For a fleeting moment, I felt the sun.
A brilliant May, so dazzlingly bright,
Drunk on the scent of blades of grass,
I heard your song.
Pale, tender skin of grass beckoning to me,
That song whispered in my ear,
That warm touch gently stroking my soul—
Do you know?
The true meaning of that tribute.
The grass beckoned to me,
Along with the wind:
"If you desire me, you must surrender all that you are."
Now, there is no "me."
There is no "you."
Tributes exist no longer.
Remembering you and me,
The grass, with the wind,
Beckons to another, a nameless someone.
My hubby tried to toss a pancake
sadly it landed down on the floor
I had to laugh, could not stop myself
it never happened ever before.
To me he's the best pancake maker
he made me another, a success
Pity it's only on pancake day
we enjoy the treat that I love best.
In realms of reverie, I envision a domain,
Where serenity descends like gentle rain,
Love blossoms forth, a boundless, fertile ground,
And equality's radiant light shines all around.
A world where resources, rich and rare,
Are shared with equity, without a care,
The treasures of the earth, a collective wealth,
Bestowed upon all, a universal health.
In this harmonious sphere, we'll find our voice,
A world where every life is a precious choice,
Valued and cherished, each soul a gem,
Unencumbered by the shackles of phyletic whim.
A fraternal bond unites us, hand in hand,
We stand as siblings, in a world so grand,
One candle lighting another, a beacon bright,
Illuminating paths, banishing endless night.
A city of love, hope, and peaceful sway,
Where moral compass guides us, come what may,
A place of dignity, where all can thrive,
And the cacophony of discord, finally, dies.
In this utopia, power's corrupting grasp is stayed,
And the craving for dominance, a relic of a bygone day,
For we are stewards, of this wondrous earth,
Co-creators, with the divine, in a dance of mirth.
More so, was the knife in the pan.
A slice, another; a fisherman.
Before rest of us,
With granddad finesse,
A pie, in his sights - his game plan.
Talk is cheap
Consequences costly
A smiling face
The warm wrap around glow
Sharing the past, twisted roads and dark corners
A shared moment, kindred spirit lights the fires
To think such a thing clears the grime off a haunted past
I clamber for more, old habits
The gift is in giving and it is not ours to take
This new life born of a lonely, cold heart
Where can such light be found
In another, a saviour
These broken hearts begin to mend
2 steps forward, light the path, there's work to be done
In the garden of silence, where shadows weave stories on the canvas of time,
The flower detaches from the branch of life, a silent tear of destiny,
Without tears and without resistance, lost in the ocean of misunderstood love,
A silent witness of a feeling that remains a hidden mystery in the soul.
Wrapped in the mantle of words of love, uprooted from its roots,
It embarks on a journey from one foreign hand to another, a wandering star,
Without finding a place to rest its dark dreams,
A soil of its own in which to anchor the desires that stir its heart.
In the desire to melt into the immortal fragrance of your love,
It leaves the warm embrace of the soil that gave it life and hope,
Dreaming of an eternity in your arms, calm, without fears,
But the treacherous winds steal its breath, thieves of dreams hidden in shadows.
When the night lays its dark velvet mantle over the world,
The flower remains just a withered tale, a whisper lost in time,
An echo of promised love but never fulfilled, a shattered dream,
At the edge of dawn that brings a new day, without the memory of its fragrance.
When we judge another, a mirror's gaze we meet
Reflecting our own flaws, our own unhealed defeat
A facet of ourselves, we reveal with each critique
A shadow within, that needs love's gentle technique
Our judgments, a beacon, shining bright and bold
Illuminating our own wounds, yet untold
A call to self-reflection, to confront and to face
The parts of ourselves, we've yet to embrace
In the eyes of another, our own flaws we see
A reflection of our own humanity
So let us soften our gaze, and look with kind eyes
For in judgment's mirror, our own healing lies.
Verity
Miracle Man
1/9/2025
Political truth is often perceived to come,
from the politicians lips the story last passed.
But If lips were moving there is a rule of thumb,
that he must be lying or just feeling outclassed.
Most Politicians are guilty of pollution,
they contaminate the air with unwanted sound.
I’d suggest term limits as starting solution,
giving another a chance for sheep to confound.
Our Shadow
Is Our Witness
Miracle Man
10/31/2024
Our shadows are mere reflections of our being,
not something that just appears on a sunny day.
They influence what others think and are seeing,
and often they form opinions that always stay.
In our shadows, the unknown to us, may repose,
Observing each thing we say, and what we're doing.
Then to another, a tongue will quickly disclose,
making known to others the path we're pursuing.
The sun starts it's day peeking over the blue horizon,
bright lights will shine on the blue sea.
What a way to welcome another a new day,
cool air surrounding you like a warm blanket.
As I walk,
light blue water kisses the sandy shore.
Pretty shells are everywhere,
as the birds scamper for breakfast.
I loved my many days at the beach,
now just a fond memory.
It's getting darker
All the time
I sit alone
It's getting darker
With every poem
I try and include
Another a one single person more
You know the score
No need for or telling you
How stupid and disrespectful of me
Thinking or believing
It's only just poor little me
Who knows
It's getting darker all the time
As you yourself aren't blind either
It's just none of can see
When all the lights have gone out
And we are left
Contemplating and imagining
What is truly going on out there and happening
In the pitch dark journeying on this ride forth
All alone without someone else's
Comforting hand to hold onto
Leave your family with virtues that are divine.
Like integrity, that keeps the world ashine.
Plus, that quality, called integrity.
That ranks right up with equality.
Teach us all, to never be a sheep,
But, in all relations goodness,to keep
To honor God and learn His teachings.
To know fully He is the source of all Healings.
To not speak a word of evil against another,a sin.
All the rage today, in an a world we live in!
To share all, as His sons and daughters,
Making us to all to honor one Father
There is zero reward in all our worldly wins!
For they come and then pass us quickly like a winter wind.
The truer values are of the Holy Spirit,
Oh, how so much more we can count in it.
May 9,2023
The story could not become stale:
Farouk had pilfered from a mail;
Also, in some shop picked a pail
And, yet, another a huge bale...
When things began to read "Jail"
Farouk had already turned tail
And for waiting ears had his tale:
That he had come to some friends hail,
One of them male and the other female.
Then, a Ben chose to at him rail,
Swearing to lock him up, no bail:
For simply leaning on a bale
And insisting he'd touched a pail,
His guilt linking with his face pale
And this repeating without fail...
So, please, Smart Cops should not me nail,
For this is all about False Trail.
Everyone is intelligent
Of this, histories are reminiscent
You know something I don't
And I too have something to front
Then comes the flowery ideal of the idealist
To be straight-faced by the reality of the realist
And you wonder as you watch in mime
Whether you were born before or after your time
Some assert their point across
And soft spoken reason suffers loss
Some claim to be a voice for the voiceless
Claiming to air the point of the pointless
Some know how, others know what
Some have the world round and others flat
Some reside in the serenity of thought and deed
Others on the podiums of herald and creed
All these are the plenitude of God's Grace
Our striving comprehension is His Master ace
As we behold Him doing a new thing
One time a lifting shout, another a jingling ring
The greatest of a time may become a hazy memory
Or a legend commanding some unfaded glory
But all in all be not he that the enemy mildly sifts
When you hold back your ministration by your gifts.
K. Muitherero.
Ten guitars line the wall
A rack of six, a rack of four
Standing sideways to me while
Proudly facing me, two more
Making the point that this was a
Place of music, joy, creative pain
Emphasised by the lyrics of
A broken daisy chain,
Another a song of
A life over too soon
The only expressed regret of
How he would miss the moon.
Music flowing over me
As I sit with half closed eyes
Sinking into the mood
Unaware of time flowing by.
Twelve guitars stand watching
Making me aware
This is a place of music
Of crafting, loving care.
I think they still watched me
As we closed the door
Wishing there had been time
To listen to so much more.
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