In Lopo, we chase the dawn
sincerely praying
to the fragrance of corn and the prayers of mother earth
just as every dewdrop glistening on the shoulders of the weeds
is the praise of the farmers' children
slowly descending into the palms of our ancestors
and surrendering to God.
We run freely in the fields
herding the wind and the birdsong
with a joyful dance
while whispering to the soil
our sweat that falls tirelessly is a prayer that takes root.
And when dusk calls us home,
mother has lit a fire in the stove
and father is holding a hoe
because we know that in every yellowing ear of corn
is light born from the soil
and we give thanks with tears
oh God: the great giver.
Atambua – NTT, August 2, 2026
Description: Lopo refers to a traditional house and barn typical of the ethnic groups in East Nusa Tenggara, particularly the Timorese (Dawan/Atoin Meto) and the Abui people in Alor. This building is shaped like a giant mushroom with an open thatched roof without walls and stands on wooden pillars.
Unicorns and fairies and sprites galore, umbrage unto the night scorches again, they tirelessly whisper the haunted hospital marble is free of thistle! It is there to wait beside near and dear the princess couplet the princess cut stone fears, and turned down that measly jester the halls of the shamed are not this marbled vesper.
I’m walking on sunshine,
slipping into the sparkling sea,
splashing the beach ball sun,
feeling warm and elated;
silk waters, as if in a womb
with plenty of room, coddle me.
dark waters, down deep;
the rays of the sun stroke my cheeks.
my feet dangle like jellyfish tentacles,
yet, as a human, I can become a raft,
drifting with the tides, tirelessly treading.
a ship comes along, another soul -
a stranger I might engage, but to kin,
I will release a wave, splash the sun
in their eyes, the ebb and flow of a
sunny kiss, and a rainstorm of bliss.
my fingertips like clouds, release
petrichor and plenipotentiary amusement.
a shark circles, in pretense; I sit
on a life preserver in the eddy;
I don’t want to come up for air.
In the midst of daunting artistic slumps
Staying despite how tirelessly tried,
May inspiration strike you abruptly
Like an archer nails a precise bullseye.
May your work’s blueprint suddenly reveal,
And may you gain bold determination.
May all the pieces bond majestically,
Achieving your creative perfection.
Perhaps, one day, in the midst of blankness,
Your work shall strike the right strings of the heart,
Inspiring further beautiful works,
And thus you shall live on through other arts.
May this poem motivate and inspire
To cultivate our soul’s artistic fires.
My father is a hard working man
He will offer anyone a hand, do you understand?
My father is a man who makes end meet when it looks like a place of defeat.
My father is a man who works tirelessly on his feet so diligently with no complaints where others may have faint.
My father is a man who takes accountability
who handles responsibilities
his encouraging loving words make me realize there’s so many possibilities
My father is a man who demonstrates love , courage, kindness, compassion, and strength
He’s the type of man who will go the full distance and length!
To the woman who carried us in her womb,
To the woman who cherished us before anyone else,
To the woman who loved us unconditionally,
To the woman who took care of us till her last breath,
To the woman who wept when we were in pain or sick,
To the woman who taught us everything about life,
To the woman who accepted us beyond our imperfections,
To the woman who was brave enough to fight for us,
To the woman who tirelessly gave us her endless time,
To the woman whom God created with a soft physique and strong heart…
You are all doing great!
We are all doing great!
I am doing great...
Emerald is not born weak.
It learns patience hidden very deep.
Emerald does not beg for light.
It works tirelessly until it is just right.
This is a green who remembers what it holds.
It does not glitter for everyone, like gold.
Time is her companion. Time leans in close.
It says, 'stay the course.'
A mantra your soul already knows.
There is a difference between beauty and endurance.
Emerald is acquaintance to both.
It stands in my chest, proud.
Not the kind of green that boasts.
This green makes love with pressure.
Surviving what tries to squeeze.
I keep emerald when weakness festers.
So my greatness can unleash.
Spin and curl in nights tangled cradle,
a puzzling witness.
A breakless brain buzzes on -
an endless blunt toothed saw.
The body belches and rumbles
tirelessly works to produce
the odd snort or snore.
All is a stepless stasis on an escalator
speeding to nowhere,
just the random outtakes
from under-rehearsed thoughts,
dying moths dropping into darkness
At last, flesh becomes a glove for a ghost.
A see-through voice,
one that had been left aside
ventures now to charm time.
This is how the All speaks, said one voice.
This is how the All listens, said the other.
A third voice says:
and here is the grace of silence.
A Christmas Table Spread
The table spread appears Christmassy
I’ve been working tirelessly, busy as a bee
My market list consists of garlic garlands and saffron
Other wild spices and cream for flan
Alaskan salmon, cranberry for ruby glaze
Fried zucchini and tangerine yams ablaze.
We start with specialty coffee and warm pineapple tamale’s
Displayed are red berries and shiny evergreen-leaf holly’s
Silver bells, gifts and holiday cards,
lit candles and gold ribbon by the yards.
Soon we’ll gather with our family and friends
And if necessary, we’ll make amends
Although it’s not a white Christmas
I know it’s genuinely spirited alas—
when the children laugh and run
I did the math, we’re all just having fun.
Wishing all…
Christmas Cheers and Happy New Year!
I Am Anaya
Christmas
12/25/2025
Paris isn’t some wondrous far country.
We have noisy trash pickup and there are no Dairy Queens.
Ok, It may be far away but that’s your fault - let’s not dwell on it.
Don’t get me wrong, we’re wondrous enough - we have we have running water - some of it hot, and the other bare necessities of earthly happiness, like wi-fi and pizza.
Paris is like a melon - here’s where you get involved and picture a melon.
If you pictured bananas, those aren’t melons - they’re tropical fruits - try again.
Oranges? GEE-zus, those are Citrus fruits - you are really slowing things down.
Forget it - let’s do some poetry…
When he kisses,
he leaves his impress
and makes me writhe and twist.
We revel and carouse tirelessly,
appetites roar and seethe like lions,
until we lie prone like the dead.
I should have saved that for Halloween.
.
.
Songs for this:
Back to friends by Sobr
DAISIES by Justin Bieber
KISS by Demi Lovato
rum-tum-tum like a drum
full of emptiness; anticipatory
what shall I eat - food or zest?
I wait for the clang
rum-tum-tum like a drum
with brand new tires. tirelessly
I can wait for fresh and vinyl
for a good long song, like
rum-tum-tum like a drum
yet while I wait, I’ll eat
lettuce? avocados? or score
coffee cake to go with a lake
of caffeine intake. full of
rum-tum-tum like a drum
anticipatory hum of new wheels
Inkblot animals
migrating across the sky
tirelessly roaming
Ode to the Ocean
All-encompassing, a vast blue might,
Billions of droplets, reflecting light.
Coral castles, where sea creatures roam,
Deepest trenches, a mysterious home.
Ever-moving, with rhythmic sway,
Fresh ocean breezes, greet each new day.
Glistening surface, a mirror so clear,
Haunting echoes, for all who draw near.
Immense and ancient, full of lore,
Joyful dolphins, leap from the shore.
Kelping forests, where life can thrive,
Luminous plankton, keeping dreams alive.
Mysteries hidden, in depths unknown,
Nature's grandeur, beautifully shown.
Onward currents, tirelessly flow,
Pristine waters, a mesmerizing glow.
Quiet whispers, from waves on the sand,
Rich biodiversity, across every land.
Salty essence, a taste of the wild,
Tidal surges, powerfully compiled.
Underwater wonders, a breathtaking sight,
Vast and vital, shining so bright.
Wild and free, where horizons extend,
Xenial waters, where life entwines.
Yearning spirits, forever it calls,
Zephyrs dancing, as each wave falls.
You, who hide behind cold walls built of silence and stone,
You, who sit at desks like sentinels of unseen worlds,
I just want you to know that I see through your masks, through your porcelain smiles,
For my eyes penetrate the invisible cracks of your perfect appearances.
Behind closed doors and dusty windows, I feel your hearts beating,
Like muted drums carrying the rhythm of untold stories, hidden by time,
And in every silence, I hear your whispers, echoes of desires and fears,
The truth, like an underground river, flows tirelessly through the labyrinth of your lies.
Masks fall slowly, like leaves in the autumn wind, and only the truth remains,
In the pale morning light, when shadows melt and everything becomes clear and transparent,
I see you as you are, not as you wish to be, in the vulnerable simplicity of being,
And I understand that beyond walls and desks, we are all just souls seeking light.
So let the masks fall, let the walls dissolve into the sands of time,
For only when we are truly ourselves can we find peace,
In a world where truth no longer hides and every gaze is full of light,
We meet, without masks, in a dance of sincerity and rediscovered freedom.
Walking in the path of light,
Not of own tirelessly fight.
But of a broken and contrite heart,
Clinging to this new creation not to part.
I must become less of worldly ways,
Drawn in as a sheep that shall not stray.
Buried the Oldman by the quickening spirit
In that day from a humble cry, you did visit
Refined unto the glorious riches enticed,
To be purified unto the likeness of Christ.
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