SAILING TO GLORY
You can't rock my boat;
God’s my captain and rutter:
I am smooth sailing:-
A songbird sings of morning glory,
twittering homage to Dawn's first light.
And ebony shadows fade to shade
as they lose the protection of Night.
The sun rises from a scarlet shroud,
draping itself in a golden hue.
And shining above Earth's eastern rim,
light paints the sky a robin-egg-blue.
Blood tints the clouds cotton candy pink
as the heart of Night's pierced by Dawn.
And, soon, color is fully restored;
while dew sprinkles glitter on the lawn.
Butterflies and bumblebees waken;
as a new day slowly fills with sound.
And Hope renews with every sunrise:
it's not lost; it's waiting to be found.
Very brutal by nature my mind can confirm,
Poetry marathoners need a cap laced with wisdom,
To grace the desired seats of battlescarred warriors,
The skillet must still burn hotter than Hades.
Surely Marathons are run with endurance and persistence,
So is this one, for my goals are lofty.
Though I lack great speed, power, and technique,
My oak must stand deep-rooted through the storms.
My drafts litter bins as torn scraps of junk,
Haters blot the ink of my masterpiece.
Negativity weighs on my frail shoulder,
Yet my resolve stands steadfast on aching feet.
But no one can deny good poems their glory.
Like smoke they escape all traps and dissipate,
Clutching throats to make their presence felt.
All I need do is write—and hope.
The songs that masterpieces sing
Are heard by the deaf and sung by the dumb.
Their rhythm washes away the dust of imperfection;
They heal the soul and soothe the mind of sorrow.
So, my pen, fill yourself with ink of perfection.
Write on this paper I lay before you—
Another poem no sponsor can deny the top prize.
Write before the last drop runs dry.
You cannot read their minds.
They hide their true intentions,
Like hunters do in blinds,
Too late for circumventions.
Baited by their chumming,
They boast by saying this,
"You cannot stop what's coming!"
Their assassins did not miss.
Cruel conquest brings them joy.
"Like a lion I raged!"
With their prey they will toy,
With sport they are engaged.
But lost in all this glory,
They fail to understand.
It's God who writes the story-
His responses are preplanned!
What you plot against Him,
While you celebrate your win,
Your win is just the prelim-
He will turn it into ruin!
Better consider the Cross!
Jesus died for gain, not loss.
He mocks their succumbing,
"You cannot stop what's coming!"
An active Christian who debated others..
Is all.' A little out there.' Yet he cared.' Trying in the Word, to enlighten and save.'
Appalingly murdered today in Utah
By someone? who he would already have
Forgave, forgave because only God can judge..To take a life, is so terrible I can
Think of no thing worse.' Than to hold; evil so deep,
To act on such a grudge'
Some stories are said
to belong to the wise
to men who have lived long
and know age inside out.
But my mother’s story
is not bound to sages
it can be told by anyone
who ever saw her light.
She lived a life
not made for applause
but etched in undying strength
written on leaves of resilience.
She fought her illness so long
that time itself grew weary
and though her body yielded
her spirit remained unbroken.
On her deathbed she prayed
her voice was as calm as a flow downhill
Even as her last breath left
she smiled like she is not bothered by death
Autumn breezes in bright and bold
regally arrayed in red and gold.
Dear Heavenly Father
May our lights shine brightly
No matter how big or small
We often overlook the significance of seemingly small lights
We are delighted to be chosen as a light in the world
Influencing others for Your glory
OF GLORY, GRACE , AND COURAGE
Indeed, divine wisdom, and its guidance
Dwells in prayerful contemplating asking,
And is always there waiting to be asked
To navigate you towards that ever present help
When souls become deflated with great grief:-
Remember and be of good courage;
He who has given you a sound mind,
Will ...strengthen your heart…for…
In His favor is…[always joyous]...life…
For we who are chosen for his labors:-
Thus, in awareness, let us be in good courage,
Knowing He will renew our strength, and will
Enable us to rise up as if on the wings of eagles
Soaring in victory formation with divine wisdom
And guidance navigating us overcoming tribulations:-
Let us ask, knowing wisdom and guidance will be given;
Let us seek, knowing the winning way will be given;
Let us knock, knowing peace and love’s door will open,
Greeting and welcoming us with divine hope and faith:
Anointing us with baby breasting essence of His grace:-
This candle burns slowly —and with the severity of courage
We pick our way with utter caution down the bombarded stairway
One thing is certain: we must flee from this scoffing pillage.
Aided by fluttering tallow, our vision is haunted by the airway.
As Flowers unfurl
imbibing the pearly dew
birds sing in chorus
butterflies and bees frolic
a beautiful day begins
my heart is ready
with a devotional faith
for morning glory
Placed first
Tanka-Haiku Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Oliver Mckeithan
The sun does rise; I open my eyes.
A new day has come; I stretch on my vine.
I spread myself to soak in the rays.
In quiet splendor, in silent praise.
A new day has come, I continue to bloom,
where I am planted, where I am true.
I follow the sun as it warms my face,
with its bright rays and warm embrace.
As the sun sets, I close up my bloom,
until another day starts up anew.
underneath
the
golden sun
the
sacred
rose petals
open and close
to
receive her
daily bread
i
suppose
just
for
the
glory of God
yes
the rose
and
i
am still sure
shall
spread
the
good news
Morning glory _
From our car
Along the hilly path
Numerous they're
With the attention
of doing math
In their voice
A guitar
Colorful headgear
Off and on
mutual whispers
The Tea Pluckers
Mingled with the green
Humming and plucking
Unique discipline
Never a machine
Sometimes carrying
their babies on their backs
While moms work
Babies relax
In sun and shadows
Day after day
On substandard pay
Mostly illiterate
Inconsiderate employer
Do you feel a jerk?
In addition
unpaid domestic work
Through the ages
The same pages in the book
The same hook
Same tired look
No brook
Many a blade
No cascade
Delicate tea leaves
believe the tender hands
Just the touches
between the skins
No command
The soft tender stem
Approvingly expand
Smilingly withstands
The pain of being torn
Thorns of death
At the love-smeared hands
of mothers
Or lovers?
The Tea Pluckers
M-an
I-s
A-lways
G-azing
A-t
L-onged
V-ictory's
E-legant
Z-enith
©bfa053125
Monocrostic (Birthday of Mia V. Galvez)
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