Stolen Glances
A thought, or maybe a far-off dream?
Is she half-awake or sleeping?
The atmosphere is reticent.
Her posture is provocatively alluring
Yet innocent; even the cat laps quietly.
There are other things in the room,
Insignificant and commonplace.
But obviously, it’s her legs;
With one foot on the floor
And the other spread on the footstool,
With her skirt lifted revealing her underwear;
As she relaxes, leaning back in a chair
With her arms raised; and fingers intertwined
As her hands rest upon her head
And her closed eyes revealing
That faraway gaze and satisfied look
On her face in an endearing pose
That glances steal at a moment’s notice.
That begs the question,
“Is she deep in thought
Or is she dreaming?
Is she sleeping, or not?”
Attorney General Todd Blanche:
not the kind of guy who'll extend an olive branch.
He's another sycophant to the Lord of Misrule,
and has actually been called a "human footstool".
A cat may look upon a king;
even dare to turn and ignore him;
walk arched-back before the throne;
make the dais his very own;
sleep beneath the royal footstool;
and kings allow the feline’s rule -
for though none crowned the brazen cat,
no-one loves the rat.
More than just the right to be,
the puss has licence to roam free,
with status shrined by what is done
because he hunts what others shun.
Low born, low bred - yet all know that
a king must look upon a cat.
Isaiah says “In my defense
I was talking about circumference.
Another hint the Caelifera company
As God looks down anthropomorphically
He doesn’t look down omnisciently
In this case He sees as a man would see
From that bird’s eye view, I mean
He sees the panoramic scene
If the heavens are a curtain or a tent
On an orb can you spread out, stretch or extend?
How can the sins be removed as far as east is from the west
If these cardinal points ever meet the promise can’t be kept
Yes the earth is God’s footstool
It’s where He rests, the back of the fool
And a footstool has a flat surface
It’s not round on top or curvaceous
I want to make this appeal
As Job did to the common weal
As God in Scripture did reveal
As to the impressed clay from the king’s seal
It is the LORD who sits upon the flood
But it’s to its entirety that He sits that gets the nod
It’s a Head East album for God’s sake
The earth's face is as flat as a pancake
P.S. Let us remember that there is an ice fence
That surrounds all of the earth's contents
God rests His feet on the face of the sky.
The face of the sky which stares at the face of the Earth.
There is flatness in the blueness of its face,
as its sapphire eyes gaze into the blue-green
or tawny oculense of the Earth.
The Earth and skies stare into each other’s eyes.
Noticing all the movements in the other’s side.
Movements of peoples and modern things, creatures
and those who inhabit the sky.
And as the sky and the Earth give momentary birth
to grandeur we see and wonders we have yet to see.
If this is an amazing place
that was created by an Amazing Grace,
imagining all that is cool.
(If the streets are paved with gold there
As on Earth a bitumen pool)
Imagine what Heaven is like
if the sky and the Earth are His footstool.
The book contained their history—
Years of servitude and plenitude,
Years of gloom and bloom,
Years of darkness and redemption.
They were bound by the chains of the unknown,
Seeds of anguish were strangely sown.
The land was the footstool of malevolent spirits,
An enigma blanketed it.
It was a battle of the seen and unseen,
A war against malicious forces,
The sages searched deeply for answers,
Sojourning to secret chambers for redemption.
Hope gradually wore thin,
And the courage of valiant hearts began to fray,
Their steadfast minds were steadily pierced by defeat rays,
As a deluge of recalcitrant assailants descended upon them.
A rebirth came with the arrival of the sages,
The spirits of the forest were summoned,
They joined forces with the elements of goodwill
And defeated the malevolent spirits,
Chasing them to the abyss of nothingness.
Pride filled the heart of the new ruler,
Who boasted of the sovereignty of his reign,
He disdained the Divine and the watchers,
But one day, darkness suddenly pervaded his palace.
He was gone, and so was the book.
February 3, 2025.
You are my first love
my eternal Father and husband
whose love for me is as endless
the depths of the blue holes
and will never fade from me
into the trade winds
You are my first love
my eternal provider and comforter
whose presence I find my joy and delight
and the supplier
of all my heart's desires
whose lips are seasoned with grace
You are my first love
my eternal lover and king
always wooing me into your arms
the only occupant
of the throne in my heart
unwilling to settle for
being the footstool
You are my first love
my eternal protector and healer
who is the restorer
of my strength
the house of refuge
from my enemies
and the lifeguard from
my sea of inequities
Embroidery whose titan never gets credit
An empire whose founder is long forgotten
And exists only as an adage, whose tale relives
Long forgotten history
History that ministered hope to those dimming out
Shone paths to those whose itinerary was threatened by
Dark dusks and cloudy daytimes
A magnate whose reputation was the
Long run cup of poison, brewed enough to take his life
An army general whose subordinates conspired and unseated
Him, uncrowned him from glory with thorns
A trusted cognate who is declared illegitimate at the reading
Of a will
We all are victims of our previous milestones misunderstood
Fruitful efforts unappreciated and rightful places robbed
Once we were at the pinnacle but we only stare up at it
From the footstool we found ourselves suddenly
The peak of one mountain seemingly the bottom of the other
The tempting decision to drop off the pinnacle and grow wings
To land on the top of Everest or the slopes of Aberdares
Whichever the outcome let it be loud,
You were once at the top, and you are back there!
The cat sat on the footstool.
The curtains hang closed.
The toothbrush holder contains two brushes
The cat stretches, jumps down, miaows at the door.
The moon is full
Bush freshens the air
Cat jumps through the doorway
Streetlight illuminates the pathway
Toothbrushes chatter
Water rushes by
Cat softly taps his paws on the glass door
Runs inside, warmth
Lights out
Moving sleepily
Cats eyes wide awake
Piano plays Chopins Noctourne Opus 27 no 2
"O, to have a kingdom
Its subjection so sweet!
Golden, like Solomon's
Footstool, for my feet.
Rest from my enemies,
Trampled into dust,
Falling at my feet,
Like so much sawdust.
Behold my sovereignty!
My judgment is supreme!
Try to fight back, and
My methods are extreme!
Wealth from my wisdom
Will secure all my dreams,
Then to stay in power
Requires constant schemes."
"Ironic you should blather
While I execute your demise!
Messiah sits at My right-hand,
While I squeeze you with My vise!
'I AM' building Him a footstool,
Putting ALL beneath His feet!
All enemies will be vanquished!
Your subjection is so sweet!
Come worship at My footstool,
Be subject to My decree.
The wicked will be trampled,
But the righteous shout with glee!
Let the kings of the earth tremble
At the darkness I'll unleash
My storm clouds, see them billow?
So, repent or perish, capisce?"
"David had it in his heart
To build a house for Me,
Complete with a footstool,
So this kingdom I'll repeat."
I have my coffee now and
sit upon
a chair that gives me comfort;
have TV,
a roaring fire, and footstool,
and myself.
So perfect, I find it odd —
oh, so weird.
(March 2022)
By train, we went
Then bus’ ascent
In winter cool
To God’s footstool*
A hill station
Such elation!
The clouds descend
That heady blend
Of earth and sky
I sure feel high!
Foggy mornings
Chilly warnings
Draped in warm clothes
Joyful repose
Zigzagging way
Where flowers play
I loved that place
Natural grace
Wedding of friend
We did attend
Linking of souls
On mountain rolls
Sweet sensation
Best vacation!
02.03.2022
*Isaiah 66:1a - "Thus saith the Lord, The heaven is my throne, and the earth is my footstool..."
Immortalized in acrylic before you evaporated
as quickly as the paint dried in the autumn sunset,
you stuck yourself in a frame in my mind’s museum.
Rendered motionless by the inherent
motionlessness
of color on canvas,
your feet propped precariously on
our velvet footstool, you toss glances
from your painted eyes, like roses
from our balcony.
You occupy the headspace above
the headboard, the frame’s edge almost skimming
the ceiling, the hem of your evening gown just missing
the floor.
In this endless expanse of time,
stretching out like a cornfield after a harvest,
I must wait for the autumn sunset.
I sit on my canvas, drying like a corn husk
left in the heat, the water of my life vanishing
into the motionless silence.
Endless stretches of the heavens
Across the stars, galaxies and eternal voids
Realms of gods, angels, spirits and venerated ancestors,
Thus says the LORD:
Heaven is My throne and the earth is My footstool.
~05/16/21
~Contest: Planets
~Sponsor: Matt Caliri
A tender sun caresses my thoughts, whispering to me of new life, new hope, new joy. A laughing glimpse of daffodil blooms tantalize me with their buttery yellow smiles. Whispers of light reflect off the dawn, kissing my shoulders with a brush of kindness. Musical birds color the azure skies, tittering and chuckling with guffaws of delighted choruses embracing my heart, preening and praising through the heavens. Like a breath, gentle and warm, budding oak, birch and maple sway through a gentle wind as it blows in, thirsty for sweet rain that nurtures the growing dreams of these elderly aristocrats. Winter has finally birthed the rich, vibrant sighs of a Springtime child – delivering pure delight, insight, inspiration, a fullness that penetrates fantasies and imaginations! This is the time for God’s joy to overflow into the earth we know as heaven’s footstool and man’s home for this life.
intense promises
colors so full they kindle
wonders of Springtime
N/A from Springtime Haibun Contest sponsored by M.L. Kiser, judged on 4/5/21
Today entering Final 2021 N-A Choice 3 Poetry Contest by William Kekaula, on May 4, 2021
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