A Song for Eternity
I want to sing of His glory
and offer Him a song from my heart
For He will, by the covenant of His love,
vigorously compel my weak flesh to everlasting life
Make up #1…. The End
There is a song
that I hear
whenever The End
is mentioned.
My mind is like that,
a living collection of refrains, jingles, and chorus lines.
A walking, talking, frequently whistling,
Karaoke machine.
Or juke box, I suppose.
The End
is just another word
for the Circle
or the loop
of infinity.
Begin
Again.
Giving Praise to the One who deserves it All (Tenth Hour)
The winds blowing to the east,
And the winds blowing to the west,
From the rising of the Sun,
To where it sets,
I will give You praise.
The birds sing the songs You composed,
The waters flowed down the stream gently,
The trees swayed with the breeze lovingly,
Everything bloomed: the lilies, the daises, and many other plants rose.
As the nature praise You, I will too.
The night sky sings worship,
As million of stars twinkle by.
With the moon in its peak,
Throughout the night, these whole creation speaks.
And as everything starts to lift Your name, I will do the same.
Even when the sun shines,
Even when the sky cries,
Even when doubt starts to fill my mind,
Even when the world makes me lost in its bind,
Still You’re here with me, so I will praise You, God Almighty.
Be
Be
Love is all around u. Light is going to guide u.
Be the light of love and shine ur energy so I can feel u from here.
Be the force and move my mind body & soul.
Be the peace and the calm so there is never a storm.
Be the nothing that will always be the most important.
Be great galaxies that we can explore.
Be the angel that that I been waitin for.
12 My Favorite Time Of Day
Stillness…silence
Nary a soul stirring,
People still abed
Mum is the neighbor’s rooster
My favorite time of day.
A bat flapped his wings
A cricket whispered
A buzzing lone mosquito
Even the air is at rest.
The only soul awake
I welcome the solitariness, the solitude
At peace, blissfully at peace
My favorite time of day.
At a distance, a dog whining
Aware of the silence
Ears at its height doing its job
No, not a single sound
Not even an unwelcome snore.
Getting up, starting the day right
Waiting for the first glimpse of sunrise
Dawn a-breaking, surrounding a-stirring
Not the end, till my next
Favorite time of Day.
How we are
Times change
And walk past us
Tides roll and roll
And don’t wait for us
We trouble the waters here and there
And they still don’t stir for us
We tame the rivers and streams
And all the same they flood us
We move earth and mountains
And it crumbles underneath us
The noise created by our progress
Chokes and disturbs us
We can’t free ourselves from limits
We can’t tame what holds us
There’s no savior
We are forever bound
By the world we create
At the Mission
Friday night at the “mission”
Line’s long tonight,
Someone’s supposed to sing for us after the preachin’ session.
Nothin’ clean to wear,
I smell like the rotten potatoes i couldn’t bring myself to eat.
Last week I couldn’t make it to the laundry in time
And every stinkin’ Joe on the street seemed to be in line for the showers.
Ah, the hell with it.
I’ll find a filthy sink somewhere tonight,
the station down the road turns a blind eye when I wash up in their men’s.
Too many jokers in this town,
Time to move on.
a jeep ride unforgetable
Riding on a jeep
Sudden road change
Causing a panic
Stopping for a while
Near a lake
It was night then
Seeing the full moon amongst the stars
Truly it was a Glory from the Creator of the Universe
Surely He got nothing to spare with
8:07 am PST 14/08/2016
© ROY MARK AZANZA CORRALES
Talking To The Spirits
Yes, I talk to the dead…
Well, they talk to me!
Since I was a child;
As far as I can recall.
I talked to a 6-year-old;
She said she drowned.
I was 9-years-old…
I made her mother cry.
She said, I gave her hope.
I didn’t know how.
And even before,
When Uncle Pete went to heaven.
I saw him standing near,
Looking fine.
I wondered why, at age 7;
People kiss a big wood box.
Uncle Pete was supposed to be inside.
When I was older,
Seeing them…
Hearing them…
Scared me.
I don’t know why.
I talked to them before.
As an adult,
I was urged to go professional.
Help others connect…
I still make people cry,
Just to hear from a parent…
Or a child.
Now I understand.
I talk to dead people…
They aren’t really dead.
I know.
I hear.
I see
.
DIGGIN’ TATERS
nothin’ smells better than
Indiana dirt,
bein’ turned with a pitchfork,
tines sharp enough to pierce
clean through
anything that is in it’s path;
taters exposed for the first time
to the summer sun,
warmin’ the rich soil and
dryin’ out the tan skins
of new taters that will soon
make the supper table;
we stoop over to sift through
black dirt to confiscate the prize
fruits of back breaking labor;
a family affair.
Michellia D. Wilson 8/13/2016