It is snowing!!
It is snowing again!!!
This is our third snow in one week!!!!
Politics ruffle my soul.
The worst of most people they show.
But when I get stressed and uptight,
I know what will make it quite right:
Please give me Coffee!
I need to lean back and breathe slow.
For Presidents will come and go.
Some are corrupt and hell-bent.
I’ll pray they’re removed, but ’til then,
Please give me Coffee!
I look back on hist’ry; alas:
We should have learned more from the past.
But I haven’t given up hope.
So with four years of crap I can cope
If I have LOTS OF COFFEE!!!!!!!!
Being in this lockdown mode has taken quite a toll
On, not just my activities, but on my soul.
I’ve found that although at the start, I chafed and whined,
Now, after many months, I’ve become self-inclined.
Where I was once outgoing and with people pleased,
I now am focused on myself, and I’ve perceived
That my self-world is very small and incomplete;
I can’t connect in person; no more meet and greet,
And even online friends, I’ve gradually set aside,
And drifted from the fellowship they did provide.
I wonder if these extreme efforts to stay “safe”
Are costing more than we should be willing to pay.
For while it’s true a little time alone is good,
Still too much time alone, it must be understood,
Can shrivel and dry up even gregarious souls;
We must have real-life fellowship to keep us whole.
Over all obstacles,
Teach me to forge ahead with such
Is a little
Closer in the mountains.
My heart’s at rest there, and I can
I know there are some who will hate me.
And others speak evil of me,
For taking a stand for what’s moral
And for keeping this nation free.
They’ve already gagged social media
That work constitutionally —
Those that allow us to speak truth,
And keep our speech legally free.
But, frankly, I won’t let it stop me.
Their opinions are not worth a sigh.
They don’t have the sense to perceive truth;
Their ignorance quotient’s too high.
But thousands have sacrificed dearly,
To win and preserve liberty.
Their blood cries out now to my own soul
That I must fight to keep us free.
And then there are millions of babies
Whose cries echo down through the years —
Butchered and murdered expertly
As lib’rals emphatically cheer.
So I won’t be quiet and passive.
I’ll speak forth the truth loud and clear.
And I know the forces of evil
Will be quite incensed when they hear.
They’ll sputter and spew out their harsh threats,
And might even put me in chains.
But even in prison, I’ll be right,
And they’ll find that they’ve nothing gained.
Because there’s an end to life on earth,
And before their Maker they’ll quell.
No matter how they twist their stories,
They’ll still end up going to hell.
Well, Sundays now just never seem like Sundays
‘Cause church online just isn’t quite the same.
And Mondays don’t seem right ’cause I’m still home
Instead of working; what a lousy shame.
When Tuesday rolls around, I think it’s Thursday
And start to wonder where the week has gone.
By Saturday, I feel it must be Sunday;
Go online to watch church, but it’s not on.
When Sunday finally comes, I’m more than distressed
Because another week has passed me by,
And I recall that plans I’d made for Wednesday
Have come and gone; I missed them. (Heavy sigh)
And now the holidays are fast approaching,
But they won’t be the same for anyone
‘Cause all the rules for shopping, eating, visiting
Require that we abstain from all that’s fun.
I must admit I don’t do well in lockdown.
Is this the paradigm for staying well?
If so, we need to reevaluate it;
‘Cause life worth living’s going straight to hell.
Make life seem right.
The varied parts should fit
And compliment each other to
It’s almost June.
And that means summer’s here.
Can’t stand the bugs and heat, so let’s
I’ve had a thought:
If I delete three months,
It could throw off the universe.
I will admit
I should not mess with time.
So I guess I’ll just grit my teeth
If I had known in days gone by
The things I know today.
I’d have thought and felt and acted
Sometimes, in quite different ways.
If yesterday’s tomorrows
Hadn’t come ahead of time,
If they’d waited ’till I’d learned some more
And had made it to my prime,
I would have done a better job
Of living properly.
If wisdom from today had been
More than a mystery.
And now, I’d like to put a hold
On life’s full speed ahead,
Just ’til tomorrow brings me
Wisdom from what’s up ahead.
Why, I could guarantee success —
I could live the perfect way —
Could I just get my tomorrows
To become my yesterdays!
Normal things take longer.
Technology does not work right.
To think the cause
Is lock-down atrophy.
I find I yearn for simpler times
I tell myself.
And sometimes I obey.
But sometimes I, instead, just take
Just a brief commentary:
When I created this site, my intention was to offer only poetry and pictures that would bring happiness and comfort to people who visited here. Accordingly, I haven’t used the site to deal strongly with anything controversial. However, the seriousness of what we’ve been experiencing for the past several months — and the clear message being sent that murdering children is an essential activity while all the time incarcerating adult families and business owners in their own homes has changed things a little.
My own conscience will not allow me to continue to post here and act as though dangerous and hideous things are not happening under the guise of “keeping people safe.” So this post is a deviation from the norm. However, I encourage any visitors who are upset by the seriousness of this post to simply click on one of the other 207 posts on this site which are focused on things more positive.
Some call it isolation.
Some call it sheltering.
A “safe-at-home” condition
That’s lasted all of spring.
Small businesses are locked down
Churches have empty pews.
But laws allow the sale of drugs
And “grass,” and, of course, booze.
What Liberals term “essential”
Is given liberty.
Abortion clinics have free reign:
Murder in first degree.
The public’s in a panic
Because of media lies.
State gov’ners claim lives matter
While they make sure babies die.
Beguiles me so.
It’s hue, its scent, its song.
Its movements that caress my soul.
The truth of Jesus Christ’s complete redemption can be told in any form. In this post I’ve set God’s truth into Cinquain — one of my favorite poetic forms.
To lots of folks
It is a scary word.
But there’s a name that can kill it:
By any name.
Must bow to Jesus’ name.
His sacrifice redeemed us from
Get in His Word:
He says it’s medicine
For every ailment we can face.
(Scripture References: Acts 3:16, Philippians 2:9-10, Galatians 3:13-14, Proverbs 4:20-22, and Psalm 107:17-20)
The tomb in which Christ’s body lay,
And the stone that sealed the door,
Were both created by the God
Who by His own name swore
That after three days and three nights,
Christ would rise from the dead.
God gave His Word, which has the power
Against which none can stand.
And when He said, “The price is paid,”
And shouted His command,
Christ rose with life for one and all,
And vanquished sin and death.
Purest of water, fresh from clouds
That brushed the mountain peaks,
Raining down and gushing round
As avenues it seeks
In which to flow unhindered
Down to plains that wait below
For fresh, pristine refreshment
Only mountain streams bestow.
Memories so sweet:
Daddy baking cookies from
Flaky, sugared, golden dough
Stuffed with hickory nuts.
Each year at Christmas,
In kitchen warm and cozy –
Memories so sweet.
For decades, my dad (who was Bulgarian/Polish) baked Hungarian cookies. It was a recipe handed down from one Balkan country to another, and was a favorite of our family. However, in the last several years of my dad’s life, Christmas season included so many other activities as well that sometimes he just didn’t have time to bake those cookies along with everything else. When those years came along, he baked them for me on my birthday instead, which is February 1st. So it’s right that I’m thinking about them in February this year. I can almost taste them even now.
They are a treat
In almost any dish.
But I don’t know how to hunt them
It’s been raining here for two whole days, so I thought it was only fitting that I write about rain. Since I’m in a poetic mood, I decided I’d give myself a little workout and do one haiku, one cinquain, and one simple iambic pentameter verse about that subject.
Everything is gray.
Rain hanging like a curtain.
No sun peeping in.
I just have to complain:
All is gray and wet and dreary!
IAMBIC PENTAMETER VERSE
Another boring day of endless rain.
We don’t need this much water every day.
Sunshine is now a fading memory.
The birds won’t even come out now to play.
I know some tribes have dances that they do
To bring the rain when grounds are parched and bare.
I wonder if there is another dance
To end the rain and turn the weather fair.