O God, we celebrate what you have done:
The wonder of your kindnesses and grace;
The goodness Jesus shows to everyone
Whom he’s redeemed from Satan’s tight embrace.
Our longing, hungry hearts you satisfy;
You free us from our prisons of remorse.
You calm the raging storms that terrify;
With grateful courage we can stay the course.
Your wondrous kindness when we cry in need
Delivers us from sickness and from death.
It’s caused our feeble efforts to succeed;
It gives us time to rest and catch our breath.
For this extraordinary charity,
We’ll give you thanks for all eternity.
Feelings never perish;
they rest beneath the relentless river of time.
Yet the heart remembers the path to morning, crossing every boundary
with the first light of dawn.
Let darkness descend
into its own unfathomable depths.
I scatter the grey dust
that has gathered within me
to the open wind,
until peace becomes
the language of my breath.
Let the unwanted chapters of yesterday
fade into forgotten ravines.
Upon the white canvas of dawn,
may the soul unveil
its inexhaustible fire.
May I become a quiet flame,
guiding the lost
through the light within.
Let the deserts of the heart
yield fields of golden harvest.
May hope ripen like grain
for every face acquainted with hunger.
Let my fulfilment
never belong to me alone;
let it live in weary hands,
in the eyes of those
whose sweat keeps the earth alive.
Into eyes burdened with nightmares,
I place the horizon of tomorrow.
With luminous seeds of truth,
I sow the soil of a gentler future.
Awakened by the heart's own hymn,
I dedicate myself to the making of new dreams.
Let a new dawn descend upon the earth;
and within every weary breath,
may life begin again.
Since hibiscus is Rose of Sharon...
Hear these hibiscus hymns
reverberating the Saviour
as the Rose of Sharon*
and the Lily of the valleys
with good news of grace
bringing peace and hope
With this psalm of compassion
God heals woes and sorrows
for bright tomorrows, vibrantly awesome
vanquishing pain, frustration, angst
toward triumphant caring.
Amidst song of praise
exalting life-Source
with music of gratitude
I thank His lovingkindness
ceaselessly prevailing, reigning over grief
comforting every distressed soul.
Let hibiscus hymns linger
to echo cheerful wondrous hope
spreading bliss to all
with joy's delight.
*Song of Solomon 2:1 KJV "I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys."
July 25, 2026
4th place, "Hymn of the Heart" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Hiya Sharma; judged on 8/1/2026
How often do I hide in thick layers
of parading masks-- afraid to reveal
the hardened arrogance which denies
a vanity ruled by a sordid season -
those matriarchal flaws , cracks from
transgressions, and lesions of anger
over time's unhealed grievances.
I smile with resistance existing
through fragile acquaintances
to escape light's awakening
that could lead me out of life's pretenses.
So I hover drearily on bloodied nights
and run into the woods searching
for sages even wise thieves ,
who could offer me refuge
from this marrow sinking into
a litany of dirges, of love's requiem:
i must have grown dumb; I cannot
hear these hibuscus hymns...not even
tumbles of the song my soul never
seeks could assuage all my snuffed evenings...
How this darkened mind lies
upon his leaving... still,
vagrant psalms from a bitter farewell
bang like a shrieking gong...without end
The song my soul never seeked.
Is a dove's whistle,
The sign of peace,
Because I know there's not.
I do not know of a happy ending,
I was raised in flames,
A burning home made to crumble,
The only peace I had was a page.
The dove never whistled,
The peace never came.
Many poets try to describe a broken home,
But I was born in a rotten wood house,
With no hope and no way to escape.
All I needed was some hope,
That everything would be okay,
But my inner peace never came.
It was only a whistle away.
So now I must say,
Where was my dove's song?
And why can't I escape the peace that never came?
In stillness sedate, as we meditate
Strobes of silence meld with our soft heartbeat
Hear these hibiscus hymns that elevate
Celebrate as refrains of life repeat
As the light that lights all lights, we just are
Rainbow in full view, envied by the sky
One with the all, we woo a distant star
Cradled by Cupid’s mellifluous sigh
In-form polarities merge in our core
Thus self-aware, we’re centred everywhere
Each pore a door, through which blessings in-pour
We plunge into the void, just for a dare
Pheromones mingle, our eye is single ~
Heart’s rapture grows betwixt bliss beat’s tingle
Don't think they will stop this creative writing spree.
But they are free to keep the sunshine for themselves;
I’d rather continue being best friends with the moon.
"Hear these hibiscus hymns"
of my hopeful heart
"the chorus a poet bleeds..."
in blessed blues
"I kissed an opera octave"
and started a silent symphony
spinning songs and
sculpting stars in syllables
The mellifluous melodies
mastered by my metaphors
tickle tentative tunes
through a tapestry of tales
Echoes of ecstasy
reverberate in every ensemble
The breath of ballads boasts
of beauty unheard
Lilting lullabies
let out love-lit lyrics
On wings of woven words,
I whistle whispers
chanting celestial canticles
of celebration
Heavenly harmony comes alive
in holy happiness
Rhythmic refrains refresh
in rolling resurgence
The pulsing verses
paint pretty emotions
in ink inspired
euphoric euphonies
crafting creative carols
of Christ-centred comfort
The jubilant joy
of the
soul's dance rejuvenates
stringing, singing and shaping
soulful silver notes
The hand that strikes is first the hand that holds,
a resplendent trap wrapped taut around my neck.
The copper taste of split skin coats my tounge like gold,
this red froth of iron: a beautiful wreck.
You choke the ragged screams inside my lungs,
then drag my lifeless body from the grave.
At night, I hum the violent anthems you have sung,
bleeding my own pale carcass to mirror all you gave.
The bare floorboards drink the fallen raven and swollen bruise,
as calloused fingers dig beneath my flesh.
But there is no part of me I would not lose,
to keep us tangled in this scarlet thresh.
You pry my sternum open at the seam,
and tear the dripping organs from my chest.
I offer up no prayer, no penitent scream -
for to endure this form of devotion, I am blessed.
You are a brutal god, whom I adore,
a violin verse between venom and Venus.
Hurt me, then hurt me once more,
leaving only my broken soul lying between us.
you
are the
love song my
soul never seeks,
for your lyrics live
in the constant chorus
where a poet bleeds desire,
and wistful nightingales covet
the silent dreams of a witching rose,
tracing starry wrinkles of lonely skies ~
while I hear your heart hum hibiscus hymns
to the frost moon and the smitten breeze,
as I subtly kiss the cadence
of an opera octave,
orchestrating a dusk
of finger-pressed hope
O beloved,
hold my night
when hurt
drowns
the
voice of
mystery ~
a violin
verse between venom
and Venus, blind to our
truth, we are the warriors,
the Valkyries and Berserkers,
reborn from diamonds of devotion,
a musical storm of Norse wilderness...
They sing about my doorway
in throbbing waves of Florida heat,
repeating melodies of beauty,
soft and low, soft and low.
Raising limbs in gentle consonance
to strains piercingly sweet,
their mouths wide open choristers,
I see the crimson trembling of their throats,
quivering with symphonious vibrations;
oh, the gentle music they compose,
soft and low, soft and low.
Can you sense their tremulous silence,
most exquisite on the evening air,
a performance for discerning hearts
hear these hibiscus hymns of lavish praise
soft and low, soft and low.
July 22, 2026
Hymn of the Heart Poetry Contest
Hiya Sharma, Sponsor
You dream of her.
I listen to the soft sigh of your breath
You call out her name
I do not protest.
I pack my things that night
Quietly slip away
I see you once, years later
At the grocery store
Carrying bags of bread and milk
You are happy now
Wife and two kids.
You ask about my dreams
I smile and tell you I want to buy a truck
I do not tell you the truth
You see, in my dreams,
Your children have my eyes
The chorus a poet bleeds
drips with loud doubts
belted out
by a wounded choir.
Booming notes dance
in fevered circles
inside the center
of her barefoot brain.
The orchestra schemes
within the ancient shadows
to clutter her words
with redundancy.
The conductor stabs
each malicious doubt
with a sharp wand
heated by talent.
I am sorry, I am sorry
But sometimes my mind answers to my heart
If love makes a man foolish
What does that make me then
My heart aches from being in the same room with you,
I bite my tongue just to hold these feelings inside
But they say the chorus a poet bleeds
Lasts a lifetime
Why me? Why me?
This gut-wrenching, godforsaken feeling pierces my soul
My very being aches from this
You are so close, yet my feelings can't reach you
My infatuation for you is the song my soul never meant to sing
Hear these hibiscus hymns as I take them to my grave
Like a violin verse between venom and Venus
I picked mine and it was you.
In a prison cell that fairly reeked
I heard the song my soul never seeked,
an eternal, sorrowful lament
encircled by rats, steel and cement.
Freedom or hope could never emerge,
just a woeful, wailing dirge.
Once, you held the golden key,
but said your love was not for me,
condemning me to this lonely cell,
a strangely cold and desolate hell.
Now that I've lived my last sad day,
my heart and soul, wasted away.
Dear lady, I leave you just this scrawl
written on a prison wall.
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