It was the chicken piccata—
zested to confession,
plated like a bribe—
they'd barely had a taste.
Your favorite patron
pulled a face,
asked who cooked it,
then quietly slid the plate
into the trash.
God, you’d have howled,
ugly-laughed into your wine,
called it an injustice of capers,
made a chart demonstrating
the salt-to-spite ratio.
I reached for my phone—
reflex,
tongue licking spit from a lip.
Then I laughed
hard
at the way the joke curled back,
both of us plated wrong.
Me, for serving in your absence.
You, for going off-menu.
born in
bethelehem
on christmas day;
incarnation of God,
holy
he died
for our sins
so we could live
an everlasting life,
known as...
victor,
redeemer,
overcomer,
the forgiver of sins...
jesus.
savior,
messiah,
anointed one;
the seed of Abraham,
righteous.
healer
of the sick,
cleanser of souls;
he is but a priceless...
jewel.
She wakes, bare as morning light,
A face unframed, soft in sight.
Mascara lifts, lashes rise,
Eyeliner sharpens her guarded eyes.
Blusher blooms, cheeks come alive,
Contours shape what can’t survive.
Lip gloss glistens, a coy disguise
Her beauty speaks, but never lies.
By night, the mask dissolves away,
Each streak of cleanser blurs the day.
The mirror holds her rawest view
Which face is hers? Which one is true?
No alarms, lying deep.
Catching the last morning's dream.
Water, caliente, opening the pores.
Hot Earl Grey, coffee that bends a spoon.
Citric hollandaise, spinach, asparagus.
A sunshine of egg drooling over toast.
A book, a bed, eyelids flickering.
The inconceivable call of lunch.
Sushi, nigiri, inari, izakaya.
Pickled ginger, palette cleanser.
Sticky, chewy, chocolate ice cream.
A slow walk.
Tiled arcades, bouncing sound.
Old clothes, new clothes, books.
Sunlight and shade sitting quietly.
Another meal beckons.
The oven glows expectant.
Giving caramelised memories.
A plate savoury and soft.
And wine, wine, more wine.
A slow recline in the comfy chair.
A book, a breath, a day.
May I serve
whatever the capacity --
and not be dissuade;
God knows His faithful,
not by glitter
nor by volume of voice,
but by salves of compassion
knowing no color
knowing no shades
nor party of affiliation
may I nurse humbly, soothing
and healing, while bearing the
stigmata of love --
For Christ-like is a cleanser,
a shredder of sin --
a star of radiance, a moonbeam of
warmth, a sun rejoicing in the
projection of Divine Light
Though tents of shadows
riotous they abound
let not your heart fail
to make the short step…
though the chains rattle
and cuffs’ metal dig in,
no one who moves in
the direction of our Lord,
in good faith, will find
a path more brighter, spiritually uplifting,
for Truth swings wide open Heaven’s door
to even one from grace seemingly fallen
Amen
Where do you get these ideas? She asks; poetry is a daunting task.
See the apple, Playdough, pen, stapler, and bleach cleanser I ask?
I use them with “what if” and create a missive in seconds sometimes.
I open a drawer and show her markers, a notebook and sixteen dimes.
Everything in my world can easily end up in a poem, you see.
Items quickly and connivingly jump into my brain and tantalize me
She does not see, she does not understand, and she tells me this too.
I have no other suggestions, for now a dog is being eaten by a shoe.
A horse from outer space is whispering sweet everythings in my ear.
There is a knight with one leg who is limping toward me, my dear.
Ideas are bombarding me from my left, south and right.
All I can do is begin writing with all of my might.
Where do the ideas come from? I have no idea at all.
I cannot figure it out, but the wall has grown tall.
The couch is rolling around with the recliner in a lecherous way.
I will have to get back to you at the end of the day.
So many lives are so very thankful
for that lighthouse, they saw way ahead
it was so dark on that night long ago
the only light they could see they said
But as one looks more at this light
it will shine all the brighter glow
for its penetrating effect upon you
takes you by the hand really slow
It shines right into your heart
showing up all your dirt and grime
so points to a real deep cleanser
go and be cleansed while there's time
This cleanser knows all about you
knows what you need exactly true
which is his deep cleansing blood
so to purify you all the way through
Looking back on what you saw
there's a light in that house
that light kept you in its sight
to lead you to the manna house
(Just some thoughts of the importance of a lighthouse and the many lives it's saved).
A princess no doubt that captures my heart
Nice traits made her a woman of my dreams
Her sweet passion made my sorrow depart
My heart burns with smokeless flame, so it seems.
Reader of the stars, cleanser of the soul
A queen that carries peace on her strong wings
enters your life to play a vital role
Looking at the ball her voice soothes as she sings.
How she fell in love with someone like me
People asked?~ a rat without a dine
Though purse is empty; heart wider than sea
As my love is real~like a fruitful vine .
8-21-2020
And yet
Early to me is 11 AM
With my hair a mess and not yet dressed
My wrinkles are my prime concern
Now all I see is Jeopardy
On my 54” TV
Old they say
Getting grayer each day
But Revlon saved the day
My teeth always shine
Using my denture Cleanser
It is now 12 AM
Time to hit the sack
For a short Nap!
Contest: Play With Me, COLLABORATION
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
Date Created: 08/15/2019
Focus and feel the warm water of a shower as it touches your skin
Feel the cleansing of a cleanser you may use on your face
Think about the flavor you taste with food or a drink
Feel the coolness of raindrops and the awakening of snowflakes
Feel the soothing comfort of grooming a pet
Feel the breath of fresh air as it enters your lungs
Feel the moment you are in and experience it fully
Feel the simple things that bring pleasure, often overlooked
- But, oh so very important! -
Heidi Sands
1/16/19
https://m.soundcloud.com/user-921599710/to-him-that-is-risrn
To him that is risen, in him I am forgiven
To him that wears the crown, where true love can be found
To him that is the Saviour, blesses us with favour
To him of mighty strength, to you I can repent
To him who can perform, miracles to forlorn
To him of sovereign worth, our ruler of the earth
To him that restores peace, where wonders never cease
To him the gates allow, where even angels bow
To him yet seated high, to which I can rely
To him of thirst relief, of faith with sure belief
To him of strength to seek, forgotten and the weak
To him our hearts be kept, without we are bereft
To him that we belong, a cleanser of the wrong
To him that holds the throne, my soul is not alone
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
I can still feel my finger slide across the chilled glass panes of our kitchen window.
The simmering warmth of my grandmother’s stew against the freeze of a cold winter’s morning, gave birth to a fun filled coating of "dew".
I can hear her melodious chide as I continued drawing stickmen in the steam against her wishes. Such was a typical morning of my youth.
The "bouquet" of Ajax cleanser would descend as I watched an old Shirley Temple movie, redeeming the shrill notes of the scrub brush in the tub, a sure sign that it was Saturday. Though the dwindling mound of laundry announced that we’d soon be off to market,
I still hoped for a reprieve.
Alas, no time for Mighty Mouse!
I’m coming from a place where darkness and blues,
Echoes like shoes,
I’m coming from a understanding that the truth sometimes is like a pattern,
No tighter then suit and tied,
I invited you to cleansers and I remember that they kept,
My name in there database in high school and ten years plus when I did not believe,
In my self,
I’m coming from the era of church boy hymn in the pants and nice clean,
Shave and watch on handy,
Looking back on photos of flip o grams,
Boxers and briefs do match,
The drink or privilege coming down to who paying,
This is what I learn from listening to story far and near of women,
Even though some was few year older me they we tell me I’m not that most older you,
I was told to clean, press, and dry if that is a preference ,
And what I learned it’s a difference between the art and artistic some time I
Dress the way I feel,
But I must say,
When it comes to a couple and they are matching now that is singing the blues!
I’m coming from a place where darkness and blues
Echoes like shoes.
Feeling Rough
Sore throat, runny nose,
Could be a cold I suppose,
Or could it be influenza?
I think I need a detox cleanser
Turmeric, folic acid, gingko leaf
I'm feeling rough beyond belief
High B.P. and heart attack
Been called a hypochondriac
Gout in toe, earache
I never know what to take
Rheumatism in both knees
That Ibuprofen gel seems to ease
All my ailments could fill a page
My greatest one is called old-age
Raindrops are like tears
Cleanser of your soul and mind
That fall from Heaven
Nayda Ivette
12-7-2015
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