Distraction Attraction


Our electronic life, so full of attraction!

All worldly wonders now a click away.

When gone, panic is our first reaction;

Each minute like hours without our “play”.


Time now filled with manic distraction

with little of it left to be quiet and pray.

We don’t realize the actual fraction

withdrawn from time with God every day.


Beware, Satan’s title is  “Lord of the Air”!

He controls this seductive electronic parade

and flies with glib glee on every air wave,

tainting hearts that could otherwise be saved.


We blindly feast on our entertainment crave

as his media slithers down the evil grade.

With sly patience he addicts the TV slave’s;

Brainwashed, few see what he has made.

He is the master of lies; we have been played.


Wake up and listen to every word said!

“Background noise” allows him in;

He is whispering his lies into your head

and tempting even the strongest to sin.


I used to think that technology and devices werent inherantly evil, but I am starting to think otherwise, as they have no inherant moral compass and tends to lead Christians away from spending time with the Lord and others.  Reading Christian blogs is not spending time with the Lord and others.  Yes, I am using a blog to encourage you to get off of it and spend time with the Lord and others!  I see the irony!

In my own life, I must be ever vigilant that Satan will do all he can to distract and cause me to spend less time in worship and prayer and more time in fruitless pursuits.  I used to be a devoted gamer, but I realized that I had to put my faith and morals in the backseat in order to take on the role of mage or healer etc and perform lawless acts in order to get good stuff.  That mirrors what Satan wants to do in reality.  And what one practices will infiltrate one’s mind, either in indifference or outright rebellion to God’s authority and rule.  These last few months have allowed many to re-focus on neglected parts of their life.  I hope you have had some time to do this for yourself.

So I will try, and I hope you will think about who or what is driving you in your own life. 

And God Bless Us, Everyone.



Graduation poem: Counting the Ways You Amaze

Can I count the ways that you amaze

and sum it up in written praise?

Can the moon measure its luminous glow

on newly captured fallen snow

or the sun count its glorious rays

as night fades to dawning day?

Can stars fall from awesome heights

to quench their luminescent light

or eagles soar on wings of time

 to prove our created paradigm?

Can all the waves on all the shores

be placed in drawers to be stored?

No, for these are marvels beyond compare

yet my heart does boldly swear

that my life will run out of days

before I stop counting the ways that you amaze.

I modified a prior birthday poem for my daughter for a graduation poem for my nephew Jeremy.  A shout out to all the amazing graduates!

Catharsis (Fibonacci)




hindsight thoughts

bring anguish and grief.

Remove this Vile Thing from my brain!

Memories flow out with arterial bleeding;

Flushed out with unconstipated relief, as catharsis regains hold on reality.

Sometimes I find that memories elicit visceral feelings so images of bleeding and constipation feel rather fitting.


Fibonacci:  a non-rhyming poem structured with the Fibonacci sequence (0 or 1, 1, 2, 3, 5 etc).  Fibonacci sequence is adding the two prior numbers together to get the new number.   If one starts at “zero” then the first two lines are single syllable. Most poems stop at 13 syllables for the last line.  

The Gun that Killed Poncho Villa

There is a famous myth in the Brook clan;

a legend through generations told.

And my dad relates it with full Élan

as he allows the details to unfold.

“My dad and Uncle were genuine cards,

each as slick and wiley as the other.

And they wove stories that Shakespeare the bard

would only have told a sneaky brother.

These “Pieces of work” did not tolerate

dicey stories that seemed too tall to tell;

if the story did not corroborate

a cordial invite was given to hell.”

“One day, Uncle, with quite a drunken gate,

wobbled into our house with gun-in-hand

and with inebriated speech did state

and swear,  as he did solemnly stand,

this old gun had a history so great

grandpa would pay to hold it in his hand.”

“What’s this history so great?” pop did say.

“Wh-ell, dish gun’s a killer, doncha know,

it ta-hook Poncho Villa’s life the sad day

that (burp) to His Great Maker he did go.”

“What! Don’cha waste my time with this sad rhyme”

roared my irate pop,  quite irritably.

“You are just a drunk, crazy old bastard

and I just don’t have time, so off with ye!”

“Stung, Uncle insisted, with blazing eyes,

that this rusty old gun must surely be

the one and only rare, unique and prized–

and missing— gun that shot Poncho V.

“Aghast, Pop measured him with blazing eyes.

In a flash, with one great bellow and punch

he sent his brother-in-law through the door,

then sat down with a sigh to eat his lunch.”

“What happened to that “rare and priceless gun”?

All good tale-tellers have to speculate:

that dodgy seller surely had some fun

and took that money to the gambling gates!

This story is a legend in our family, so I thought I would share it as a rhymed poem in iambic pentameter (10 syllables to a line).  People often crashed through doors and windows in Norristown, PA, where my ancestors lived and eked out a living.  The story is faithfully handed down as told by my Grandpa Leo Kingston Brook, a storytelling genius, to my dad Lee Charles Brook, a second storytelling genius, and then to me.   Today is my dad’s birthday if he were still living, so it is fitting and bittersweet that I remember my favorite story on a day that makes me a little sad. The memories surrounding this tale make me smile and miss the mystery of their richly hued, one-of-a-kind,  tongue-in-cheek stories.


Secrets and Lies

The world revolves around secrets and lies!

Crafted stories underscore this theme.

Initiates feast with innocent eyes

and drink from the cup of this sly scene.

With pure intentions, naive novices try,

the “Power of One” their motto’d phrase,

and soon discover this unpleasant surprise:

Absolute power corrupts in absolute ways.

They look to those who are older and wise,

confounding the essential part they play.

But eventually this passion for truth dies,

and dissolves in the deceitful  buffet.

Children taught not to lie in tender youth

yet, when older, slowly open the crafty door.

Discomfort follows in the wake of  truth

to reveal, “unpeel” the secret rotten core.

Failure to deviate now seems uncouth;

as we forget when we valued what was pure.

We sell our integrity at the character booth

and victimize new initiates once more.

This evil circle renews on the new crop of youth

as we  collectively seek to “even the score”……

Secrets and lies are an unending circle taught to the young and encouraged by the world.  While it is rather “heavy”, I hope it strikes a chord in you.

And no matter where you work, even in the best of places, there are times when the truth is not encouraged or wanted.  “Political correctness” is the sly lie that slides off the tongue of those who want and need to suppress the truth.

On a more universal scale, it is time for the light of truth to expose the shadows, and in so doing, bring to light the desperate sin that is running rampant.  Shining the light in the darkness will do nothing but intensify evil unless repentance is part of the solution.


Unsynched Pendulum

Un-synched synaptic pendulum
An off-beat neuronal flow
Inherited from genetic lines
Disequilibrium my eternal woe

Pivotal weight heavy and sad
For long periods swinging slow
Hiding this emotional meanness
Time hangs heavy when it swings low

Light weight frantically swings
Soaring on my mental fly
Judgment goes out the door
“I am my own high”

Thank God for His mercies!
For when I focus on Him
The demons fade and grow dim
And, for now, a short term win.

The highs and lows of severe emotional intensity and emotional dysregulation makes every day a hard-fought battle.  It is exhausting.  I really cant wait until I am perfected in Jesus.  He is my light, my salvation, my forgiveness.  He keeps me going and gives me hope and purpose for each day.  Thank you Lord.

Unholy Pain

I have a condition understood poorly.

Chronic pain the hallmark to sufferers all.

A syndrome of many symptoms, surely

the scourge of physicians, sour with unbelief!

Whiners, hypochondriacs we are called.

In restless sleep there is no relief;

the pain similar to muscles mauled.

Burning fatigue, nerves’ constant  bite

waxing, waning but never gone.

Vindication, every sufferers’ right;

yet support of others’ often withdrawn.

 “Fibromyalgia Fog” a lippy phrase

as we struggle with memory and tasks.

Life becomes a fuzzy, misty maze.

Raining inside, with smiling masks

as medications throw us in a daze.

To some, other problems appear

TMJIBS, stiffness and muscle spasms,

Healthcare now our unwanted sphere;

feeling well grows into a widening chasm.

Often undiagnosed for many years

as all other conditions are ruled out.

Then tossed aside, stepchild for life;

Unbelieved, even we begin to doubt.

Is it in our heads? Are we our own strife?

“Never give in” our mottoe’d shout

I may not conquer this Demon Beast

but some day I will even the score.

This unholy pain will surely cease

with  death’s long sweet kiss

and I will feel it’s sting no more.

No, I shall attempt to not depress you too much, but I cannot ignore a condition that has affected me, and affects 1 in 12 new visits to a Rheumatologist.  I was 14 when I realized I Had A Problem that was diagnosed as fibromyalgia in my early 20’s. While 14 is unusually young, it does happen, and is associated with inflammatory disease later in life.

I will never forget sitting in English in Miss Yost’s class and trying to get comfortable for the 1000th time and suddenly realizing that I couldn’t remember anymore a day without pain.  As a very stoic kid-I lived at my ENT doctor’s office due to a congenital problem—I had been told all my life how my parents paid for his kids’ college with my medical bills. And I somehow knew that this would not be an easy answer.

So I suffered in silence and tried in a typically weird teenage way to cope by exercise and anorexia.  Back then FM had a poor prognosis, so it was a good thing that I kept it to myself. But when I got married and got a very stressful job I just couldn’t do it anymore, so I went to my doctor for help.  He jabbed my arm, I yelled and he told me I had FM and there was nothing I could do, but he could put me on Prozac and BTW he thought I was bipolar.  I cried, it had taken 10 years for me to tell anyone and that is the treatment I got.  In a rather cruel twist of fate, bipolar was not my diagnosis either and I was finally diagnosed last year with the true problem that affects so many people in our culture today: Borderline Personality Disorder.

While he was partly correct, his uncaring attitude lost me as a patient.  I suffered for another 15 years, then began with weird and frightening symptoms with very high inflammatory markers so my GP sent me to a Rheumatologist, who said I did have FM and he did have some medications to help, but he was much more interested in my mystery medical condition.  I went to him for a year for an undiagnosed inflammatory condition, then I seemed to get better, so he released me and said he could see me every six months for FM.

Six days later I woke up in horrible pain with fingers as big as sausages.  In true Lori fashion, I tried to live with it until I couldn’t even put clothes in the wash, then I dragged myself back. His first response?  He sat down and yelled at me that he couldn’t do anything else for my FM.  I teared up and said I wasn’t asking him to then showed him my hands.  Ahhh….a  REAL medical problem!  So I got the icky news that I had a pre-rheumatoid arthritis condition that needed a load of medications to keep it from progressing.

While I am grateful for the medications available now, and for the medications that are helping FM sufferers, it still is a condition that is the stepchild of the medical community.  My Inflammatory Arthritis is more painful, but I can walk it out;  only one medicine helps with my chronic muscle pain. And shame on all the physicians out there who dismiss this as Something Beneath Them.  As the payer, THEY are serving ME, and I believe that most of them have forgotten this.

Pearl in the oyster? I am one  tough cookie; I have a wacky sense of humor; I am grateful to live in a time period where medications are available and I think my struggles to shine despite my tarnish have made me a better person.  Live, Love, Learn.

Physical and mental health are so intertwined. I recently discovered that I am my own worst enemy, as my “catastrophizing”  coping skill, and severe depression prior to the start of my symptoms (which were in turn the start of borderline personality disorder) probably helped to initiate the cascaded that led to FM disorder.  So if you have FM or BPD or emotional dysregulation and your doctor wants you to get a mental health evaluation, dont fight it.  It really is all related, and getting your emotional and mental health in good shape is critical.