The children of Abraham are a force, sent by Gods word and walk with all of his force.
Like a triangle, we do have points, sometimes we can hurt, and also cut into the earth.
We are passionate about our God, and we bow down and pray for all of God’s blessing while on this earth.
Abraham’s children, are Gods children called forth by his will, making us have a desire that is instilled.
Instilled with a desire to please God, and follow all of his words.
Words of law, and of prayer, we love and follow all of God commandments.
We bow in prayer, and ask God to lead us in our thoughts and to shield us from all of our enemies that try to do us harm.
Like walking through fire, we remember our teaching that tell us of the many trials we must face, we pray for all of our success.
Success in life and family and love, may we forgive and love each day.
Each day may we love each other, and our earth and all of life’s blessings.
We the servants of God, Thank God today and always, as we walk home to our forever place in the sky.
It's the sweetness that
visits once a year
To let loved ones realize,
They are celebrated, my dear
Chocolate, vanilla, strawberry cream and carrot
Without them it feels we have no merit
Spongy, ooey gooey cake moist to the touch
With a delectable, creamy sweetness
You gotta indulge in it's punch
Cut into slices for all to enjoy
Call in Kara, Carol and Roy
For that delectable sincerely we love to relish
Until next year, where well meet again
To indulge, it's a most enjoyable sin!
This world wasn’t a nicest fit for me
But I lived here for awhile
I’m a spirit of a tall leafy tree
A tree with indefinite lovely smile
I provided shade when it was hot
A shelter from rains when it poured
My meekness was noticed, so I’ve finally got
A typical fate to be cut into boards
I’ve been carved into a table and put
In some pub, where the visitors discuss
Football and politics, but I think of my root
Where is it now, in what pile of dust
As a table, I’m just an indifferent plank
Detached from the time, when I was tall
I try to forget how they chopped my trunk
I can’t get over to be so small
By slicing me up into separate planks
They’ve made a complete fool out of me
I’d love to express my ironical thanks
But no one remembers a tall tree.
Reflected grief spat back at me to bear
Another load, the double of my own
To take and carry, this unholy pair
Then tripled, multiplied, beneath I groan.
A beast of burden hauling my bloated
Carriage, cut into with refracted shards.
Whipped for my pain, heavier I’m loaded
Pile after pile, the crown a house of cards.
I tread with caution over broken ground,
The tottering deck threatening to fall,
Step after step and though my wounds are bound
The load cuts deeper, I stumble and fall.
Impaled on broken ground, I’m laid in state.
Now. Did I this predicament create?
Toast some almond flakes and shredded cocnuts
set aside
use your favorite recipe to make a vanilla cream pastry
whipp some heavy cream and sweeten and set aside
mix powdered sugar. vanilla,and milk
use your favorite instant vanilla pudding
mix mix smooth
fold in 1 and 1/2 tubs of whip topping
using a great cake one of your best cakes
I prefer a pound cake or two cut into halfs or thrids
one a cake platue
arrange cake
combine heavy whip cream with cream pastry
pipe a thin layer
add alomnds and coconut
vhopped browie bts
and carmel bits
( and bits of white choclate and banannas)
layer and repeat until
cake is been stacked
in a piping bag pipe out the sides
using a spatula smooth around the edge
do the same to the top
and add a few swirls to
show that clever durabilty of
creativness!
Thank Lesous and Yesura
Might these people
Worship jesus
A scarlet scar on the left knee
Hair on my head I cut into chops myself
I dash out from under my weighted blanket of warmth
I am allowed one cup of coffee and one cup of tea
A weak stomach from an ulcer doesn’t keep me from writing.
Will a poet walk into my life? Will I ever have that partner?
a lopsided asymmetrical haircut is the one for me
I want my bangs cut into fierce dagger points
straight across and even is boring and bland
I am an artist; I like messy, sloppy, haphazard stuff
these ways suit me fine
in my dress, my surroundings and my man.
My scars
My scars are not visible for everyone to see
My scars are invisible to everyone but me.
My scars leave no marks my scars don’t stand out
My scars tell no secrets and the pain I Don’t LET OUT.
My scars are never the same they are one of a kind
You see the scars I have are cut into my mind .
My scars are made by sorrow my scars are from despair
You will never see them but believe me they are there.
You did not use a weapon to cause me the scars of pain
You scared me with mental trauma and left scars on my brain.
I burn with hatred for you and you all know who you are
You hide behind a fake smile but I still have the scar.
My scars are not visible for everyone to see
My scars are invisible to everyone but me.
My scars leave no marks my scars don’t stand out
My scars tell no secrets and the pain I Don’t LET OUT.
My scars are never the same they are one of a kind
You see the scars I have are cut into my mind .
My scars are made by sorrow my scars are from despair
You will never see them but believe me they are there.
You did not use a weapon to cause me the scars of pain
You scared me with mental trauma and left scars on my brain.
I burn with hatred for you and you all know who you are
You hide behind a fake smile but I still bear the scar.
suddenly he was back on the table
The neon hum returning in unison with the lights
The chest cavity which a moment ago was opened
was somehow healed
no scar tissue
and held clasped to his chest
was a thin A4 sized book
it’s cover was black
but not like a matt finish
it seemed to undulate
like trickling oil
but a thin gold line cut into one corner
where his fingers touched the cover
whirlpool of luminous blue rippled across book
My eyes darted between my colleagues and the scalpel I held in my hand
back to my patient
His eyes flashed open
gone was any colour
just darkness
but somehow in the darkness movement
There were soul crevices,
mind holes, caves
cut into the walls
of daydreams, places
deep enough to hide in
and be used as a refuge
when the world began
to pick you apart -
you could stay there
for hours, days, weeks,
even a lifetime
and they wouldn't know
you had gone except
for that far away look
in your eyes
and the delay
drawn out by distance
when giving replies,
‘she's stuck
in her own little world’
they would say,
sealing you in
with your hurt.
Ingredients:
~ A pint of stress
~A cup of anxiety
~A tablespoon of guilt
~A pinch of regret
~A dash of hopelessness
~A sprinkle of self-doubt
Directions:
- Mix all the ingredients in a large bowl
- Stir well until you feel a lump in your throat
- Pour the mixture into a baking pan
- Preheat the oven to 350°F
- Bake for 30 minutes or until golden brown
- Let it cool for 10 minutes
- Cut into slices and serve with a side of tears
*I wrote this poem on January 20, 2024, as part of a ’30 days of poetry’ January challenge. This was day 20 and the prompt was: Write your poem in the form of a recipe. This can be for something tangible, such as a cake, or it can be a more abstract concept such as love or happiness. List ingredients and directions for mixing and tips for cooking up your concept to perfection.
fascinated by the things
hovering in the punishing
sky. both the wicked and winged,
or the bare and featureless. pulled
along in a conveyor belt parade,
a silent march in the stratosphere.
floating forward to the place called
Limbo.
jagged horns pop the
clouds like balloons, withering skin
grazes the twilight. the softest
sky being cut into ribbons as
if it was a present that was
meant to be ripped open all along.
those foggy phantoms following
along. reaping the seeds they
sowed when they were more than
souls.
what a wonderful gift it must be
to hover over this hollow place.
blood oranges live up to their name
When you cut into them
their insides are crimson
as if they are alive
with blood, but unlike our blood
it was not blue before the cut
Close up, the lines appeared as a road map
for those seeking a route to their destination.
Igneous paths cut into the Earth's surface,
worn by centuries of wind, rain and asphalt.
Or meandering streams that are tributaries
to rivers searching for a means of escape
from levied boundaries into an open sea.
Observations of an analytical imagination.
Beneath the powerful lens of a microscope,
magnification indicated no vehicles traversing,
nor currents flowing within estuary banks.
Only striations archeologists find fascinating.
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