make some nice comments on poetry,
but right now, this annoying thing won't let me.
This is truly a very egregious thing to see.
Don't worry, I will comment on your work eventually.
What should I see here?
"System Error Five Hundred"
What does this thing mean?
My poetry disappeared.
Oh how that thing pissed me off!
they all went out with a bang
silver chain
500 magnum
lost in time
my time
flash
back then
don't blame me
i know it's my fault
shut up
good girl
little falsebrass necklace
noose
heard the news
rubber goose
1s and 2s
what i do
maKe her cRy
say goodbYe
she likes my hair
she eats her hair
she wants to ddddd³
i want to take a nap
i live on
consuming hearts
The jack of spades
Ace of hearts
Club of clubs
Im the whole party
Im the music
Im the room
You're the one dancing alone tonight
You don't belong
My friends got
500 magnum
Gold chain
went out with a bang
The term driver of victory
came to me unbidden, unexplored
I tossed it around in my dendrite chambers
My muse caught it and ran with it
She is amusing, but she has great ideas too
She decided Victory was a race car,
We daringly painted her in our favorite colors.
Hot pink, canary yellow, and outrageous orange.
Victory was beautiful, gloriously bright.
She showed up all of the other race cars
They were dull in their silly primary colors
With wraps from well-known sponsors
We stood beside Victory in our silky race car jackets
painted in hot pink, canary yellow and outrageous orange.
The other cars cried, they were so intimidated.
Let the race begin!
Written 6-04-2019
Contest: Driver of Victory Verse
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Simon says: Thirteen’s my lucky number.
Thirteen years ago, I took dad’s money
and bargained with Time to make my name known.
Fate nudged its elbow into my circuit.
Penske luck and talent helped carry me.
I have had the best mentors in the world
who helped me master the intricacies
of maneuvering oval victories.
Last Sunday, no one wanted that wreath more,
the milk had my name on it from the start.
My best chance to kiss the bricks in Indy,
gotta get in rhythm, driving success.
Thirteen laps to go; green lights on again,
Alex and I changed the lead five more times.
Two tenths of a second, first 'cross the line;
Simon Pagenaud wins the Five Hundred.
If thirteen more (or less) inches had been on the track?
Would that have doubled my win time (half-a-second) or
would Alexander Rossi have taken the title?
No, Fate and Time got it right - drivers of victory.
May 28, 2019
Julia Ward's contest: Driver of Victory
Simon Pagenaud (Padj' en no)
Nothing is impossible,
Poetry tells a story.
Time tells it all.
Life is 24 hours in 12.
Why is it hard to find time to do everything in 24 hours?
From sun up till sun down.
We rise and grind for work.
Then lay our heads down and sleep,
Or some of us have the opposite.
Some rise up at sun down.
Sleeping all day.
Can you work a night shift job?
It's easy if you like the night.
Challenging enough on the body.
No matter where we are.
Or no matter where we are.
We are always found and reborn.
New Fiats can be seen on the roads of our nation
since they took the reins of the Chrysler Corporation.
One hundred and eight horsepower does not seem like a lot.
However, that's all we need. The engine gives all it's got.
This Italian machine is quite a diminutive dynamo.
Being very light, it can really get up and go.
Fiat departed North America about three decades ago.
Thankfully, these Italian automobiles have returned.
They are once again displaying the reputation they have earned.
These cars display power with great fuel economy.
If one is good enough for the Pope, it's good enough for me.
When first I swayed her eyes a perfect round,
With hair that fell so circular and dark.
Spherical girl -- not rotund or fat-bound,
With curves that flow in wide expanse of arc.
By dawn the night does wane to working day.
With awe I fill her every need profound --
A pup to fetch and run the word, obey.
My Summer's smile augments a love unbound.
Yet, smiles are few and eyes a glazing dim.
No touch returned for softly warm caress.
I beg her, please, recount my every sin:
"Nothing," says she, a wisp so vaporous.
Summer left a tasteless void of season;
Autumn blows a gust of destined reason....
September 19, 2016
Movie Mania - Romance - Poetry Contest
Inspired by the romantic comedy,
500 Days of Summer (2009)
Galaxie 500
Teenage boys pile into the rusted and dented
maroon sedan from another time.
The 292 with mechanical lifters comes to life with the rasp of a muffler
whose days are more than numbered.
Sounds of freedom and rebellion bellow from a stolen 8 Track.
Time to escape the mundane…
Time to push the limits of consciousness and sanity.
As we drift the airborne car comes down with a crash — steering hard avoids a tree.
The smell weed, beer, burnt oil and rubber fill the air.
Once again we have landed and are back to the past.
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