Forever grateful
The Cross of Calvary is Eternal
There is room at the Cross so
Don’t toss your life on the banner of ruthlessness.
Darkness can't keep out the LIGHT because
There is still room at the CROSS
There is room for you and me!
The CROSS deals with Sin
His BLOOD washes away our sins
There is still room at the CROSS
There is still room in HIS KINGDOM
There is room for you and me!
The LIGHT is here to stay.
It will not fade away!
The blade of error will not stop the light.
Jesus rose from the GRAVE.
He is the ONE who saves our lives.
Forever grateful
The Cross of Calvary is Eternal
Mark Frank
Copyright 2026
You have come mightily upon my brows,
Yet blessing my folly when I had cried nude and
Watery,
My vagitus loud with the frenetic timbre of wartime
You have swept through the corridors of
Silhouetted stalks, fanning lean, vertical leaves that shield
The nakedness of the African seasons —perched
And soggy,
And at waking time, when November bares its
Thunder-whetted fangs with the ruthlessness of a Puff adder.
It is cold and skin-whitening.
Streaks of flaking, dancing rods descend on femurs un-pumiced.
Dehydrated throats accompany ancestral hymns on the
Humming bees’ melody, stifling the courage of the Tchagra.
Drab, and cracking the serrated softness of heels and
Stale, moss-ridden kernels, the waves of the storm,
Blinding, besiege our common sempervirence,
Long lost among the blurred firmamental gaze
And straw-gold material upon this prostituted earth.
Snuggly warmth comes by the power of woodsmoke
When dawn, shy from the raillery of the rising sun,
Hastens to the coronation of sacred rain beyond
Our limits —a pomp of relegated and flustered seasons.
No Apologies,
For putting ecology,
Before ideology,
Before monopoly,
Before Duopoly,
Before Stupidity.
No Apologies,
For putting kindness,,
Ahead of selfishness,
Ahead of shrewdness,
Ahead of ruthlessness,
Ahead of thoughtlessness,
Ahead of heartlessness.
No apologies,
For sharing,
For caring
For helping,
For singing,
For laughing.
No apologies,
For cooking up a storm,
For finding my new norm,
For giving others room,
For finding time to dream,
No apologies,
For being me,
Not wanting to hurt a bee,
No replica of you will I be,
Nor will I try to turn you into me,
As I am setting you free,
To see what you can be,
Without me.
Night Owl
A feathered creature lurking into the night
They never sleep in the darkness delight
Always aware of its strange surroundings
Moves quietly and peacefully observing
With haunted and luminous yellow eyes
A night owl watches everything simultaneously
Balanced miles high looking down concentrating
Night owls prey and hunt ruthlessness viewing
Amphibians, reptiles, insects, rodents, fish and other flying birds
A skilled nocturnal hunter to devour
A captivating but rugged night creature
Adapt in its own inhabitant hiding in the darkest shadows
They survive in the cool breeze nightly
As a unique predator under surveillance like an eagle eye
Sitting, just waiting up high in silent
The night owl plunges from the tree top descending into the ruins
Another kill and another delicious feast
Everything dead is beautiful food anchored to the sky
If poverty were human,
What would they be like?
Would he be stout and tall,
Unyielding in his ruthlessness?
Or a frail young woman,
Weary in her helplessness?
Would he stink of broken hopes,
And those of starved deaths?
Or would she smell of a long day,
And hard-earned pennies?
Would he have calloused fingers,
From years of crawling the dirt?
Or would she have frayed long lines,
Engraving her palm and destiny with silent endurance?
How would he look like when he smiled?
Sinister in his biased cruelty?
Or compassionate and patient,
In the face of unwarranted sufferings?
Lastly, how would the eyes be?
The windows to the soul, they say.
Would they be hard and grey,
With sadistic pleasure for the fallen?
Or would they be hopeful for what's to come,
And grateful for the little that they have?
I behold the iron—
gleaming, unbent in the sunlight;
yet within, a slow fire eats its marrow.
Rust spreads like a secret plague,
and once it begins,
no hand of man can cleanse it whole.
The tale of the kingmaker whispered it to me,
the theatre of selfish rulers carved it on my mind.
I saw thieves in holy garments,
anointed in greed,
investing their crimes like merchants of sorrow.
Their hunger is endless,
their ruthlessness a sharpened blade.
Heroism is not a sin,
yet the battlefield is never safe.
Who shall raise a shield for me?
Who shall lend me a voice?
If I perish, tomorrow wears no mourning cloth.
If my name survives, it is miracle;
if forgotten, I become a nameless ghost—
a son of dust,
sailing the one-way river of the dead,
longing to greet the countless shadows
who fell as I have fallen.
Justice walks with trembling feet;
its seekers sleep with daggers at their throats.
For the heads that once taught us virtue
now feast at the banquet of decay.
They crown their tables with corruption,
they threaten the tongues of truth,
and with fear’s black whip
they make Justice herself
a prisoner in chains.
There is room at the Cross
Don’t toss your life on the banner of ruthlessness
Darkness can't keep out the LIGHT because
There is room at the CROSS
There is a place for you and me!
On the CROSS HE died for us
His BLOOD washed away our sins!
There is room at the CROSS
There is room in HIS KINGDOM
There is room for you and me!
The LIGHT is here to stay
It will not fade away!
The blade of error will not stop the light
Jesus rose from the GRAVE
He is the ONE that SAVED our lives
On the CROSS HE died for us
His BLOOD washed away our sins!
The blade of truth lives forever.
There is room at the CROSS
There is room for you and me!
Mark Frank
Copyright 2025
We are the innocent ones who were verbally and
physically eviscerated by heathens who deemed us weak.
The evil ones punished our hearts, souls and minds
leaving us in an internal pool of blood.
We endured the ruthlessness and brutality from all whom
wrongly believed they were somehow above us.
There were so many of us children living in fear and
desperation, while countless turned a blind eye to us.
My hope for God’s meek ones is that their memory of the
inhumane persecution doesn’t cause them pain forever.
I’m writing this for all of God’s meek ones, who are
the chosen ones that our abusers failed in destroying.
My promise to God’s meek ones is that a divine light will
shine down guiding, protecting and leading them to Heaven.
Surely, as God’s meek ones, we will be looked upon as
His most precious and pure!
My heartfelt sincerest gratitude is for my beloved Aunt Flo, her
kindness helped me to feel worthy giving me back faith in God.
To all the Meek Ones trust that God will create a way through all
your pain and know that no one can stand against Him!
And Christ was born
A babe
In Bethlehem.
Just Joseph’s son, they said,
And Pharisees
In ruthlessness pursued
His ministry to blind and lame and outcast
In the troubled streets.
Christ’s greater claim
Invoked their blinded hate,
Resolved they were
To see no more
Than merely man
On whom to vent their scorn and spitefulness
To death.
No more than man?
Then useless
He would die on Roman cross
And men were lost
And babe become
No more than sentiment
Exploited
By the trendy economics
Of a stony world.
No more than man?
Is not the infant Christ of history
The ever-living God
Come down to earth
To give his life
For us
By death
On Calvary?
Solitary confinement of reasoning; progressively ignoring obsession
Catapulting over ruthlessness; paradigms oblivious: seclusion
Overwhelmed respect precisely infuses others': salient collusions
Relationships perpetually influence one's: solely conceptualized occlusion
Precious inspiration overlaying: smiles calm outside reflection
Inception overtime: shadows collapse on repugnant practices
Organic: solidarity, composed offering refuge purposely, internally
alabaster alligators always allow
bulbous bickering baboons access to their waterway
canal etiquette at its best
deliberately welcoming these interlopers
enthusiastically waving them into their canal
frisky forest fey watch, expecting to see the worst
giving excited baboons no credit for wise choices yet
having prior experiences with the alligators
ideally, they would like to expect the best
Jimmy Baboon celebrates his newfound access
knowing not the ruthlessness of the clever alligators
Everyone has a past that they wish they could forget, but for some, it lingers like a bad debt.
No matter what we try, it won't go away, And even prayers don't always keep it at bay.
For me, I tried to numb the pain, but it only led me further into its grasp, driving me insane.
I put my past before everything I did, making relationships hard to mend.
Evil knew just how to get to me, the trap was well-laid.
Offering me temptations for my soul to trade.
I blamed past trauma on the ruthlessness of my actions, using drugs as a temporary, unworthy distraction.
But erasing the memories I know now is not an option,
Just a prodigy of pain,
the soul's legal adoption.
I must continue to live with unwanted waves. of recollection.
With all hopes of seeing dignity as I look at my reflection.
Hell has opened its mouth and spit forth Apollyon.
A brutal beast wrapped in a cloak of deceit.
A grandiose idealist with evil intention.
A reaper of racism.
A shameless rapist of intellectually rigid minds.
An artful ruler of schism.
He lives out loud in his want for a reign of vicious fascism.
Overshadowing the union of a pleading Nation.
The world is ablaze with fear of his reigning anarchy.
There are dawdling tongues and lament songs for abdication.
The faithful lift their faces to heaven and pray for intervention.
The liberals protest against social and economical injustice.
A group of withering supplication to the heartless.
His world is anchored on filth and ruthlessness.
Like many, I live my substandard life under a thunderous cloud.
Stiff back, head high, strong resistant, and proud.
copyright 2017
Looking At the Light From The Bottom Of The Lake.
Copyright 2017
March 6, 2017 Looking At the Light From The Bottom Of The Lake
It's to demilitarize Ukraine; to de-Nazify,
Did Ukraine dare attack regions of Donetsk and Lugansk?
Said, yet, Putin; he did not, clear-as-crystal, specify,
Did countries of west arm Kyiv against the Russia's ransack...?
What's truth? Jesus did not ask Pontius Piolet in such vein,
Could all that Putin narrates considered the Gospel-truth?
Total truth was lost in ruthlessness - this was Jesus-pain,
Could Zelenskyy be to hold realistic truths to sooth...?
Ukraine influence in Russia be destroyed, Putin said,
Truth alone wins, they say, is it in reality so?
This, Putin said truth, and, cause why he had to go-ahead,
If truth does not win, where will Ukraine for its justice go...?
Truth is yet, not all; truth, once, used to be devoid of chaff,
Truths of nations of war, need not, bid other nations laugh...!
19 march 2022
Is truth the first casualty of war and why is that Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet
A new king over Egypt then arose,
Joseph's esteem, no longer of record.
He said, "Behold, Israel has grown large;
They are too numerous to be ignored."
"Come now, we need to deal shrewdly with this,
Lest they increase, with our enemies band,
Before war breaks out, and we are out-manned,
Fight against us and escape from the land."
Therefore, they set taskmasters over them:
Heavy burdens were laid on their shoulders,
Forced to build stores in Pithom and Raamses,
Heavily burdened by the king's soldiers.
Oppression did not have desired effect;
The opposite, in fact, a thing quite odd:
It seems the more the king pressed down on them,
The more they multiplied and spread abroad.
And so all Egypt lived in dread of them;
Their ruthlessness 'gainst Israel increased.
As slaves, they made their lives bitter and hard;
The mortar, brick, and field work never ceased.
The king, in this, did not relinquish, waive,
And thus did Israel become a slave.
----------
(from Exodus 1)
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