Long Nigh Poems
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February 6 Faith in God Bible Meditations Based on Leviticus 16-18
Key Verse – Leviticus 16:12 And he shall take a censer full of burning coals of fire from off the altar before the LORD, and his hands full of sweet incense beaten small, and bring it within the vail.
FAITH IN GOD WHO INVITES US
TO BRING TO HIM OUR HANDS OF SERVICE
God invites us to bring to Him our hands of service by His grace
As we turn away from idolatry’s rays
For us to remain in His righteousness along His holy ways
And be victorious by faith in our stewardship days.
God invites us to bring to Him our hands of service since He is our Lord
As we abide in His will according to Scriptures’ record
For us to overcome curses with His divine sword
And be glad by faith around His love’s strong cord.
God invites us to bring to Him our hands of service through His authority
As we seek His forgiveness for our trespass and iniquity
For us to express our praises of sincerity
And be peaceful by faith in honouring Him with our humility.
God invites us to bring to Him our hands of service for His name
As we close our eyes from evil along tempting fame
For us to face His sanctifying flame
And be purified by faith from wickedness’ shame.
God invites us to bring to Him our hands of service in His mission
As we share with others His compassion
For us to stay zealous along His persuasion
And be cooperative by faith in the fulfillment of His great commission.
God invites us to bring to Him our hands of service for His glory
As we draw nigh to Him always in prayer against worry
For us to offer our best, involved in His ministry
And be consecrated by faith to win with His infantry.
God invites us to bring to Him our hands of service with His anointing
As we trust Him to help us along His uplifting
For us to flee from worldliness’ tempting
And be courageous to continue despite fainting.
February 6, 2025
Dash it..,
Dash it all says I..,
Through bars - I espy.
Their 'eaven, their night sky.
Well.., dash it.,
Let 'em have it.,
And the Northern-
Love cup-stars,
In a wisp of sudden sea fog.,
Like breath on a cold night..,
I'm seeing.., me seven,
Her eight, maybe nine..,
All that way back in time -
At her gate,
Afore her Father bade her in,
And I, espied that 'handle-form' of fate..,
A 'twinklin' in lavender-hued.,
Summers sky., that's long been.
In Welsh she bids me, 'Goodnight., 'Nos da'.., North star.,
Aye.., the words..,
And my world ne'er-'gain found -
Press ganged and stormy life and seas bound.
Though my mind, as long and latitudes -
This way, 'heave an' ho lads'
And to..., and fro..,
Has ne'er forgotten..,
Though long, long,
A thousand seas ago.
No.., Not by the strings at my trouser knee,
Nor the candles ablaze 'pon my hat.., but
Too much 'Devilling at sea' 'as passed,
Too much what's called a sin,
If only an invite to her Birthday gathering.,
When I was a young Jim.
But it be, my lot, 'mayhap' - a pirate..,
Not long.., afore the gallows., nigh.,
Through the bars I see.., above them.,
That cup o' love, northern cup of the stars,
If only that younger I,
Aye..,
Below a younger sky.
30/08/2021 Last Sigh<
Two things in life we never can deny:
No choice in birth, no choice in when we die.
The hands of time tick steadily away,
It's what we do between these two, can say.
For some, their time is short or not at all.
Born into death, their life is on recall.
Why is this so? A mystery won't find
The heartbreak that they leave is so unkind.
For others, who survive the journey starts
From many walks of life and worlds apart.
For some, their wealth is always guaranteed
While others struggle poverty in need.
Our choices made are ours and ours alone,
No blame to others, good or bad we own.
The wise will use their time to set the pace,
For fools, who know no better, time will waste.
We each, our time creates our greatest test
To make each moment count and do our best,
So, if your bucket list is incomplete,
Remember, Father Time does not compete.
Our birth, our life, our death for us is set--
Each one a different time that must be met.
These clocks upon the wall therefore remind
The countdown for us all has been defined.
Two weeks we'd been droving; and the end was now in sight
In the distance was Dodge City, we'd be there before night
I was on the trail with other cowboys from the Double Circle Ranch
And we were looking forward to the saloon, the notorious Long Branch.
We reached the railhead with the longhorns , just before sundown
Me and the other cowboys were itching, ready to hit town
The buyers were there waiting, hands were shook the deal done.
We were aware there would be lowlifes, so we all packed a gun.
First a shave then a hot bath to wash off the layers of dust
Then buy some new clothes and long johns, the latter a must
We then headed for the saloon and were ready for some rye
After two weeks on the trail our throats were kinda dry.
We walked through the bat wing doors, there were the usual stares
The good time girls were beckoning us, to follow them upstairs
We all asked for some whisky and some ordered hot foods
Then the young bucks went upstairs; to satisfy their lustful moods.
Old Jethro our foreman, the next day rode into town
And spent the best part of two hours tracking us all down
Bleary eyed and throbbing heads, no spoken words were said
And thoughts of that long ride home filled us with dread.
At the stables in a side street our horses were stood ready
We paid the stable boy and mounted, we all felt quite unsteady
We'd ride for nigh on two weeks crossing the great Texas plain
Get home round up more Longhorns and do it all again.
Written 20th January 2021 .
Dawn, when silence falters
And the trees of the range-
Are tucked in a bucket of fog
Marching dawn, whose beauty never alters,
I tuck myself in blankets like a log
At the Treetops Hotel upon the range
Dainty dreams upon dawn’s altar
The dappled peacock dazes the dawn
While the African crowned eagle
Will soar, prowling for prey
And tourists peep and picture the fawn
While their eyes prowl the breakfast tray
Jacaranda festooned fashion regal
Its blue flowers blue snowfall upon dawn
Elephants trudge to the watering hole
Buffalo follow, even the bush buck
The warthog always walks silly,
The big five will steal your soul
At the Ark's perch, you will be stuck
The water adorned by the pond lily
The range's serenity, waters your soul
Pristine streams gush from the moorlands
The Hagenia, decked in velvet green
The sword lily, sheathed in fibrous tunic
And as the Karuru falls hit land
True love will pierce to the gene
For pristine nature, is the true cupid.
Breaths bated as lovers hold hand
Further, nestled nigh in the blue skies
The Kinangop peak, peeking through
The closer I get, the further it hides
A sun bird chatters, along my trail's high
My eyes in tune, such wondrous hillsides
I sweat as I head towards the bamboo
I am among the butterflies
Ringlets in a dance, oh! Surreal world
Monkeys swing, tree to tree, a trail of imagination
A reed buck is openly grazing
A canvas of the grassland in its gold
I spot a Serval cat, in hiding
On a safari truck, the breeze is an inspiration
Beauty flows in the altitudes that I behold
At dusk the steeped villages prepare for sleep
The Nyandarua range, yawns its last
Fabled home of the Kikuyu god
Curtain like shadows befall the steep
And this wonderland begins to nod
As the women fluff off days dust fast
Men’s ears wide open as it darkens deep
Wild animals are known to visit
Roving around, excitement for the young
But the animals are known to visit hungry
The locals know too well, memories vivid
An elephant’s wrath is meted out bluntly
Protection for man and beast not far flung
Conservation and nurture is the spirit
As Mount Satima watches her watered floors,
She knows the heart goes deep
Collaboration with njeri hunjeri who is a wonderful poet
You left me without a reason why
You said you loved me, it was a lie
Now I sit in the dark and just cry
Folk notice my demeanor and pry
I shut them out tell the goodbye
I just want to heal,but hurt is nigh
Will I ever love again before I die?
I often sleep and eat and just sigh
Is there such a thing as a soul tie?
If so I doomed, and mustn't even try
Being in love in nothing but a joke
Broken promises is all you spoke
My fairy tale life went up in smoke
Now I'm waiting for me to just croak
Do you recall our kiss? By the oak
That memory alone makes me choke
When you left me, I'm double broke
Misery and despair is now my cloak
You were nothing but a trivalent bloke
And I hope you slip on an artichoke
I thought that you were the one
We used to have so much fun
Our lives together had just begun
I wonder if you took our old gun
My world is dark, where's the sun?
Scales are on my eyes,there're a ton
I'm through living, I'm just done
You caused to shut out everyone
My life is like an old film, a sad rerun
You were like my mother's dear son
I must get used to this intense pain
Rainbows long gone, all I see is rain
On most days and nights I go insane
There's like a ticking bomb in my brain
I'm likened to a wreckless moving train
My awful life is going down the drain
I have small scars and cuts on my vein
I'm locked in my mind, ball and chain
The days are gone when I was sane
My life over, I have nothing to obtain
But If ever emerge from this living hell
I'll work on me first, only time will tell
I used to be so happy and full of life
Now I'm so sad and someone's ex wife
I think to myself, can I fall in love with me?
If I could my heart would know much glee
Instead I long for my existence to expire
I often feel like I've touched a live wire
Is this place a dream? Is this my reality
If so I've grown accustomed to insanity
*I know this contest is over. But I was inpired to give it a try after reading Andrea's poem in this form. I don't know if I got it right. Fiction
Alexis Y.
11/09/19
Come O Death when bells toll, too late nor soon,
Thy fault too often times is waiting long,
Come at right time and thou art such a boon,
To scorn thee means: pain of life to prolong,
O come, carry out thy thankless duty,
Thou art benign, not masked in mystery.
Mortal mankind is made of shorter breath,
And journey’s milestones paved in paths of death,
One of which’s marked in my name, I believe,
Ye can’t be deemed as a monstrous devil,
It is the soul that has opted to leave,
And which having its own will, lives on still.
Death, thou art not an unresolved riddle,
Life lives on, firm in a long journey's saddle
To pursuit of evolution's struggle,
Wherein to die ere time’s a sin evil,
But when ye come, I know well not to haggle,
Not to die when time’s due is greater ill.
Scoring a goal but once is no life's aim,
I’ll strive on till ye break for interval,
I’ll keep the ball in play till last whistle,
And what ends is one round, not entire game,
I’ll keep in mind, there's always extra time,
To keep my grit alive, play with all prime.
And life that rises like sun in death sets,
Arising in time for the next voyage,
Death's like penning life's penultimate page,
Nigh like leaping in dark that frightful gets,
Just as in winter a migrating bird,
I’m a poet in search of my last word.
But when ye come at last, help me O Death,
With my baggage of burden, my pen's crimes,
Vague whispers and half truths writ in good faith,
Help me polish my pen in life’s new climes,
So, let me die pen and paper in hand,
Till then keep inspiring me O my friend.
Still, I’ve a lot stored in my aged mind,
I’d like to take forward, not leave behind,
So, O Flames, burn them not to ash, be kind.
___________________________________________
Musings | 02.11.2011, revised Jan 2023 | Sestina on death
In my urban garden, a charming sight I see,
Wild turkeys roam, happy and carefree.
No inkling of worry, no impending alarm,
For the impending Turkey Day, no cause for harm.
Oh, how delightful to witness them so spry,
Unaware of the feasting day drawing nigh.
They're free and alive, in their own joyful way,
Thanksgiving, from our bushes, how they convey.
They peck and they wander, their feathers so bright,
A scene so serene, a pure, grateful sight.
No roasting pans here, no holiday fuss,
Just wild turkeys wandering, in nature's trust.
They teach us a lesson, in their quiet stroll,
To savor life's moments, to be in control.
Thanksgiving, not just on a single day's spread,
But in being carefree, alive, and well-fed.
So, here in my garden, among bushes they thrive,
Wild turkeys roam, and in peace, they arrive.
Thankful for life, for the freedom they strive,
Teaching joy in being, how to truly live.
I've been musing lately about things that really make a home complete.
One thing for sure - a happy home is one with laughter and love replete!
'Twill be a place with affectionate parents who dearly love each other,
And blessed by a couple of kids - a little sister and her big brother!
A home ain't a home unless you have a faithful dog and inscrutable cat,
And a stoop on which to greet folks whereon lies a welcoming mat!
A grandfather clock to intone the inexorable march of time is needed,
And a fireplace with a cozy fire by which to reminisce unimpeded!
There'll be a library of classic tales with yellowed and dog-eared pages,
And a Bible that is read, having been handed down through the ages!
Displayed on the fireplace mantel will be pictures of folks from the past -
Folks from the family tree who set standards for honor unsurpassed!
There'll be a white picket fence and a trellis with climbing yellow roses,
And a huge front porch with a swing on which to enjoy pleasant dozes!
At the kitchen table, the family dines, discusses the day and grace is said.
Later the kids say nightly prayers before being tucked in their featherbed!
Marks to measure the kid's height mar the wall nigh the kitchen door.
Happy holidays and birthdays are celebrated that will add to family lore!
Though the dog and kids may create havoc as about the house they roam,
If I may quote Edgar Guest, "It takes a heap o' livin' to make a house a home!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Few sing of raven’s ebony,
Fewer still of its shining plume,
The glory of her grey tresses
Oft glisten my life’s every gloom.
Now that the dawn has turned to dusk,
I’ll not talk of bowers in bloom,
Nor buds that blossomed before time,
How her fragrance had filled the room.
No use nursing old memories,
Nor yet wiping them off with broom,
Soul dwells nigh in heart’s cavity,
A lifetime’s taken, it to groom.
Black is no colourless baffle,
A total loss nor is vacuum
Let it not dwell in a spectrum,
To me it signifies no doom.
Fair in life never to assume,
And nor presence nor absence fume,
As life tolerates no vacuum,
With her musings I fill my room.
Should things fail t’be so, I’d not fume,
It’s fair in life oft to assume,
And never to leave a vacuum,
Let musings fill up a bare room.
___________________________________
Musings |16.04.2024| memories, black love