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My Mother

Oh yes, my mother! You are an age-old ragged banner,
fluttering in the stormy winds of beastly corruption,
over the broken highways and footpaths of hopeless hope,
trodden with the spiky jackboots of nasty politics.

Yet we are the tough strings, tightly holding your upper ends,
and tying tight to withering branches of ‘conomy;
Yet we are the unbreakable pieces of heavy stone,
hanging like heavy medals from your crippling lower ends.

Jingle All The Way

Driving through the snow
On a freezing winter day
It’s to the shops they go
Down the motorway.

They’re out to buy some things
Much to our delight
We love to hear those sweet chick chings
Throughout the day and night.

Chorus:

Jingle bells, jingle bells
Jingle all the way,
Oh what fun to hear the sound
Of profit everyday.

Jingle bells, jingle bells
Jingle all the way,
Oh what fun to hear the sound
Of profit everyday.

An Urban Autumn Tale

An Urban Autumn Tale

Christmas wishes voiced in young October
generate a mournful sigh of noise
from a harried, working single mother
who knows she can’t afford the latest toys

as she cleans the mealtime’s meager leavings,
both her daughters giggling away,
she wipes her eyes as well as supper dishes
and in her troubled soul begins to pray

untitled

CRASH!
the thunder went, lights are out
power shut.
We feel through the dark til we find each other.
I hear you breathing,
loudly
but steady. I
put my hand on your chest to feel your
rhythmically dancing heart.
I smell your skin and I am filled with the must of your cologne.
I drink in the silence as I stare into the abyss of darkness.
The hair on your neck raises as the soft wind goes by.
Lip to Lip we meet once again as if I have found my better half.

Your words mean more, I know the score
You spoke to me of love and trust,
Then took my heart and made it burst
It hurt me so, It hurt me so

Now can you talk to me of love?
We both now know that love will die,
If trust of each is built on lies
I need to know, I need to know

I will await your words in truth
We need to work for better days
In that our love is safe always.
A truth is told, a truth is told

Miriam

Dressed in serviceable spotless robes
Her demeanor savant adept but muted
Anonymous
Softly moving with polished grace
Around the table
Serving the diners
Who deal with her as an afterthought
All the bowls and utensils exactly placed
With pride of touch and inner peace
Her hallmark
Perfection in everything
And grace in serving
Simple caring dignity
There are thirteen this evening
Simple food for rough hewn men
Counterpointed
With curiously gentle principles

Poem: Used For His Glory

The Body is composed of many parts
and it needs your gifting of talents;
open up your spirit and heart…

to provide God with holy service.
Don’t waste your earthly talents
with hardness of heart or disservice.

Find your identity in Christ!
Feed on the fullness of His Word
and enjoy His eternal Life!

Become part of Heaven’s story,
by allowing yourself to be…
Used for His Glory.
.
.
.
Author Notes:

Loosely based on:

Today's Great Undead Poets

Today’s great undead poets,
awash in the internet sea,
seek to fill the void of sensible emptiness
of our cyberspace world.
Following the heroic tradition of Man,
these daring individuals look to gain acceptance
through the expression of concepts.
Mirroring the virility and vitality of Life,
in defiance of critical naysayers,
the blankness of virtual paper
is scribbled upon with hurt, hope and ideals.
Writing styles and topics,
whether expressed in romanticized language

Poem: For Upon My Head, Nothing Gold Can Stay

Standing at the threshold
of Death’s ultimate door,
my last gasp escapes me…
As I’ve never experienced before.

Into the Heavenly realm
I ascend in wonderment,
now housed in an incorruptible body
and thankful that from sin I did repent.

Standing in God’s throne room
freed of all Earthly flesh,
my spiritual essence is energized
and feeling fully refreshed.

Now gathered unto my Savior,
unencumbered reality is more than it seems;
for to be in His Presence
is my accomplished dream.

Quatrain Rhyming Couplet Camaraderie (Workshop)

A night of warmth, the day is here,
my beans now grow a race is clear
the soil erupts to let them through
a sea of green to feed us seen.

The nighttime heat, summer is here,
it is so hot I can't see clear,
my face the sweat do sting my eyes,
I cry dear sir please fix the air

A city awakens brushing
suicides and junkies flushing
with her human bone comb snagging
drones watch football huffing, bragging

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