I carry their echoes in the soft places~
the way my great-grandmother’s steadiness settles in my bones,
the way old stories rise like dusk-light when I’m afraid,
the way their hands—hands I never held~
still guide mine toward gentler choices.
Ancestral memory moves through me,
a river remembering its source,
quiet, persistent,
shaping the banks of who I’ve become~
a gift passed forward through time
without ever needing a name.
punctuality begins
as a quiet promise~
a way of honoring
both the moment
and the people
waiting inside it.
arriving on time
isn’t about clocks;
it’s about care~
a small act of respect
that says
your life matters too.
those who practice it
learn to walk
with steadiness~
their days unfolding
without rush,
without apology.
in the long run
punctuality becomes
a kind of grace~
a habit that shapes
not just schedules
but character.
I stand by the stream
listening to the sound of flowing water.
the gentle invitation it offers
is a soft unraveling
of everything the day held too tightly.
it murmurs over stones
in a language older than sorrow,
each syllable a cool blue note
slipping into the air.
there is a tenderness in it,
a steadiness
that smooths the edges of thought
and loosens the knots beneath my ribs.
the stream keeps moving,
silver-bright, unhurried,
teaching the me
how to breathe again.
and as it trickles and flows,
its gathers calm around me~
a quiet presence
that feels like being held
by something patient
and endlessly kind.
He stands beside his child
the way a tree stands beside its shadow~
not owning it,
not shaping it,
but offering a place to grow
in the shelter of his presence.
The boy leans in,
trust quiet as breath,
as if he already knows
that the world is easier to face
when a father’s steadiness
is close enough to touch.
There is no need for words.
Love moves in the small distances~
the space between two hands,
the tilt of a shoulder,
the soft gravity that pulls
one life toward another.
On Father's Day
what matters most
is not the weight of legacy
or the echo of a family name,
but the simple truth
that a child stands taller~
when a father stands near.
Dancing on one leg,
On one leg we live with agony.
Agony shapes our wobbly footsteps.
Footsteps made into inaudible power.
Power blossoms through a series of gaffes.
Gaffes in life we must encounter.
Encounter the collapse,
Collapse that let us instill how to soar
Soar through tornadoes.
Tornadoes that hover steadiness
Steadiness leading to respire hesitation.
Hesitation converts into intensity.
Intensity that coals irrepressible souls.
Souls molded by cracks
Cracks that find cadence in the obscure.
Obscure leads to dawn
Dawn still pirouetting on one leg
Poem by N. Mugisho
My relationship with him was of short duration,
And very little did I know of or about him. But,
I learned a very valuable lesson from Darrel.
I was a part of a prayer meeting at our church,
and it was at this event that I net Darrel. Even
though such meetings are great to help us grow,
Like most prayer meetings, only a few people show.
I wish we all felt free and unthreatened as my friend
Darrel who never felt any pressure to pray out loud.
He simply sat there and absorbed the Presence of God.
Darrel's wife was well known and active in the church;
But unlike her, my friend Darrel was a stranger to most.
We had just recently began to acquaint ourselves, and
I'm certain that we would have become best of friends.
Darrel passed away after briefly attending prayer meetings.
We often remember people for the things they openly said and
did. I remember Darrel for what he taught me about what he did
not do or did not say; about his quietness, stillness, calmness, and steadiness. I tell you, he was like a visiting angel that showed up
once a week just to be with us.
040625PS
Dawn
To the most ardent hours beholding peace
Plodding through the wild night of unease
Finally meets the creases of spark
Shining through the bulky layers of dark...
The hour withholds the music of eternity
Encompassing the silence of infinity
Wide eyes watching the sky giving birth
Witnessing these hours have always been worth...
These hours enticing a steady pause
Quite stands firm on its cause
Showcasing the steadiness in its beauty
Withstanding its inevitable duty...
Man, Perhaps walks through a similar play
Entangled into chaotic cycles of the day
He awaits a dawn of serenity
An hour of pure amenity...
~Akshaya
Oh beautiful, my country thee, the pride of pilgrim dreams,
My home beneath an azure sky, is where the sunlight beams,
America, America, forever proud and free,
Your governance, in righteousness, preserves our liberty.
With gratitude, for blessings great, we move our work along,
Each sacrifice we make today, will keep us safe and strong,
America, America, a beacon to the world,
Your vigilance, with steadiness, will keep our flag unfurled.
We recognize, with grateful pride, our soldiers in the field,
Who give their lives to keep us free, when lesser causes yield,
America, America, where peace through strength prevails,
Your bravery, inspires me, your courage never fails.
In every heart, where virtue lies, there lives prosperity,
Imbued with firm resolve to serve, with true humility,
America, America, may God thy glory be,
And in thy peace, may we increase, in love and charity.
The pioneers, of long ago, were just like you and me,
They came to seek a better life, to leave posterity,
America, America, on mountain, plain, and sea,
May you remain, through every gain, the crown of history!
guiding me through life's tightrope,
the steadiness of your hand;
the strength, hope and faith in it
keeps me from falling.
I own the personality of a human extrovert
you can call me Majesty for I have steadiness of paw
when it comes to hunting I can be quite overt
as vocal as a crow's caw caw
I am tiger, hear me growl and roar
as the largest feline in the world, I always stand proud
solitary by nature I take care of my cubs with adore
but don't stand in my way or you'll hear me nice and loud
I am a sentient being at the brink of extinction
due to the fact they want me for my pelt, meat and body parts
when they take spear in hand and come into my jurisdiction
it is then that I flair my nostrils and eat my counterparts
unless you threaten to kill me, I wont pull out my tiger claws
when I am observing I often strike a tall majestic pose
but if you can smell my musky scent, then your standing too close
the fact is you need to keep distance, its as plain as the tip of your nose.
Quiet like the sea that winks at you with caution
Until waves wash your balance in a soaking totter
Exertion in a rooted footing to snatch breaths of salty air
Steadiness holding/healing a body from the drop off of loss
To watch the setting sun, its lilt and tow of memory
careening beneath waves
What this life full of competition,
A simple fault could result to miserable condition,
In the world's race of perfection,
Calmness and steadiness is no more a perception.
Be a part of this race,
Or apart from this race,
Either by yourself or others.
Oh the maker, please bless everyone some time for themselves,
To let live human and not machine,
Some time to stare and look at crazy and beautiful things.
Time is less to explore and ace the stage,
Fortunate get the pleasure of both,
Oh the maker, bless time to those unfortunates
Every drop of water counts ... since there is a scarcity,
the world appears to be out of bounds and parity.
What if ... water and meals are at the verge of paucity?
suddenly ... the equilibrium steadiness is exhausted,
proceed to battle and let our kids starve comported.
Written: June 26, 2022
Bite Size Poem No48 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
Admit odds-on guilt for spreading delight and happiness
For as long as one's bold soul is doused with goodness
If I lacked money or riches, my odds could be limitless
As of now, I bear a heart that is fit to yield with easiness
The grain is large and plump, but in another is worthless,
Nothing vast occurs on consecutive with deathlessness
Giving delight to the noble hearts of others steadiness
An odd item that does not maintain the value faultless.
Written: January 23, 2022
I taste the flowers on the floor,
smashed beneath your boot, and
choke
on their heady perfume,
finding it difficult to inhale
broken petals.
They are a puddle of
crushed velvet,
soft
like the stillness after you
breathe away
the steadiness of your spine
and allow your shoulders to curl
inward.
You don’t let me touch
the wisteria
still tangled in your hair,
so I watch it weep.
Violet tears drift to the ground,
weightless in their untethered freedom,
and stain our floors.
I drown as I try to
swallow their gravity
before
their perfume fades.
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