Monday, September 16, 2019

Peace of Conscience

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. . . and they were filled with joy, having received a remission of their sins, and having peace of conscience, because of the exceeding faith which they had in Jesus Christ who should come . . .
Alma  4:3 

Peace and joy, the legacy of those with faith in Christ;
his milk and honey overflow and so remain unpriced.
Forgiveness, grace, and mercy are the consequence of love
and trust in Jesus Christ --  who is our Master from above.
Give thanks the Bread of Life has come, to offer up his flesh
for all who do believe in him that they may start afresh.

Sunday, September 15, 2019

I Come From Broken Lands.




I come from broken lands. From lands where fish can walk and birds build nests under the water, from which they hatch stinging centipedes. It is a land filled with hot dry rocks and surly mud. My beloved grandfather is buried in a rusted green oil drum at the edge of a stream that runs black in the winter and red in the summer. The trees drip a sour gum that eats holes in hats and shoes.
I come from broken lands and have left them behind to find out what it means not to be broken. To care again about wholesome streets and gainful relaxation. To look through clean windows. To watch children smile.
And I am stopped  by you, a man in a brown uniform. A gatekeeper at a blue portal. Blue is the color of the ocean, of turning around to say goodbye to fear. And brown is not a bad color for a man who must be hard sometimes. Whose eyes reflect the color of disturbed sand. You will not beat me, though you will not like me much either. I think it was you who left the speckled banana on the bench next to me when I fell asleep.
I fell asleep because I was exhausted with all the questions and all the lines to fill in on all the forms that came in pastel green and pink and yellow. And I don't know your language very well. We read it in books at school but it seemed like the sound of stormy water slapping at slimy cliffs to us. Your words are cold and harsh, like your winters to the north. I do not enjoy using them. 
But you in your stiff brown uniform and your stiff brown language are now my captor -- and maybe my captive, too. It's hard to tell sometimes. I hear you laugh down the hall, the cracked linoleum floor carrying your delight in something or other up the hall to me. And I am made aware of my insignificance to you. But then your inflexible boots march towards me and there is a moment when you want to ask me something, maybe beg me for something. What could it be? I can't know, not under these circumstances. You have a night stick in your belt, but it has never been used -- it is shoe shine bright. And I understand you must wear a mask in my presence. A muzzle that I put there. 
If I ever escape into your unbroken lands I will plant chives to your memory. I respect your sad dream-killing duties. But I think maybe my living dreams are going to be stronger than your dead duties. 

(Inspired by the NYT article "People Actively Hate Us": Inside the Border Patrol's Morale Crisis. by Fernandez, Jordan, Dickerson, and Kanno-Youngs.)

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My Obituary



When off this mortal coil I shuffle
let no one ever start to snuffle;
write my obit with some verve
(and not about what I deserve.)
The jokes, the gags, the lousy poems -- 
my antipathy to garden gnomes.
Let all my quirks and follies shine
as to the sod I realign;
so I can summon one more laugh
once the Lord has pulled the gaff.

Verses from Headlines in today's Washington Post ** Commode caper: Someone steals solid-gold toilet — once offered to Trump White House — from British palace ** A teen told the restaurant he had a dairy allergy. Then his birthday meal killed him. ** Hong Kong police disperse protesters with tear gas and water cannon, stinging blue dye in 15th weekend of unrest.




It must be really really cold
to sit upon a toilet gold.
No wonder House of Windsor folk
look like they can't take a joke.
@siobhan_ogrady

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I never saw a chophouse yet
that didn't make my gut upset.
It's not the food that gives me grippe,
but how much they want for a tip!
@AlexHortonTX

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Spending weekends in Hong Kong
for vacations now is wrong.
 Unless, of course, you like tear gas
and water cannons you can't pass.
If that's the case, feel free to stay
for masochistic holiday!
@ShibaniMahtani



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Awake unto God

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. . . he awakened them out of a deep sleep, and they awoke unto God.
Alma 5:7

The world may think it's wide awake, but such is not the case.
The world with all its people is insensible to grace.
In slumber deep the Earth revolves, a somnolent blue ball --
until the Lord in glory issues his own wake up call.
He issues it through you and me; we cannot shun the fight.
We must proclaim the Gospel to dispel the gloom of night.
By word and deed, in rain or shine, let ev'ry Saint rejoice
and share the gladsome tidings with a persevering voice!

Saturday, September 14, 2019

Verses from Headlines in the Washington Post * Patients who bought a doctor’s Botox services on Groupon got phony injections, officials say * This igloo-themed hotel is set to open at the North Pole — for $100,000 per person. * Trump uttered what many supporters consider blasphemy. Here’s why most will probably forgive him.







I filled my face with Botox; now it's silky as can be.
In fact I look like a balloon, all shiny and hair-free.
And so I paid for shots galore, in arms and legs and back;
my body has begun to sag like empty gunnysack.
My doctor, as it turns out, got his license in the gutter;
instead of Botox all his shots were Jiffy peanut butter!
@KnowlesHannah

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I wonder how old Santa can afford to live on ice,
since North Pole rental properties come with a hefty price.
He ought to try Airbnb to make a little cash,
in case his hedge fund savings ever really go to smash.
It can't be cheap to hire elves and house them, plus reindeer
will eat you out of house and home despite the best good cheer.
Perhaps our jolly sleigh rider will have to float a loan
to make sure this year's Holiday he won't have to postpone!
@bellwak

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When our president doth take the name of God in vain,
I'm sure it causes heaven lots of heavy hearted pain.
But heaven is forgiving, as are voters nowadays;
they do not care a fig about the Donald's sinful ways.
They like his heedless deviltry; it makes them feel secure
that they can lead the good life, too, by wading in manure.
@JulieZauzmer 


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Their hearts had been changed

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. . . and they did all declare unto the people the selfsame thing—that their hearts had been changed; that they had no more desire to do evil.
Alma 19:33


The heart of man is deep and mixed;
tis filled with contradictions.
Who can plumb its depths aright,
and lay bare its convictions?
Christ alone unlocks the heart
to take benign possession;
He collects no tribute mean
but comes to bless and freshen.


Friday, September 13, 2019

Verses from Headlines in the Washington Post * He thought he might lose his job. So he brought an emotional support clown to work. * Trump blamed energy-saving bulbs for making him look orange. Experts say probably not. * For the first time in 13 years, a full moon rises this Friday the 13th.




The next time that I lose a job
instead of sitting down to sob
a good buffoon I will employ
to make my firing a joy;
since scared my boss is of the clown --
I'm hoping that his heart shuts down.

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No matter what light's in the place,
 the Donald's got a funny face.
It may be orange, maybe green;
it's sure the strangest ever seen
in the White House since Ol' Abe
(who never got fresh with a babe.)

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 Superstitious I am not;
black cats with no curse are fraught.
Broken mirrors mean much less
than a blade of watercress. 
Stepping on a sidewalk crack
will not break my mother's back.
Still, I'd rather not tempt fate
by ever guessing my wife's weight.


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Submissive as a little child

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. . . and becometh as a childsubmissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him, even as a child doth submit to his father.
Mosiah 3:19


Submissive as a little child we all must be one day,
when pride and sham and worldly fear have all been wiped away.
Patiently we love the Lord, though oft misunderstood
by others who delight to charge us with brainwashed falsehood.
Meek and humble would I be, a servant worth his salt,
if only God will help me overcome each lapse and fault.