Although my poems are not so numerous
I try to make them a little humerous
I'm certainly not a bard
but I do try very hard
to mix in a bit of the ridiculous
They come together all in one place
tinker and traveller, Roma and gypsy,
with all who belong by grace as one race
under one roof while no one seems tipsy.
Count Me In has begun with a gesture
Appleby St Lawrence offering the space
for each here to hear in a new venture
music uplifting for all to embrace.
Skills arising from guitar and fiddle,
accordion and harp, percussion and pipe,
folk songs and ballads, nothing too little,
poems and testimony, hopeful and ripe.
Many expressions of who each of us are
brought here together wherever we're from.
Home made refreshments (milk from the Spar)
sustaining the fun, with applause like a prom.
'What does this mean?' with Festival and Fair
combining as one in celebration.
Just like Pentecost there's joy in the air
harmony overcoming separation.
With all our difference we are together
fired by the Spirit it's a time to treasure.
Appleby Horse Fair with reference to Acts chapter 2
My venting lol
Cable, wifi, TV, cell phones, apps
I cannot understand how to work them all
Then suddenly a sports game on a channel I don't have
Must pay more on top of 100 monthly bill already!
Cheap charging cords that do not last
Other cords are different sizes, must get many
All these things stealing more than another penny
Sign ups for everything, never ending list of passwords
Time consuming tech things are certainly not for me
I would go back to the old days with land line and regular TV
I get tired of the battles trying to do what needs to be done
I had an easier time writing/marketing on the old computer
I was one of the last people to get email, friends wondered why?
I know why...because tech things and I don't mix!
Heidi Sands
5/9/26
(C)opyright
Mix me a playlist..
for a special gift
an album of us
to be a musical shadow box
a reminder of what matters
for motivation
for a celebration
to bring back that shy smile
to cement a concert memory
forever and always
to spin whenever
to give life a remix..
Mix me a playlist.
There is a reason for the fall
Where flowers roofs go deep to rest
When the time is right it will come up
bringing in another year
showing God is near to those who would be giving thanks without FEAR (meaning Fail Evidence Appearing Real)
2026 will be a challenging year
nothing that God can't fix showing that
He is always in the mix
Giving flowers for the season
Casseroles are so easy.
Taking my red pot,
and adding some fun veggies.
Add great meat to pot,
mix in some water.
Now cooking.
Ummmmm!!!
Pipi
Rat terrier
Sniffs the earth and breezes
Affectionate and curious
Ratcha
I’ve never learned the art of a reliable recipe,
only the art of guessing who might eat it.
I will learn what you love,
the way you take your coffee,
that you’d rather have mustard on your sandwich,
that you prefer your toothpaste tastes like fruit instead of mint.
You see, I try too hard.
My food can’t be one flavor—
that would be boring.
I stir,
and stir,
and stir,
adding more until the dish is heavy, uneven.
And when you eat it,
you’ll taste the coffee grounds,
the mustard,
the toothpaste.
It’s not because I think it belongs—
I couldn't stop myself
kept reaching for anything with your name on it,
hoping the thought of the meal would soften the sour taste.
I serve the same dish to everyone,
each batch a strange new mix
of flavors I don’t even like—
and I wonder what keeps them here:
do they hunger for filling,
or for something truly mine?
I’m not sure I’ll ever know.
So I will watch you chew,
watch the fork sink to the side of your plate,
waiting for the scrape of truth—
for you to push the dish away.
I’ve left the recipe wrong on purpose,
hoping you’ll taste the absence,
and ask what I might make
if I cooked with my own hands.
Being in the mix of being Mixed
It's confusing, yet warm and cozy—like being lost is almost easier than being brown.
The choosing of which path to take—sometimes, I find it simpler to remain lost, avoiding the question of who might find me.
Sitting on the fence, being mixed is the truth I carry. The quiet indulgence in the in-between. Nobody knows for sure who from where.
I watch the journey pass—each exit, each departure, some people get off, others sometimes onto.
A glimpse of all—the beauty in both, yet never feeling whole with either.
So I linger where I know best, along for the ride,
never reaching any destination, just drifting in the unknown.
I used to search to be the best at both, master of each side,
but now I simply understand—
for me, being mixed is the in-between,
neither here nor there,
but forever caught in the space between.
Sleep tight, my child dear.
Mother is here, nothing to fear.
If the child snatcher, comes at our steps.
I will stab him with my own hands.
~Byeol
Within the scorpion's belly,
mother's blood is the meal.
I wonder,Is that's why scorpion is poisonous?
But be the lamb of sheep or the child of scorpion,Both are young sprouts.
I wonder, so does the scorpion taste "sweetness that linger on tongue,
A piercing pain in the throat, the soul torn apart".
~Byeol
With the thousands troop, I the general stride.
Below the land of ancestors pride.
Where dragon soars and tiger leaps with might.
For this, my sword tainted with river of blood.
Bears felony's weight , a mountain heavy tide.
My heart a rock, no regret, no shame reside.
~Byeol
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Land of ancestors: homeland
Dragon soars and tiger leaps: showing powerful prospering nation
Biting back at dragon's scale,
I run through the weapons crossing like chaotic clouds flying past.
The mighty sword rise in air,
Only to drown in sin so deep.
My hands stained with blood so red,
Root betrayed.
Blood of kin,
A price I have paid.
Heaven's cry, in torrent rage.
~Byeol
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Biting back at dragon scale: symbolises act of going against the emperor
Root betrayed: betraying your own family
(From1)
Snowflakes whisper peace, in Frozen air,
Echoes of battle, comrade beyond repair.
(Form2)
Alone I stand, in snowy vastness wide,
Blood- soaked memories, my comrade demise.
(Form3)
Before me, snow's pure silence deep,
Behind crimson shadows, comrades sleep.
~Byeol
" I stand on the chang'an's street with tattered clothes and tattered hands".
I follow deep the fireflies, running barefoot among the sea of faces,
"I get out in the pitch of darkness".
Oh! My beloved now I can "only drink the northwest winds".
~Byeol
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North west wind: is a Chinese idiom for extreme poverty
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