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Good Friday
Day of solemn prayer
A quiet Time to review our lives
Commemorating the Crucifixion of Christ
Seeking the significance of this day
Its meaning in our lives
Holy Day
We stand now on the weathered timber of the old tracks, our shadows elongated by a sun that lacks its former heat. The grey in our hair is a diary of every winter we survived, and our hands, once small enough to fit in a bag of mixed lollies, are now calloused by the heavy labour of adulthood. We move with a slower pace, but our shadows still overlap just as they did when we were twelve, now merging into a single, impenetrable silhouette against the inevitable.
People say Saturdays are made for rest,
For sleeping late and feeling blessed.
For lazy brunch and cozy views,
And doing everything you choose.
But somehow, every week I find
A slightly different use in mind.
Because when Saturday appears,
It activates my “life admin” gears.
First comes the laundry: spin and swirl,
A mountain tall enough to curl.
Then sweeping floors and wiping shelves,
While wondering how dust clones itself.
Rewriting Memories
Never mind the bombs or images of war
Or the blind kid on the bus singing trying to make a living
How did we neglect the hungry and the destitute and the old?
But time does not forget
It just plays in a private theater
Like a matinee waiting for me to come in and watch
The porch is warped by desert sun,
a splintered, grey, and lonely stage.
The girl’s long task is nearly done,
upon the Bible's final page.
She traces out the holy ink,
with fingers gloved in linen white.
Before the sun begins to sink,
to let the rising dark take flight.
"And I beheld a horse of pale,"
she reads with voice of silver bell.
While wicked deeds and spirits frail,
have opened wide the gates of Hell.
A heavy meditation,
a reason to move on!
The source of
higher guidance,
will move us all along.
The path of least resistance,
as a river rising,
with current fast and strong!
We hope for change,
within us to create
a joyous song.
You’ll find a hidden message,
within the mantra’s strain,
Something wondrous
leads us,
to the place we all belong!
Someone Sweet
A new born babie’s smile
Quick random movements of arms and legs
Humming noises and bubbles stream from his pretty lips
Bringing joy into our lives
Adding to our family
Theodore
"When you look in the mirror
What do you see?"
Well, it doesn’t matter
Because it isn’t really me.
The only way,
To know me well,
Is to take my song
And find its tell.
I don’t want people to know
Who I am and what I think.
That’s why I haven’t written,
For at least a little bit.
Do I even want to start,
Or continue this journey?
I feel it has only begun,
But it's really hard to keep up.
Large and lofty bookshelves lined the lower wall
Sitting, lonely, was a man in whom did lay
Hopes of knowing that there'd come a better day—
He was searching olden tomes to calm his soul.
"Dear, may I..." the phrase was uttered, sounding forth—
Echoes spread around him, breaking focused thought,
Ending peace, the rest he had before then bought—
Dreams of southern lands, thus bringing him back north.
Rewriting Memories
If I had turned around that night and went home
I believe I would have ended up dead
The guilt I held never left me alone
Filling my head with never ending dread
If I had turned around that night and gone back
Within days we would have been at square one
But I would have sunk deeper into the black
Into that cold darkness that weighed a ton