As the sun was wandering the skies
It came upon the Crucifixion, and had to close its eyes
The day that God in Jesus Christ reconciled us to His side
The sun had to withhold its rays and hide
At noon the darkness did ascend
The words of Christ did amend:
(“Father forgive them their worst”, “I Thirst”
“Today in Paradise you will be with Me”
“My God My God why hast thou forsaken Me”
“Woman, behold thy son.”, “It is done”
“Father, into Thy hands My spirit I commend”)
The Sun of Righteousness shines without end
From A to Z, He rules all of history
Your eyes are too pure to look upon evil
But why do you allow it and ordain
The unjust and the just to be blessed by rain.
The prophet Habakkuk has asked
Why are we always to be tasked?
Roust Yourself, Lord awake
Take your hand from Your bosom and give the Earth a shake
It’s not sweet as the Asian koel’s song.
The red-wattled lapwing voices its irrecoverable loss.
The bird’s sorrow scalds the night.
It was brooding in the serene scrape nest.
The black blotchy eggs camouflaged with the pebbles and sand,
yet they weren’t safe from the predator.
The motherese and the fluttering dream in the shell ended in an omelet.
The hunter never enjoys the art on its plume
and the charms of its black-tipped red bill and long slender yellow legs.
He mistakes everything in nature is for his pleasure.
The avian anguish doesn’t roust him.
His heart is so, the real and origami birds are alike.
Its doleful cry continues,
darkening the moonlight.
Who cares for it in the world of hunters?
First published in The Literary Hatchet
Shadows stretching eastward
Setting sun in daylight lost
Fall creeps in on chilly fingers
Grasses matted by morning frost.
Trees comply ablaze with color
Flashing signals in Autumn’s roust
To feathered, clothed, or furry creatures
Storing food or flying south.
Grey fog gauzing upward
Where Canadas vector in the sky
Above dark waters cooled over night
Honkie-talkie as they fly.
Pumpkins glowing orange
Bundled corn stalks stripped and bound
Freshening winds start groaning-whining
Hints of change for frost bound ground.
Cotton to flannel to fleece and wool
Make ready for winter’s unknown
Top off the firewood, gas, or oil
Secure the harvest - secure the home.
I will be most blessed to be long frozen
If Trump comes back to the White House
Thoughtless Americans will have chosen.
When I die, I’ll be quickly flash-frozen
Escaping another term for that louse
I will be most blessed to be long frozen!
Can statesmen please put their toes in?
If Trump squeaks through like a mouse
Thoughtless Americans will have chosen.
I fear the disaster of America’s erosion
I can’t imagine more years of his spouse
I will be most blessed to be long frozen.
Consider four more years, just supposin’
More whining, more narcissistic joust
Thoughtless Americans will have chosen.
Can any administration take more exposin’?
More high-placed bureaucrats to be roust
I will be most blessed to be long frozen.
Thoughtless Americans will have chosen!
Written October 5, 2022
Fly, raucous black-winged crows, to squawk
Across the open window’s frosted sill
And roust out warm and sleepy lay-a-beds
To autumn’s spicy smell and errant chill.
Opalescent winds tear in from ocean’s break
To toss brown-toasted leaves and shake their curls
Like naughty children, sending them abroad
To play at hide and seek with frisky squirrels.
Hats sail; hair flies; coat tails flap and snap;
White fleecy sheep puff up and chase and play,
A-tumbling into ocean at horizon’s edge,
Where full-sailed ships heel amid blown spray.
Tang of apple fall and wild grapes soar
To mingle with those last few blooms of flowers,
Sweet white clematis and orange marigolds,
Of salt marsh, cooking jam and sudden showers.
June breezes whisper soft and kiss our cheek,
Winter’s bitter gusts bite nose and toe,
And April wafts a taste of new-born green,
But autumn’s winds make all our senses glow!
Trump Was A Faust
About Trump up we ere trying to roust.
When we had found him to be a Faust;
Looked in lake;
Found more fake,
News on fire put out when we doused.
Jim Horn
Whats wakened this poor poets heart
not a meager start......
no, that wouldn't roust him from his den
..... perhaps, a meager end
let's pretend
destiny is ours to tend....
the internet has handed the world
to us arm chair god's and
monday morning quarterbacks
legends of the keyboard
who can't even fill our own sneakers
Hey, but I'll shoot for the stars and higher
who are you to call me a liar
media dj keep me spinin'
this records titanium
and you all just hatin'
we got girls and boys tradin' out clothes
see which one's fit 'em
swappin' all the parts and piece's
whatever please 'em
where your popsicle smiles at
keep holdin' 'em up
a tootheless one ain't so glam
I can't look at you anymore
T.V.'s/ mirrors
tinted windows outside
old dept. stores
No more glass
No reflections
just give me sand
and paper
so I know my feet are touching the ground
and my heart
my thought
touching the pen
There I am
double Heroic rispetto
Our Savior's face revealed the war inside,
rejection's pain, determination's goal.
He gave control to God, surrendered pride
to dreadful men, forgave their sinful souls.
On Easter, He proclaimed the truth unfurled,
disclosing what He'd promised to the world.
Recalling why He came - to deal with sin,
Christ knew without a doubt, He'd rise again.
This did not serve the Jewish leadership.
The ones who'd watched His gory death were taught
to think that death would ne'er release its grip.
Traditions do not die; a sacred thought.
Their hope of a Messiah was a king
who’d roust the Romans, Jewish kingdom bring.
When three days later, Jesus did return,
their blinded minds could no new lesson learn.
From: Governor Silva, Lucias Flavius
To: Commander, Legio X "Fretensis"
The Judean slaves finally finished the assault ramp.
Order the centurions to roust the legionnaires from each camp.
Give each of your legionnaires extra water and a double ration,
Then assemble the squares and set them in motion.
The last of the defenders are cowering behind the wall.
Well before nightfall, I should expect Masada fortress to fall.
Among Eleazar Ben Yair's Zealots are Sicarii assassins,
So ensure that each prisoner taken is searched for hidden weapons.
Capture as many as you can of them to be sold for slaves;
But toss all their dead off the cliffs--don't bother digging graves.
It may still be awhile before the Tenth Legions rotates back home;
When that day comes, I'm sure Vespasian will honor you all before Rome.
If manners maketh man - and woman too
then why do no manners men - women fit
any boot or shoe? If you expect better you
are "inconsiderite, a bloody stuped fool as
you oppused to the freedom for us do what
the hell I or us like - as you and youres have
no recip ur - no rihght, as onely we have writes".
Freedom comes with responsibility: This is why
many dislike freedom in practice, preferring a
little dictator of their country or community to
tell them what to do, or it is neighbour against
neighbour at home or abroad where either the
bullying majority or the fanatical minority rule the roust.
It's easy in practice to spout the above but it is not
always others who are led astray, however much
we like to think that I or we always deserve the day;
sometimes I or we are the culprits too, but by reticence,
consideration, thinking before acting we may deserve the day.
Jeer, farcical cheer
Jive, cheer to sneer
Jest, barb to test
Pun, jest for fun
Joke, fun to poke
Jab, poke to grab
Joust, jabs that roust
Jibe, taunting vibe
Josh, vibe to squash
Jolt, tingling volt
Jaunt, volting flaunt
I have awakened to an odd sort of place
A room unfamiliar, extravagant, and lace
A bed so grand and remarkably soft
A floor of wood and pictures aloft
A heavenly sent bombards my senses
My guard is down exposed defenses
Another beside me stirs about
Shocking me slightly to force a roust
From under the blankets emerges a pup
A handful at most no bigger than a cup
Back in bed I wrestle the stranger
Bellowing loudly devoid of danger
All at once a jolt brings me back
A cane to the face a large “Thwack”
My eyes strain through the new found tears
Returning my attention to all my old fears
I am back in the orphanage with the other kids
With ragged old cloths and bruised eyelids
Drifting back to sleep, I want to dream again
Of the grand ol’ room and pup my friend.