2001. It was do or die for a small Brethren church in Petone that was vulnerable to losing members, especially youth.
After approximately four years of soul searching and seeking God on their situation, a decision was made to go contemporary and be a place where people find reality in community.
2003. When Treena and Marcus van Rijssel purchased a house in Wellington last year for the purpose of housing and supporting pregnant teenagers, two pregnant girls approached them to use the facilities which were not furnished or decorated. One of those girls has gone on to appear on Kids – a TV 2 documentary about teenage mums.
God did his work
And I am proud of the work he made.
It was awesome that he rested after six long days
I for one will sing in praise
To the awesome God who is not behind cloud
Shown he has the world at hand the marks of his love
Who toiled at building this place we call home,
He gave it his all.
And bent down, humble, and said,
This is yours,
This is mine.
2000. Aglow New Zealand encourages women to become whole in body, soul, and spirit in an age where it can be fashionable to focus on form rather than content.
2005. New Zealand Council of Christian Social Services is challenging the Government to sufficiently fund rest homes and hospitals of elderly people and says a 3 percent funding increase is too little too late.
2000. “We exist so that God, working in and through us, will use us, to help people know, apply, experience, embrace and proclaim God’s truth on marriage and family. The result is godly families reaching others with God’s truth”, explains Andy Bray, Director of FamilyLife (in New Zealand), a ministry that encourages a variety of couples at various stages in life in their marriages and roles as mothers and fathers.
2013. A retired New Zealand vicar who’s been blessed with two long, happy marriages knows the secret of success.
Cecil Marshall, now eighty-six, was married to Barbara for 40 years. After her death 18 years ago, he was devastated but remarried and has enjoyed another 17 years of marriage to Margaret.
2000. The YWAM New Zealand outreach team experienced a “fruitful” three weeks at the Sydney Olympic games this year says Jay Granat, team leader.
2000. Blood, sweat, and tears is going to flow from thousands of people worldwide at the Olympics this year. And it will not be just the athletes. The YWAM 2000 Games outreach in Sydney, where the Olympic games are being held in September, will be well underway with an estimated three thousand people. Lots of travelling, little sleep and battling crowds is the order of the day but promises to be one of the most memorable and exciting times in someone’s life. The NZ organizers are looking for 250 New Zealanders to take part.
Deft defying acts, skills she said. Looking good. Cool. Beautiful. Got to, when getting the coffee. In front of you.
Whetting my appetite on a diet of malnutrition things I am supposed to not eat but eating them anyhow no one will see my diet of mental malnutrition but nevertheless I go ahead and hope for the best making sure no one sees me and I die a death, losing myself, my integrity, did I even regret the impulse that came over my brain in a haze of momentary lack of mindedness set on just one thing and forgetting I said it was mental malnutrition. The death of my soul, now a hole, and no one knows, but I die, alone. I jumped from thing to thing and the desire grew and blew and blew until it flew, and I’m left with the residual hue nothing like I wanted.
I got my coffee and wish time would stop because it is National Gormet Coffee Day. I would go home to have dinner, but since it’s Rid the World of Fad Diets & Gimmicks Day I don’t go home. My wife is trying to replace her fad diet with a real one and I want Gormet burgers with my coffee. Just imagine it if I went home. For a start, I can’t even cook my own meal…
A palatable easy rock sound coupled with some interesting philosophical lyricism leading more to unbelief than belief, in the face of commercialism and the invisible barriers between people.
2001. New Zealanders will be consulted this year on climate change and related issues, initiated by the Government.
According to the Cabinet paper, early decisions and directions, more public education about energy efficiency choices and actions available in the residential, commercial, and other sectors, is to be considered.
First impressions of work can be favorable, but later, an objective eye may see the flaws and blemishes. It should sound right on second view, but might not. Why not test it? Send the articles in and see if one’s reservations line up with the editor’s view. I hope I am surprised…
2000. Janeen Norwicki laughs. “The fat thing is in now,” says Janeen Nowicki. “It makes me laugh. They’re so late getting on the Ferris wheel really.”
Janeen runs Big, Bold, and Beautiful aerobics. When she started the business nine years ago, she says Continue reading
No, not laughable
Breezy, uplifting and touching
A hint of how much I love you
She’s rich but not annoyingly so
No self-indulgent phony
Sounds the most honest
Apt considering her title (she’s not channeling a future divorce)
She’s surprising
How is she really feeling Mostly sentimental gut feeling
Don’t ask if I think this is better or an embarrassment Her appeal outstanding
Songs like, but
Are they any good?
Hey, does it indicate my self-centredness–
That I don’t like songs like these?
Should I be every bit your own, in the light of song’s shimmering shining voice?
I wish I was here.
Show you she, show you,
She likes the guy
Not surprising by his song, about himself.
But I am not jealous. No, no, no.
2017. Autopsy is a television series from Britain’s ITV studios that analyses the events around the untimely deaths of famous people. Dr. Jason Payne-James looks at the cause of death that is on the celebrity’s death certificate but looking closely at the evidence he concurs with the certificate or comes to another conclusion.
The subjects of the series are people well-known in film, music, and sports. The days leading up to the deaths of actors Robin Williams and Heath Ledger, and others, are analyzed.
In the episode I am looking at today, the life and death of the Irish-born, Manchester United footballer George Best is scrutinized.
Free verse is all porridge and poetry
Mixed and thrown together like a whirlwind of expressive rage
Hot in the pot and bubbling away
An orator who’s been told life is poetry and anger swirled all together,
Sounding like a dear old bird chirping,
Not so. Beaten into life by the wordsmith’s device
Heated words used in free verse candor
Sounding like he’s got a grip
Dying on the inside, the boy’s got lip
When a wind is getting closer
The poet dives for self-respect
The free verse expresses regret.
The barrister winked at him. “Nothing like a change to get customers back, eh?”
Secretly, she slipped something addictive into his coffee. “How about a latte today, sir?” The story continues…
He couldn’t kick the habit. He kept on taking the same path to the same coffee shop every day. Three times a day.
It is this way, so the illusionist said to the one he called the magician.
The illusionist saw it no other way in the vision of the magician he seen
There was no grey ground and no questioning He had it right
And woe and before him the magician came creeping back who he viewed in a suspicious light
There was only one way of looking at her, and this way was right:
The magician was a wicked old willy.
Who happened to be a loved one gone by,
Never seen the same again,
The love he had was broken,
As the magician was seen through the illusionist’s eyes,
Never to be blown.
The barrister promised the customer something special in the coffee today. “You’ll take off,” she said.
The weather may have been the same, but not his coffee. The barrister slipped something extra special into his coffee today…
I like outrageous stories and tall tales that have an exaggerated sense of life. So, here is a short tale of going to the coffee shop.
Commercial intent, he said.
They said his nose was out of joint,
Because he smelt commercialization.
“You just hate anything commercial.”
But he grimaced at the candy smell in the foyer of a cinema
That was in the shop of a petrol station.
It was the smell that made him bark “Commercial intent”
And the manager was there to hear it.
The candy smell was smothering and moldy
No wonder he cried out
As life was choked out and inseminated with artificial popcorn, but
Could this be a matter of sour grapes?
As just the day before he had been given white bread for dinner.
Like the times he had been at the cinema he brought down curses on the place he was now standing.
In the shop of a petrol station.
There was such a mess.
How does one understand today’s poem “The Persian Rug”. Although it may sound like red carpet service for politicians despite their misdemeanors, it does not mean that at all. I can imagine a politician’s flaws being overlooked, though, and life goes on as normal, but this has nothing to do “The Persian Rug”. Quite simply the poem is spiritual. I am not using a strict religious metaphor from the Bible. I could have used another idea than the one I did, but I use “Persian rug” because it sounded like something exotic and transcendent which fitted in with my meaning. It is about how Jesus treats a person despite their flaws and sins. He died for sin but is not condemning someone for their sins. In a way he is treating the person in my poem like royalty even though he does not deserve it. This is God’s goodness to that person.
Persian rug for a sow,
Not fitting the soul,
Dark and dead,
With the sin that he did.
He said to himself, I am no good.
I’ve failed.
What will God say?
What will they think?
But they still laid out the Persian Rug.
Surprising as it seems.
After all.
More than deluxe
And a tip of the hat
There’s a love transcending love
That I got to have
It’s more,
But I have a mountain to climb.
To get beyond the top,
Is a love so divine
I could cry
For this love to be mine,
And I need this now,
So I will climb
The mountain of my dreams.
In moments, words were said,
Were they two divergent things expressed about the same thing?
One moment straight as an arrow that pierces the soul
Another moment as cheerful a schoolgirl chatting
Two divergent things expressed about the same thing? What’s the point, my friend?
She says one day coffee’s the killer
Next day asking if I’m getting a coffee — with a light touch of fun.
One day it’s one
One day it’s another
And the same
And the last day sinks the nail: you drink too much coffee.
Coffee is the cheerful killer she so wants to rid me of.
Dare I ask for more explanation, other than her innocent smile.
All conceived in love.
The previous ‘poem’ I wrote, “The Friend”, was written out of more a matter of intent than designing something artistic. There is a debate that says one should always write or create something excellently or this does not matter as much as what one is saying. Well, “The Friend” is inclined to be in the latter camp. I had intent with my idea and the art was second on my mind. I don’t think this poem is really that artistic as there are uneven spots; sometimes it rhymes and then it sounds cheesy in a way. But I trust the intent gets through and that’s felt in the poem’s effect. I was wanting to show that Jesus respects women after hearing the song “Everyone Wants to Rule the World” by Tears for Fears. Jesus never came with a iron fist, but was gentle. I was reminded that Christianity can be regarded as an oppressive religion but this isn’t so when you read how Jesus related to women in the gospel.
An oppressor they called him;
Two thousand years of oppression!
And women are down?
Blame it on the Apostle Paul (some would say)
Women got to be submissive in Paul’s day
So, what does this say
About the Lord?
A misreading others say, as
Jesus was good to women–
And they loved him back.
By the mere, more than mere, fact they responded to him,
Was their love for a man who revealed his pure heart
To their souls
Jesus included women,
He did not reject them,
Scold or deny them
He showed them respect.
Maybe a women felt she got no respect
But Jesus friended them as they were.
Guided them where he could;
With gentle loving wisdom,
Which was understood
And despite the wrongs that were done to them,
Jesus gave them the grace to rise above.
If they feared a ruler,
They get a true servant instead.
Who is respected back
For the love that he gives.
Upside means the sunny side up,
The bright side of life,
The brighter side.
But there’s the upside down,
The opposite of the sunny side up,
Where something is down,
Something is wrong.
But I believe the light side can be good
In getting us through the upside down.
For if there is an upside down in the places we meet,
There may be a sunny side up that makes it seem neat.
That’s because there is still an upside in ‘upside down’.
She entered the coffee shop and stopped. A song was playing inside the shop. She recalled the song and smiled.
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I have been trying to wean off coffee for years, blaming the cafe for making too many good coffees.
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Uncomfortable he yelled deep down inside subtler than a scream but more telling of his distress than a deep down scream would say, he fell into the day with a stumble, getting breakfast, but falling asleep, he worked his way back into day from a disadvantage of a sleepy head, tumbling onto the street with a leap frog trying to keep up with the momentum the day set, and keep abreast well, entering through the door and the lady swiped the card and in he went, a one-sided chat indeed, she was alright, he was the center of attention for a change, and the test was done in a fashion of a bruise and hit around the head, leaving him wondering is she really was a nurse, indeed she was, and again he was in influx from the morning step out of bed falling down the side and getti8ng back up with one leg and two heads, unbeknown to him the right one wasn’t shining outside, too early, too fine, too lost. He felt good after the meeting.
Grace besides the shadows, but
The shadows overcome me,
I could tell they had,
I was there to see
The consummation of her beauty.
Grace, grace, God’s light shines on you
Created by him, the graces you possess
Charm
Joy
Drowned.
In shadows, darkness fell on me
In that moment
The darkness winks
I don’t know what’s happened
Your beauty, your beauty
God’s grace shone on you.
Maimed, I am awaiting you again, as you were.
I may never know
The Light waits, it waits…The Light will come
So I will see you again.
The calm sea comes to the busy street, merging into stillness,
The tide rises to the moment
And all is laid low.
Over the sea, I can see you.
You are over there, and I am here.
Alone in our bubbles.
I can hear through the padded walls.
But the sea cannot tell.
Nor can the walls.
The breeze carries me away
As I feel something strong within
Hope is still here,
That overcomes the unknowing
Of being still.
I am not hiding
In this shell.
In this shell
Is what I am really feeling.
I don’t need to break out
When I am within
Calm.
The energy around me is panic
It affects me
But it is not me.
Deep down inside,
Calm and quiet,
I attend to my business
With a peace of mind.
Making sure that my inner sanctum
Is never disturbed,
I try to run away
From the crowds that clamour
And get back inside
To the things that matter
My life
It’s deep down inside.
Not exactly magic this service of mine,
They got me throwing, flipping pancakes
At the Café Dime.
I wait around most of the time
I could wait on you with pleasantries
And a cool calm smile.
And wean you on my charm,
Every Time.
It’s not that I hate this,
But you can tell I take my time.
I must do things right,
Because the boss says, but
That’s fine.
I’ve got a baby and a husband,
And a family, too.
We’re all in this together,
I try to play the thing cool.
Mortgage piling up, heavy going some of the time
Many other things I want,
I am terminally out of dime
It is my life,
I know it is,
I cannot feel it so well now.
In the middle of the day,
A line sinks me down in
The here and now.
I think about tomorrow as I come and go,
Then you’re the customer who comes through the door,
I pretend I am blind.
But I see you all the time.
I know you see me: Am I just an object to you?
To do this and that
Without a care. Do I even care about you?
I turn over another day at the office,
The Café Dime pays the bills. But I pray for solace,
I want to find the way through.
I have been reflecting on the Gospel of John. The read has been enjoyable and compelling. This week, I have been reading the chapter on Lazarus and I learnt why Jesus rose Lazarus from the dead. I now share my findings from the gospel itself.
Lazarus was the brother of Mary and Martha, who lived in the village of Bethany, two miles from Jerusalem, in the first century. Jesus at the time was staying on the far side of the Jordan and was told that Lazarus was unwell.
Two days later, Jesus said to his disciples that Lazarus was physically dead. Jesus explained to his disciples, who were with him, that he meant that Lazarus was resting–meaning his disembodied spirit was resting in Hades, the waiting place for judgment of the dead (as David Pawson explains in “The Road to Hell”). Lazarus was not in heaven or hell. He was resting, in a waiting place for the spirits of the dead.
Jesus loved Lazarus and his sisters and was going to wake Lazarus up, so his spirit would come back to his body. Lazarus would come back to life. Jesus went to Bethany and met up with Mary and Martha. Lazarus had been in a tomb four days and Jesus prayed and Lazarus came out of the tomb, alive.
Why did Jesus raise Lazarus from the dead? Love. Jesus loved Lazarus and his sisters. They would have been grateful they got their brother back and Jesus delivered on this for them.
I discovered that Jesus’ love in raising Lazarus has a much wider application as well.
I’ve been thinking…and there should be more writing and literature on this blog, in the future, than general writing and life talk although I will probably still include that. I would like to see more poetry and reflections and reviews of books, movies and music.
I have come across some odd sayings in my day. But more than odd, they were controversial sayings, but delivered palatably, with even with a hint that it should be accepted. Except when I heard it, I may have had the advantage of my knowledge over others in the crowd.
The controversies were told at church, but if one knows their Bible quite literally, as I do, you would think twice about the saying. You would recognize it as controversial and that it did not quite fit the evidence of the Bible. Maybe they were aiming for mass and consumer acceptance, but I sat there dismayed. Waiting for someone to correct. So here it is. The fallacies that appeared from time to time on my journeys. How do I reply…
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The English teacher warned the eagerly listening class about waffle. Let me add: you only waffle when you don’t write with conviction. Conviction is the key to eliminating waffle.
There are millions even trillions of stories in the Mind’s eye, but only one, maybe two or three, that should be written by me.
– Pete’s quotes
The media recently seems pretty up beat about the future with Joe Biden, the G 7, and overcoming Covid. That’s the inspiration for this poem.
The world is running,
Going forward,
Hopes it will stay,
Getting better every day,
Around the corner, something bright,
News is upbeat about the plight,
Doom and gloom a thing long gone,
Just do not get caught up in that thing gone wrong,
Plenty time to stay in the Sun.
Remember the days when the sky was young,
Are coming back after not so long a time away,
They’d been waiting for today to come.
He started the weekend on Weds.
And ended on Monday midnight.
Wth a head full of air,
And seamlessness of days and free-flowing space.
Like going to space.
Like my birthday on fast forward another day that comes to lighten a sage’s face
Bent out of shape and not a care about who is around.
Just a heart for the DIY and downtown.
Almost sleeping, but aware.
Almost dreaming in the light, during the lamps of day.
Reverie. I have been pondering in a mind of my making, escaping from D-Central.
Too far way.
Too far way.
Shall I say it again?
Pinching the air with the gasp of my breath in the room I was missing,
When the far off unreality was a step beyond,
Too far for my own good.
As I wake, from illusions of day light flickering across my mind,
I find ambience waiting for me, wondering if I should have seen worse.
But there I was, stationed, sanctified.
I’ve been working on a book of reflections based on my readings of the Gospel of Mark. The gospel is from the Bible and I am aware of being accurate to the text and not saying something myself in my writings that was not intended by the writer of the gospel. But I am writing reflections and this genre is not explaining or expounding a text academically as one would when deeply examining what the author was saying. Reflections are simply hopefully effectively relaying my thoughts about what I read…meaning it is not a thesis on the text or a critique but a reflection on the text itself. I reflect from a devotional basis so it is not a reflective critique which has a soft edge.
I don’t know if one can do reflections from any kind of text, but I think copyright issues are the barrier to a writer taking any printed text and writing a book of reflections on it, although I don’t know. I know that there is a whole genre of devotional writing that uses the Bible but does not copy it. I know I am not doing anything wrong in using the Bible as a basis for a book of reflections, unless everyone who was writing devotions from the Bible has got it wrong. It is only wrong if copying the Bible exactly as it is for a profit, without permission; and copying it even without wanting to make a profit or commercial gain.
Copying 1000 Bible verses as they are written is okay with some Bible publishers, without seeking permission. It just depends on each Bible publication policy which is at the front of each Bible. Always check copyright notices at the front of each book you may want to copy in some way. There it will explain what one can legally do or not do with that particular book. And get a grasp of copyright law. Books are legally well protected from people trying to illegally copy them, but the copyright notice at the front of the book will inform of any leniencies, if any, and what you can do if you want to use a portion of the book in some capacity.
So far, my reflections have taken up one small exercise book, which I completed this week. For the rest of the week in terms of reflective writing, I just felt to blob, as if I have done enough for a little while in that genre or until I get my reflective writing mojo back.
Am thinking is my favorite hashtag. Because when I am thinking I am thinking about how I can move forward, improve, or make something such as my writing better. A think tank can be the before writing process. Actual writing follows thinking or at other times a healthy dose of inspiration. This week I have been thinking. Thinking about what’s next to write. The devotion? Or the project? Or the devotional project? How will I write it? Would it work? We’ll see.
I was in the middle of watching a advertisement about sagging skin and the product they claimed would get rid of this ‘physical problem’ under the eyes. It seemed it would alleviate the emotional pain that came with having physical unattractiveness as well. That was never said, but isn’t feeling unattractive emotional? Then put the cream on again and again and make sure you get a good night’s sleep for good measure! That does not solve the emotional side of it.
I was hearing the reviews customers gave about the product and how it solved their problem. I always find reviews in advertisements a little if not a lot ingenuine. How can one prove the review is sincere in a format intended to promote a product? I guess some people feel this way about churches.
Surprise, surprise
It is a new story this time.
I watched with wide eyes,
It had never happened before,
That way.
It would not happen again,
That way.
I would not see it, again.
There was a lot about this,
So much I got emotional,
A different emotion watching the TV,
In real life, the emotion different.
While not there, I saw it on TV,
Th emotion different than real life
It happened beyond my four quarters,
I watched with wide eyes,
Surprise, surprise.
So, as I was talking about in my previous post, I have been taking notes on the gospel of Mark. From what I gather, if I remember right, the gospel of Mark is about personal identity. Namely, the identity of Jesus.
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Dearth ahead.
Me, seeing it, seeing you there,
My head above the undergrowth.
Just able to hear
Just can see ahead
To feel something I see
But not as you feel
I am deep in the undergrowth
I don’t grow anymore
I stopped growing in the undergrowth.
My head just above the undergrowth,
The rest of me below,
Waiting to come through the undergrowth.
I feel something
But not as you feel.
I want to feel more than I do,
But I am stuck in the undergrowth.
Without seeing you,
I would not feel anything at all.
You are hanging there,
I am sinking.
I see I can feel you.
Without seeing you,
I could not feel you.
My eyes sense your pain
My mind is above the undergrowth
My heart and soul in my head,
You keep on hanging there,
A reflection of my grief.
Note:
Experiencing grief for the sufferer is not the actual inner reality of the sufferer. He only sees in the sufferer a reflection of his grief.
Is your name a pretence?
By you, but who are you?
You are, aren’t you?
A distinctive scowl and careless attitude.
That is in you.
Your song.
Why is your name so different?
Have you had enough of being yourself,
That you had to pretend?
Am I wrong?
Have I mistaken your character by appearances?
When I saw you as you are it was for the first time
Then I had enough already.
You call yourself 1980, but by many other names.
You are known as more and this we know well, so well, by your
Distinctive scowl and careless attitude
This blew me. 1980 is just a name, isn’t it?
You were more than
Distinctive
More than a scowl
More than careless
More than an attitude
For underneath,
You were saying,
“I come as a whist,
But also.”
I was never the same again.
A.I. (2001) speculates on artificial intelligence in the future and asks, does the creator need the creature to love him back?
The poem I published this week, Widow’s Mite, may seem harsh on the rich, it seems to have an attitude. Yes it does. That’s because I don’t like the pretentions of the wealthy where it appears and their negligence of the poor where it appears.
My attitude may be personal. I try to listen to my Bible as well. The Old Testament casts down the greedy and criticizes their blind eye to those in need. The rich man went away from Jesus sad when he could not follow Jesus and give all he had to the poor, in the New Testament.
Greed is not good where it comes in its various forms. I don’t like it in myself when I strive getting another rare CD, but try to bring it into perspective and change my priorities.
I always admired the widow in Jesus’ story who gave all she had to live on, presumably what ever she had left over after paying her expenses, to the poor. Jesus was pleased with her more than the people who gave out of their wealth, presumably they had plenty left over after their expenses were paid and only gave some of it.
It’s the selfless giving to the needs in the community that commended the widow, from all she had. But the rich had much more to give out of their wealth.
You give more than you can—
Every day you give a widow’s mite.
What more can you?
Rich man:
Why am I so afraid to give to someone who begs?
To support a busker, what a dredge
Her songs are no good, she likes her small pleasures.
Her pleasures come and go.
They’re free and gone forever.
Why should I pay for hers? She cannot live by songs!
They are fools.
Needy fools!
She does what she wants
I have to work
Let God give to her!
I do not!
I don’t lend money or give free of charge
Whoever wants my help shall be charged!
I am not untrue
I do my work and so should you.
Poor man:
Why are you afraid to give to a beggar?
A beggar does not pretend
Why wouldn’t a rich man give a widow’s mite?
To someone who cares to sing?
And fill the air with prosperity.
Good things
Why would you begrudge two miserly dollars?
For a performance from the heart
What do you know about charity?
You wretched man of deceit
You don’t do as Jesus says
You like your small pleasures
You just can’t let go of two miserly dollars
One day you’ll do it
I bet you will
It will be for a bet on the races
I know it will.
Rich man:
Busker and beggar,
You are human beings I don’t know
I don’t have to let go.
Poor man:
Why are you afraid to give?
Rich man:
But I tried. In the cold, through the wind, and under grey clouds,
I waited for her
I waited…
To give more than I would, with the feet and hands of Jesus I should, not knowing what may come
She says to me:
I do not need your money.
For when one sings from the heart,
Reward fills my soul.
A pocketbook then, one does not need.
So, the rich man sang with all his might
A widow passed by,
And threw him a coin —
Her left overs from the wages
What she spent on food and rent —
All that she had left to live on.
Money meant for the poorest —
The coin fell by the rich man’s feet.
So he sung even more.
Not to make some money,
But to make his soul
From sweetness and honey.
Every note a hymn, a
Prayer to soothe.
He’ll come to his senses,
Soon.
I was alone when it happened.
But I felt a calm around me.
As if taking this pain without feeling a thing
I was in the East that day, in the middle of the world.
It was sunny, on a river, and I was standing in my paddle boat.
There I was chased by unknown bodies, vaguely resembling figures,
They had a shape,
But no form
The arrows they shot at me flew by and I laid low.
And paddled my boat to a bamboo dwelling, where I hid.
A thatched house.
Those accusers would not find me there, my thoughts.
I paused for a moment as the figures went away.
Around the corner, they vanished.
Some arrows got me.
I felt long arrow shafts moving down my chest,
At the same time, I saw arrowheads protruding.
And the arrows I saw were removed, almost supernaturally, as if the wind blew them away.
I felt no pain.
Regaining strength, I saw yet again my pursuers who were waiting for me, my thoughts.
And the river looked kind as I watched it appear before my eyes, thanking providence.
A man I recognized as he came beside me. He was my friend.
An older man, wearing a robe, and with beard.
Light in spirit,
Lighter than anyone I knew.
As if he could be carried,
But he carried me by his spirit,
As we travelled by boat to an unknown destination.
To get away from those thoughts,
Which brought me no pain,
But only worry.
My friend gave me great comfort in the days ahead.
I forgot about my attackers and neither did they come.
The days came and went, and I drifted away down the river, with my friend by my side.
I was glad. For we disappeared into the mist, and I was at rest from those thoughts.
The sky turned on me,
I looked, and saw
Arrows shooting down, piercing me one by one
My soul bent over, crippling me.
I screamed in the silence, but even I could not hear myself.
The deadly arrows had no archer.
Was the Devil to blame?
Did God do it?
Or was I dreaming?
The air screamed, was deceived with lies and evil,
Haunting me in my failure.
I was to blame for the arrows shot down.
I brought them on myself.
For I had failed
And the guilt almost killed me.
No, it was remorse.
If an artist spends a lot of time alone, does the artist have time for people, or do artists obsess over art? And does the worth we want to convey in our art somehow diluted by our neglect of real life, people and life’s concerns? I would like to think not.
IT’S THE alternative rock, suitable for kids so they say, they says it is a play on the word absurd to anyone in the know, infectious for those who do not Musically a blast and produced for effect the “alternative rock” is not easy-on-the-ear and neither indie some say it is not Christian with references to reincarnation and copulation without a marriage context but tongue in cheek playfully uses the word to effect that scratches where it itches for they might be giants after they pass through
I listened to this bubbly Canadian upbeat folksy pop with more than enough highs her simple compositions of conversation bubbled over with one or two lapses in continuity self-titled album she gave me for free I would have liked to have liked more, but I could not hear her soul the time when we talked, which made me feel very sad
Another interesting conjunction of prose into poetry?
The rebel reviewer petrified by rock’s raw beat and easy listening whips out dreamy pop, the sounds of cotton wool and sheepskin a cushy pillow to lay his head on. He drifts into soft-pop dreaming, as the disturbing subtleties of quiet angst pass through idealized and romanticized in pleasing lyrical covers, he thinks he is not a fan.
This is supposed to be a poem. I do not think it is. It does not look like a poem to me. More like an interesting conjunction of prose turned into poetry. From a review which sort of captures how I felt about a product.
Sad, melancholy, nothing that distinguishes itself, imagine listening to this driving, makes me feel dreamy and laid-back, but do lyrics ever resonant?
2019. July 20th in the year 2019 was the 50th anniversary of the first man on the moon. The moon landing is portrayed in the 2018 drama First Man, and 2019’s Apollo 11, which was rolled out to theatres all over the world since March that year.
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I was real in the last post, this post is being eloquent, even experimental.
Plastic means to me as far as I can tell, it is not poignancy, does not sound well. Artificiality false image. Not a sense of irony in kind of dynamo-echo, does not raise a smile and what comes through is not very much a synth-pop ambiance or art pop. Punk roots are obvious, though, clean pop art chorus synth bridge. Tends to tail off into a slow descent, but The Plastic Island merges with synth-pop exotica, a bit of reggae as well, not quite soulish enough, but ambiance indicates something more translucent. Represents 1980’s focus on surface images but is hollow and not transparent not being the most soulful. Something I did not see coming. It is plastic.-
Notes on an album transformed into freestyle poetical form or transformed into Plastic.
How can a writer let humanity flow in their stories? How does a writer share the human touch that the readers need? If people are not relating to you humanly, there may be something missing in the relationship for them. Therefore, the “human side” must naturally flow when one is only using words in writing. It is about being real and transparent. Being human is being real to the core (not having to show that all the time). Ideally, I am not pretending to be human for the sake of getting published (it won’t work and the editor will notice), but to be honest, while sharing those relatable human traits (liking coffee at 7AM) that make the reader relate while the emotional pull makes them empathize with somebody real.
My devotion was written, edited, submitted, now in process of a month’s evaluation by the editors, then I am notified of its status. Writing it was a bit of a labor, even at 300 words. It’s just getting it right that counts even with good material — I do not take for granted getting a piece rejected these days, after several set-backs where my work, which I thought was good, was rejected.
Members of a Christian group in New Zealand have been spreading the faith. Through their efforts, some students have put their faith in Jesus Christ while others want to know more, during a year marked by the Covid19 pandemic.
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It was a long year.
All that thinking,
The ins and outs of precision,
Measured as it was.
All for what?
A tidy result at the end,
But somehow empty,
Not fulfilling,
But lacking that sense of ACCOMLISHMENT.
The year ended down a notch,
But with two more DVDs to go,
To even things up a bit.
Knowing it wouldn’t be enough,
Even with everything on my lap,
And the likes of the world to own.
Nothing else is what I need,
But PERFECTION.
What will I do when I don’t find it?
I’m left with you,
Designated to me.
And how I should pray for you.
To come up to the standard.
For I want you a certain way, and
My vision is not complete yet.
But for the balance I didn’t want,
I would rule for you.
But would I rule for me?
Thankfully, my friend, balance is a slip of my destiny,
A straightening of what should have been,
Overseen by the watchful, good Lord.
Putting the much loved poem on the back burner was the logical next step. This after desperately searching for a suitable publisher for it, but realizing there isn’t one, yet. Beforehand, he was going to place it on his blog. He had, at least, decided he would work on finding a publisher for it, and would continue that search at a later date.
A powerful force arrested him
And pushed him down the alley
Where he heard a clown
Speaking jests
I must have been so fooled by the sight
Like a vision made me see a whole other world, behind the wall
It blew my senses
Then, I was lost in my thoughts
Intrigue surrounded me
And I slowly felt my myself submitting to the sounds
Of my heart beating
To the rhythm of another unusual sight
Then, I saw this man standing there, this awkward looking guy
I kept going back to hear his ditty
It was kind of magnetizing me
I could not resist
He was so uncool
Then he showed me how cool he was, just for a moment
I was curious and wanted more.
I am his editor
To do research.
For?
Whatever. Just like to research.
A particular interest of yours?
No, just research.
Any research in particular?
Um, yes.
What?
Annuals. Years in review.
You seem hesitant about telling me more.
What happened in 2020. I got to find out more.
Why?
We paused. I mean, there was more to it, wasn’t there?
I guess there was.
But what?
I don’t know. I wish I knew. Do you mean some sort of sign?
No. A brush with something.
I don’t try and find meaning in events. It’s too unknown.
But I do.
Why?
Because I just do. There must be more to this. The things we see.
The parameters.
That we put on life.
You want to see more.
Yes. I look for more.
What do you see now?
Tragedy. But I’ve never heard it said that way. It’s all been called death. Can anyone articulate why we can’t say it some other way? We’re too numb.
How would you say it?
I can’t. I just can’t. It’s like we can’t express the feelings behind compassion. We just say facts.
You feel deeply.
Yes, I do. I feel deeply.
How can they offer the world hope if their houses are filled with lonely people?
I lift my heart to skies and give it to God and see what was meant to be.
Caring to see rightly, tenderness holding tightly.
But just another club sandwich at the café.
The walk of life grinds on stuff, somehow, it affirms the very life in me.
I’ve been watching you, the way you’re so fine
It’s not that I want you or need you at all
But I have this heart that without me you’ll fall
It’s not that I cannot live without you,
It’s not that you’re ready for me
You’re stronger than that,
But with me, You’ll be stronger still
When I take you on,
If you’re heart is beating for me
When you invite me in,
If pure love is what you need,
I’ll be here waiting
State of the world
Without you to say so would make a better world
What lies behind those words of yours?
Describing the effects of the fall in today’s world
Can you say it more honestly?
Until I know you mean it
And the hints of sincerity become
Soulful rhymes.
Maybe I should listen to a soul album instead.
Life is wide, within our reach, inside of it, our lot.
We are not without grasp, inside this realm,
Someone searches, with love below and high
“I have two websites I use for information on publishing,” said the fledging writer to her inquisitive hearer. She was ashamed of being a fledging in front of this successful person, but thought that with possibility, possibility should never die and keep her going, until it reached fruition, with the possible becoming more than probable, and turning her notion into something real.
The musing said to the aspiring novelist, the novelist was getting no younger:
Hope the younger ones do well for the traditional publishers that are still going. Depending on what they would write for them. Nothing short than…As for you, you may just find something else. Something better. So, for you, I will keep the possibility of ‘afresh’ avenues open. But keep knocking on the door, from time to time.
Improve! Speak for yourself, someone says! Yes, I aim to, maybe you will, too. We’re all trying…Take the opportunity to improve your work by looking at your old articles, stories, and seeing if anything could do with a tweak or major revision. Any things you learn in your revising will spill into your current work and only improve it–and at a quicker speed.
In the throes of life, an artist happens to be picturing something in their mind, and wishes to translate that to paper. It may have arrived ‘through the ceiling’ as it was; or in the other words it just popped into their mind. It could come from observation of the real world; a landscape, a person; a thing. But like a camera the artist has a snap shot in their mind of something they want to put onto canvas or in a novel.
One idea can produce two ideas, but they both take a different slant, that’s the difference. For example, take this premise, as comedy for a Hollywood blockbuster that would get one star from the critics, depending on how well it was done, the potential to be a bomb.
A man spent ten years of his life around a lot of people and got so sick of them that he decided to isolate himself from people because he enjoyed the other half of his personality better and settles down with him, but his friend tries to get him back into socializing with people and to see the good side of humanity. In the end, he comes around to see the good side. That’s a silly comedy. But I can change the ending and the whole tone of the idea to sound like an arty drama. In the end the person stays away from people for the rest of his life and there is no seeing the good side. That’s a German drama. I would write neither.
Whatever you do do it well-
Walt Disney
I’d like to avoid the difficult editing stages of polishing a piece of writing, so I may delay doing it, even so ending up having to do it, because I just gotta. It is thinking about what I want out of the piece that motivates me to “rise up” mentally and take the bull to the horns as they say. Without a good polish, I am left with regret and sorrow over a piece that could have been so much better with a polish. Then, there’s someone saying, “it’s all good” which makes me feel better, but not reassured. To be reassured is knowing that the piece is good in my own mind–but thanks for the encouragement, very much. Keep on polishing until satisfied.
A way to be understood if someone cannot distinguish your speech. Say one is asking another person what spread she wants on her toast. One may say, “Do you want cheese?” The other person cannot distinguish the word cheese. They say, “Weeze?” To be understood, the first person says, “The mouse likes cheese.” The other person understands when you bring a context. Everyone knows mice like cheese! “Oh, you said cheese. No, I’ll have peanut butter.”
Sometimes, a writer takes the bull by the horns and just writes, whatever the result, whatever the outcome. Like they gotta miss breakfast in the process. And it never got published.
They tell you to never look back. It just stifles the present. In writing, it makes one think of the negative points of one’s writing. I wish I had done it better one moans. However, I do not mind looking back at what I have written in the past if just for the curiosity of rediscovering how my older work sounded.
Empty: a state of being without.
Empty: a state of being without because of lack.
Empty: a state of being without because of not knowing.
Empty: a state of being without because of rebelling against what can fill.
Being compared to an animal who is better off: empty.
An ox knows better: empty.
Lost: Empty
Oblivious.
What kind of future. Contributing, that’s all. Had it been foreseen?
Where does one go when
The light goes dim
And the ones who
Matter won’t listen to
The ones who can reclaim
The day?
Track record of successes, and bragging rights, is, for me, not important; I do not bond with it or like. For me, it is about doing the job and let the others watch and make their own judgments. I would not care. If it succeeds in a big way, I am pleased, but let the work speak for itself. Writing is not about the glory and neither is life.
Over a week, I wrote five devotions, which gave me a choice of which ones to submit to the editor. The first two I wrote were the right ones this time. I learnt once again , if that makes sense, that If I only have two devotions to choose from (two was the number I was assigned) I would question if those two were good enough to submit and could I have written another one better. So, having a few up my sleeve takes the pressure off. I can choose from four or five to get the sense of the best and work on the others later.
Writing foundations—the core values—and the silent voice they come through. At other times, the abstract nature of writing takes over everything else. It is a piece of artistic license drowning out any other concerns. Should I go back and edit, or let it be? That would be the question I ask, if my writing hand got away with me.
Pete's Eclectic Flying Machine 