738.
Adoration to Mary:
Mother of Hope
Our Mother in Heaven, we adore you
Our Mother Mary – Mother of Hope – a Christian Virtue
Receive this adoration from your children
An adoration next to that of our Father in heaven
Oh Mama Mary, source of our Christian Hope
Your fruit of salvation we interlope
Your hopeful children will adore you forever
Glory be to you also, our Heavenly Mother.
Amen.
-11/08/2019
(Dumarao)
*Adoration to Mary as Mother of Virtues
574.
Wednesday Prayer to Santa Muerte
Oh Santa Muerte who is with us everyday
Our Sacred Protector, bless us this Wednesday
Grant us this Wednesday your Hope
Your Golden Globe we want to interlope
Your hopeful embrace with your Golden Globe
A hope from God that never says nope
Oh Santa Muerte in Yellow, Lady of Wednesday
Be with us from day to day.
Amen.
-11/03/2017
(Dumarao)
*Daily Prayers to Santa Muerte
530.
Yellow Flower for Yellow Santa Muerte
Receive this yellow flower offering
As part of our thanksgiving
Oh Yellow Santa Muerte full of hope
Oh Shining Gift we want to interlope
Blessed is Christ, King of Israel
Blessed are we, kin of Azrael
Oh Holy Death for those who work & sow
Oh Santa Muerte clothed in yellow!
Amen.
-12/23/2016
(Dumarao)
*Benedictions to the 8 Flowers for Santa Muerte
522.
Petition to the Golden Globe of Santa Muerte
Golden Globe of Santa Muerte
Bring me hope, oh bring me hope
The Hope of Great Santa Muerte
A shining gift we want to interlope
Be my light, Golden Globe of Santa Muerte
Let me feel Thy hopeful embrace
Oh Golden…oh Yellow Santa Muerte
Be with me until God I face.
Amen.
-12/13/2016
(Dumarao)
*Petitions to the 8 Emblems of Santa Muerte
224.
Ode to Mary, Mother of Virtues
Oh Mary, Mother of Faith
You taught us to obey God
Your humble submission we congratulate
Oh Mary, Mother of Hope
You offered us God's Messiah
Your fruit of salvation we interlope
Oh Mary, Mother of Charity
You granted us God's abundant grace
Your genuine generosity we credit sincerely
Oh Mary, Mother of Prudence
You confirmed us that you are guided by God
Your sinlessness we adore with magnificence
Oh Mary, Mother of Justice
You imparted us God's impartial mercy
Your intercession we always please
Oh Mary, Mother of Fortitude
You showed us patience amidst God's trials
Your endurance we praise with servitude
Oh Mary, Mother of Temperance
You astounded us with your chastity before God
Your immaculate heart we want to glance.
-09/08/2013
(Dumarao)
*for Mama Mary's Birth
Spring Sonnet
The microscopic lifeforms in my soil
Sense the rising in degrees Celsius.
Old Summer’s red wiggler worms now uncoil,
While hungry birds look down most odious.
Most showers now done, the weeds envelope
The surviving herbs, flowers, plus veggies.
Like the weeds, slimy molluscs interlope,
Quitting the shadows with their progenies.
Scooping composted chicken & steer
Into my orange Home Depot buckets;
Troweling in costly mineral grit -
Then turning the soils, crushing silt nuggets.
The difficult tasks done, seeds in the grounds –
October pumpkins will surround the mounds.
In Spring there’s friendship that’s lasted through the Winter,
all those cold nights of salted drops and quilts of snow.
The obsidian plague of midnights, melancholic drapes,
but all the while the candlelight of friendship did glow.
you’d think she’s the sun -
i wax and wane in restraints
having lost my way
The flickering of her tongue as she wet our weep with wine.
O how the shadows flickered on the walls as if in mirth.
The slow burn lasted as the wind howled, the chimney choked.
Her wrinkled, waxy skin, a kin to suffering and pain.
each deep etched line spoke
a sticky web of knowing
lips barely moving
That Spring, she showed up with an armful of daffodils,
and silliness, tears stinging her neck, this honeybee.
She understood madness, and the brumal sun. Outliers
could not drink our elixir nor interlope upon our phoenix rising.
cascade of the moon
no longer afraid of dark -
white lacy curtains
Stretch out your arms
Lie on the mossy forest floor
Feel the cooling fronds
On your back
Be embraced.
Join the family of trees
As they chemically chatter
Beneath you. Silently.
Interlope and envelope
An exciting vibrancy
Of Autumnal shades
Before Wintery sleep pervades
Douse your soul
In the pine scented oil
Of calm, ancient, understanding
Bathe in the beauty
Of stillness..
(Ssshhh)
In the subway, a flute player,
at his feet, cents, and dimes.
He is young, skinny,
large peppery Adam’s apple
bobbing,
all sharp elbows and pursed lips,
an old time preacher channeling Bach,
not hell-fire, but more the flame
of creation.
At a distance,
watching him hunched over the notes -
too shy to stand in the presence,
I interlope; try not to intrude.
Is the breath in his lungs
from God or hunger?
God does not bother
with questions,
unconcerned as She is
with the speaker or the listener.
She does come with Her music however,
when I hunger.
Bob Hope,
at birth Leslie Towns, died at one hundred and his life was an interlope;
admired for his comedic timing, facial expressions, and a great one liner,
the "road" movies with his pal Bing- for comedy there are none finer !
Bing Crosby
at birth Harry Lillis, this man so funny and never ever sang off key,
he did so many things before he died at seventy-two, some with Bob his friend
accomplished much and it is said he was the most admired man to his very end
__________________
September 29, 2021
Poetry/Clerihew/Bob and Bing
Copyright Protected, ID 09-1391-891-29
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Clerihew 2
sponsor, Joseph May, Judged 10/29/2021
First Place
Should this be the apex no i mean
point at whats my
flawlessly interlope
with a masterly
a man has a stroke mid stroke
soz just a
joking with
time tell him i will see him at the
end of the
partly partial
and s p a c i a l l y
inept
Between Sundays and the week to come,
it’s Thursday wondering where the days have gone.
The flow of tick tocking the passing through,
when the rushing of the important is to pursue.
Days just disappear to wondering grieve,
while nights to sleep are to short to believe.
Moon tides smile growing full of restless sleep,
when that exhaustion only ask for that deep.
The tragedy about time that just perish,
when we cannot get hold of the now to cherish.
Taking life by the day that forever last,
so that we can celebrate it with a blast.
No more promises for tomorrow as hope,
and yesterdays regret a habit interlope.
Thursdays from Latin is Jovis related to Jupiter,
called the remover of all obstacles for the better.
Then as we know everything can happen,
on Thursdays even when you don’t know Latin.
She had a shark in her shoe
The doubts they just crash and tolled of pain a cry, I’m insane
Bodies broken just left to lie on the fields of inventing a new past
Relenting misrepresenting align to everything we once were
Wait but don’t stop, fall but don’t drop, someone’s cigarette smoke in your face
It puffs out to hold you its hostage, I can’t match your power, I attested in disdain acquitted remitted of appearance, a life of bold and honest to their purpose
I can’t see the bad, I can feel it, but all I see is good, but I can’t feel it
You are karma the act of the past the mission of the gods who laugh and interlope being a business of bland
My thoughts are with me to no longer search to be captive and to feel no bounds and loose my chains
But it’s a game, to see an age and see what matches is found by courage, with no pill, no wine
Now washed up on the shore, from somewhere foreign a tropical paradise, off with the shoes, home sweet home
Feeling good out for a swim surrounded by sharks
it is imperative that we do not circumscribe to being thorny
Veritably all will acceed to rising in the morning.
Though melodramatic we must abnegate and repress that static. All the pervading overcast of complicity we must abtly resolve. Hear many cry God Save the King, iconoclastic remain and God save us all.
it is our allegiance to the world we interlope, enfranchised from the phlegm that strangles hope. How heavy are these portent gestures we bare? Our struggles will engender many to care. Those who resonate vying as something glorious, do sway from that which is tantamount and decorous.
Acknowledge this morphology to unfold, brighten the efficacy from cold. Leave these words engraved posthumously in your mist and quail not though our time desists.
Rigid Mountain
There is a place where all minds go
To the Rigid Mountain range
Of blackened streams
And hopeless dreams
To stop and rearrange
There is a place where thinkers sit
On rigid rocks and broken clocks
Of cedar trees
And willing pleas
As empty boats undock
There is a place where skies are bright
And hopeful golden rays
Lift their thoughts and hopes to float
Above the Rigid Mountain choke
To skies of song and play
There is a place, above the range
Where hands all grasp in hope
For men with wings
To lift their dreams
Where lovers interlope
That is where dreams lie
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