On Saturday afternoons long ago, when cartoons faded from the TV’s glow
A teenager earned a modest pittance, to finish the week with his remittance
From coins for cans and chores to do, the basement became the work place too
A weekly ritual dust and sweep, and memories were polished for us to keep
Years rolled on yet still there lies, a wooden shelf with the writing of “pizza flies”
A phrase half-lost, a family thread, echoing something once misread
From allowance paid to words unclear, the past returns as I sit here
In chores, in jokes, we had a good time, it’s these small moments of which I write
beneath St. Michael’s Gate
the reddish day vibrates
an ochre twilight fades
into the maze of narrow lanes...
young musicians
beneath the shabby arcade
play azure blues
the air holds a brick-red hue
like your body... while making love
I feel (beautifully)
violet…
The amber color the tea is turning
As it starts to boil
Reminds me of his eyes.
Little bubbles
Floating
From
The
Bottom
Remind me of the laughter of my children
The sound is dancing
Twinkling through
The thick molasses of a darkening depression.
My eyes drift to a tiny,
happy hand
resting on his smiling chin.
I’m writing poems in the kitchen.
Loved.
We are all,
Loved.
laughter
comedy and
poetry followed by
the voice of an angel singer
fun night
Plus Or Minus
Is it a strength
or a weakness
not to know
when it’s over
Is it positive
or negative
the result
— zero sum
(Dreamsleep: July, 2026)
Divinity’s Harvest
The mills of God
grind slowly
The grist of
— Heaven’s delight
(Dreamsleep: July, 2026)
Springing Forth
Leaving the last
of our verses unfinished
With lines unwritten
for others to plead
A poem of hope
springs forth from the shadows
Where statements are doubted
— and wonder believed
(Dreamsleep: July, 2026)
Waiting For The Wind
Sails
unhoisted
Folded
they wait
For wind
to unfurl them
As horizons
— conflate
(Dreamsleep: July, 2026)
Rushing Past
Placing
a period on time
And a stop sign
on creation
We dally in place
— spitting into the wind
(Dreamsleep: July, 2026)
New Voices
Itinerant
air
Sacred in its
wandering
Searching for
new voices
Divorced
— from the wind
(Mariahan Memories: July, 2026)
Why & Where
We are here
who knows why
And we go
— who knows whither
(Dreamsleep: July, 2026)
587.
Black Saturday Prayer to Santa Muerte
Santa Muerte in violet this Black Saturday
The day after the death of our Lord
Remind us of his burial & repose this day
Never separate us from His saving cord
With your Holy Cross we are sanctified
Through the burial & repose of our Lord Jesus Christ
This day after He was crucified
After His Holy Death when His life He sacrificed.
Amen.
-11/05/2017
(Dumarao)
*Occasional Prayers ton Santa Muerte
584.
Saturday Night Prayer to Santa Muerte
Santa Muerte, Lady of the Night
Bring us wisdom this Saturday night
The Wisdom by your Blue Book
A Godly wisdom that can straighten the crook
Oh my beloved guardian
Keep us away from the clutches of Satan
With your Blue Book, embrace us this Saturday night
Be at my side everynight.
Amen.
-11/04/2017
(Dumarao)
*Nightly Prayers to Santa Muerte
577.
Saturday Prayer to Santa Muerte
Santa Muerte who is with us everyday
Our Sacred Protector, bless us this Saturday
Grant us this Saturday your Wisdom
Your Blue Book of God's kingdom
Your guiding embrace with your Blue Book
A wisdom that can straighten the crook
Oh Santa Muerte in Blue, Lady of Saturday
Be with us from day to day.
Amen.
-11/03/2017
(Dumarao)
*Daily Prayers to Santa Muerte
Crossing The Line
Time
is a circle
Unbroken
ordained
Inside
or out
Your destiny
— claimed
***
When The Music’s Over
Faithful
to his demons
Jim walked the Rues
Paris
alluring
deception its truth
Consumed
by a fantasy
where darkness can hide
Alone
in the travesty
the drugs — and the lies
***
One Chance
Time waits
for no one
holding their breath
Hearts beat
in sequence
numbered till death
One chance
is given
no seconds or thirds
Fate
the addiction
— shaken not stirred
(Dreamsleep: May, 2026)
I finished a Saturday crossword,*
The hardest one offered each week.
It took me a while
But earned me a smile
And the constant reminder I seek
That my brain cells, although I am aging,
Are still functioning well enough to
Fill in all of the squares
That some person prepares
So we solvers can track down each clue.
It’s a sense of accomplishment, truly;
Other puzzlers know just what I mean.
Though we do it alone,
We are, each of us, prone
To a chance to internally preen.
*last Saturday’s New York Times puzzle,
solved today
A past the soul, eats
Memories of people
Event of many seats
Rained on. the steeple
Church prepped proper
Pews filled, flowers decked
White gowned, the monster
The future not yet wrecked
Confetti and photo shoot
A grand reception follow
Live band and MC to boot
Something, rings hollow
Joined in unholy union
Stoic empath and diva
For now, in communion
Twixt novelty driven fever
The mirror will break
Pierfect no more
Prisoners to take
To a distant shore
Blame games ensue
Victim turns villain
The truth to lose
Years two score ,fill in
It’s Saturday night and I’m at home
I’ve been sitting for a while, alone
my hair is a mess, I’m barely dressed, it’s been a long week of nothing but stress.
I hear the doorbell; I walk downstairs (this poor delivery driver is going to catch me, unawares).
Just my luck, he’s a curtained Zeus, he chews his gum and looks bemused at this mess before him.
Crippled with shame, I have myself to blame, climbing the stairs in my Era’s t shirt (my stomach starts to hurt).
It’s Saturday night and they’re all so excited
to go to that party, to which I wasn’t invited for whatever reason. Guess it’s just not my season. I tried all I could, I texted them all but they just can’t fit me in, doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting.
It’s Saturday night and they’re just too tired, to have to see me, they must be inspired. Guess I’ll try again next week; to myself I’ll speak.
It’s Saturday night, but nearly the morning
I’ve spent the last few hours, just yawning.
What a fun weekend!
Can’t wait to do it all again.
Jesus lays dead in his tomb, the world is sad and quiet.
Jesus had been dead, all is dark, and many are sad.
Jesus’s voice has ended, and many are in shock.
Jesus is believed to be gone, never to be heard from again.
Jesus is believed to be descended into the darkness of death.
Jesus some believe has gone to free many from death of sin.
Holy Saturday may be the day Jesus fought with good and evil for the rights of us to live in heaven.
Holy Saturday, was silent on earth, yet we ponder if Jesus did battle for the rights of all his believers to be freed by his work on the cross and in his life.
Holy Saturday is a day, we reflect and pray, and love, and remember all of Jesus’s teachings and his sacrifice on the cross.
We love you Jesus, and thank you for all of your works, today and always we pray.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
Forever To Hide
You’ll never escape
a bad memory
when it’s buried deep inside
It’s hard to run away
from the ‘stalker’
in dark moments that reside
Within to keep you captive
your soul
indentured and restrained
Forever to hide
from what lives to prey
— on what you cannot change
(Dreamsleep: March, 2026)
Though Tattered And Torn
Many salute
before the flag
some will turn their backs
Many will bleed
to keep it flying
some let it go slack
Many fight ...
Old Glory tattered
some avoid the fray
Many will die
within its folds
some — their hearts betray
(Martha Browns Woods: March, 2026)
A Darkened Sprit
With Satan’s
vow
He damned
his soul
Denying
God
His fate
ran cold
Blessings
offered
Turned
away
A darkened
spirit
His will
— conveyed
(Dreamsleep: March, 2026)
I woke at 8:45
Stretched and yawned
Smiled. All gaiety.
Potty first. Face splashed
Skipped teeth, shower, hair
Pajamas wrinkled
week-long underwear
Rushed down the steps
Threw open the fridge—
Friday’s meatloaf, cold brick.
Just Me & Capt’n Crunch—
sugar gravel
still in a Scooby-dish bowl
9am flipped on the boob-tube
Saturday morn cartoons
Mystery van
Spinach
Spiders
Anvils dropping
White cowl
Bull’s-eye dog
Sugar Sugar
Ah…Honey Honey
Daniel—
Cliff edge
The long fall.
I laughed until I wept, until I cried.
All gaiety—
gone.
The sweet milk gone warm.
Chirp.
Screen lit—
three little dots
then—
“You up yet Papa? XOXO”
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