Christmas Corral’s, around a barrel,
Filled to it's brim,
Holiday hot cider, spiced with cinnamon,
Street lights so dim,
Our towns Christmas tree just had its trim.--
Its lights shine bright, this frosty night.--
Funny hats, mittens and gloves,
A missal toe with two white doves,
A lot of holly, townspeople so jolly,
This time of year, we all meet here,
Friends and family, strangers welcome.
A small town tradition, which shall never be broken,
A Merry Christmas! A Happy New Year!
Same time next year, we’ll all be here.
Russians supplied mission old bells.
High in tower chime their slow knells.
Listen, great their single tone swells.
Honor those dead.
Time to mourn alarum note tells.
Missal lines read.
I remember a dress the color of sunflowers gently swaying to An enchanted melody; A floppy hat the color of fresh Fallen snow, and a small fragile hand cradling a little Black missal being taken to Sunday Mass.
I remember longing to be the priest hearing her fervent Confession and holding her meager sins in my ardent
Arms, while assigning only two Hail Mary's to absolve her Perceived offenses.
I remember her casual glance touching my spirit and Turning my cold, cruel heart into an amber, while a Sweet Feeling of contentment, swept over me like the Warm waves of the Caribbean.
I remember her slim waist and her hips that promised
Many offsprings, while her legs in sheer stockings Begged To be released from their confinement, so they Could Tenderly embrace my waist.
I remember she looked at me her, eyes full of hope and Dreams, while I in my Sunday best, held her hand as I Placed a ring on her finger and hearing "I do."
Oh God how I remember.
Then father broke her thinking with rebuff.
"Shhh! You're talking to yourself. Everybody's
looking. They can hear. You're not saying Mass.
Be more respectful!"
And she complied, not wanting twice recuff.
‘Twas so, all gave her disapproval view.
Now she heard priest, not wanting make remuff.
Words came from missal people so well knew.
"In principio erat Verbum, et Verbum erat
apud Deum, et Deus erat Verbum. Hoc erat
in principio apud Deum. Omnia per ipsum
facta sunt; et sine ipso factum est
nihil, quod factum est: in ipso vita erat,
et vita erat lux hominum: et lux in
tenebris lucet, et tenebrae eam non
comprehenderunt."
With alacrity now, I give up
That, which my belief once usurped
To my thirst like a cup
However, the longing never stopped
Deem not, a-going astray
My new will to not
Genuflect, statutorily and pray
To that in marble or ivory wrought
I have not traded the missal
For a bride’s love nor wedlock’s ring
But my early truth, in a trickle
Hast dripped; a new faith, entering
Yet, methinks am gone astray
For the new truth, sounds several leagues away
An American Hero
Sammi
you're the chosen
the only cat who can
save us all from
Wails along with
the First Lady
you tried to warn
everyone
in the
White House
no one believed
the letters
when no one
is able to take down the
head of the bad
nor any of the others
you get into a jet
you take flight
high above you begin to
speak
you only have
one single missal
you become
An American Hero
Sammi
you're the best
you're still honored
A Plane Tragedy
Today on July 17th of 2014 Tragedy has happened.
A plane with 298 passengers went down. It was shot
by a Missal 25 miles from Russia.
It was a big tragedy that no one will forget. The
passengers never knew what hit them, but their
destinations They would never reach. They didn't
even have time to put themselves in good with the
Lord.
The people that died this day are already in heaven.
There they will find the peace and glory - that could
not be found here on Earth. The ones that committed
the crime, won't ever be free. They will have to run
and hide.
Someone said today- we are able to put a man on the
Moon, but we have not been able to_____ what? I say
we have not been able to get rid of Hate. It is sad, but
it's the truth. We don't need others to destroy us. We
destroy ourselves...
07/18/2014
By Lucilla M. Carrillo
Note: May they all rest in peace.
Hustle bustle, mime the puzzle,
Bubbly drizzle, wrestle dazzle,
Crimson crystal in a tunnel,
Hymnal missal ash and purple.
Tummy tickles, foamy trickles,
Linger little laughter fickle,
Twisted tumble, sticky ripples,
Here we stumble on sharp sickle.
Love feels brittle as glass crystal,
Mind the feeble, freeze the ripple,
Don't belittle this sad cripple,
Live a little, love all people.
Time to muzzle sad oracle,
Purge the factual with spectacle,
Stride the drizzle, not with fumble,
Soar with visual, sweet popsicle!
Space the idle with mad puzzle,
Plunge a ripple with sure sickle,
Brine the pickle for tastes fickle,
Love a little, bear odd people.
Leon Enriquez
08 Apr 2014
Singapore
.
The cavernous cathedral still hums and echoes
with hymns coming down, it seems, from nooks
and rafters of its ceiling. It trembles softly still.
Long after the mass.
A veiled, old woman fingers a long black rosary
as she thumbs through a dark, worn-out missal
in her wrinkled hand. She sobs, sighs, prays still.
Long after the mass.
.
I reach the autumn of existence
Acknowledging an absence
Of rehearsal for life,
Accepting that which is unseen;
I welcome God in my life by need
As I sit in a pew for worship
Thumbing the well worn missal
Trying to reason the idea of faith.
Bookmark my life:
Chapters inspired
By love and strife,
Pages of bliss and yearnings.