Speaking has been very hard to do
now at 72 its always evident since birth
maybe not so bad, pre-school, I felt
thinking my stammer the only one on earth
But over the years, it's come and go
causing me many anxious times
school, I hated every day I was there
so glad to leave to reach my climb
Many so-called magic cures I tried
hoping for release from my frozen tongue
none did much to escape my cage
though felt free when a song I sung
Now looking back over life's years
except when singing, tongue was stuck
I realise now acceptance is my key
it is what it is, so get on life's truck
If I had accepted it these years ago
what a lot of stress I would have missed
but it's all history now, move on forward
overcome stammering, controlling words fished!
It’s been said that love is natural and, hate is learned.
But I see it differently.
Hate is the easy one,
popular, contagious, taught in whispers and shouts.
It grows wild in the mind,
distorting truth at every turn,
a maze that traps those who stop questioning it.
Love though ,
love is the lesson.
Love takes awareness, honesty, risk.
It asks you to step beyond fear,
to see beauty in every soul,
even when the world teaches division.
If love came naturally,
hate wouldn’t stand a chance.
Because once you’ve truly been touched by love,
you begin accepting what you don’t yet understand
and understanding what you once refused to accept.
That’s why I speak on hate,
not to spread it,
but to expose it.
Awareness is armor.
You saw yourself fade
Stuck in the midst of it all
Yet you still continued
Got stabbed with a blade
Got played like a ball
On your knees you fell
You knew it was hell
Yet you still continued
You failed to say your weakest Goodbye
Because you were promised Dubai
Placed your bet on illusions
Instead of performing ablutions
And bidding farewell to all the pain, insults and being taken for granted
It’s in the rites of passage
That we learn from
It’s in the rites of passage
That we grow
It’s in the rites of passage
That our soul becomes our own
I remember a time when life was innocent
Where we all got on and life was pure
But as the years passed by I soon realised
That life was what I had to endure
It’s in the rites of passage
That we learn from
It’s in the rites of passage
That we grow
It’s in the rites of passage
That our soul becomes our own
At this juncture in my life
I can’t help but look back
Wondering if the Whys and Wherefore
Were worth the payback
Living with never ending questions
Whirring in my brain
Knowing the answers to these questions
Were impossible to obtain
Learning through every hardship
Losing battles but not the war
And many times I’m left broken
And crying ‘what was it all for?’
It’s in the rites of passage …….
I’m walking beside a garden of stone stilled angels
Their eyes are unmoving
But their soul is cowering
I’m cut between the heat of the earth,
The burning sun and the salty sky
I can’t choose the dirt in where I will lie
But I can choose the way that I will die
There's a towering night overhead
With its sword filled with promise to topple me
I’m poised ready for the journey ahead
My legs churning
Heart burning
Away at my flesh
I’m running with the staining salt air dying my sweat
There are rows of roses left out to forget
I’m watching the rocks crumble
The angels ascend
I’m standing alone at the cemeteries end
There is promise brewing in the sea salt sky
Telling the future not where I will die
But where I will lay
When the time comes to say
Goodbye
I’m breaking apart in pieces of stone
That topple and make up my brand-new home
It’s carved with a smile
It took me a while
To realize that this is where I belong.
I was asked, “have you ever been hit on the jaw?”
I replied, on occasion, I’ve hit a fist with my face.
“Looks like scar tissue is the conclusion I draw”
“but I’ll send it to the lab to be sure that’s the case”
Four days later I got a call that had the answer,
I knew it was bad when He wouldn’t tell my wife.
He was quick to the point, “you’ve Parotid gland cancer,”
and about four days later I was under his knife.
In the Sixties the C word usually meant dying,
so I sought the hand of the one I’d long ignored.
The thought of eternal hell became horrifying,
and from desperation I took the hand of the Lord.
I fell down on my knees and started praying,
not asking for a healing but forgiveness that day.
Believing that He would hear what I was saying,
and that my new life path would be His way.
This all came to pass fifty-seven years ago,
at age Twenty-Eight I took the hand of Jesus.
I’ve clutched it tightly not ever letting go,
it took His death on the cross from sin to free us.
Thank you Jesus for blessing/extending my life.
Miracle Man
at end of each day
the sun bids us goodbye
with its promise to return
and in gracefully doing so
gives way to the stars
and the cycle of life
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
We are so different, totally.
There hardly is a thing
that gives us common ground at all,
but it is interesting –
that we can still live side by side
in pure peace if we try.
Cuz everything is possible…
when we see eye to eye.
Escaping Death
(written in a mental hospital)
I escaped from Death today,
And I don't know what to think.
Because when Death comes round and round,
you start to feel his scent and stink.
There are others counting on me now.
I can't let them down, this I know.
So close to Death and yet, so certain-
now I'm back to life, if just a little while
to finally pull back the curtain.
Still others only see- the ghost
that walks these halls forbidden.
I don't know how to talk to them,
the horseless carriage is hidden.
My pen feels broken,
still it flies against the page once more.
Swirling new tales in ink and bone.
Yet my ghost, she still sings for home.
Morality and death
hang over me.
Still, I'm used to these things.
I try to speed up the hour I'm closest to hell.
But as I creep ever slow,
the witch rings her last bell.
You can only listen to a cd once,
then the magic is gone.
But it still lingers in your ears,
in the mind and in heaven
their voices still ring on.
There's no denying of the struggle,
You feel when barely getting by,
But you will never see clearly,
Only using your eyes to cry.
All starting with one small step,
Encouraging belief everyday as you grow,
Embrace the pride you feel inside,
Even when your journey is slow.
Bringing inner peace to your soul,
Your thoughts will no longer scar,
Rewarding your efforts by enjoying life,
Loving and accepting who you are.
I am the storm that lost its own rhythm,
laughter flaring, then burning to silence.
Your imperfections swagger,
and scars that tell unerasable stories.
Some days I am a solid stream, unbendable,
other days, a forest fire — wild, unrelenting.
I falter, I burn too bright,
but each autumn leaves a truth inside me.
If you read me in bits and pieces, raw and randy,
know I am whole in my breaking—
a mosaic of all who stayed,
through the peace and the flame.
September 12 Praises to God Bible Meditations Based on Ezekiel 43-45
Key Verse – Ezekiel 43:27…I will accept you, saith the Lord GOD.
PRAISE BE TO GOD FOR ACCEPTING US
Praise be to God for accepting us through His:
Grace with His gifts
Goodness along His grants
Guidance of great gentleness
Goal that gears us by His governance
Generosity and glory toward our gladness-glow
Ezekiel 44:5 Praise be to the Lord for saying unto us His:
Ordinances we should obey
Orders for our service-opportunities
Omnipotence in our salvation against sin-oppression
Omniscience that surely sees our sorrows we cannot open
Omnipresence we can stay-in serenely by His steadfast support
Ezekiel 45:1 Praise be to the Saviour for
enabling us to offer oblation:
Wholly wrought along His watchfulness
Willingly woven against our weakness
Worshipfully won through His will
Wisely welcomed by His wonders
Warmly with His wealth. Amen!
September 12, 2024
four generations of beautiful women
each one a reflection of her older version
their eyes are the same, their complexions similar
their smiles identical
each one proud, but not arrogant
four strong loving compassionate women
showing the world what motherhood looks like
except for the baby, but her turn is coming
a tribe of strong, passionate, joyful women
each one nurturing the next generation
expecting the best from her offspring
accepting nothing less than joy and love
Mental alerts send shocking images,
Of an hourglass void of it's sand.
I glance down at my watch in confusion,
And see it's missing every hand.
Realization begins to dawn on me,
And I stagger under vicious blows.
I wonder if time is in suspension,
As my soul prepares for repose.
Internally it's an obvious struggle,
Some things cannot be forgiven.
The amends I've made don't compare,
To all the pain that keeps me driven.
Time now seems to be so obsolete,
I can't comprehend if I ever woke up.
A broken mind in a broken sleep,
I frequently wake and often choke up.
My faith leads to certain questions,
I want to ask this one specific vermin.
Instead I prayed that Jesus answer,
And I heard His voice within a sermon.
"The time is now my son, come along,
For you, I prepared a special place.
Let me wash your feet and serve you,
And accept My Father's loving Grace."
Then I saw that hourglass as it is,
And I picked up the closest limb.
I swung on that metaphoric glass,
And the loudest cheer I heard was Him.
In my place nobody longs to die
but they don’t care to live their “like this”
In my place there’s echoes of silent outcry
enduring deaths slow burning kiss
In my place shattered photographs
of family and friends paint the walls
In my place scenes of long lost dreams
like spiderwebs hang in the halls
In my place there’s no gravity
keeping us tethered to hope
In my place we strain in painful refrain
of telling ourselves we can’t cope
In my place everyone finds their defeat
in options the same as mine
In my place we face how our death will erase
every dream ever had of our time
In my place there’s more hollow space
than even I can define
What I wouldn’t give for the option to live
in anyone’s place but mine
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