Do Te La So Fa Me Re Do.
Peter's notes go downwards:
it's Do to Do
to rhyme with so-and-so.
It's door to door
just five small minutes
from my abode I go
across the way
to reach the church
that is St Peter's.
We hear that Do to Do
descend as now we go
from door to door, just so.
This so-and-so
will make his way
towards those bells that call us
down and down
from door to door
from Do to Do.
Peter is there.
He wears eight rings
as sonorous sounds.
They take me so,
from Do to Do:
Do Te La So Fa Me Re Do.
(written 16 Sep 2026)
In her hair, she placed a rose,
so like her own curling petals;
richly red, her eyes deep blue
A sweet lilt musical as heaven.
In her heart from birth she sensed
love as wide and deep, all seas!
And through her life she sought
her God, only for him to please….
She danced over the rough stages
of life, her leaps resounding rhythms.
She sang a sacred healing Light --
though born late, in a dark eve her
unrelenting Irish never gave way
to night.
AS THE YELLOW TAPE DECORATED MY TOWN HOME
PEOPLE FROM ALL OVER WATCHED IN SILENCE
I FROZE MY HEART POUNDING LIKE THUNDER WHY
IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD FOR THIS MAN WHO
LIE BLEEDING AT MY FEET I HERE HIM WHISPER
FOR MERCY HE HELD OUT HIS HANDS WITH BLOOD
IN THE CORNER OF HIS MOUTH I FEEL LIKE MOTHER
THERESA AND JOAN LUNDON AT THE SAME TIME
MY MIND QUICKLY MOVES BACK TO COMPASSION
AND LIFE FOR HIS SOUL LORD I PRAYED WITH THIS
DYING MAN AS I WEEP SO TRAUMATIZED BY VIOLENCE
YET AGAIN THE MAN COVERED WITH HOLES
OF BLOOD HE REACHED FOR ME I COULDN'T STOP
HIS PAIN WHY WHY AND WHAT DOES HE WANT
WITH ME HE'S DEAD ALMOST HIS LEGS IS TREMBLING
HIS BREATH SHALLOW I TELL HIM I'LL GET HELP
I WAS AFRAID FOR HIM TO TOUCH ME AS I REACHED
OUT MY HAND THIS DYING MAN SAID NO PLEASE
STOP YOUR CRYING IT'S KILLING ME
WRITTEN BY MRS. YOLANDA NICHOLSEN 5-14-2004
2610 PROVIDENCE STREET FORT MYERS FLORIDA
AFTER WITNESSING THE KILLING OF MY ASSASIN
1211 ST ROYAL PLACE ST JAMES PLACE TAMPA
8-14-2003 MY KILLER GUNNED DOWN PURRED
AT MY FEET HE WAS KILLED FOR ARRIVING TO KILL ME
GOD BLESS AMERICA
If I’d ever see anything more poetic.
I peak here, I think to myself,
my stride hastening unconsciously
as my eyes follow the path of the page,
as if I could make out the scripture,
knowing good and well Sunday school
was the only school I wasn’t the top of my class.
I thought it followed me
all the way to the crêpe shop—
come to find out
there are more than one.
The sky rains Bible pages down on me,
no longer do I have to focus to see
John,
Matthew,
hell even Ruth’s here.
The absurdity of the situation
would make you believe I’m embellishing.
i’m not.
It’s just a sign I refuse to acknowledge
And as a poet,
I'm inclined to write.
St. Maries de la Mer
Kate Sparks
April 9, 2026
Edited April 23, 2026
I walk the stone arc?of sacred remembrance.
At ancient Ra,?where salt marsh meets sea,?pilgrims remember?what the tide has known—?a boat without oars,?once found this safe harbor.?For forty days?and forty endless nights?we drifted unmoored.?Terns stitched the horizon,?sea to sky to shore.
Souls without anchor?wade into cold water,?strong hands guiding younger?to deeper currents,?their bodies tender,?their spirits trembling.?Sanderlings on the shore?scratch out a memory,?run, retreat,?enter again.
Waves that once pulled me under?now gentle at my feet.
Here I stand,
witness to a deeper awakening.
Of course there were bagpipes
And kilt-wearing men.
As always, they marched
Up Fifth Ave. once again.
The day, bright and sunny,
Was cold, plus the wind
Challenged anyone out there
Who wasn’t thick-skinned.
I felt for the students
Parading without
Warm jackets or gloves;
They were frozen, no doubt.
Yet the smiles were contagious
And so was the green,
For today we’re all Irish;
There’s no in-between.
Which is why, walking home,
I made one unplanned stop,
Since tonight needs some Guinness –
Not just a wee drop!
We're jottin' down our poems, me boys
We're jottin' down our poem
From old Bombay to Galway Bay
We're jottin' down our poems
All wannabe Byrons just step aside
We're the best bards on land and foam, Aye!
We're jottin' dowm our poems, me boys
We're jottin' down our poems
Irish Cream Cake
I stir and mix
rich ingredients in forty shades of green for kicks
inside our T-castle by the bay
shanty sea songs we shall play
he sings along, blare’n A Pair of Brown Eyes and Wellerman
Celtic tea cake zesty
raspberry tea tickles my fancy
energy light and airy
a treat of nostalgic dairy
màireach brings bákús blessings!
Chocolate dallops and drizzles stuck
and four-leaf clovers for good luck
kindly do indulge
each bite pure decadence to divulge!
St Patrick’s Day Eve
3/16/26
St Patrick's Day POTD
3/17/26
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There once was a squirrel named Maureen,
Who traced her roots back to Eire's green.
With emerald pride,
Her fur she dyed~
Now she reigns as forest’s Emerald Queen!
263.
Prayer Poem to St. Expeditius
Oh St. Expeditius!
Our Intrams patron in highschool fourth year
Look at me again who is here
Now we have a common enemy
That is tomorrow of uncertainty
Rescue me before I fall
I don't want to stumble infront of all
Show to those who await my demise
That by God's will I shall arise!
-03/21/2014
(Dumarao)
• ST. MATTHEW 21:22
WooH OH, I BELIEVE
Yes! I do believe
I receive, I receive, I believe
I can do all things, I can do all things, I can do all things
Through God that strengthens me
Believing prayer is powerful
God is the answer, Jesus is the answer
My Lord, believing our prayers is powerful
The promises of God are yea and nay
Hallelujah
You will receive it,
In alignment with God’s will
When it’s in His will, you will
Receive it, Hallelujah
Father allows us to do miraculous things, In Him
Unwavering trust in Him, it’s Him
Prayers align with His purpose
We are His servants, we praise Him He’s our surface
WooH OH, I BELIEVE
Yes! I do believe
I receive, I receive, I believe
I can do all things, I can do all things, I can do all things
Through God that strengthens me
Believing prayer is powerful
God is the answer, Jesus is the answer
My Lord, believing our prayers is powerful
The promises of God are yea and nay
Hallelujah
You will receive it,
In alignment with God’s will
When it’s in His will, you will
Receive it, Hallelujah
3/9/26
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2026©
Should you spend St Patrick’s Day in merry old Derry
Beware of sheepdogs so smug and contrary
He swears he’s Irish, he’s not!
He’s just an old English sot
So toss the cur, drink up, and get your dog some therapy
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shamrocks
Guiness flows,
Laughing friends cheer,
Drums echo through the streets,
Sláinte!
The word sláinte in Irish or slàinte in Scottish Gaelic means "health." As a drinking toast it is common in Ireland, Scotland, and the Isle of Man. (Source: Wikipedia.com)
St. David's Day
It’s quite a chore to cut the soggy lawn
The grass grows higher as the sky hangs lower
You have no time to chat if grass is long
Gives reason to check out your new mower
You said it’s not as heavy as the old one
And easier to move along, more handy
You wouldn’t notice if the work is done
Until it’s time to have some tea and brandy
The lawn is perfect, smooth and velvet green
You’ve cut it at the first of March last year
It’s still the same, I see it on the screen
“St. David’s day, so happy March!” you said, my dear.
Years have taught me this:
Classrooms grow two seasons.
Some minds bloom.
They tilt toward light,
Ask questions like rivers,
Walk long roads with books for bread,
Keep vigil with the moon
Till knowledge breaks the dark.
They lift their parents’ names,
Spark their peers to motion,
And sit-------quietly........
Where crowns listen.
Others arrive as drought.
They silence bells,
Drink effort dry,
Turn patience into ash.
Lessons knock;
Their doors do not answer.
They learn by weight, not will,
Crushing the fragile courage
Of those who teach,
Leaving hearts bruised,
Hope breathless.
So I ask
Are you seed or stone?
Fire or fog?
An answer to sacrifice
Or the thief of time?
Look back at the hands that paid,
The hours poured like rain.
Look forward.
Choose what kind of season
You will be.
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