Long Church Poems
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After we turned from Africa we first lived in Cornwell and I got a job learning to be a riding instructor with Heather Hunt she was a tough lady to work for but her training was excellent I went on to some excellent jobs mainly in racing stables it was great fun especially when on the gallops just imagine a horse full of spirit fired up beneath you one false move and you would be dust as they threw you off. But us stable hands had lots of fun and some heavy drinking sessions. We moved to the midlands for more land and I ran a horse yard with 32 horses 5 which were my own that I did show jumping and eventing with. I had some success, high light was qualifying for Wembley but I lost in the morning so missed being on telly.
I got married which was a mistake and only lasted five days I knew T had done the wrong thing when in his speech my father said I had been offered a job in Germany at one of the top jumping stables and he had turned it down without telling me first. I sold up and went to London where I had a wild time became one of the few ladies allowed to wear full hell's angels colours.
Next I got involved in the music scene and had some very wild times I was Alex Harvey's partner for nearly 10 years those were fantastic, were really wild years but before him I was down near the recording studios on Denmark Street when a man came called Mike he was with the Bow Street Runners and asked me if my tan was all over I dont know why as I was very shy but answered wouldn't you like to know he took a step backwards and then said yes he would. So we had a steamy one night affair he only went on to become Fleetwood Mac oh yes.
Then I met Dougie Jenkinson and went to Jersey with him and my dog Champ who got us thrown off the camp side when he broke the tent trying to follow us. we ended up on the cliffs in our own tent where we lived for about six weeks cooking over an open fire and using a hotel shower where a friend worked. When we returned to London we decided to go to Scotland and so we hitched with Champ and got there eventually. One night on the way there we were dropped in a village miles from anywhere and it started to pour with rain we took shelter in a church porch overnight was the vicar ever so surprised to find us in the morning but he did give us breakfast.
to be continued
Lying here between the folds of an uncaring sheet
A thunderous blustery evening calls me from sleep
Tracing shadows on dark walls through desperate eyes
Counting minutes on a clock’s reflective markings
Rain drips from altered eaves steadily, slowly falling
In syncopated patterns on damp grass clippings
Teasing my mind in the endless possibilities
Of what my desires, even at this hour plead
Your image finds me, still and silent
Questions come in long sentences
Breaking down dreams of distance church bells
Wondering if we truly could be, together
Will you ever find love again, could you
In the arms of one who imagines your beauty
Tastes your lips in midnight thoughts
Feels your skin on chilly twilight sighs
Of this I write, not because it is who I am
But because it is what I was meant to be
Poetically entwined, metaphorically wrapped
Draped upon your heart in phrases of collected verse
Read aloud as a smiling sun approaches
Whispering your name over the horizon’s wonder
Echoing of this affection that drains my soul
And longs to breathe you for the very first time
From my pen flows lonely ink
In lace-like frilly fonts of an italicized nature
Curling around these words penned in the dark
Hoping you see, hoping you read, hoping…………
Eternal God
Indefinitely perfect and blessed in Himself
In a plan of sheer goodness freely created man
To make him share in his own blessed life
For this reason
At every time
In every place
Eternal God draws close to man
He calls man to seek Him
To know Him
To love Him
With all His strength
He calls together all men
Scattered and divided by sin
Into the unity of His family
The Church
To accomplish this
When the fullness of time has come
Eternal God sent His Eternal Son
As redeemer and Savior
In His Eternal Son and through Him
He invites men to become
In the Eternal Holy Spirit
His adopted children and thus heirs of His blessed life
CCC 1
Written: 6242018
Poetry Form: Dramatic Monologue
Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza
V.
And finally for this poem,
though not for your real life,
is the inborn curse of violence,
the stubborn need to fight.
It’s one some claim to ‘leave behind,’
but we know that’s a joke,
the evil always lurks out there,
targeting decent folk.
And the truth is these criminals
have never feared police,
since they're either in charge of them,
or strike when none are seen.
When evil comes, you’re on your own,
cops always will be late,
and if you’re not willing to fight
quite grim will be your fate,
And if you have a family
then they will suffer too,
women were not designed for war,
it all falls upon you.
I know that this seems quite unfair,
what sane man would risk death?
And countless fools preach ‘other ways,’
those fools just waste their breath,
human nature cannot be changed,
time has left little doubt,
no amount of schooling or church
drives all the evil out.
There always will be those who steal,
those who murder and rape,
no ‘progress’ can defeat this scourge,
some are just built to hate.
The only thing such people fear,
that makes their mad thoughts grim,
are those strong enough to hurt them,
those who won’t be victims.
The home-owner good with his gun,
the dad there with his kids,
evil takes pause when seeing them
sees failure if they did,
A man must be a predator,
but one cool and controlled,
so when the wolves come sniffing blood
they fear us and go cold.
It’s when we think we’re 'beyond that,'
when we give up our guns,
when the threat of force isn’t there
that we face evil ones.
It is only in such a state
that they came have free reign,
they’re held back by the threat we pose,
reptile fear of pain.
And much as we hate to think this
in there here ‘modern times’
seeing the dark truths amongst us
is what makes adult minds.
The goal of India’s Statue of Unity is to promote values
of spirituality, nationalism and academic aspirations.
Surrounded by a unique botanical garden, of various hues,
Her cactus garden shows a tourist one of the best travel destinations.
This Statue of Unity is an infrastructure for education and research.
There is a reverence when you enter that makes it feel a bit like church.
It is a cultural destination, and has an additional worthy goal
Of enlightening your feelings about diversity, and unity as a whole.
The honorable Shri Vijaybhai Rupani, Chief Minister of Gujarat State
explained the worthiness of this lovely structure, and her current fate.
A modern beauty, exuding delight and peace you will enjoy upon arrival.
Ethereal, her ambiance will continue long after our physical survival.
Oh, what a lovely picture from the past that reminds me so vividly of growing up in the 50s,
but what is it that they are doing in that field? It looks to be a well attended gathering as some
are seated and others are leisurely standing. Some are certainly enjoying talking with each other,
and I see booklets but doubt this to be a book club affair, although the gentleman with his wife-to-be is reading.
Perhaps they are having an after-church picnic as they await a baptism service down by the river side.
I know that sounds like a song, but I tell, life then was a song. Or, it may be that they are waiting for the big tent to be
raised for the outdoor camp meeting or revival service. Indeed, they are so well dressed that it must be Sunday.
I can not be certain, but it appears to me the man in the middle is holding a candle. I see a little girl on the right corner which suggests
to me that this is certainly a family affair in the wide open country air. Well, I am about exausted as my imagination has gotten the best of me.
022720PoSpCtest, Back When, Line Gauthier An imaginary poem about a photo from the 50s.
January’s snow flows stealthfully through my fifth-floor apartment window, flung wide open to welcome in the new year. The half-drawn curtains bellow with brisk salt air blowing in from the North Sea. A distant foghorn groans in a resigned, forlorn resonance, guiding ships braving the churning, ice-slushy waters as church bells strike twelve stately brassy tones.
This night I stand alone and content, a rich cup of espresso in my hand. Eschewing nostalgia and perhaps too sober of thought, I prefer my pleasures to be of the vicarious variety. Beneath me I take in the muted ambers and oranges spread out from the four cafes, out past the cobblestone road, glistening as snowflakes alite. Young couples drinking, glasses clinking, hug, kiss and revel, strolling out from the cafes. Some indulge in a traditional waltz, before the speaker blares more modern fare. Waves of laughter and singing ebb and flow as I turn and head toward my bed and blessed sleep.
Again the foghorn blares mournfully, like a tuba vainly pleading to be united with a long-lost orchestra.
Hospitable church asks for charitable contributions. Helpful children stock empty backpacks to overflowing. Humanitarian convoy of people and food meet needs.
Hungry children's stomachs are filled by a weekend backpack.
peanut butter
crackers
mac and cheese
fruit cocktail
chicken noodle soup
corn, peas, or beans
cereal, oatmeal packets
SpaghettiOs’s
Little Debbie snacks
applesauce
August 6, 2019
contest: The Marmite Poem hosted by Natasha L Scragg
I am chained to my TV set by way of recliner
Planning daily to break the chain
Or at least bend it a bit
But until the fires and the floods come
Here I sit
Doing none of the things
That bring me joy
Holding a remote in my hand
A remote that is controlling me
Has taken over my mind
Is telling me what to do and when to do it
I am ready for a flood
Or a fire
Or anything
To shake me up
And break me up
And get me to the church on time
Or get me to the restaurant where I could meet friends
This pandemic has me glued to CNN
Where the numbers keep going up.
Ninety-eight thousand and sixty-eight Americans have died so far
Of the Coronavirus or something else?
I am chained to the TV
Yet I do not even believe in it.
I am broken, shaken, messed up.
I am going to have to BE the fire and the flood
But not right now.
Right now
The remote is in my hand
And I am not afraid to use it.
We have so much to look forward to but as our 47th-anniversary approaches,
I have been looking back and thinking about the beginning moments before
we met. I remember the moment I spotted you in the church pew in front of me. I do not remember the color of your attire, but I do recall the style of
your hair. I would like to think and anticipate that what started out as ''Honey" will end as "Honey". I do not remember why, but "Honey" is the 'love word' we
began calling each other back then. And I do not know how long it took for us to really qualify for the use of the word "Honey". And although other words
were also fitting, it was never baby, darling, sugar, or sweety. You still remind me of my grandmother Mary who was my greatest fan when I was
growing up. You still remind me of my mother Georgianna who was always gentle, kind, and supportive of me. I don't suppose honey farmers can avoid
bees any more than rose pickers can avoid thorns, and after all these years, thorn pricks and bee stings would apply, but I'm still in love with the "Honey".
05102019PoSoupContest, Dial It Back, Maureen McGreavy
To my wife: Our 47th Anniversary