The glass once lucid
now deflects glow differently.
A chuckle clenched in the wind,
blanching and flaming.
Where were we?
Footprints echo, retreat, advance
sagging floor, missing nails.
Not long enough--
like a wheeze folding in and out,
a beam of light held in a still moment.
Sagging floor, nails missing,
steps forth, then retreat.
Where were we,
blanching and flaming,
a chuckle loosed in the wind—
now the glass, no longer lucid,
deflects the glow differently.
How in a twinkle of an eye,
Your life so make a lot of sense.
Now, the world heave a nasty sigh...
What an atmosphere with such tense!
Insane to ever imagine...
The plain sky once sunny turn loosed,
How wealth to death has no bargain!
Life would have got hade's gut seduced.
The sunny sky soon faded out,
While love just become a true fan
Beyond every possible doubt
It's better he got 'serve a ban'
Diogo Jota bids farewell soon,
A gentle goodnight to fans ears.
Though he had a very bright June,
But July disguise awful cheers...
Rest well in the blossoms of God,
We hope you find real happiness...
Though no one understands the odd;
Death defines not your readiness.
Condolences to Portugal...
Above earthly accomplishments;
Find eternal rest off struggle,
Mercy placed above punishments.
Wems Henry Temmy
2025
R I P Diogo Jota
#DiogoJota
"...Or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern. [7] Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it." ~Ecclesiastes 12:6-7 KJV Bible
he isn't there...
i remind myself again
must keep from digging and digging...
and climbing in with him
"absent from the body...
present with the Lord"
i repeat this Biblical mantra...
my mental shield and sword
it hurts me so to see his grave...
so lonely in our cemetery
a gentle meadow close to home...
the peaceful plot where he's buried
when it is our time, my husband and i...
we wish to be cremated
our remains mixed with soil and seed...
and thus to grow and life created
two stately trees, that reach up high...
our limbs~ his head stone shade
and pointing to our heavenly home...
and to our baby boy... not in his grave.
In halls where voices rise and fall,
Let kindness be the thread through all,
Not every clash must end in fire—
True strength is found when hearts aspire
To listen more than they defend.
The elder's pause, the child’s gaze,
Each holds a truth, a sacred phrase.
Though paths diverge, we still may meet
On common ground where minds are sweet
With patience, and the will to bend.
No throne is built by scorn or pride,
But towers fall when rage’s tide
Is loosed unchecked. The wiser art
Is forging peace from fractured part,
. And seeing self in stranger's face
Respect is not a coin to trade,
Nor merely manners on parade.
It springs from knowing each has worth—
A soul, a name, a place on earth—
Deserving of a gentler space.
So let us sow what we would reap:
A voice that heals, a vow to keep.
Though storms may howl and tempers flare,
The path of grace is always there—
A road that rises when we dare.
Author: Floyd Neal
Date: May 2, 2025
Inspiration: Praying for Grace
Mary collapsed with a broken heart
When all around her was falling apart
She lifted a prayer, a simple cry:
“Lord, show me something beautiful.”
To her delight, an answer flew swift
On the wings of a bird, came a stunning gift!
He answered the prayer of her simple cry
“Lord, show me something beautiful.”
In glorious red, illustrious feathers
A cardinal landed and loosed her fetters.
He answered the prayer of her simple cry
“Lord, show me something beautiful.”
She wept for joy at the fruit of her prayer
Reminded again, that God's always there.
He answered the prayer of her simple cry
“Lord, show me something beautiful.”
Now whenever I see a cardinal land
I think of Mary and God’s loving hand.
He answered the prayer of her simple cry
“Lord, show me something beautiful.”
I am thankful for Mary and my mother
Who said: “share this story with one another”
He answered the prayer of her simple cry
“Lord, show me something beautiful.”
When trying times come, pour out your plea;
Perhaps your cardinal’s waiting on thee.
He answered the prayer of her simple cry
“Lord, show me something beautiful.”
Whence are sonnets sung, full-throated and deep,
with bars of dulcet bliss sweetly echoing;
how inspired rhymes, so happily tuned, make thee weep
within thine innermost, and lofty, being?
Such work of genius the divine inspires,
so purely expressed are those lines profound,
that through the ages light Avalon's sacred pyre,
and lift the lover's heart to realms heaven-bound.
But what Muse's audience can godlings know,
tap powers bane, and forces pro-elliptic;
or with mind, bolts of inspired lightning throw,
work miracles through prophets hypo-manic?
These strange, rare, bizarre, but beautiful minds,
are lightning loosed from superhuman kinds!
The words that sometimes with my pen I write
in hope that others - who on seeing them
might echo me – instead seem like a rose
which goes unseen and withers on its stem.
Like homing pigeons I’ve loosed to the world,
the words that I so strongly feel are true
do not return! Oh, where is my reply?
Why let them fly at all into the blue?
My thoughts I cannot force on anyone,
but it would feel so nice to hear the sound
of dear beliefs – those similar to mine -
reverberate like sweet notes all around.
God hears my words, so I should not expect
others’ respect for my sincerest thought
though I might shout it from the mountain top,
then realize the echo returns not.
The tongues of men are quick to rise,
With words like arrows loosed at night;
Yet none will pause to scan the skies,
To seek the stars that lend them light.
They weave their judgments, thread by thread,
A tapestry of fleeting thought,
But truths unspoken lie half-dead,
While lies take wings and fly unsought.
How cruel the careless hand can be,
To carve its mark where none can heal;
Each whispered tale, a poisoned sea,
Each glance, a blade that cuts with zeal.
Oh, would they seek the tempered flame,
Where facts stand tall, unbent, refined,
Instead of playing this cruel game
Of shadows cast by shallow minds.
The pain they sow, they may not reap,
But hearts are scarred, and wounds run deep.
Riddle me this
How is it that one loses their soulmate?
I mean, from across the universe
You unite
Amid all the signs of auspicious coincidence
And then after years of making such union
Familiar, known but ultimately mundane
You just as unexpectedly part.
Is it a cruel mistake
Or the fortuitous unfolding of one’s twisted fate?
Such is life with its volumes and chapters
Full of stories
Each one complicated by myriad tangents
As each character interacts
Their own paths expanding and entangling
In labyrinths
Layer upon layer
A tangled web of blue.
And so we meet in recognition
And then part, to go where on our individual ways?
Some things are just not for us to know,
But what can be known, as time continues
Is that the ties that bind
Are never ever really loosed.
And in this there is solace and continuity
Of souls forever mated and bound
Despite our twisted fates
Until next our labyrinthine ways connect.
Life goes on, after all, forever and forever
Within us and without us.
(11/2/24)
Our Words
Miracle Man
8/25/2024
A glib tongue is often remembered,
for speech it rendered toward another.
Rarely for the smoothness of it’s delivery,
our words can uplift but also smother.
We damage hearts that may never mend,
though apology is made if we show concern.
But words are like arrows in one respect,
like arrows, words loosed, cannot return.
Of all fond thoughts held deep within the heart
Like strings lightly strummed fly with agile wings
Take flight yet never from my mind depart
Soar as wandering clouds where angels sing
Thrilling depths unknown and conscious thriving
Meant for few who’ve neutered malice thinking
Free of hate and void of carnal striving
Loosed from the pull of gravity’s sinking
Launched to heights reserved near omnipotence
God is there, since love is His personage
Displayed, arrayed in great magnificence
Building a home of divine parsonage
Forever to reign in heaven’s glory
Love is the wind and might of the story
MEMORIES OF SPRING
Spring is the time for hope, the poets write.
Now winter’s loosed its icy grip one more,
The crocuses creep boldly into sight,
With pretty tulips knocking on the door.
Those trees, denuded in October’s chill,
Soon will turn resolutely into green.
Fresh odes will flow from every poet’s quill,
Determined to do justice to the scene.
But I regret I hold the cynic’s view.
The period just fill me full of gloom.
Those tulips bring me only thoughts of you,
For I remember they were in full bloom
Just when you left the letter by the phone
Condemning me to springtime on my own.
Quote: When these corporal bodies of ours have blown away into the wind like shredded ribbons loosed from a kite, towards glass ceiling skies we will fly, then go to a place where no one ever truly dies.
Up in heaven the flowers are blooming softly and with great intent
for God pitched a great big tent up there, for those who need it most
No greater joy than to live for all eternity wrapped in His loving light
Heaven, a place where even eagles say goodnight...
Up in heaven there is no war, no famine and no disease
for love is the warrior that never ceases to exist
and compassion is the gold ring of great, great mercy
No safer place to be than in the Kingdom of God
where Angels sing and trumpets blare
and we are like rare porcelain to His eyes
Heaven, a place where even butterflies say bye-bye.
The staticky-stars climax under intense blanket of Winter glow.
Your spouse can’t see your spirited green eyes that burn slow.
The friction of campfire sticks, the satiny slipperiness of moon.
Flames of blue, orange and red won’t be overcome too soon.
Pert rose petals, that once were goosebumpy and ice cold,
scintillate like fireworks until the grand finale’s loosed, uncontrolled.
Warm breath in a cold Winter’s steamy and a restless beast.
Lips lavish over late night feast, matches singe, sate increased.
Squirming under the leisurely complement of coals, coalescing,
Coolness of a blue lake vaingloriously countering, distressing.
A long midnight’s thrashing, sans pillory; the high beams foray.
Pillow talk, a sensuous squeeze, a high-diving elixir bouquet.
Ah those stars brilliantly glowing on a long Winter’s night!
Those limbs blush, rose petals crush, with unfettered light.
Before the day turned into night,
my eyes I lifted to the light
and what I saw gave me a fright.
Black, bruised – an ominous sight!
Clouds shifted, swirling with the wind.
I could not tell where they would end.
I spotted the trees sway and bend,
hoping their branches could defend.
Running, clawing to get inside.
"Have mercy on me, please," I cried,
not wanting my backside deep-fried
by lightening that struck beside.
As I shut my welcoming door,
the skies loosed a raging downpour.
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