Deus et Pater gratias ago tibi semper,
I thank you always Father God
ut det Patri
cur vexas
Et miserere dona nobis
Non sum dignus
Hallelujah
non sum
Non sum dignus
Sed usquam
Et semper,
Deus et Pater gratias ago tibi semper,
for giving Father
why do you bother
Mercy you grant us
I am not worthy
Hallelujah
Not I
I am not worthy
But anyway
And in always
I thank you always Father God
7/10/20
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020 ©
The Things people will SAY in the Confessional!*
Silly things!
…Terrible things!
And then, they go away clean, and I am broken…
These things Christ is supposed to heal, and He DOES heal them, ALWAYS,
But He lets me bear the pain of them, for a time,
So that I will truly desire to be the instrument of His Bestowed Forgiveness
So that I will not condemn, criticize, or judge, or become angry, for…
THERE BUT FOR THE GRACE OF GOD, GO I!
For ALL have sinned and fall short of the Glory of God!
But now, this solemn prayer,
I offer up beside my bed,
Without the Lights On
‘I HATED You, when You took her!’
‘And then, it took me Forever to forgive You!’
‘And when I did, I kept finding dark corners, and little blurts of anger!’
‘GOD FORGIVE ME!’
(for I cannot forgive myself – not for any of it!)
Now, I’ll snap the lights on, and get some rest...?
...and call the Bishop in the Morning!
But... wait... a sudden warmth...
How STRANGE!
Once my head hits the pillow...
PEACE...
IMPOSSIBLE PEACE!
Deo Gratias!
*NOTE: I am NOT a priest or pastor (just imagining myself as one!)
If a light thinker, I am superficial...
If ponderous, I am the elephant
in the room, unwanted and unloved.
If I think at all, I am minority,
wandering from problem to conclusion—
again..again
bringing forth curious glances
from everyone who likes one's own conclusions
undisturbed, set in place,
like rows of potted plants
drying over winter.
It is better only to see, not to act.
It is more gentle to the mind
to sit in the attic with a book,
making notes in the margins,
listening to Bartok on the tape,
and wondering if it is safe
to descend the stairs
and banter with the world again.
And what of the world?
To whom does it belong?
If it thinks, are we one?
If it falters, are we lovers?
It is dangerous business, this brazen act
of cogitating. It is the province
of world movers, and rogues.
Perhaps, among us all,
there is more hope for the rogues.
Deo Gratias.
~
Continuous, that vibrant stream of consciousness
above our heads, insouciant,
though lacking alpha and omega,
unassailable until
am uninvited. gracious guest.
a dazzling flash of spirit life
uproarious, descends.
For all we know, a glitch in time,
(a mere intensity of purpose undefined)
yet unignored, and seized!
The moment's energy embraced
and all is changed, for
suddenly a thoroughfare appears
on yet another plane,
pristine and broad
across a thousand new horizons.
No, nor fears the rushing blood
through jaded veins to answer
wit a joyous "yes!"
the call to frolic on the shore
(o magum mysterium)
beneath the crumbling stars
(in saecula saeculorum)
Deo Gratias!
~
I love you for being my husband.
I thank you for all your love.
I thank you for being there,
A special person sent from above.
I thank God for sending you to me,
For giving me a life with you.
And our children he entrusted me.
Your acceptance, guidance and care,
Given so unconditionally.
Together with my love and certainty,
Give us so much to share.
I feel a special bond not there before.
It gets stronger every day.
Making within me such awesome happiness,
My heart longs to soar.
I know that I am not always perfectly undoubting.
We both have our failures and imperfections.
I think, however, our short comings and trials
Build between us stronger connections.
I believe that God has brought us together,
Because each has a lot to offer the other.
You, as the father and husband,
And me, as the wife and mother.
Summer Gratias
Walking through life all alone,
I live my life in monotone.
Watching the days go by,
I sit and wonder, why?
What purpose do I serve?
What is it to just exist?
Wandering blind in a veil of mist.
If the sun were to shine on me,
Could I open my mind and see?
Would I use my heart and soul?
Would I find what hatred once stole?
Young in life, my innocence lost, taken,
My mind frozen with fear, trust violently shaken.
Unable to shed a tear, my paranoia blatantly real.
Emotions unexpressed congeal.
My eyes leave nothing unguarded,
The real me checked and carded.
Awaiting a person who possesses the key,
To open the door and kill the pain inside me.
Summer Gratias
Have you slowed your busy pace to take notice of a drop of rain?
As the sun glints through it, do you see its natural and quiet beauty?
Becalm your soul in the exquisite burst of color from a leaf after autumn’s first kiss.
Have you tuned your ear to the fall of the first snowflake of winter?
Become mesmerized by the quiet order in natures every soft footfall?
As the season’s tiptoe past, do you draw inspiration, or blindly immerse yourself in the bland cares and concerns of your daily rush?
Grinding your soul into nothingness on the treadmill of society’s thoughtless whims.
Imprisoned in a self-made sightless box of disregard.
Your spirit slowly snuffed out without so much as an objection to the lack of trial or jury.
Will you call a mistrial, or will you pray for a last minute death row pardon?
Have you betrayed your soul?
Summer Gratias
The cracked spine of
the book I dropped
at the call.
A chip in my
windshield left by a
pompous *?#@! in a
red sports car as I
drive to the
service.
Rain expectorating
from an ashen sky as
the dirt is turned.
Today is terrible.
Though this is less
terrible than the
crack in grandma’s
spine from her fall
down the stairs.
The chip in her
amazingly smart mind
after eighteen years
as a teacher.
Tears running,
dripping from my
Mothers ashen face
as she cries “My
mama’s dead.”
Today is terrible.
Though this is less
terrible than the
cracked family
emotions left raw
and empty.
The chip in Grandpas
numb mind at the
gathering… “Where is
Irene she should be
here?”
Faces gone ashen
with dread, do we
leave him numb or
remind him that his
wife is dead?
Today is terrible.
Though this is less
terrible than the
empty silences,
missing the jokes
Grandma used to
crack.
Grandma’s laugh and
her endless smile
which always exposed
that tooth with the
chip in it.
Without her the
world has become
empty, bleak, and
ashen.
Today is terrible.
Summer
Gratias
It has been years of terror, pain, nightmarish hell!
Little girl in faded cast offs, shuffled from back room to main office.
Disembodied voices, cubicles, paperwork, a drab cell.
Letterhead, Department Of Children Services, an address and phone number.
Eyes suspicious, blond hair ragged. Nevada midsummer.
Woman, excruciatingly thin, pale, tired and sunken.
Child, fearful, nervous, confused emotions drunken.
Summer, its mama, please remember me.
Child, through fog of lies and time. A lonely little flicker, remembrance possibly?
Four years gone, milk carton child, young innocence stolen.
Home lost no more, hell traded for future gossamer dreams, golden.
Summer Gratias
My joy at its best, my hurt at its worst.
My joy at your conception and my belly swelling.
My hurt at your birth with waves of contractions.
My joy at your first steps in those booties I knitted.
My hurt as you fell down and bumped your head.
My joy at your first word spoken mama.
My hurt when we argued about a sleepover and you cried I hate you.
My joy over your first report card with all the A’s.
My hurt when you were expelled from eighth grade for possession.
My joy when you took responsibility young man and changed your ways.
My hurt as you leaned on my shoulder and cried over losing your first love.
My joy in your pride after working the summer to buy your first car.
My hurt that you are no longer my little baby but a young man.
I am forever a woman in motherhood,
My joy at its best and my hurt at its worst.
Summer Gratias
A camera flashes upon a scene of hell.
Seared flesh glowing red and orange.
Bodies within preform a lavish jagged dance.
Gyrating corpses with flame for tongue.
A camera flashes upon a scene of hell.
Smoke curls, eyes glow, teeth grimace into smiles.
Fire licks lustfully at head, belly and limb.
Sticks and stones strike brutally against souls.
A camera flashes upon a scene of hell.
Come one, come all, and get your story here.
Step right up says he, a sneer and smirk at his lip.
Do not fear the sting of my tail or the branding of the flames.
A camera flashes upon a scene of hell.
Panic roles in their eyes, shivers on their spine.
Cries of the damned at the tortures of their souls.
A camera flashes upon a scene of hell.
Strike a pose, face me here small minions of mine.
Give them away, pass them out on street corner and curb.
Exclusive first photos from hell.
Summer Gratias
My small pristine flower, crushed while yet a bud.
My young innocence stripped, left trampled in mud.
Walk away. Collect your cash, no emotion for me.
Little body bruised, torn with blood. Drugged blind, you do not see.
Daddy, why did you do it and why don’t you care?
You helped them shred me, then turned away and left me bare.
I am only a small child. I am too weak to fight back.
Tied to a dens table, men’s eyes, hands grope, and lips smack.
Manhood against young maiden, tiny body burned by the rope.
This, a grand hellish party with drink and much dope.
Why do you abuse me, and just what have I done?
You began this cruel nightmare when I was but one.
Four years spread like thin butter, passed like a hat.
Left to fend for myself, a small, hungry, dirty stray cat.
For the rest of my life, I am damaged because of your sin.
Thirty one now, still, life is a night terror in which there are men!
Summer Gratias
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