Yesterday was a hard day
but blessings were everywhere
How does that make sense?
Because pain and joy can and do
co-exist even in the same moment
My supervisor bringing her puppy to work,
People seeing my tears while I worked,
and just patting my arm
Having a conversation with someone
whose heart was hurting, too
The cashier at the pharmacy pointing
me to some quality chocolates on sale
Life is beautiful, don't miss it through
the tears and ALWAYS point out a good
deal on chocolate to the person with
tears running down their face!
Pink Santa only had one goal that day
To point out the mystery gift to his cousin Trey
Trey made fun of him, so the pointing stopped
in the picture, his finger got cropped
So, Trey had to wait until Christmas Day
To find out which package held his sleigh
It was his own fault, he should not have been a bully
Making fun of Santa for wearing pink, which was silly
what are we going to post today
in this question is concealed a desire
there is no judgment; it is what it is
artistic expression is what we aspire
words as symbols though are metaphors
we but point out to magnetism divine
yet to sense bliss beats as they manifest
with strobes of silence we must choose to align
apart from head, heart and spine, palms glisten
pulsation of omnipresence throbs everywhere
we as formless presence are poised in peace
in tranquil thought rested stillness self-aware
I have a lot of clothes I don’t use any more.
Some of them I have never even worn before.
Yes, I got those in my days of impulse shopping.
The styles are unique and the colors are popping!
Look at all my dresses; suits I have a few of.
But you’ll find among my tops one you’re sure to love.
Tops from my skinny days might be just right for you.
They don’t fit me now, but I have some loose ones too.
All the ones that I have worn have been cleaned and pressed.
Compliments I’ve gotten from folk who were impressed
by the fit and loveliness of some of my clothes.
Let me point out for you the very best of those.
Do you like the flowered print of this silken blouse?
Here’s a skirt polka-dotted loved by my own spouse
who pays little heed to things that people wear!
See this little black dress right here? It has such flair.
I promise you won’t get a better deal than mine
at any thrift shop these days on items so fine.
Were you to buy a hundred dollars worth of these,
I’d send them off to you without the shipping fees.
Get data smart, don't let them start.' Such Intended centers, strike at the real heart' of all
Eco-log-istics, and world climate resolutions.' Resultant scars on the earth would
Be a hostile intrusion, defacing and squandering available and sustainable resources..I point out the trampling
And tearing of our
Earth.' We must apply all our recourses.'
To arrest such desecration, resist in all
And any manner, be firm stand fast and
Into this machinery, lets throw every
Bloody spanner !
We were taught that battles are of steel,
A clamour of voices in a distant field,
The geography of the external threat ,
A name of curse , a debt to be collected.
We hone our wit like a sharpened stone
To crack the shell of a neighbour's ego,
To point out the cracks, the small
inconsistencies ,
Thinking this is how a victory is built,
One defeated conversation at a time.
But it is a shallow house that stands on smoke,
Built by the one who points the shortest finger.
For true architecture is done in quiet dark,
Not on the map but in the muscle of the heart.
The deepest and most perilous topography
is the intricate labyrinth of our own self,
The architect knows the final enemy,
He sees the vast and creeping edifice,
The great, formless thing within that whispers:
Build for me. Point the finger outwards,
Forget the cracks in your own foundation.
To face this shadow is a secret war,
Where we learn to use the chisel on ourselves,
To chip away the structures of conceit
And stand, not in victory over another,
But simply and purely with the truth.
“The Self transcends all, is indivisible and all-pervading. It is free from stain of attachment, immovable and all-pervading. It is without day and night and all-pervading. Why dost thou, who art the identity in all, grieve in thy heart?”
Words as symbols are not the thing,
which appears and then disappears,
whilst also failing to depict,
the source wherefrom vital force spears.
Metaphors are our sole resource,
which point out to but don’t portray,
that homogeneous consciousness,
to which egos kneel down to pray.
We, here and now, capsuled in form,
may be then labelled as God’s spark,
a statement literally true,
though it still leaves mind in the dark.
Suffice to say we’re living light,
one with oneness and bliss replete,
as awareness beyond space-time,
free from attributes yet complete.
There’s in truth nothing to attain,
for we’re he we set out to seek,
which we learn when heart’s free from stain,
dancing with all souls, cheek to cheek.
Woe - A poem from Isaiah 5:20
Woe to those who stride with pride and call evil good
Woe to those who hush the noise from voices they have shunned
Woe to those whose hands held high on Sunday,
Hit hard the humble and the good on Monday
Woe to those who stride with pride their clothes of gold and silver
Woe to those who glimmer and glean with false light all over.
Woe to those who sing and chant and dance about
Sprinkling light of all their marvelous deeds, while little ones die in shadows
Woe to those who stride with pride, feeding food of bitterness and gall
Woe to those who salt their words and breed arrogance all over
Woe to those who call the bitterness of their actions sweet and
take the sweetness of the our young ones and point out every child as bitter.
May we all take note of those who stride about,
look into a mirror and guarantee that the one who strides, does not begin with me.
Chantelle Smith
09 Feb 2026
An onslaught of thought,
Has me distraught,
I fought so hard for me,
Only to find,
I don't like what I see,
It's not what I wanted to be,
Now tethered to a reality,
I created unconsciously,
Consciously making the decisions,
Patterns creatin from repetition,
Conditioning the way I think,
Sinking down to fit in,
Shrinking,
Giving permission,
A life in remission,
Venturing into another's vision,
Division was all I saw,
I could point out flaw after flaw,
A corrupt system of law,
Keeps us under a claw,
Crawling through a TV screen,
The electric light machine,
Uses programming to intervene,
So they remain unseen,
While you get lost in the scene,
In between all your thoughts,
An onslaught of taught behavior,
Keeps you just as a player,
Instead of being the creator,
Here for greater things,
Then any money could bring.
There is a language barrier being created
adopted and fostered by social media
controlling certain dialect from surfacing
kept down with bad manners treasonous acts
Governing bodies has signed the soul of democracy away
to address another human life form rubbished neologism
firstly a status of hate filled pride needs to be brought into account here
to alter facts and grammar suiting a wicked agenda
This has no value when examined for what's right and just
silence is no longer a tool of the innocent
when powered to speak with lawful manners
From the wool of a Lamb knitted into a soul
the Lion will roar within this arena
words are enslaved put in chains by bigots
backwards justice in the end will fail terribly
because the finger will always point out
the truth from deep within a person's heart
Hiding from the demons...
as they're screaming in my head
Telling me all hope is gone ....
all my dreams are dead,
They haunt me in the daytime...
even more so through the night.
They're always in pursuit of me.....
Never let me out of sight...
They drag me through old miseries...
Point out where I've gone wrong....
Tell me I'm a stranger here....
And that I don't belong......
But society sit's in silence...
Never bothering to speak at all.
Leave me to feel invisible.....
As if I blend into the wall.....
I search for ways ... and hope for days....
with better things yet to come.
Though every turn I make ....
Can't ever seem to shake.....
The damage that it's done.
How am I to set aside...
the loneliness I feel inside....
when my soul lies there lifeless .....
As if it's already died
Don’t count me out because
I’m not in lockstep with you,
and before I nonchalantly dropkick myself
back to the starting point,
let me point out that because of my whiteness,
I am not
a knuckle dragging racist, hysteric, insurrectionist,
white supremacist, terrorist, cultist,
deplorable, irredeemable,
nor a hypocrite or illiterate.
And the recent gender-neutral policy?
I am
a woman, mother, grandmother, sister, aunt and first cousin.
I have a mortgage, enjoy Jamaican stew, and
I am married to a black man.
I’m originally from Idaho. It’s okay to ask me
“Where are you from?” or “Where were you born?”
I promise I won’t accuse you
of micro-aggression.
I do not have guilt.
I stand my ground,.
It’s okay if you do not like what I have to say:
but I remain a
free White woman who
believes in constitutional principles.
Yes—words do matter
Sitting here with the wind,
as it swats at my hair.
The sun dancing with clouds,
with them our part will share.
The interplay of light,
that decries nature's sway.
Holds too the lost secrets,
of a more godly day.
From afar came the gods,
to plant the seeds of time.
Where desire can be king,
and a common man shine.
History will point out,
the man with iron will.
Who comes with a mission,
for a god to fulfill.
The ancient dark drama,
where a man has to choose.
from having everything,
when his life he must lose!
the monster inside
wants me to hide
it wants to come out
that’s without a doubt
it rears its ugly head
filling me with dread
it tempts me to spiral
the monster’s gone viral
it’s going to get me in trouble
I can no longer stay in my bubble
I need to tame the beast
like an exorcism and a priest
it sees me when I’m mad
it likes it when I’m bad
it comes out when there’s jealousy
it hangs around like leprosy
I see it trying to get nearer
every time I look in the mirror
it tells me I’m not good enough
but I’m about to call its bluff
I see its horns, I see its claws
it tries to point out all my flaws
I see it’s stupid toothy grin
and it’s scaly brick colored skin
i grab it by its feet and take it for a spin
it says “I’m never gonna let you win”
I throw it across the room and say
‘time to go outside and play’
I kick its butt on out the door
“don’t worry I’ll be back for more”
I say “idc I’m not keeping score
you can’t control me anymore”
the dogs are barking violently
at an intruder I cannot see
a delivery man comes into sight
fearing he might become their next bite
They are penned, I point out to him
He does not look confident, his body thin
He throws the package and runs off
I roll my eyes and the dogs both scoff
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