Tethered Heart
Grounding my Paupered Soul
Forever Bound by Undeserved Grace
Spiritual Strength in this World of Insanity
Purposeful Life, Wanderless No More
My Hope and Redeemer
Creator
∞
Triquain: The Triquain, created by Shelley A. Cephas, is a poem with several creative variances and can be a rhyming or non-rhyming verse. The simpliest form is a poem made up of 7 lines with syllables of 3, 6, 9, 12, 9, 6, and 3 in this order.
Rage….against this infectious storm
enveloping lands drunk with empty promise, as we
proudly stick up the middle fingers of our diverse gods toward
enemy number one, as Gods laws’ are spat out of minds. And mouths
nepharious with artful deception, sequester away
time, which slides, with exponential speed, toward our ultimate doom.
∞
I think God’s hand is mighty in this pandemic. He has timed the exponential explosion right when the salvation work of Jesus is celebrated. As the worst of humanity rears its ugly head, society implodes when people have no hope. And it is during this time of year when God’s hope is easy to read about. I wholeheartedly believe that God is using this virus as a way to lead people back to Him. This may also be God’s judgment for our rampant and embedded evil and that the only answer lies in individual and world repentance. Dont you feel the evil surrounding you? Arent you tired of it’s hold on your soul? It is time to repent, turn away from our sin, throw ourselves in front of the seat of our mighty Creator and accept His gift of salvation found only in Christ Jesus. For some of you, time is of the essence and not on your side. Now is the time to decide, now can be the day of your salvation.
God requires you to do the following to restore communion with Him:
Confess your sin to Him and ask for forgiveness
(Romans 3:23 All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God; Romans 6:23 For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is Jesus Christ our Lord; 1 John 1:9 If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.)
Acknowledge that YOU can not save yourself and that you need God to save you through His plan of salvation. Believe in God’s plan of salvation from eternal death through the sacrifice of His only son, Jesus Christ, who covered our sins and became our perfect and only sacrifice. Confess that Jesus as Lord and Savior and call on Him for salvation.
(John 3:16 For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. )
Living a life after salvation is an active process! Turn away from your sin, follow God’s commands, grow in daily communion with Him by following Jesus daily. Confess new sin, read and obey the word of God, fellowship with other christians, look for opportunities to help others and spread the word of the gospel (“good news of God’s salvation plan”)
(James 1:21-22 Therefore put away all filthiness and rampant wickedness and receive with meekness the implanted word, which is able to save your souls.22 But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves.)
Show evidence of your new life in Jesus and get baptized. Baptism is a commandment that we are ordered to follow.
(1 Peter 3:21 Baptism, which corresponds to this, now saves you, not as a removal of dirt from the body but as an appeal to God for a good conscience, through the resurrection of Jesus Christ.)
May God bless you and keep you in these trials. The book of James is an excellent place to start daily reading as the chapters are short and to the point and the advise is very practical. Chapter one tells us how to live during trials and persecutions.
Drip drip drop I have nasal showers;
it’s really not embarrassing at all
◊
Drip drip drop this flow is powered
similar to the flow of Nigeria falls 🙂
◊
Drip drip drop and the allergic flowers
haven’t even made their first seasonal call
◊
Drip drip drop it flows hour by hour;
I look like I’m having a really huge bawl
◊
Drip drip drop as I wipe and scour;
my skin is growing red-ripe and raw!
∞
I wrote this a long time ago (loosely to the childhood tune of “Drip, Drip, Drop”) when I was having some allergies in Springtime, but I thought that anyone right now with viral symptoms could appreciate a little lighthearted fun. Be well, everyone.
Can I count loving you 18 ways?
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 loving you eighteen ways.
Im rich in a commodity few now share
that humbly cleaned both nose and bum.
An item once flushed without care!
But now is more worthy than gold to some.
TP, a moniker with little flair
names a product of wood pulp and gum.
Yet when supply becomes threadbare
our faces turn long and glum.
Where to turn, our national cry,
with crazed rush from store to store.
In a collective mad rush to buy
we create a surge-market uproar.
We morn what was a great supply
and yearn for shelves restored
with pruny faces and stinky eyes
and yell at those who hoard!
For I fear we have fallen prey
to love convenience at any cost.
It is why we feel such a loss
over a product we throw away.
∞
Just had to do it! My brain was screaming for tongue in cheek humor after all the dark poetry that woke me up at night. It was a great release, I encourage you all to come up with humor in the dark.
Whisps of promised help
puff on the breeze
of viral-infused breath
as the screeching cries
of the cremated ill
haunt my restless dreams.
Look out! My steps
tread their harrowed haunts
as breath-deprived shades
wander over desolate streets.
Echoes of the abolished
reverberate in hollow speech,
and dead-tired eyes,
of the medically traumatized…
….and death waits in
beds of the abandoned….
…..as scenarios that tabulate
life and death choices
morph from dark probabilities
into grimly stark reality.
∞
I wake up with fragments of poems from my dreams. It seems the virus has its hold on my mind. This is a 4-word-line free poem.
There is a whisper in my mind that tempts me to fear….
….as death grips its silent hold
…..and governments slide on their lies
There is a whisper in my mind that tells me to flee….
….as locusts munch us into famine
….and the earth quakes with premonition
There is a whisper in my mind that trains me to follow….
…as whispy markets crash
…and panicked buyers hoard
Oh rage RAGE against this exponential storm!
For its ever etched trickle,
moves with ominous pace,
ever faster,
collecting inexorably
into a raging waterfall
∞
I am seized with ailing thoughts
as my synapses loop masochistic hindsight.
I drift in hazy dreams of If-Then……
Oh! Tether present day
to hopeful tomorrow
or I shall drift
into meaningless past
undone by its incomplete script
or tomorrow shall see today’s loss!
These layers on layers
of half written plays gather dust
and I cannot brush away the scattered pages.
Fragmented sentences and words unsaid
give weight to thoughts forever unanswered.
I glide through present day
untouched by feeling for fear
of feeling the pain of a life shattered
as it slowly circles the drain.
I must release this unchangeable past
or go mad from wasted hope.
Part of my obsession is an uncontrolled looping journey into the past. If I am to overcome it I must break its’ hold over me.
Picture: psychology today
≅
I like to put images on my feelings; regret feels like this to me and sucks me into a dark place. In these times, I find that reading the Bible and praying are the best tools to combat it, then afterwards get busy. In DBT, the skill “turning the mind” is important in changing one’s thought pattern. Getting busy– doing something– and stopping the thought are essential to climbing out of that prison.
Fibonacci poems use the fibonacci sequence (0 or 1, 2, 3, 5 etc) to structure the number of syllables in a line. The number of lines are flexible but generally dictated by the limitation in the number of syllables one can use.
Picture: en.wikipedia.org
Fantasies of a Forlorn Fairy 