MIRRORING SELF IN THE GLORY OF GOD
In every mirror,
You should see
God’s beautiful creature
Looking back at you…
Look into a mirror, and doubt not yourself!
That mirror reflection cannot ever match,
The beauty and warmth from within you:-
For within you is the spitting image of God’s will,
Of the true beauty He created for you to be; thus,
Never ever doubt who and whose you are:-
Know that you are a child of God who can’t be doubted.
Though you may not yet have become the child of your will,
Remember, the time of all things to be is in the will of God:-
Know that in time immemorial, His will has always triumphed!
Thus, be not dismayed, disillusioned, or in disbelief of God and self:-
Refuel your spirit, and give God the glory, for your coming, divine destiny!
A secondhand corner
Bookstore – I wonder what book will
Choose to make itself known to me today.
Dust or dialogue,
Extraction or echo,
Full-page or fiction? As I enter the
Gateway of the fixation of words – I wonder…
How many homes, people, miles you have been
Introduced to,
Jaunted, or come across? How your
Kindred-ness has inspired so many –
Living through pages, with your tree spirit still alive.
Mediator through human madness,
Navigation through understanding,
Openness through touch. With every
Page turned, how it nourishes a single soul –
Quantifying. Though each
Reader finds different meaning with a new word –
Side note. Though my trip
To the bookstore is coming an end – You are truly the spitting image of what
Universal unification exudes – of what humans allow, that is.
Verso, ending where another can begin again. To find new meaning
Worldwide to create their own place.
Xeric plant from the seed planted – Foundation. As I walk outside,
Yellow birds flying together, and how
Zen harmonizes the day.
I wonder why my parent said
She’s the spitting image of grandma dead
For in death, grandma did not look her best ~
though she still aced the saliva test
Pleased as punch this mother quite proud
Flips up her tail and neighing so loud
Her gait so lively, her head held high
A bright young mama, once a gleam in her eye
Unbridled spirit, feeling so grand
The spitting image of his dear old man
Romping through fields, free of reins
Thundering hoofs, flying mane
A frisky young colt like dad in his day
Who was quite a stud they were heard to say
Then back to the barn when day is done
This spirited young colt was born to run
Resting for a while batteries recharged
Chomping at the bit, a spirit so large
Such unbridled youth, exuberance defined
This pesky young colt, it's his time to shine
This Dame no longer believes in luck
even my existence doesn’t make it real
I’m the spitting image of prosperity
still she doesn’t believe.. not at all
sitting here wishing for another time
another day another melancholy face
what turned your brandy bitter
what turned all those dreams sober
eyes that would always roll the dice
that inner light has become so dim
an ace card thrown one too many times
whenever you recite a hard luck rhyme
but you gotta feel it in your bones
As Sinatra said ‘Luck be a lady tonight.’
Your cat has returned without you.
It is sleek and wiry like you,
and does not like me anymore,
but suffers me under its roof.
At night it will not sleep with me,
in the day it stares
with what appears to me to be
a pitying disgust.
Nothing I do pleases it.
It hates the food I offer.
I get no thanks for changing its litter.
It nags me with an impatient
swishing tail.
Did you die and reincarnate
as this furry, not so playful playmate?
I confess
when it is angry - claws out and hissing,
it is the very spitting image of you!
Did you know she cuts her wrist on a daily to take away the pain that you caused and that she’s socially awkward because you’re a spitting image of her father who beat her when she was younger. Every night she sits there and dreams someone will come and rescue her from the pain and that you caused and that she will find true love again. One little hello from someone could take away her pain but she’s socially awkward and too scared she’ll get hurt again. Society has taken the best of this girl because she is not popular and nobody wants to read her book because her cover looks too boring.
Have I ever told you that …
“I don’t know what we’re supposed to do next.”
Loveless, we sat down together to our evening meal.
It wasn’t until I collected by bag at the airport that I realised I didn’t love him anymore.
The fridge started to gurgle.
He merely let me stroke his hair, unlike my daughter who enjoyed my attention and touch.
… conversations meld and mould and melt …
He knew it as well as I did that we hadn’t laughed in a long, long time.
I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I just can’t wake to another day of the mundane.
“You really are the spitting image of him” I said, whilst straightening his tie and top button.
Bang.
Five years ago, I never would have predicted that this would have been my life.
… and develop into what could be or should be or will be …
I mean, the obituary in the newspaper didn’t even get the date that she died correct.
All was well now.
In hindsight, I just should not have said that I would.
He faltered, like a new born calf taking its first slippery steps.
“This is what it’s all been leading up to.”
Five Beginnings
“I don’t know what we’re supposed to do next.”
Loveless, we sat down together to our evening meal.
It wasn’t until I collect by bag at the airport that I realised I didn’t love him anymore.
The fridge started to gurgle.
He let me stroke his hair, unlike my daughter who enjoyed my attention and touch.
with one of these Five Middles
He knew it as well as I did that we hadn’t laughed in a long, long time.
I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I just can’t wake to another day of the mundane.
“You really are the spitting image of him” I said, whilst straightening his tie and top button.
Bang.
Five years ago, I never would have predicted that this would have been my life.
could lead up to which of these Fives Endings?
I mean, the obituary in the newspaper didn’t even get the date that she died correct.
All was well now.
In hindsight, I just should not have said that I would.
He faltered, like a new born calf taking its first slippy steps.
“This is what it’s all been leading up to.”
Daddy Daddy why don’t you love me, wasn’t I the little girl you wanted me to be? Things with my mom weren’t meant to be but daddy daddy why did you leave me?
Daddy Daddy why don’t you love me, ain’t I the big girl you thought I could be? They say I’m spitting image of you, daddy daddy can’t you see?
Daddy Daddy why don’t you love me, I tried to be the parent you couldn’t be. Now I have grandkids you never see, daddy daddy how could this be?
Daddy Daddy why don’t you love me, I am the best grandma I know how to be. Thank you for the life that you gave me, daddy daddy I wish you could see, I only wanted you to love me.
The camel showed her new calf to a few
calf got scared and friends faces looked like glue
they weren't mad
they just declared
the new calfs a spitting image of you!
9-18-17
ROOTS
They came seeking a future not their own
carrying naught but memories too soon to fade
into the substance of a union of hearts.
In leaving left the spitting image of themselves
to gather up their memories lest they fade.
1/3/2017
submitted to – ROOTING FOR 8 TO 5 – Poetry Contest
my son my fistborn you are my little friend
i hold you up high for the whole world to see
you are my boy
you are a spitting image of me
i promise to be a good father to you
give you all the love you can stand little man
you are my joy and pride
i love you son and my tears i can not hide
when your five i will take you fishing
when your twelve i will take you to hunt
when you are sixteen i will tell you about girls
right now i will be content with holding you and smelling your neck
i love you so my little son
Help me break bread at this table
Songs of my captivity
And in those four lines you’re learning to set me free
Where did you put the rope and muzzle
Where is it now?
Should I count it all with you?
Should I give up the stamp I’ve left on your memory?
But you know me
And that’s the impact
A rare understanding
that I couldn’t find the words to give them
But you knew, my captor read me
And I find these things in old words
Written in digital poetry
The void is no longer a mystery
I’m missing the essence of you
The understanding of our knowing laughter
Our observations that gave us air
To puff up our own thrones
And I, the spitting image of my disappointment
am left here empty
Bewildered, because it’s been made so that I need you
How would I love after you?
It was with you that I felt the ricochets of my affection
The heaviness of wanted blessings on your behalf
And I saw your faith waiver
And now they see me crack
Because from where I’m running
is where I need to go back
My tears began to flow like the blood from my ****** when he raped me.
It’s crazy how he looks into my eyes & can’t seem to see himself.
The spitting image of him, I wonder if he was raped like he’s raping me.
With every thrust it feels like my insides are being ripped apart
and life begins to seep out of my body.
He starts to pant & jerk letting me know he is done.
As he leaves the room, I am too weak to move.
Closing my eyes, I begin to pray, “Dear Lord please hear my cries”.
I know my mother who’s in the room next to me hears my cries but is to highed up to even care.
She ignores the fact that my ****** looks played with, abused, and misused.
MY OWN FATHER RAPED ME & my mother ignored it.
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