A Belated Fourth of July
7/7/2025
I wanted to send God‘s blessings to you,
To all past readers, new or true!
Even though I haven’t been here as much.
To all who write to me, I feel your butterfly-touch.
And when you ask me, “How how are you?
Pangie, you doing well? Your cataracts, too?”
You are my very “friendships inspiration bell!
I sense your poet’s heart, making my heart with joy swell?
So to friends who take the time to comment, dear
Or, you soupmail me….when I’m not here.
Know that your are sweetness to me ….
For that, I hold each of you, especially dear.
And so when I saw the fireworks last night,
Your faces, kind words, kept me joyful and bright!
With a warm, patrioitic, hug!
Pangie
Her hair dances like the cascading stream,
murmuring in the silence of dormant dreams.
It’s more than an element of graceful façade,
the curls carry a crown of style adornment.
The onyx hair cataracts elegance untamed,
swirls in the stream of longing squall
on the ivory template of her forehead,
engraves the contours of her charisma.
As the melting clouds drizzle on her,
luster flows on the shining strands of ebony,
rave rapture drenches her with surreal hue,
pristine pearls glide with the rhythm of symphony.
A bun flows with fluid finesse and engrossing charm,
a bob helps handle the workplace hassles with ease,
a pixie cut boldly highlights the facial features,
a braded motif plaits the strands of beauty secrets.
Whether worn long or short, curled or colored,
the hair composition isn’t just a fashion narrative.
It’s a powerful symbol of identity and self-expression,
a reflection of the persona statement of who she is.
Headlight humanity;
The cherry-red brake lights,
Becoming florid totality with the things your eyes do to them.
You destructive little thing.
You keep your hands noncommittally at five and eight,
But you use your signal like a well-worn saint,
Because your mother worries, and the passenger seat is still warm.
Your radio buzzes like the wasp nest that used to terrify you
On the wall of your childhood home:
They finally found a cure to the human condition.
Isn’t that great?
We’ve thwarted Mother Nature and all of her gifts—
We’ve put highways over her heart and filled her eyes
With LED cataracts,
And doesn’t she look better this way?
You think you saw her skull hanging on a fence post in Louisiana.
Her voice haunts the parking garage behind the airport,
But her infection
Has been culled.
They finally found a cure to the human condition.
Isn’t that great?
Master, my eyes now have cataracts,
my bones ache and stiffen when I rise,
I cannot chase squirrels like I used to,
nor fetch a tennis ball the way I did
as a pup,
but I love living with my family,
and the gentle pats on my head.
Though the long walks have shortened,
and there's gray fur on my muzzle,
I enjoy napping more during the day.
Master, thank you for taking me to
the vet,
for my health and comfort.
The sun filters through the window warmly,
as I recall seeing the children grow up,
I have the dignity of an elder dog,
blessed by God to be with my kind
human companions,
who adopted me from an animal shelter. ~
Morning glory,
The mountains stand in brown nudity,
There's no shame in being mighty echoes the wind,
The air is taut with the brooding silence of a storm,
It will rain tears sooner or later,
And the roar of affliction will cut through the silence,
The rage of war will be a din,
Churning cataracts of unceasing wants,
Our hunger refuses to be quenched,
We are obsessed with ambition,
Drunk with desire,
To taste the elusive glory,
Of phantoms dancing on the apex,
Like shifting hues playing charades with overdosed pride,
We chase the wind and fight for the mountains,
Who will speak sense to our senselessness?
Who will stop us from storming the gates into the city of madness?
Who will stop us from claiming the lofty place of dark desire,
As we sit on the throne of insanity?
Just above a pearl laced falls
I plunged a bent hand
into the silvery thrash.
searching for something
that had slipped from my hands.
It was only a plain Riverstone
but a gem none the less
time after time I dipped in
but only got icy fangs of the river
and the blood from the sand.
That was many cataracts ago...
the life of the green hearted young
is oft littered with ripples of fool's gold
hanging onto things that are jagged and flashy
things that don't mean much of anything
then tossing away the precious- the plain-the special
while wading into the rapids of a blistering hell
Living always has the last slanted say
turning vigor into weathered wisdom
black velvet into tattered gray.
Age walks to the edge of the falls everyday
where they gaze at love slipping over the brink
into the misty halo of yesterday's dream.
In his old leather chair
he sits and blinks his eyes
the off white sits on his hair
like dust upon the mantle.
A murky sea of bluish grey
where smoking gave him cataracts
but they still burn of yesterday
the tobacco stains sit deep inside.
As he sits in his old leather chair
his eyes do blink and dart to catch
his arms sit closer than days gone by
holding close what was once there.
His words are lost ghosts of the night
his world has gone out with the wind
though the photograph she wore so well
the negative still burns a flame within
and though the light will bow and dim
to him his only company
the worn out arms no longer care
the weight lifts slowly from his chair.
Demon possession is on the rise
Because so many people are believing the enemies lies
He loves to dress in disguise
Seducing his victims until their demise
He creeps into families when there is no order
Then cleverly steals your sons and daughters
He feeds on wounds that were left without care
Before you know it your true identity isn't there
He comes to those parties, dressed with a name
And slowly injects you with all of his shame
He eats away at anyone with purpose
One Day you wake up and your life is a circus
But there is nothing funny about the show
Every night of the performance the tears drastically flow
Spiritual cataracts and scales form on your eyes
Your spirit man becomes vexed and it quietly dies
The trauma and tragedies play on repeat
The only remedy is a love that made death obsolete
He destroyed every curse with the cross of redemption
He is the only one who can change your perception
There is no one too far gone that he can't reach
Even if you have felt that your life has been breached
If you open your heart to Jesus you will find
He is the only one who can give you true peace of mind!
By: Sabina Nicole
Seijaku – 8-1-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seijaku
Serenity abides with tranquility
Abiding in beauty
And deep respirations of satisfaction
Ready
Alert
Overlooking tangled mazes of overlapping obligations
Labyrinths of lists -
And atonal demands.
As the sun streaks past engorged calendars
In whirly-gigs of heavy-handed chaos
The shade of tranquility
Stretches out
Looming across the face of serendipity
With the breath of the rose
The whisper of sapphire jewels
Born from oceanic bowers.
In the shadows waits
The gift of each rubric solved
Pushing aside the tyranny of over committed -
In dawns, and Aurora’s ballet in neon slippers,
The spirit dialates,
As moonlight drips from feathery boughs,
Healed from epidemics of minutes
Swallowed by a never resting pendulum.
The poet arises, even blooms,
Ignoring the cataracts of frail dreams
When hurried footsteps and clouded hearts
Still race infected by chaotic delirium
Tripping over beauty’s outstretched boughs
To see – to notice -
To embrace
Lavender, gently waiting, with amazement.
The long journey
of the slithering stream
on the languid lap
of pensive plateau,
meandering montage
in ebony melancholy
of forlorn forest,
flows on contorted contours
of languishing leaned land
at cataracts askew.
The vibrant visage
of fantasy flight
of fluidized swan feather,
serenading in monotone,
resonates in the silence
of verdant emerald,
the tune of tranquil time
ripples with the echo
of ethereal euphoria.
The aquatic flow
of fizzy champagne surge,
dancing with the cadence
of esoteric ecstasy
in sculpted split course
around obdurate boulders,
deposed defiant
with mesmeric malachite glow,
amidst patina of plants,
drenched by the drizzle
of the setting scarlet sun
in the sequined sky,
illumines the mystique mist
of diaphanous drape,
rising slow
as suspended strata,
unlayered exaltation
lifts the shroud of sorrow
from the austere alcove
of my amorphous anguish,
makes me revere
the seraphic scene,
the effervescent extant,
timeless…
Written by Gail DeBole on
December 27, 2023
Updated December 28, 2023
I told my eye doctor about my blurred sight
And that it had caused me somewhat of a fright.
It only took a minute for him to surmise
The problem within each of my eyes.
He said, “There is a cure. No need for alarm.
Your eyes can be fixed without any harm."
He said that since removing my cataracts two years ago
Scar tissue grew in secret and became my eyes’ foe.
The dastardly tissue blocked my ability to see
And, after his words, I was somewhat relieved.
My eyes were numbed on the day of the cure
While I was waiting in line for my turn.
A laser would shoot beams of light to remove
The scar tissue and my sight would improve.
The first sharp pop was startling at first
But then I realized it was a healing burst.
The doctor seemed to have smiling bursts of his own
And smiled each time a crisp zap seemed to explode.
While he zapped the scar tissue villain, I felt no pain.
Did his imagination turn this into a video game?
Parody of "Be Thou My Vision"
Be Thou my surgeon, Oh Creator of life;
Please be tender to me, save my sight you can
You my one hope better than glasses
Driving or working, my vision I need.
Be Thou my insurance, and Thou my pocketbook
I see sharper and Thou clears my eyes;
You the great Surgeon, I your patient;
Thou gives me vision and I give Thee praise.
LASIK I need not, just cataracts gone,
my ophthalmologist now and always:
You and You only, first on my mind,
Hi Master of Vision, my restoration you are.
Music, Oh mysterious sprite!
Lift me to the seamless realms of delight.
Your ubiquitous presence I feel;
In the hum of crickets, in the silence of the stars,
In the falling cataracts, in the running streams,
You are there in the roaring sea breakers,
And under the swift wings of the wind.
Come as subtle vibes to saturate my being,
Winding your way through every sinew.
Enfold me in your rapturous hold,
Raising my soul to the magic of rhapsody.
Paint intangible pictures in silence,
Creating a sensation beyond the reach of words.
Let my soul savor the taste of ecstasy,
Daubing myriad hues on all ugly stains.
Land me in the sequestered pools of oases,
As the blistering sands leave burns on my soul
Oh Music! Come and fill me.
Soak me from foot to crown,
Like a falling drizzle,
Like a caressing soft wind,
Like a marauding sensation.
Drown me in the subaqueous quietude of the sea,
Levitating me through ether,
And lifting me up onto the borders of heaven!
He’s in plain sight; He does not hide
to those who simply open wide
their eyes, their minds to what is plain:
the ordinary and mundane.
Though some will look, they will not find
the caricature that fills their mind,
the god they’ve shelved inside a box,
and therein lies the paradox:
to glimpse their god, they’ve made him small,
and thus, they see no god at all.
Their certainty at what he’ll do,
activities he would eschew,
forms cataracts or opaque scales;
the search to find him utter fails.
But there, amidst our deepest grief,
where pain devours without relief,
or filled with wonder like a child,
when logic can’t be reconciled,
when order's where it should not be,
or forms take shape exquisitely,
or colors pleasing to the eye,
or minds that ponder how and why,
'tis there He’s been, and all along,
a presence near and oh so strong
in all we think, and all we do.
You cannot hide; He’s there with you.
----------
for the Where Is God Hiding Poetry Contest
sponsored by Unseeking Seeker
written on 08/24/22
The stream murmurs as it slithers in vale
through the draping emerald forest opulent,
splashes on the wavy contours of lowland,
in cataracts it gurgles like flutter of swan flock.
It meanders on the jagged swathe clad in ferns,
sprinkles with exuberance the splattering pearls.
It hums in the drizzle of slant silent rain,
and glides through the echo of whistle of wind.
Flying over crystal waters of the bubbly flow,
the returning robins chirp the springtime song.
As in garden path fallen leaves crunch and rustle,
graceful butterflies flitter around the flowers.
The sparkling night sky above silhouetted forest canopy,
wears the bejeweled crown of the twinkling stars,
silver tinsels trickle through moonbeam flicker,
I am charmed in a trance by the splendor of nature.
________________
July 26, 2022
Contest : Onomatopoeia
Sponsored by : Emile Pinet
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