No time to give away

 

 

time lapse photography of waterfalls

Photo by James Wheeler 

Out of my head

No point in New lies

Not hindered by sorrow

Simply celebrate my life

 

Brilliance is this instant

Melting colors into day

Living every minute

With no time to give away

 

Sorrow bears a goodness

Merriment holds no shame

Colors intense and glorious

With no time to give away

 

In my War Room

woman wearing black tank top leaning on table

Photo by Engin Akyurt

 

As if at forced shutter speed all life  now is slow motion.

A stealthy enemy invades War Rooms with limited detection.

At what price can we buy peace of mind and human devotion?

This peripatetic killer cares not for education or station

and will only be stopped by God’s love of our Nation.

 

 

I am still right here my neighbor.

I will pray through this long dark night with you.

Let us lift up our pleas to the One who heals.

Let us be the ones called courageous and true.

I will, I will fight in my War Room for you.

 

I have always felt set apart

big waves under cloudy sky

Photo by GEORGE DESIPRIS

 

I stare out my window

Like a sea wife staring out the horizon

Time moving ever so slow

 

 

 

I have always felt set apart

Looking outside of dreams into the  indigo haze

Time capturing the beats of my heart

 

 

This is what faith is

The hope of what can’t always be seen

Time cannot define where he is

 

The drums of lies touting of a merry hell

 

broken drumstick close up dark dirty

Photo by abednego ago

The drums of lies beating through the night city swells.

The lies touting of a merry Hell.

Hardened  in heart pursuing only self, dancing to the tune of gaining  wealth.

When day dawns over the city’s night all will be blinded by the Holy Light.

The drums are lying, darkness takes your life.

For Hell can’t be merry and is not the tale of fairies!

 

 

 

 

 

Dancing on a Black Hill

 

photo of wildfire on mountain

Photo by Sippakorn Yamkasikorn

It is like first seeing a wildfire not knowing what it is.

Like orange flickering holiday lights dancing on a black hill.

The odor of burnt vines and smoke are miles and months away

but slowly and surely the wildfire is edging  our way.

 

 

At first people believe it won’t affect their world

they ignore their inner call to action or care.

The next thing they know all sight is lost in smoke

now everything is burning like the wheat and the tare.

 

 

We should have listened to the prophets

their facts written in black and white.

Now the oil of apathy cannot be returned to its urn

The orange lights are now full raging fire that burns.

 

 

I put on my pink dress and kneel down to pray…

white clouds and blue sky

Photo by Ithalu Dominguez 

 

Butterscotch Sunday melted away

We rode on the train down by the bay

We built little castles with dirty brown sand

We bought Colombian

heard the Stephen Stills band.

 

You said I was the beauty of the earth

Flowers in my hair, cigarettes in my purse.

I thought that train ride would never end

until I saw you on the bridge with my best friend.

 

I pack my bags on a Butterscotch Sunday

put on my pink dress and kneel down to pray.

All the dirty brown sand castles crumble down

I’m gonna board the next train out of town.

 

Cassidy or the Sundance Kid?

ancient antique art black and white

Photo by Steve on Pexels.com

 

Cassidy or the Sundance Kid;

the master manipulator or

the quiet deadly one instead?

One in it for himself

the other needs the thrill.

One is the master mind

The other taking what he will.

I have known all kinds of men

and time has shown me well.

A man is either  Cassidy or  the Sundance Kid

as time will surely tell.

Home

people sitting on the edge of a cliff

Photo by Angelo Duranti

Her passion is tender.

Her pain is massive.

Her mind is lithe and quick.

Her body is no longer as swift.

 

Her temple once was a house of cards,

built by her birth, her fear, and her works.

Now she stands on the rock called Jesus

careful to follow him with her cross.

 

A new temple foundation built,

she is sure of this The Holy One.

He makes all things new with his Holy breath,

and will lead her in both life and death…

Home.

The Quiet Side, A Different Peace…

I

two boat on ocean during golden time

Photo by Skitterphoto

 

The North shore of my piece of sugar white heaven faces the sound (Bay) side of the island.

The three mile bridge stands sentinel guard and my  small bay is dotted with white sails stirring my heart.

The bridge that brings me home to my nautical world.

The smell of fish and salt is a soothing balm to a weary girl.

The hermit crabs do a miniature square dance that leads them safely home.

The Sandpipers play hopscotch in the tide pool foam

The Gulls swoop and squawk over schools of fish and bones

There is a different peace on the Sound, the quiet side.

It always feels like the end of the day here where the tired come home to rest.

Like a sweet baby’s coo the waves lap upon the shore.

The “Quiet Side” is what the locals call the back door.

And are happily living and dying on this island right here.