(written upon the death at age 14 of our beloved shih tsu Max
on Aug. 11.)
Over ~
Over
The Bridge
where they go
To verdant eternal forests
and fields,
To run and leap free
Without leashes, reigns or chains…
All heaven blessed
With no hunger or thirst
While waiting for us.
To those who would imprison me,
I know it's because you are not free.
In prison walls, I'm surrounded,
yet my heart and soul - unbounded.
Between the blades of dewy grass
Mingle the particles of fresh dust
Their colour bleached to grey.
A bird descends and pecks for food,
Finding nothing it ascends today
Climbs higher than the trees, away.
Weeks go by without a soul
Tending the ever growing grass.
I chose that tranquil spot
For them to be blended in the soil
That many years before received
The bleached grey dust of her lover.
The years will effectively combine
Them in the soils embrace and then
She will be lost, untraceable,
Indistinguishable, shall become one.
My parent's will be done.
© Allen Ansell 2025
I read my words and laugh
For are they mine……..really?
They manipulate themselves into my typing hands
Before I can decipher whose words they are.
They come fast and hard.
My fingers are clicking with them.
Zapping them onto a white page with rapid swiftness.
Whose words are these? I ask.
My muse laughs.
She has me under her control.
A ridiculously stupid silly idea to one
Might be a stupendous, brilliant idea to another
Possibility thinkers see a lot of positive optimism
In concepts that other people might totally miss
Whose life it is anyway
Because
He is always smoking
A joint
He doesn't care
About his life
It is very sad
Because he
Doesn't know that
A joint is very
Addictive
And slowly he is
Killing himself
Every single day
Because he smokes
A joint every day
Yes he will
Die with cancer
Also, he doesn't
Know that life
Is also very precious
Yes I am his father
I made him in my
Image
Then I placed him
Here on earth to live
Every single day
Also, I don't know
Where does he get the
Money from
Does he borrow some
Money from
The bank
May 22 Praises to God Bible Meditations Based on Ezra 8-10
Key Verse – Ezra 8:22 …The hand of our God is upon all them for good that seek him; but his power and his wrath is against all them that forsake him.
PRAISE BE TO GOD WHOSE HAND
IS UPON US THAT SEEK HIM
Praise be to God for His hand upon us that seek Him with:
Honest spiritual submission
Honourable sacrifice
Humble surrender
Heartful service
Healed spirit
Ezra 9:5 Praise be to the Lord for attending to us
while we spread out our hands unto Him:
Praying for His might
Pleading for His mercy
Presenting His majesty
Performing by His molding
Pursuing through His mentorship
Ezra 10:3 Praise be to the Saviour for making us have
covenant with Him as His:
Saved saints by His grace
Sanctified stewards along His generosity
Steadfast soldiers along His gripping governance
Scripture-soaked students girded with His guidance
Strengthened servants goaded by His goodness and gladness. Amen!
May 22, 2024
Which one is your child? I ask
I turn and see the Minnie Mouse Hat
And the professor glasses
A red polka dotted bow cinches this baby's identity
I do not need to see anything else
Here I stand, burdened with remorse,
Each word I write, another solemn promise,
Life's cruelty, they say, but I see my own,
In choices made, in seeds of hate sown.
Does God reside amidst this worldly hate?
Yes, He does, granting us minds, freedom's gate,
Yet we wield authority with careless hand,
Creating chaos in a land of demand.
Sin, a cycle, endlessly repeated,
Mercy sought, yet sins remain undefeated,
Whose fault? Mine, I confess, with regret,
For failing to flee from sins' dark silhouette.
I speak from wounds, a testimony of grace,
Life granted despite my sinful embrace,
His love, unwavering, even when I stray,
Protecting me from doom, day after day.
Is this not love, beyond measure or name?
A love that forgives, despite my shame,
So here I am, in remorseful plea,
Thankful for His love, that sets me free.
Not born of one, yet kin to all,
We sprout from seeds that gently fall.
Nurtured by the sun, by rain, by grace,
We climb and weave in nature's space.
Whose fruit are we? A mingled breed,
Of sun and soil, of wind and seed.
From countless hands, our essence grows,
A tapestry where every petal shows.
We bloom, we wither, time takes flight,
Yet in our essence, all unite.
For in the end, beneath the sun,
We're simply fruit, become as one.
I look at you through your window
I see your soul
Who's listening
I see you're busy I see your face your body whole
Who's listening
my ears not attentive I see the breath
your chest rise and lays viral still
Who's listening
pattern of your speech
ever sweet I'm compelled yet, who's listening
bothered and scold
shattered torn into you speak Hope Life Peace Love
this you have shown attentively now
I share my story,
you bear the glory of the one who holds us all He cares who's listening
to the child that speaks truth
who's listening to the one who has absolutes
who's listening to the one who embraces you
for who you are who's listening with open ears and arms
Stop looking at me it's God
Stop listening to me it's God
When you see me, not me
When you hear me, not me
As I speak so beyond me
You see it is God God speaking through me
WHOSE LISTENING?
AMEN
2/10/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2024
they streaked past us so fast
I was not sure who was in the lead
that's my granddaughter and her puppy
explained my neighbor, Mrs. Sneed.
They never stopped running
throughout the house, even on the couch.
The little girl fell off a couple of times
But she was tough, we never heard an ouch
they sure are having fun, I said, not sure what else to say
They are so much fun, Mrs. Sneed replied. But I am glad it’s only but one day.
For when they go home, I am exhausted and have to rest two hours.
They ran past us several more times, wet now, due to lovely April showers.
Whose studio is it?
Johnny Cash? Elvis? Willie?
We made lots of guesses of course.
Not realizing it was our cousin Norris.
Norris is always building one thing or another.
He cannot get along with employers or his brother.
What will he do with it? Someone brave asked us.
Rock and roll bound? Suggested our cousin Gus.
Norris built guitar-shaped studio because he had nothing else to do.
In between jobs again, without a clue.
He still lives at home and he is sixty-two.
Nothing new said his mother. Nothing new.
And so it is
And so it was
And so shall always be
This group of smartly sounding words
Leaves little hope for you or me
Can what will be, be
If what was, wasn’t
Because what is, isn’t
If the truth becomes the lie
And the lie follows suit
Would that make seeking either
A trivial pursuit
These questions seek no answer
They sit idle in a fog
Amused by the lunacy
The tail chasing the dog
Whose got the money honey?
Raining debt is just not fun
Have you got the money honey?
Rebecca's farm no longer sunny.
Whose got the money honey?
Could it be the Easter bunny?
Whose got the money honey?
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