We know not what each new day brings
So, we must bear life’s curves and swings.
Not knowing when the tide would turn
Is what creates uncertainty.
If only we could ever know
the way that everything would go,
Then we can know what to plan for
and live our lives with certainty.
Since we could never ever know,
the way that everything would go,
We plan our lives as best we could,
and trust things turn out for the good.
God, your maker, knows the future
And he desires what’s best for you
If you yield your whole soul to him
He’ll not leave you to fate’s whims.
In the future God is planning,
there will be no end to our lifespan.
Earthly troubles will then be ended,
and the living will be splendid.
Those whose trust in Christ is thorough
Do not mind the unknown morrow.
For the God who knows the future
Is the one who'll see them through.
540.
Learning Facilitating Learning
A Prof. Ed. Subject – Facilitating Learning
Learning is fun according to the saying
But there are theories and laws we need to keep
So learning can become thorough & deep
Styles & ways to make it more exciting
To be applied in the principles of teaching
Things to consider so we can concentrate
Activities to do where we must cooperate.
-01/14/2017
(Dumarao)
*PEN poems
After careful and thorough-going consideration
of all the candidates’ experience and qualifications
I hereby nominate for the office of President
the best individual available ~ me
Chaos of gridlock
demands thorough forbearance
not a chance except slow down
Life is kinetic
hasty not to resolve things
let regrets not pull us down
Place: 3 rd
A daughter’s presence makes home a heaven
Blessed with a daughter is truly fortunate
Thorough them, fathers experience mothers' care again
Father witnesses his daughter nurturing a family
Marriage makes her accepting a new role
Missing her makes the father’s eyes foggy
Nocturnal eyes, rainbow bronze, black fluffy tail.
So bright the eyes they stare in this spring gail
I forth challenge myself
Any engaging with the animal
Chestnut brown thorough furrow
You think the atom cover I am Lord.Overall the animal kingdom
No fear.Shall I dread?I call unto them.
Cluck-cluck-click-click-click
Cluck-cluck-click-click-click
Cluck-cluck-click-click-click
Prior upon your arrival
Still i be still, throwing out peanuts
In a wooded area parking lot
You scamper you trot
Pick up with prayer, hands you sit on your buttOcks
Your tail reminiscent of a cat-and-dog,
Back- N -Forth swing contentment and happiness.
As you place, the peanut in both hands in prayer position you nibble. You chew continually until it's eaten.
This is REAL me feeding the brown squirrel at my job on the parking lot.
4/16/26
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2026(c)
his path strewn with sink holes and driftwood
took him to the edge of fear and utter despair
and perceptions often mislead more than they guide
until he chose to be more than a mere survivor
love had brought him incredible satisfaction and joy
yet impermanent suffering shadowed his rainbow
for a while painted in anthracite charcoal and ashes
black on dark canvas ghastly grim and forlorn
depression reeked its ugly head as a stark reminder
that life owed no happiness but he beheld himself
in courage hope faith and the hard labour of searching
for grasping the meaning of pain and thorough rebuilding
on the verge and crisis near the abyss and valley of death
he came upon the crossroad and decided to forge a third way
went to the beach and gave thanks to good things to come
The whit of peeve groans
slopes & rise,
slopes & rise as looping voices under disguise,
heave of raving voiced begrudge,
slopes & rise these inward knolls
burden streaming brooks
and un-foraged load,
so far, the mile, path to uneasy soul,
therein mirage fairing inward ethos’
grave starved quieting the mocking groans;
in the real, not so.
O suffering,
those unconscious woes’
deprave, hast wander’d thorough.
Still I sleep. Still I dream.
Whilst dormant conjures probe
tiniest relate with ancient lunatics,
inward hidden.
Topped with terra cotta- tiled roof
the house stood on a hill with pine trees,
partly covering it from view,
with its turrets opening like watchful eyes.
Rumor runs, at night from there,
people hear strange wailings.
Scoffing it as the weird fancy of crazy minds,
eager to prove the irrationality of it,
one night I ascended the hill,
leading to that cozy mansion.
As I paced faster and came closer,
the house looked so imposing
with a wide yard and a porch
surrounded by ornamental railings
with a winding driveway
lain with marble squares
and leading to the entrance
Close to the house but safely distant,
I noticed a narrow pit hidden among shrubs
Nothing was unusual about it.
I walked round and round.
Couldn’t see anything to rouse suspicion.
When I was about to leave,
as a proud victor after a thorough search,
I saw a skeletal figure emerging
from the pit and rising into air wailing.
In horror, as I looked on,
like a bird, on the pine branch, it did perch
and soon shape shifted into a man.
Fancy or Fact, never looking back
I took to my heels as fast as I could.
Celtic fans thought their team was due for a right gubbing
To the Gers' fans the first half was a Celtic drubbing
And the Celtic fans were so close to blubbing
Rohl was close to kingship with the Gers' fans him so dubbing
That second half with O'Neill's adroit subbing
Saw Celtic give the Blues a thorough scrubbing
With cheers unheard from the Green Brigade out happily pubbing
At the final whistle Celts with glee their hands were rubbing
While the home crowd felt like their team clubbing
And angrily their season tickets stubbing.
Can’t get enough of power they achieve
By thorough care about our security
They want us, little people, to believe
That their business is of our responsibility
They transferred all the services to AI
They claim that travel is a privilege to earn
I’m sure it is, my sweet authorities, that’s why
I’m globally homebound at your concern
I start forgetting where exactly have I been
in recent times, apart of Spar and other market
across the road, - at home I shrunk inside my skin
My rights are swiped under the worn red carpet
AI police tracks what I write online
How cheerful is my stuff, how well it fits
To their standards, that I should consider mine
I follow rules designed by artificial wits
Come if you are a human, come to talk
Let’s be like anyone we didn’t care to know
We may discuss whatever topics, by the walk
Across the road and back, on trampled snow.
The brunt of me.
Ends up bursting and unsalvageable.
Maybe I have another pill in the corner of my mind.
Just churns into the slop.
And lets out a bellow.
Everything about depression.
Just teeters around in a crusty way.
But it is thorough.
Is loving as a centipede.
The brunt of me.
Doesn’t end, just creates spots in my eyes again.
Bursting and unsalvageable.
I had a plan to build a new mind out of blades of grass.
It stayed up longer than expected.
The house looks so imposing and majestic from outside
With a wide yard and a porch surrounded by ornamental railings
It was situated on a hill with pine trees partly covering it from view,
Rumour runs, at night from there, people hear strange wailings.
Scoffing it as the weird fancy of crazy minds,
I was so eager to prove the irrationality of it.
One night I ascended the hill leading to that cosy mansion.
Close to the house but safely distant, I noticed a narrow pit.
Though I walked around, nothing seemed unusual about it.
When I was about to leave as a proud victor after a thorough search,
I saw a skeletal figure emerging from the pit and rising into air wailing.
In horror, as I looked on, like a bird, on the pine branch, it did perch.
Still. Affects Me.
Just like paint under paint, under boarded up doors.
The leeching doesn’t stop.
When I was young, the paint was already crusting over.
It was done already, no one understood.
I know it does.
Affect Me.
I don’t really know the extent of it.
Like water damage.
Or hurting damage.
It’s just my mind which causes new creases in my actions.
The greasy, bristly Me.
It was done.
I turned 21 and the boarded up doors started creaking.
All the bad things in me that didn’t yet make sense.
It’s all about a diagnosis.
It was just me growing up.
In the quietness which no one tried to understand.
Then they painted over that again.
Splashed paint around ineffectively.
It should make sense!
What Still Affects Me?!?
They say I’m as cured as I’ll ever be.
The diagnosis…
Leeches through.
Is as thorough as…
Paint splattered ineffectively.
Which somehow Still Affects Me.
though Mom's memory
is slow she smiles at photo
taken many years
ago when life was simple
with no confusion chaos
Mom's hospice nurses
are thorough even small things
are giant matters
as life's boundaries implode:
sleep, dress, eat, nap, sleep, repeat
long term memories~
through it all she still recalls
her little girl (that's me)
(her jewel) I'm by her side
as she finds eternity
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