I’m not a Saint
Or hero of the faith
No martyr I
Honestly
I’m afraid to die
But I do believe
And I have received
Grace from on high
And that’s enough
Still I often struggle
To believe and understand
How I fit in God’s true plan
And what to say and how to say it
What to do and how to play it
When to stay and when to go
How to let a rival know
That I’m trying to forgive
And live the life I’m supposed to live
Each day anew I rise and try
To be the man to be the guy
Who walks the walk
Much more than talk
But I still have fears
And still have tears
That my little faith is just too small
Never strong enough at all
Tiny as the smallest seed
But I’m reminded
That it’s not me
That does the work
Of change you see
My tiny faith in Him alone
Is strong enough to atone
For my weakness
And human flesh
For my tiny faith I’m blessed
It only takes one
as words rise together
It only takes one
new phrases release
It only takes one
to carve out a memory
It only takes one
— your words in relief
(Dreamsleep: September, 2025)
The Saint Lucia flag reflects the tropical sky,
with the colour blue representing fidelity
and the emerald waters
of the Atlantic Ocean and Caribbean Sea.
Gold represents the prevailing sunshine
and, of course, prosperity.
The triangles, they symbolize mountains,
the Soufriere twin Pitons,
and the people's hope and aspirations.
While there, couldn't help but smile,
for tho' located north of the equator,
with my eyes on an unusual sight
where, low on the horizon, and with clear skies,
I saw the Southern Cross every night.
count grains
fought won
_________________
David the Dendrite (it means Tree-Dweller)
how the people loved this eccentric fellow
for three years he lived in a tree
yes he was the saint of Thessaloniki
(real title is written in the Greek alphabet but oh no you can't use 'special characters')
Years ago I did so choose, to go on a Caribbean clipper ship cruise,
and, in addition to several other islands,
anchored off Nevis, northwest of Saint Kitts,
where, in the late 1780's, Nelson had lived,
and still bears traces of his presence today,
in various parts, pieces and bits.
When our windjammer Skipper informed us,
'Shopping here's good, snorkeling is bad,'
I avoided the former, sought out the latter,
and, as a matter of fact, a good time was had,
for no sooner had I ducked under,
two feet from the waterline,
in about one foot deep (shallow) water,
tho' visibility was, in inches, no more than nine,
I espied a white clay churchwarden pipe,
which I retrieved, broken, not whole,
with one third of the stem, and most of the tobacco-burned bowl.
1787, Nelson married the widow Fanny Nisbet on Nevis,
and, as the island he was about to depart,
'Desist smoking or else!'
Horatio may have heard her insist or impart,
and that which I found, I've a mind to say,
was his very last pipe, he'd reluctantly tossed overboard,
on that sunny day, when, as Captain of Boreas, he sailed away.
Many years ago, I visited a church. The Saint Osmund Church in London
In Barnes. Beautiful and imposing Catholic Home of God. Felt from the heart
Mass. This was an intimate afternoon. I have never been here before. Never
The believers waited silently for the voice of the bells. The calling voice rang out
Holy Mass had begun. The priest was an aristocratic character, an old man
Preaching was incredible. His thoughts soared, and his audience fell into a hypnotic state
This Mass left an eternal mark on my soul
This Mass burned into my soul. Forever
This Mass always accompanies me
This Mass always lives in me
It's an eternal inspiration
Her body becomes a chapel
opened by flame,
arched in surrender
to a light too holy for flesh.
The angel smiles
(soft and deliberate)
as if he knows
ecstasy is edged with death.
She breathes not air but radiance,
each gasp a half-formed prayer.
Her ribs open like shutters
and eternity bursts in there.
No shame in this trembling.
She is the altar, and bride,
and lover, and flame,
whom God enters not with thunder,
but with fire too deep to name.
Her body is incandescent—
like a moth in a candle flame—
every nerve a silver filament
burning at the edge of breaking.
She cries out without sound,
a prayer too fierce for words.
She lies in the hush that follows,
emptied yet brimming with rapture.
Flushed with the glow of Unknowing,
she becomes the crystalline Castle
where light returns home to itself.
youth’s stem
broken-bent
appearance
of beautiful
in half of her face
in
a
m o m e n t of i m p a c t
acid torch of saint lily
Our fantasy sometimes will paint
A lover that's some kind of saint.
But isn't that dull?
For life is more full
Where only perfection, there ain't.
I believe in the Holy Bible
Not in any bible out there
full of insertions and human errors
Divine Lord, Father Christ
Please send Archangel St. Raphael
To walk with me in figuring out my/our goal
Profession
What minor and major I/we will pursue
To have abundant blessings
I understand that I have to toil
Work extremely hard
To achieve the best version of myself/ourselves
Archangel St. Raphael please be with me/us in my/our struggles
As we labor the lists of things I/we will do
To accomplish the most desirable type of Line/puzzle/exam/act/dance/song/hymn/play/game/make/speech/lesson/…
… I/we will partake to triumph
Achieve success
Acquire joy forever and ever
Amen
I could not think of anything to write because I don’t celebrate
Saint Patrick’s Day, although I observe it wearing green, if I don’t forget.
I just remembered I dated a guy, who has Irish ancestry last year.
Yes, we celebrated Saint Patrick’s Friday night for it fell on Wednesday.
We agreed on wearing something green and meeting at the Irish pub,
called Ireland’s 32 to have dinner and dance to the tunes of a rock band.
As expected, he was wearing a green shirt and I wearing a green blouse.
The place was packed when we got there, standing near the door a while.
We walked to another pub across the street to eat and walked back for
the band, got lucky to get a table, comfortably listened and danced the
night away and of course chatted until the wee hours, the closing time.
Well, he did not give me a four leaf clover for luck, whatever fizzled out.
St. Patrick's Day
My cousin went joyfully to Ireland,
A first trip with her best friend, Tim Roland;
Joining fares on Paddy’s Day,
He viewed all green the whole day,
She shouted joyfully, “I love Greenland!”
A leprechaun who was afraid
To take part in today’s big parade
Found a good place to hide
But once he was inside
Quickly saw the mistake he had made.
For instead of a pub to appease,
With some corned beef and Guinness to please,
It became very plain
He’d be eating lo mein
Since the place he was in was Chinese.
Still, the waiters went out of their way
To make sure that this unplanned delay
Was as good as could be
So, along with his tea
Was a cookie to brighten his day.
When he opened the fortune, he read,
“Though you’re Irish, we’re glad you were led
To try out our cuisine;
Now it’s back to the green
For great riches for you lie ahead!”
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