One person cannot make a difference the naysayer argues.
But I do not take the bait, for I have learned.
Naysayers do not have a stopping point.
I could prove it to him.
If he followed me to any function.
Where a dynamo walked in.
For dynamos change the attitude and altitude of the room instantly.
I have seen this happen over and over.
I do not care enough to teach him.
I have so little time.
I jump into a room
And let a party begin
Uplifting people
The naysayer has followed me.
He gives me a hate look.
I guess now he knows.
Dynamos of Goodness spin and spawn off good
Christians may be expected to seek perfection
But what exactly is it ("Obedience not sacrifice," says the WORD)?
No, not perfection but multiplication
Never ever reaching perfection in this world
II
Imitation of Christ - Thomas A Kempis - and beyond
Hungering for relationship to inspire sons and daughters
To replace addictions, needles, abuse ... for that thirst
The exploited woman at the well (Sychar, Samaria) heard of Jesus
Fountains of living water - never to thirst again
III
No, daughter --- son: He seeks not perfection
Only that deepening relationship, that others -
Hindu and Buddhist - call meditation, transcending -
Not the mind, but your bossy body, to taste freedom
In gazing at Him! Life is boring; cycles from kitchen to bathroom
IV
Taste real boredom for the "boring" hours of prayer -
And know, that in the womb of our boredom, a shalom-
That peace beyond human imagination! Yes, true peace
Is possible by you and me. WE haven't tried and tasted Him
In silence, alone, after Church is dismissed. If we tarry ....
Delightful diners flutter near,
creating quite an atmosphere.
Their tiny beating wings I hear.
They lunch a bit, then swiftly veer
to left or right. They bring such cheer.
Wee hummingbirds--they have no peer.
I had in mind to lure these guests
by planting flowers they love best.
I have succeeded in my quest.
Now by their presence I am blessed,
but soon, to leave some will be pressed,
for they have hatchlings in their nests.
posted September 13, 2016
entered in Brian Strand's End July Premiere Contest on July 26, 2017
April 1, 2018, entered in Deborah Guenther Beachboard's
It's a Shorty Contest Received Honorable Mention
February 13, 2019, entered in Mark Toney's Poetry Marathon Mile 18
April 7, 2020
entered in Line Gauthier's 6 Lines of Cheerful Rhyme contest placed 2nd
February 1, 2023
entered in the A Simple Pleasure Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Long live the USA, my native land, the birthplace
of my granddaughter, Shelby Renae.
Let's teach our grandchildren how to be kind.
To be thoughtful is a talent well-defined.
Don't wait until the Fourth, start today.
So many dynamos here keep up a steady pace
Let's say, "Thank You, USA!"
We disregard people, they feel left behind.
"Ingratitude is treason to mankind."
Say, "Thank You, USA," ev'ry day.
This Fourth honor your fellow citizens just because...
you can, Thank folks for their time,
was "Forty Hour Week", Alabama's catchy phase.
Overlooking people is an offense, a thoughtless crime.
A smile gives credit and helps to crush malaise.
Busy cheering every step, where'er your networks cross
happy is the heart that eyes the climb.
Some hearts, running on empty, are laboring in a daze.
Let's fuel them, they are drained-out pumps we can prime;
Make this holiday worth the effort; celebrate with praise.
line 9: quote by James Thomson, Scottish poet, 1700-1748
http://www.worldofquotes.com/author/James+Thomson/1/index.html
line 13: song title, http://www.lyricsdepot.com/alabama/40-hour-week.html
Because
the dumb-struck awe sings in the wires,
my hair
on end it stands,
of joy anticipated.
The honey click
and whirr of dynamos beneath the skin
that push
the blood set free
emancipated.
Because
of you I rage against the nightfall
pursue the
sometimes sore
evasive light.
In kindness,
gentle of your constitution,
with healing hands
bestowing love,
restore my sight.
Because
you speak the language of the idyll,
the words
to make my fragments
part and whole.
Doggedly
I stumble microcosmic
in emulation
of your
awesome soul.
As the metal that shone like lacquered glass
Corroded to rust;
As the pistons that moved like silvery silk,
Fell to halt;
As the engines that throbbed like teenage sex,
Crumbled to dust;
As the petrol that flowed like molten fire
Turned to salt.
As the wheels that spun like chariot hubs
Froze and stilled;
As the windows that gleamed like polished ice
Spider-web cracked;
As the oil that seeped a Midas stream
Drained and spilled;
As the headlights that shone like replica suns
Dimmed and blacked.
As the leather that glistened with waxen coats
Split and dulled;
As the fuses and wires that once were live
Burned and blew;
As the dynamos that roared and screamed out loud,
Hushed and lulled,
As exhausts that once blasted fire and smoke
Rotted through.
As these sculptures of beauty that poised on tyres
Slumped and sank;
As these icons of heritage wild and proud,
Eternally slept;
As the last drops of fuel that drove the dreams
Bled from each tank;
Here the scrap-yards of reason are all that remain,
Are all we kept.