“What would it take to make God laugh?”
The question strolled humorously through my mind.
If there ever was a ‘drunken’ thought, this was it.
Looks like my muse is on a cruise – vacation blues.
My muse is a beautiful maiden, the most ravishing demoiselle;
Exquisite beyond description; Wise beyond compare – without peer;
Her smile carries the sun, the moon, the stars, every source of light;
Her words are soothing, sublimely subtle,
Poignantly apt, incisively noninvasive, completely compelling;
She is the perfect picture of contradictions dressed in paradoxes,
Crowned with the ultimate enigma, surrounded by barely unveiled mysteries;
Her steps are silent, even the dust isn’t disturbed if she wills it so.
She walks with the grace of a majestic feline,
And the stately elegance of a sunrise.
There’s a sound that echoes from the earth on days like today;
It spans the spectrum of the audible to the inaudible,
And emanates from the animate and the inanimate.
It is such a unique breathtaking sound:
A rolling, roaring, rushing, rising, whirling, spreading,
Bubbling, soul-stirring, ascending cascade of thoughts and postures;
A sound tellingly tangible and very visible in the right light.
It is filled with demands, accusations, confessions, flatteries,
Mirth, sadness, pain, reverence, disdain, affront, gratitude;
And an inexhaustible list of other states of the human condition,
Together with the various states and cries of nature.
The message has always been one.
God has been good. I’m tempted to ‘say’, “All too soon…”, but no, it’s been a standard length year, like every other year. What always makes the difference are the great people we meet and the wonderful memories we make. It’s been a challenging year. Thank you for your prayers and support, they’re very much appreciated.
There was one who set out to write
About a journey without certain destination
Steps taken without established purpose –
Likened to the plight of a dry leaf
Tossed by winds into waiting flames
Transformed into floating embers,
Pregnant with unmitigated, undirected destruction.
These are words I couldn’t share before,
Trapped in a growing earthen mould not yet equipped
To express the gravity of the thoughts that linger
And roam in the depths of this immortal soul.
I’ve seen things stranger than fiction
And heard things that cannot be put into words
I’ve taken steps falteringly, seemingly aimlessly
To a destination that couldn’t be surer.
Each night as we slept the tears flowed.
I can’t deny that it shows –
The pain we’ve been hiding.
How do we say goodbye?
I can ignore your feet on my table, darling;
But not the name you keep calling
Every night when you moan…groaning till waking, saying;
‘Ah, Adriel, my little baby…why won’t you come to Mummy?’
To fathers – past and present.
To the past, a tribute; to the present, an ideal;
Because it would be a truly sad world,
When the best Dads are the dead ones.
“My father, my father, the chariots of Israel and its horsemen!”
A teacher whose words marked the path to the destinies of generations;
Fell along the way, leaving only a silent lifeless landmark
No more will I hear him whisper from behind, “This is the way. Walk in it.”
I refuse to recall the dirge about ‘how the mighty have fallen’;
When I cannot find your trusted well-oiled shield’s protection.
There’s a song – wordless;
It haunts me at odd hours,
And brings tears to my eyes;
It wrestles reason to the ground,
And dances all over my emotions;