Long Substitutes Poems
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May 31 Scripture Meditations Based on Psalms 119:1-176
Key Verse – Psalm 119:12 Blessed art thou, O LORD: teach me thy statutes.
MY GOD, THANK YOU FOR TEACHING ME
Thank You for teaching me Your statutes
With the functionality that truth constitutes
According to how Your wisdom honourably institutes
For my faith to increase, braced by Your assertion of no substitutes.
Thank You for teaching me Your Word
With the effectiveness of divine record
According to how You express “Thus saith the Lord…”
For my soul to trust You, cleaving to the Holy Ghost’s sword.
Thank You for teaching me Your judgments
With the affirmation that confirms Your commandments
According to how Your instructions show Your guidance-involvements
For my spirit to abide in Your will, blessed by Your wondrous fulfillments.
Thank You for teaching me Your law
With the warning against offence-flaw
According to how Your prudence demands for worshipful awe
For my commitment to seek Your kingdom in vanquishing worldliness claw.
Thank You for teaching me Your testimonies
With the manifestations of magnificent victories
According to how Your grace glows with righteous beauties
For my heart to delight in You always, overcoming selfishness’ follies.
Thank You for teaching me Your precept
With the principles You emphasize over earthly intellect
According to how Your sovereign authority does lovingly direct
For my obedience to bear fruits while Your privileges I humbly accept.
May 31, 2022
Frames of navy night sky sparkle, her glasses
Reminisce on stricter times, nineteen forty eight
A generation before Jimmy Hendrix liberation
Prior to gyrations from tight crotch crooner
Women without an inheritance would struggle
Menial jobs taken on, still society frowned upon
Independence, thus encouragement to link existed
Father substitutes sought out by sorrowful youth
Amusing imp, as quick to pout as to smile
Stirred strangely eroticism with simple antics
Erratic her dance, alluring her firey tantrums
Lost in wanting better love, engrossing plight
Instinct like that of wobbly Bambi stretches limbs
Sprinkled in Summer lawn abandon, carefree unfurl
Flicks tiny traumas aside, a childhood culpable
Absence aches in her chest like necessity
Little lady of burden smudges beasts with kohl
Sketches a future of picket fence flowers tall
Daddy provides sanctum her unheard heart calls for
Distance dissolves, eloined on island of illegal union
Bubblegum pop, impatience dressed in playsuit
Her fickle requirements are infantile outlines
Bumps in road don't dislodge her admiration
Grim portrait rebellion saved for another decade
23rd January
The holiday’s at sunset
So the afternoon before
Is time for eating food
We won’t be eating anymore.
No bread or beer or pasta -
Not a bagel for a week!
I’ve been doing this since childhood,
So there’ll be no need to sneak.
It’s bizarre - I’m not religious
But tradition reigns supreme
And restricting what you eat is not
As hard as it might seem.
Of course, we use some substitutes
For cooking and to bake
And there are lots of recipes
For foods that we can make.
Tonight there will be matzoh balls
In soup to start our feast,
With 8 more days of special meals
Until we are released.
THE GAME
We would gather slowly
“toss” the bat, choose sides,
use the “least battered” ball,
the only bat we had.
The girls played too,
chosen because they
could play….often before
some of us boys. We
knew they were better
so it wasn’t taken personal.
The kid who wore the
Sears and Roebuck “Husky”
jeans played right field.
He was slow, he didn’t
get one of the treasured
gloves. He batted fourth,
cleanup hitter.
He could really hit.
The “infielders” got gloves.
The infield was an almost
grassless, rock strewn field.
The bases were scratched
into the dirt with the bat.
The “game” lasted forever.
As kids were called away,
“substitutes” would take
their place. Younger,
less experienced little brothers
and sisters, earning their time,
learning the game, touching
the heartbeat of summer.
The game would “pause”
for lunch, be put on hold
at supper, would be thought about,
talked about, dreamt about,
until …….
2/11/2017
submitted to – THE NATIONAL PASTIME – poetry contest
We have chosen,
with fertile parents
and their grandparents,
With our community
and our community's historical journey,
multiculturally rooted
To live in this time
When LeftBrain dominating disassociations
raise RightWing deductive powers
to reductively under-generalize health goals,
To market brand name substitutes
bowing down before competitive WinLose monopolies
devoid of WinLeft with WinRight co-intelligence
Secular and sacred intelligence intuited
through reassociation of Left BodyForce
with Right Silent LifeFlow
longing for equi-valent liberal love
still belonging within conserving matriarchal wombs,
orthodox seeds,
multicultural creolizing icons,
fusions for fissuring fractal future Fates
Muses singing for cooperative ecopolitical infrastructure,
For nondually incorporating bodies with minds,
natures with spirits,
ego-
with eco-core ZeroZone Centers
Still, today, LeftBrain elitist
speaking for nationalistic future designs,
dualistic,
competitive fissions,
divisive fictions,
oppressive fractures,
failures of love
with sufficient cooperative power
for healthy development
and wealthy eco-theological infrastructure.
GreenEthics with Golden SacredRules
restoring multilateral justice,
regenerating peace
of polypathic body-minds
for, but also from, polyphonic communities
cooperatively re-aligning historical-cultural communities
Still speaking
and singing
and dancing
too pre-millennially competing Left v Right
To deeply learn post-millennial cooperative co-relationships
YangLeft with YinRight,
secular strength of ZeroZone nutritional design
AND spiritual flow of 2020
healthy polynomial developing love,
humane-divine co-messianic
ReVisioning ecology's green
through ultra-violet theology.
Winter winds rattle window panes;
and yet no one ever complains.
And shadows on candlelit walls
flicker, as the flame flares and falls.
A worn-out blanket with a hole;
substitutes for a warm bedroll.
And though supplying meager heat,
a kerosene heater's a treat.
Money is as scarce as kind words,
for two impoverished lovebirds.
And though the hope held in their hearts
may dwindle, it never departs.
Poverty steals their very breath,
in this saga of life and death.
Their love helps them deal with their pain;
for it is all that keeps them sane.
Social Security's a joke;
hung around their necks like a yoke.
Poor folks are hard-pressed to exist,
and yet, no one wants to assist.
Without proper meds, death lurks near,
living in the shadow of fear.
And yet, faith is what gets them through;
thanking God for each day anew.
When we let the wealthy decide;
those without funds get swept aside.
Governments vow to fix this wrong;
let us pray the poor live that long.
A dying woman posts a nice dating ad for her husband,
soon to be a lovely lonely widower.
She recognizes that she is replaceable when her light dims and fades to off.
There are substitutes, swaps and replacements for everything
if you are not too precious about it.
The degree, scope and extent of the swap varies, but there are no exceptions.
Departure's vacuum is not sustainable, something must rush it to fill the void.
You can't hold your breath for ever, the new breath will rush in to replace the non-replaceable.
Better to choose wisely and plan ahead
than to be forced to cope with what the cat or tide brings in.
Everything has a use by date, nothing lasts for ever, you can't take it with you.
Even love is fleeting and flickers out.
The only thing that lasts, and lingers on, is the memories
Cherish those memories forever.
Let the substitutes dock in as replacements.
To my Quarterback,
We are first round draft picks, starters, ready to get off the bench and begin a new season.
We have tackled many problems in our lives and in our previous relationships, but we will not penalize each other from what happened in the past. Yes, there were some fouls in our past, some incomplete passes and some unnecessary roughness, but we don’t have to put our guards up for defense. This time around, we both are on offense.
The difference this time is that God is our Coach.
Therefore, there will be no blocked kicks, no onside kicks, no running offside, no personal fouls, no pass interference and no substitutes.
You threw the perfect pass (your heart), and no one was around, which left me wide open to receive it. I caught it and secured it gracefully.
I wasn’t going to fumble this one. I ran it in and that day we scored a touchdown.
You sweetheart are indeed a perfect catch.
You and I together are now on our way to the Championship, for we are undefeated!
Love Always,
Your Wide Receiver
One-ply, two-ply, three-ply, four:
Whether you are rich or poor,
This is something that you need.
Substitutes won’t do, agreed?
Extra soft or without rolls,
Every brand has matching goals –
Do the job and help us wipe.
We don’t need the extra hype!
One conundrum makes folks nuts;
They won’t stand ifs, ands or buts.
(Pun intended) – This harangue
Regards which way the roll should hang.
Is the next-to-follow strip
On the top for you to rip?
Or perhaps it’s lying under
Waiting to be torn asunder?
Everyone thinks his way’s best.
Please comply if you’re a guest.
When you’re on another’s bowl,
Use his method to unroll.
One last thing I’d like to mention –
This is one superb invention;
For without its grand debut,
I can think of one word – EEW!
July 31, 2012
You are the pounding thunder in my chest,
Like a drum corps, with every word you speak.
And when I see your smile, there is true rest
And when my eyes meet yours, my knees grow weak.
There is a missing piece in every soul
Filled only by that one, sublimest love.
There are no substitutes to fill this hole
Only you, hold the place I ‘ve oft dreamt of.
Come to me beloved, entwine our hearts!
Be forever near me, spin close beside
And sew a lifetime tether from the start
That shall not fray, divinely stitched inside.
Let us live a tight-knit life, full of awe;
A three-cord bond of you and me and God.