One Request

Loneliness now, illness tomorrow,

In this life tossed to and fro.

The tempest seems endless.

How can I seek redress?

I raise my eyes--and all break loose--

Saying, What wrong did I do or choose?

I cry out loud with one request:

That I'd see the end of this tempest

A gentle voice gives a reminder:

I can stand this through the Father.

He lends a loving hand in this difficult task,

To me and to anyone who'd ask.

Let me see things properly, Father:

That in my loneliness You're a comforter,

The healer of my pain. Forever

You're with me. You leave me never.

Life is not a glassy ice rink--

A perfect place to skate without a kink.

In times that I stumble, Lord,

Help me trust the assistance You afford.

Mirror of Mirrors

A mirror tells me of a crease on my shirt
Or if my face is smudged with dirt.
A fine look, I'm told too, it does not hesitate;
I plunge into my day before eight.

The Bible: the mirror of the heart--
The mirror of mirrors in an essential part:
How would I know where I've run short,
If to the mirror of mirrors I don't resort?

The Bible: a mirror, not an orchard--
I cannot pick or even discard.
I'm chastised but always hugged,
Flaked and flayed but never mugged.

Note: The title 'Mirror of Mirrors' is not mine. I heard that from a radio station. So I played with the idea. The poem is mine, though

To the Nightingale

Sing to me O Nightingale!
Let my heart cease to wail.
Calm my aching heart
Longing for home. Why did I depart?

Serenade. Croon to me O Nightingale.
Soothe my anguished soul.
Heal me with your voice: I'm an injured foal.
Croon, O Nightingale.

Hum to me, my Nightingale, I beg you.
Restore my life and strength anew.
With your healing song, wash away
My grief and make me gay.

Give me music, Nightingale, please.
And let my torment cease
Calm my heart, soothe my soul--
Have mercy on this injured foal.

Having a Big Cry

Just when I thought I’d sink no lower

I sunk further still, down, down under

I plunged helplessly, full of fear.

Forgive me for chalking it up on You.

I forgot that though I have no clue,

You know everything. I just have to trust You.

Please, constantly remind me that the best

Is yet to come. Let me quietly rest

In the knowledge that Your plans are good,

And what I’ve to do is to trust You, as I should.

Let me look at things the way Joseph did,

When in the dungeon his heart did bleed—

He saw hope and had faith still

And he let You do Your will.

Despite the misery, he praised Your name.

Help me, Lord, to do the same.

Let me have the eyes of Job: a man

Who kept faith even when troubles began.

Suffering a parent’s cruelest fate,

His faith hadn’t wavered; praises did emanate

From the lips that cried in agony, a praise for You alone.

Lord, help me be in that tone.

That even when my nadir’s here—

I can praise your name with cheer.

A Poem on a Sunday Afternoon

to Summer, Vince and Miggy

VINCE GABRIEL. Photo from Glaiza Mae Franco-Sambat

I have walked for almost a score,

Gained and lost things now and then.

Now, looking at you, I plead earnestly—

Help restore a childlike life in me.

Help me stay open to your child’s wisdom,

To breathe and live, despite boredom.

Help me stay firm, and with your innocence,

STEVEN MIGUEL. Photo from Tatum Grace Lopez-Manzano

That I may always be grounded, to see sense.

Help me, please, to let you take my hand.

Remind me that life is not always grand,

That I must fall in order to rise and plod on—

Like when you took your first steps and walked on.

SUMMER GAEL. Photo from Michael Angelo Maga-ao

Help me stick to truth when I am most tempted to fib.               

Help me keep my peace at the peak of Anger’s glib.

Help me hold my tongue, when I am tempted to speak,

To keep calm, to pray, to trust, when hope is very bleak.

Lesson Number One

 a poem written during the day’s early hours,

 as I listened to an old story from the Emerald Isle,

enjoying the beautiful language, the vivid images,

listening to the one who told me these things

 

I’ve been walking down this roaad—

This mix of a road—for almost a score.

And along the way, I’ve been tolad,

“Sometimes you’re relaxed; sometimes you’re sore.”

Then I’ve been told, that as I walk the path I chose,

Times are when doors open and doors would close.

Gifts have wings, agile and silent, poised for flight

To leave as it arrived, no chance for a second sight.

I’d catch a thorn in my foot, get my hand to bleed,

I’d learn about the journey through experience, through deed.

I rejoice in the results that come out of my toil:

Like a raindrop welcomed by a parched soil.

I have questions, but no answers. I seek continuously.

Then I’m told, “Yes” or “No” or “Wait patiently.”

I receive gifts when I am ready, when they suit me.

If I don’t, I trust the Higher Power, I trust the plans for me.

Yesterday is dust, a lesson left in its wake;

Tomorrow is a prospect, I have a path to take.

I enjoy the gift I received, not with a furrowed brow:

I enjoy the gift—the present—now.