There is so much this world can offer
But “been there, done that” settles in
There is no need for us to scoffer
At ones' stay put and “hasn’t been”
Think you have seen the earthly beauty
When hitting trodden tourist paths?
Come to big cities, gleaming snooty
Yet never try to take bypass
Bunch ways less travelled, places hidden
The shores, the mountains – take pick
They are wide open, not forbidden
Drive on dirt road to get a kick
We seldom see unspoiled beauty
With eyes so tired of TV
Before you leave, make it your duty
Watch starry sky, because it’s free
Let autumn leaves be quilt aglowing
On which you cannot leave a mark
To Nature’s mastery be bowing
Spectator sole, bewildered stark
To sit and listen, forest speaking
With jumbled words of rustling spigs
Lo, smell the wind, aromas streaking
Of flowers, water, fungi, twigs
Sunset at desert, small bonfire
They put one’s mind in gear shift
Important things you thought of prior
All take back seat so “tout de suite”
No one is coming spoil the moment
Yours to imbibe, save evermore
That’s what you get, as your bestowment
For sneaking out through backdoor
May 13, 2024
Psalms 150:6 (KJV) “Let every thing that hath breath praise the LORD. Praise ye the LORD.”
Trembling leaves, the graceful rose, jewellike dew,
Wed to stir the stars to glistening wonder
Nudging oaks and pines to a graceful breakthrough
Yearning for quiet during darkest thunder,
Whispering laughter over the heart and soul,
Adoring Him who can tear life asunder
His gentling touch ensuring love will console,
Moss covered logs, homes for frogs, weeping praises,
Stirring hope in those who know He’s in control
Praises who hushes doubt the scoffer raises,
Worshipping with a heart who truly adores,
Lighting the way for a joy that amazes
He is the perfect love that is fully yours,
With authentic praise, your faith opens love’s doors
He came and dwelt among men
And shared a vision of heav'n;
To Him some opened their doors,
But more denied their favors.
With sinners He sat and supped;
Thus, others called Him corrupt.
But they did not understand:
He changed their hearts with His hand.
He walked and taught in byways
And always with gentle gaze;
Some gladly took His offer,
Others remained a scoffer.
Still He sought those who were lost,
Those who felt were tempest-tossed.
He healed the sick--gave them hope!--
Granted them the strength to cope.
He knew He had few days left
And sorrowed for those bereft;
In His heart, He put us first--
Both good and bad and the worst.
In spite of His love so clear,
We pierced His side with a spear.
Then as He drew His last breath,
For us all He conquered Death.
April 6, 2023
Write a Jueju-Qijue Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
The stone that was rejected
now hovers overhead.
The sword of retribution
still dangles by a thread.
The careless laugh and squander,
the hungry starve away.
Men mock the storm and thunder,
deny the coming day.
They bomb, exploit and plunder –
of necessity they say.
And Rachel still is weeping
for the babes slain at her feet,
in Ramah ever keeping
her bloodstained swaddling sheet.
No longer do they crucify;
they poison, gas and maim.
No martyr do they glorify
or honour by a name.
But the greatest lie they proffer,
it is not that God is dead –
“He’s sleeping,” says the scoffer,
“on yon high and lofty bed.”
As one unable, or wishing
To bear no more this
Each wretched concern, unwarranted
Whilst overstressed is
Respectless Time, great scoffer of
Lasting worth's pretence
Sustain, will he; by this grant of
Symbolic foresight.
Posits you, a soul, bubble-freed
Above which sea's might
Death's dark, that old world engulfs; now
Of no consequence.
Flowers
By Miracle Man
11/28/2018
Purple Coneflowers
Life is a bouquet teeming with flowers,
That many never stop to smell each day.
Indian Blankets or a bed of Coneflowers
They bring a smile and beautify our way.
In differing stages, a bud vase may hold,
Flowers cut to adorn some loved one’s table;
Whether Red Roses or a single Marigold,
God has ordered each its own timetable.
The cut Rose bud that had so much to offer,
Yet no one will ever behold its full bloom.
Likewise are those apprehensive of the scoffer,
Who withdraws to quiet corner of a room?
In the sixth hour,
of the sixty-sixth day,
another doubter stood on the edge
of the dark abyss
Void chasm in the mind;
canyon to nowhere,
null directions written on a blank page
In the sixth hour,
of the sixty-sixth day,
a scoffer peered down into the darkness
And in that dire, precipice moment ...
a fateful decision had to be made
Babylonian in nature,
the implications were grave
Willingly eat the Nebuchadnezzar curse,
swallow the rage
Stoke the volatile belly of beastly hatred,
then sphincter lip open the cage
This skeleton key decision has you so afraid
Explosive emotions ... violently untamed
Wrecking havoc,
innocent blood will have the soul stained
Every precipice moment begins and ends
In the sixth hour,
of the sixty-sixth day
Pridefully stand tall, and
fall asunder or bend to pray ...
the choice is yours
Fear the scarlet marked nay,
should you choose to temptingly fall that way
In the sixth hour
of the sixty-sixth day ...
The birth of reprobate iniquity
died in a stillborn womb,
where mercy was taken away
Normality
ills of academic hordes...
sought to lampoon the rest
into robotic construct
notable exploits ~wings of creativity~
via abnormality
certainty of hordes' unquizz
fore they conceal
wee might in twilight’s hour
meager lab’s florescent
shine dimly against darkness peep
of night starry
luminesce cuff
lonely Scoffer draped in madness
abnormalities
isolate unknown gene’s molecule
dispel horde’demic norm
certainty of normality quizzed
by abnormality… fore
he is said not to be illuminati
On the electric line
Sat the crows in a row
Some noisy
Some feeling low
Some one self pecked
Some flew away
As the sun set
They settled for the day.
One crow of the lot
Flew away from the rest
Sat on the line
Opposite to the first
No sooner had his foot
Touched the wire live
The spark that flew
Caused instant death
He hung upside down
More still than the rest
The Death on the line
Did, him invite to join?
What was the offer?
That, him turned
Life’s, scoffer?
Do we life, suffer
For death us ignores
Or are death and life puppets
And destiny the trap door?