The Politics Of Disaster (Tell His Story)

 Another storm due to arrive

on the Gulf Coast's sandy shore,

s chance to keep folks there alive,

but some like politicking more.

Disaster's now a photo-op

and sound bite for a TV ad, and all of that's not gonna stop

'till we realize we've been had

by people who pretend to care 

'bout apple pie, kids, Mom and Dad,

but only are really aware

of the polls that hold the keys

that keep constituents on their knees.

Sylvia doesn't like politicians, and she saw the last group of canvassers off in her own inimitable style.

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Ake Ake Kia Kaha (For Ever, And Be Strong)

 Spent much of last night screaming in pain, from the leg metastases. Can't really walk now.

Barb prayed me to a place of rest, and peace.

When earthly hope is failing

as the devil sings his song,

and in the night you're wailing,

and still the night goes on,

remember to hold as you can

to that tiny dancing spark,

the heartbeat of the Son of Man

beating with you in the dark,

and make the effort to recall

through all the pain and tears

that for you He faced it all,

and He knows your fears,

and that you'll never be alone 

until He comes to take you home.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is TWO.

I guess you might expect two sonnets

this week, for the price of one,

so I am right here and on it,

so let us go and have some fun

with words like Frogularity

(which term, yes, I did invent)

to bring a certain kind of clarity

to my weird writing intent,

and while the word has not caught on

beyond my dedicated circle,

its potential is yet far from gone

(though it's moving like a turtle)

 to bring me fame, riches, renown,

and make me king of my small town.

Three minutes of total nonsense, but I had fun.

Music for Barb, from the Dropkick Murphys, with Forever 

Sylvia thinks I need more calcium, via ice cream, so the bones don't fracture. She'll even share hers.

Wait, that's not Sylvia! These are the Chihuahuas' stuffed animal friends. Every afternoon they swipe the TV and VCR remotes, and hide them with Monkey (wearing my sunglasses), Frog (under my cap), and Kitty Cat (with my gloves). Ladron taught them the game; they expanded on it.

With Sylvia's help.

Shelter From The Storm (Tell His Story)

 For those imperiled by the storm

that came from distant seas,

let not anguish be their norm,

let them find God's peace

coming from across this land,

from an unknown neighbour's care

to extend a helping hand

across the distant air.

Give as only you can give,

give from what you need yourself.

Do not let the Christ's face live 

in a frame upon a shelf,

but in your eyes let others see

His love as it is meant to be.

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Not Going Gentle

 

 

It's been a really hard week, and I can only express it through analogy.

From the King I took my shilling,

and I am on my Oerlikon.

I'm in the fight and I am willing,

and the Carley floats are gone

as water laps across the deck;

right bugger has this night become 

on this listing burning wreck,

but load another drum

and engage with gritted teeth

the savage enemy,

wondering what might lie beneath

the waves that roil once-peaceful sea.

If needs must I will sell life dear,

but someone GET ME OUT OF HERE!

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is ADVANTAGE.

They say it's advantageous

to claim an attitude 

that marks one as courageous,

but I think it's just rude

to beat the drum, one's own behalf,

a real one-man parade.

It kinda sorta makes me laugh,

'cause that ain't how life is made.

Climb high above humility,

thinking you have it all,

and soon you'll fall from Eden's tree

and God will break your fall

with the cushion of His hand,

and some stern words of reprimand.

Just over four minutes.

And, by the way, Peanut's celebrity grows, courtesy Woman's World

If you go to the article, you also get to see a current picture of me. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Sylvia would get me out of this, if she but could.

Celebrity (Tell His Story)

 Almost went to meet Jesus today, but He rescheduled. Feeling pretty rough, so over to Peanut, courtesy of an article in Women's World.

And you even get to see a picture of Belle, and me.

Sylvia is too cool for mass media 

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On The Other Side Of Calvary

 Last night when the screaming ended

(the kind after I try to eat),

it felt that all this could be mended

only at God's judgement seat,

and meanwhile I must endure

for sake of those placed in my care,

and write witness, clean and pure,

that these trials are not unfair,

but that they fold unto the story

of a world that lost its way,

and reflect the love and glory 

that walks us through the darkest day

and takes our hand to help us see

the sunrise beyond Calvary.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is MATTER.

Sometimes the pain is so intense,

I feel like glass, about to shatter,

Humpty Dumpty on the fence,

but really, does that even matter?

I know, yeah, that to God I do,

but He loves me, not my deeds,

and when this weird-ass life is through,

was I the thing that someone needs?

I'd like to think that maybe, yes,

someone out there found some meaning

in my words, but I oft guess

that when I think this, I am dreaming,

but I'll go on against the night

because it's fun to do what's right.

Four minutes, and I don't quite know what I was trying to say.

Sylvia has no words, but she does have ice cream.

Is This Really Us? (Tell His Story)

 They say that MAGA must be stopped,

that the movement is a crime,

and thus Trump was nearly topped,

for Pete's sake, for the second time,

and it never ceases to cause wonder,

never ceases to amaze 

that the ones who call the thunder 

do not see the end of days

in which the wish becomes the deed

and what goes out will come around,

and I think we really need 

to find ourselves some common ground

before this country, once called great,

has name prefaced by 'the late'.

Sylvia really hates violence. She was the victim of it, before God brought her to us.

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