I'm feeling pensive today
thinking about so many things
my mind is in a busy tizzy
People in need, yesterday, my sons,
my life, my stubborn cat, my schedule,
the world and it's occupants
There is no topic off the table today,
and sometimes, that's ok
my thoughts are my own
But in order to live life, I need to put aside
my strife and ping ponging thoughts
and do what I need to do
The curtains are open, fresh bread and jam sit on the table
Outside in the rain I sit wishing for a bite if I was able
As night closes in the warmth inside I still see
Jumping puddles and wet, a crack in the door is there for me
A wood stove brings light and a place to dry off
The floorboards and an old linen bring comfort from the storm
Rain stops and the moon shines in windows below the loft
A little mouse am I, but happy, dry, and warm
My nose still smells bread and jam, but I begin to dream
I don't want to leave here, this place, my heart strings gleam
All is quiet now, everyone has retired, the kitchen still illuminated in soft light
I scamper around the old table and there I spot it, crumbs! I timed it just right!
This cottage is beautiful I think I shall stay a while
A small gap in the stones by the shed will be my own at night
The occupants here play melodies from a grand piano which brings me a smile
This family, and me shall live together and coincide, a place in the world, a little mouse am I
my soldier of an oak tree must think we have magic powers
he used to guard cousins park where our grandchildren played
they spent lots of time there in the summer laughing and chatting
now he guards the same territory, but the occupants are dogs.
they are as happy and sassy as the grandchildren, but they have tails
and a swimming pool, where they like to splash and jump.
oak tree probably wonders if we are going to wave a wand and change him.
Will they change me into a lilac tree or a day lily?
He gives me suspicious looks now.
From fence to fence
From curb to fence
For all occupants
We seek Your defense
Your light projects
Your will protects
Evil spirits everywhere
I say to them to beware
The darkness will not prevail
For God‘s love will never fail
When we worship together with angels
The blood of Jesus is my divine covering
Turn around
Don’t drown
When encountering (1)
Thank you, sweet lamb of God.
Always goes with me.
And the angels that go before
And minister for us
Peace and grace fall
I’m covered by fresh fire
Unholy burns away when I’m with you.
We are loved dearly by God
You are the apple of my eye.
Hide me under the shadow of thy wings. (2)
I thirst and I am hungry.
I’m not here for blessings. (3)
I’m not here for miracles.
I need you, all I need is you.
I know my identity.
I know whose I am.
On the day of Christ Jesus
Sometimes I am weak.
God is always strong. Sometimes I doubt.
God is always faithful.
Soak in his light and inwardly we let Him in.
footnotes:
(1) National Weather Service: flood warning alert
(2) Psalm 17:8 NIV
(3) Nothing Else (Live) - Rick Pino & Abbie Gamboa version of Song by Cody Carnes 2019
Someone has said that every generation
Has its golden lipstick era
Philippines is not like that
It's always beautiful and stunning
A special beauty for all ages
Glittering golden beaches
Somewhere in every island corner
Of thousands islets in the Philippines
More so its unique lineage genealogy
From the primitives to the occupants
Conglomerating all races into one
Making the brown race formidable
A diasphora race around the globe
Sharing joy, talents and services
The culture, the food, the hospitality
Affecting the leaven bread of the world
I invite the people of the world to visit us
What the Philippines can offer to all races
Come, borrow the wind to fly
To the magical land that shines
As white as the pearl of the orient seas.
Salute
Bunker Hill, Yorktown, Lundy’s Lane,
Monterey, Bull Run, Gettysburg, Shiloh,
Antietam, St. Mihiel, Belleau Woods,
D-Day, Saipan, Iwo Jima, The Bulge,
Chosin Reservoir, Pork Chop Hill,
Ia Drang, Khe Sanh, Hamburger Hill,
Iraq and Afghanistan.
Famous battles in American history.
Washington, Scott, Grant, Lee, Custer,
Pershing, Patton, Eisenhower, Nimitz,
MacArthur, Westmoreland, Abrams.
Famous leaders in American history.
We are all familiar with these names and places.
But what about the nameless men and women?
The faceless citizens who gave up families, jobs,
education, comfort.
The ones who gave America their blood, bodies,
minds to defend us and set others free.
Their blood has stained countless lands.
Their wounds, physical and mental,
should remind us that freedom is not cheap.
The noncoms, privates, petty officers, junior officers.
The occupants of The Tomb of the Unknown,
the Punch Bowl, the French cemeteries, Arlington,
and countless unknown graves.
The living dead who suffer from grievous wounds
and PTSD.
These are the true heroes.
In the old city of St. John's,
in the older neighborhoods,
there are haunted houses...
residences with revenants...
apartments with apparitions...
even schools with spectres;
and there is one edifice with an eidolon
that I know well:
a softhearted shadow
very benevolent,
not at all maleficent.
It is supposedly the ghost of a child
who passed many years before;
a tale from days of yore
not well-known in local folklore.
This ghost is known to close
latches, doors and windows,
as if the occupants are being told
"Please keep out the damp and cold!" -
a phenomenon inexplicable
by a force completely invisible.
Some years ago, I observed this first-hand
and I'm sure I did not fully understand,
but I quickly deduced that it would be most
polite to say "Thank you" to the ghost -
a sudden burst of intuition
to please and placate this amiable apparition!
Scintilla experienced an eerie foreboding
the house at 125 Klondike Street felt unsafe
she sensed that it had brought doom to occupants
she was shaking her head no when her husband said “we’ll take it.”
She took him aside and explained her feelings, but he would not budge.
Something about it called to him as fiercely as she was repulsed by it.
Within five years they had experienced a fire, a flood, and a divorce.
Scintilla gave her husband the house and the equity.
All she wanted was to survive, to get out with her life.
Her odd immediate premonition came to fruition.
Her husband passed away from Covid-19 two months later.
Their children paid attention to her forebodings after this.
That's the Venice door showered with beauty!
Where loneliness is daily on duty,
By its side, a small pool just sailed two boats,
The occupants are most probably ghosts,
If they're humans, they must be real cuties.
First I saw of this was in Djibouti,
But that was left decrepit and sooty,
So, for elegance that beauty denotes;
That's the Venice door!
The decorations are made quite pretty,
It's like from a last century movie,
Flowers even near the pool that boat floats,
It's the clean surrounding that makes wealth gloats,
Stamps of opulence colors it pretty,
That's the Venice door!
A room that had been dark and locked
for years was found for socialization.
It was void of everything except oxygen.
There was hope it could be filled with
people who would come alive with openness.
The room was 15 by 20 in size.
300 square feet of space was room
enough for nice furniture, but for
reasons unknown, the dark and empty
room proved inadequate for relaxation
or restoration.
Also, there was insufficient space or was
it the atmosphere, for free and honest
conversation to help them unwind. It never
became a place that left one with a sense
of relief from the pressures of everyday life.
Friends and acquaintances gathered for great
social interaction but were neither vulnerable
nor transparent. So, everyone left with a
sense of emptiness, never finding satisfaction.
The room was filled with physical things,
including at least 10 intelligent humans
whose lives were ripe for receiving something
that could fill the emptiness in their lives.
Sadly, the once-empty room became occupied
to the degree that eyes could see, and ears could
hear, but remained as empty as it always had been,
as empty as the lives of its sudden occupants.
One may think the walls must be tired of staring
at one another in that empty room.
its total emptiness has a void unique,
like silent remains of a memory lost,
a love that once was but now gone,
voice of a child that called to mother,
that relationship now is photo in an album.
bright light fills it from glass vents all around,
bouncing from wall to wall on to the floor,
like it is searching the occupants of past.
That room reminds me of my own heart,
that still glows with love, beats of a fervour
of a distant vision, a smile, a gesture and
a laugh receding into timeless vastness!
Please, leave this room empty.
Its own memories are its charms!
hang no pictures, or scribble a thought
on the walls. The faded paints are imprints
of hearts that once touched them,
that smudge is a kiss that she once left
on my lips.
Still so fresh!
A big lake with an empty canoe
No one knows how it go there
A lake at that
One’s thought, “For Heaven’s sake”
What is your take?
There were no bodies found
Maybe they even drowned
Perhaps swam to shore
There are no clues to make it sure
Nobody has seen
No one knows what this mystery means
A Canoe, Lake and no occupants
Mystery alright
Seen in unseen
There’s no report of missing persons
All we have is clues
We definitely have a sleuth
Nothing to solve
How do you prove?
Questions upon questions
Only assumptions being suggestions.
Hell is not
One Color
Or
One Language
I’m always bolted to a floor
Often I live in a tiny room
And when I hear the door lock
I pray they’ll spray some air perfume!
I doubt you ever would believe
The anus stories I could tell
About fetid foul flatulence
And its lingering dreadful smell!
When people get up off me
Sometimes they forget to flush
And I hate it when rude occupants
Leave the contents from their tush!
Some men never even lift the seat
Splashing me with yellow drips
I gurgle if their todger’s caught
When they’re pulling up their zips!
You can think that I’m just a toilet
But on me you can always depend
Some die whilst sitting on my throne
‘Cest La Vie,’ I’ll miss you friend!
Today like tremors having broken
a boulder free sending it toppling
from a cliff in the clutches of gravity
plunging toward the ground
encountering my head on its way down
splitting open my skull as a geode struck
with a hammer exposing my brain
the realization I no longer care
about anything anywhere crushed me
I am a river run dry from lack of rain
revealing for the first time
in over a century the warped
wooden skeletons of steamships
the rusting remnants of vehicles
ossuaries for their occupants' bones
fish flopping as they asphyxiate
finally falling still and lifeless in the mud
which hardens and cracks like concrete
in the hellish heat of the searing sun as you
bear silent witness from the shaded shore
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