I gave you a daughter
To have and to hold
I gave you her gently
More precious than gold
I stitched her together
And formed her with care
Created her lovely
Then born to me bare
Was bare as a baby
I held her to me
Then she upturned her gaze
Looked sweetly at me
You gave me no child
But something unfinished
Deformed and ugly
So twisted and blemished
Creature of sorrow
I’d spare you the image
All blackened and shadowed
Reflecting your visage
You moulded it thus
Concocted its nature
Then expected me
To cherish and nurture?
Despicable steward!
You hurt my daughter
Distorted her image
And raised her for slaughter.
Despising my glory
Dismissing her worth
Her face my reflection,
The salt of the earth
Revise your destruction
Bring her to water
Where her soul pants for me
Drink up, my daughter.
Returned to me, my child
Now forever mine
Born again in my blood
Sweet fountains of wine.
"Because of our God’s tender mercy
the dawn will break upon us from on high
to give light to those who sit in darkness..."
Luke 1:77-79
When morning breaks in upon my bed
banishing fear and dismissing dread,
its welcome thoughts stir this sleepy head
to speak and move trusting God instead.
Summoning strength that daybreak supplies,
visions of adventure fill my eyes.
Hope-filled words cheer me, "Look to the skies!"
and I give thanks to God as I rise.
You've heard petitions I pray each night;
my Savior, You've dawned with strength and light.
I love you Lord with mind, heart and might
and trust you, God, for today's insight.
Morning breaks in upon my bed
welcome thoughts stir this sleepy head
banishing fear, dismissing dread.
Summoning sparkles in my eyes,
on waking up, daybreak supplies
hope-filled words, "Look to the skies!"
And I thank Jesus as I rise.
He hears the prayers I pray each night.
My Savior dawns with strength and light.
I love you Lord with all my might;
I trust you, God and your insight.
A friend said, rather smugly,
you can't be "pretty ugly";
and where is the good,
and what is the likelihood
of one being "clearly misunderstood"?
An expression he's also dismissing
(or as kids say, "dissing"),
is so silly: "found missing".
And you can bet money
no one is "seriously funny".
Few people are ever cowed,
or have to get loud,
speaking to a "small crowd",
and (sorry if it's crass):
what exactly is "liquid gas"?
Sometimes ‘jump-into-something’ has a negative connotation
But let’s revisit that saying and define it
As an affirmation
Let’s jump-into-faith
Leaving behind every opportunity for doubt to close the gate
Let’s jump-into-delight
Abandoning the things that cause us fright
Let’s jump-into-hope
Dismissing all that makes it impossible to cope
Let’s jump-into-joy
Letting go of what is meant to maim and destroy
Let's jump-into-gladness
Leaping over everything that brings us sadness
Let's jump-into-love
Moving out of reach of darkness before it hovers above
Let’s jump-into-pride
Releasing all the dignity we have stored inside
Let’s give 'jump-into-something'
One more consideration
And assign it a label of positivity and inspiration
Let's jump-into-something
Implosion of democracy
Explosion by hypocrisy
Not what God meant to be
Twisted by man’s hands of deceit
Whitewashing history
Distorting views
Blatant blasphemy
Stringing together fools
Ignoring facts
With liquid laughs
Dismissing science
Utterly madd
Doing favors
For the rich
While poor laborers
Get short stick
Dozen eggs
Expensive to get
Daily bread
Tainted chicken and fish
Can’t feed the poor
In USA
Sending it abroad
More than what stays
Not that we can’t
Be a good neighbor
But home first man
Kids deserve our favor
Burning wick
of politics
Dividing inciting
Not uniting with
Guns flood streets
As felons hit bricks
Made guilty free
Despite January 6
I’m no God
I know sin too
I just watch
For Him to move
No nation divided
Can stand tall
Is it decided
Will it fall
The lessons learned when we were young
From fairy tales and nursery rhymes
Were meant to help us grow up strong
As up the hill we climb.
So, don’t forget the stories told
When we would lie down in our beds
As slowly, surely, we grow old
We keep them in our heads.
What captivates a child’s mind
To grown-ups might not seem profound.
Dismissing simple truths, I find
Will bring you tumbling down…
So, ponder this, and don’t forget
As years go by, as seasons turn.
The story isn’t over, yet,
Until the lesson’s learned…
They called me a coward, said my words would hide,
Too timid to face the storm, I’d run and confide.
My thoughts were shadows, secrets bound tight,
In the echoes of silence, I fought my own fight.
They wanted bold thunder, unyielding and loud,
To speak like the lightning, piercing the cloud.
But my voice trembled, a flickering flame,
Afraid of the sparks that might tarnish my name.
I carried my truths in whispers, not roars,
Let them drift behind unguarded doors.
Perhaps it was fear; perhaps it was care,
To speak of the absent felt too much to bear.
Still, they threw their stones, their judgment like chains,
Mocking my struggles, dismissing my pains.
But courage, I’ve learned, wears many a guise
It’s not always in voices, but in how one tries.
So call me a coward if that’s how you feel,
But my wounds are my own, and they’ve yet to heal.
I’ll find my voice when the moment is true,
And when I do speak, I’ll be ready for you.
the air reeks of stale coffee and ink-stamped lies,
judges sit like smug kings,
smirking over lives they'll never live,
dismissing truth with a gavel's cough.
innocent men shuffle like cattle,
faces drawn, hands calloused from the grind—
plead guilty or rot waiting.
'justice, ' they call it,
while the lawyers get fat off their despair.
the court stenographer types it all up,
the lies, the twisted logic,
and the perjury sworn like gospel
under a fluorescent crucifix.
if you or I did what they do,
we'd be cuffed and carted off,
but they wear robes like armor,
cloaked in immunity,
proud in their manipulation,
gods of small, dirty kingdoms.
good men shrink in fear,
their courage ground down
by the grinding stone of this machine—
truth doesn't pay,
honor doesn't sell,
and doing the right thing
is the fastest way to lose.
Hillsborough,
where the guilty are freed
and the innocent are crushed,
where justice is just another game
rigged from the start,
Callused, without a true heart.
Inspired by the YouTube’s videos
I watch the aging actors’ faces
Part of my youth, of there and then
The ruthless time erases traces
To waypoint stops, us younger when
So pensive, humbling and revealing
The glory past and fame archived
Age catches up, ain’t no concealing
And none of it can be revived
Those shows - naïve, addicting, funny
Or maybe serious and sad
The days one hasn’t had much money
Yet better-looking, girl or lad
The stunning beauties, macho fellas
They shined so brightly on the screens
We watched them, feeling slightly jealous
Uncrowned princes, lords and queens
Time has no mercy, twisting faces
And gruesome copies all is left
It slowly goes through the paces
Keeps us uneasy and bereft
Why do the actors age so oddly?
Me? I’m the same as ever been
To perish thought, dismissing broadly
The glaring truth, which isn’t sin
We gaze, but what’s the image here?
Not them. It’s us, the way we were
If you’re a woman – shed a tear
If you’re a man – go feel a stir
November 2, 2024
I’m sure if I had the ears to hear
The sound of blood rushing in my veins
Would be a roaring voice of love
This great river of life
Pulses to a steady beat
Carrying more than we can ever know
Calling out and pulling in our heart’s desire
That manifests as all we say and do
And everyone and thing we meet
Yet dismissing it as just the static noise
Of an operating system we take for granted
In a random universe apart
We miss the song it sings
A tale of connection to the whole
And of the ocean within us all
(12/19/24)
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust”,
The minister intoned, dismissing us.
Embraced and patted, pitying looks from all.
Letting go of my rose, the last to fall.
Thorns pricked my finger, a drop of blood dripped down…
… in the hole where mother's body is buried in the ground.
The grown ups seem to know exactly what to do.
But I feel so lost, so lost without you.
I escape all the mourners by sneaking out the back.
I climb the hill beyond my house, a well known track.
Sitting on the stump that lends the best view,
I heard a rustling in the bush, and caught my first glimpse of you!
Tattered ears and dirty fur, but glorious and lush it must be…
…Once you've been given care, and had a few meals maybe.
You were unafraid, though i think you'd been given reason
to be leery of people, but instead you squeeze in...
...beside my sitting stump, tail wagging and tongue hanging wet.
You seemed to know I was sad and you came to me to pet.
I obliged, and found my arms thrown round your neck so tight!
I cried into your smelly coat, and felt you cared, that maybe
everything would be alright.
Like a dog I wait
to bless you now for your patience.
Mother comes out of you, father to,
and my son makes a cradle for me
with his elegant fingers.
Many backward facing faces
lead me to this grateful surrender,
Many an ancestral backbone
we have climbed as a hand-made ladder
together.
Yes, I see you now,
you are mirrored in the clear eyes of an infant.
I die to yesterday and tomorrow,
dismissing the warped mirage
of any looking glass.
The birth of death is sweet,
it flutters newborn
upon the lips of the young and old.
All I have known and ever shall know
is recorded upon a handwritten heaven
as a story
told to one Buddha to another,
I will not call you: future, present or past,
nor consider this self to be a rock planted
in any time or place.
All is ever becoming,
for the seed is far-far greater
than any tree,
and to know this is to understand
the beauty of nothing.
What would I write about?
I could write about war, medicine or leisure
But I don’t know much about any of them
but what do I care, nobody reads poetry anyway
I could write for myself
But then who am I kidding
I don’t write because I have little interest in poetry
Hell, I don’t even write on my thousand dollar computer
But I stare at my blank page on my expensive toy
Like I have no right to think of writing poems
Too high falooting, too classy for me
How dare I think I could write such high fashion words?
I look on tomorrow as another day
but then I get some guts
hidden though they were, they appeared from somewhere
I don’t know from where but there they are
But tomorrows bring surprises
I will not question fate’s mysteries
I will just get to work
And write my lofty, classy poems
Once and for all dismissing the fears
I have carried with me for years
And forget trepidation comes from me
I shall not give up my dream
I am strong, I am mature, I am fearless!
I shall fear no word or phrase
Four syllable words will not make me cower
For I am invincible, I am poet!
Resilience Unveiled”
To the woman who weeps upon betrayal’s blade, Her heart’s fragile wings, in tempests swayed. Yet within pain’s chisels, a metamorphosis blooms, Mating intelligence refined, wisdom consumes.
She deciphers subtle cues in future mates’ eyes, No longer blinded by love’s sweet disguise. Her heart, a compass, guides through the storm, Detecting low mate value, keeping her warm.
But what of the other woman, entwined? Dancing with deception, love’s twisted bind. Her prize: a man who betrayed with ease, A heart ill at ease, history’s infidelity keys.
Days pass, the all-woman stands tall, Dress discarded, memories small. Her worth, her happiness—her own throne, No charity case, no borrowed zone.
Malice whispers, venomous hiss, She invokes Hanlon’s razor, dismissing the abyss: “Never attribute to malice,” she imparts, “That which is explained by stupidity’s arts.”
Human behavior, folly and wisdom entwine, And silently, one weeps upon life’s knife.
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