Immortal Yet Unknown

...to the mom who kept a cool head

as the soldiers marched around the city,

executing royal orders to murder baby boys

Life to a cute little kid,

With risks in what you did—

Life for a cuddly baby boy,

Giver of immense joy.

Life to him, risks to you:

If the soldiers had one clue—

They’d cut him up, and give you death.

What you did requires stealth.

In the waters of the Nile

A boy offers up his smile

A royal lady gives back your own

The seed of love is sown.

Immortal, yet unknown,

Raising your boy till he’d grown—

Immortal yet unknown,

The boy’s life is your own.

Immortal, yet unknown.

I salute you for this:

Saving your boy was all there is—

The boy’s life is your own.

Help Me Say Thank You

I don’t have this, don’t have that,

I want this toy, including that

Can’t see what I have. I complain to You

Please help me ditch that and say thank you.

I never went hungry, never knew thirst,

Yet often I see what isn’t here. I burst

Out complains, because I refuse to see the clue.

Please teach me gratitude and the words thank you.

Each time I walk from class to class,

I don’t have to look back as I pass.

No harm comes because of You,

Please help me remember to say thank you.

Please help me be like Your man Paul:

Thirst, hunger, danger—he’s seen ‘em all.

Yet he didn’t quit or yell at You,

Instead he knelt and said thank you.

Thinking of Films and Plays

I know a work of Dumas;

I have seen the 1998 film too.

Vicomte de Bragelonne on the

Screen. Five actors, and an actress too.

I have read Eugene O’Neill:

A Moon for the Misbegotten.

Three solid hours mean solid thrill,

Not of action, but thoughts of men.

I reflect on those things now, for

Each, I realize, is a mirror.

As I read and watched, “I hear you,

I said, “I was [or am] in your shoes too.”

Now, I watch the captain of soldiers, and I nod.

Then, I see the Broadway actor, and I nod.

The nod is with understanding, for I too,

Wear what they’ve worn—it’s true.

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.

Letter Number Two

to the Author of the World's Best-Selling Book:

Please forgive my silence. 

It’s been quite a while since I wrote to You.

At this moment, I say there’s nothing new:

I race against time, my fingers grew numb.

Okay, I know that news is really dumb.

I’m quite clueless on how to proceed—

Numbers loom before me, I’m scared indeed.

The air brings something I do not want,

Yet it’s inevitable, so my chances are scant.

I am lost in my own world, no excuses.

I’m sorry I haven’t written. Forgive the redress.

I forget that I need to speak to You,

Thus, forgiveness I ask from You.

I’m thankful for Your reminder:

You’re near, whatever the matter.

I am never alone in this journey—

Thanks for being there for me.

In Memoriam

in memoriam:
Professor S.A.
You are now free. 




We ventured, traveled together--
Without leaving the four walls.
We visited the age of battles and trumpet calls
We shared their tears and their laughter.


You took us to Zeus' place: Greece,
To the land of philosophers and the Fleece.
You told us of Hector, Paris, and Helen
You told us of the way of life then.


We visited mighty Rome,
Where Caesar and his friends did roam--
Cassius, Seneca, Cicero, Antony
We saw Caesar fall, looking at his friend in agony.


All stories come to an end; I was sad when yours did.
I mourned when you snapped the book shut.
I thought of devouring books I have, reading more
About the exciting world of which you opened the door.


Now I have heard that the Boss has called you,
So, sadly, I admit I shall hear you never too.
I do know you'll tell the stories there again
Who were the who's of the world then.


I close this letter now, reluctantly,
And as I face the days ahead,
I'll remember contentedly,
A staff up there has been completed.
 

Time

a poem for

          Steven Miguel

                    and 

                Vince Gabriel  

I'd freeze time if I could.
I'd freeze you in your childhood:
The first time you saw the world,
Your first audible word.
Could you be what you are forever:
The little boy I'd run after,
Happy, rambunctious, a bundle of energy:
That little guy, so cute and cuddly.
As I watch you stare in wonder, thoughts
Change. I realize I couldn't stop time, or
Your rapid growth. And I'd be sad if I'd endeavor
To. You have to discover the world, and figure
Out your place in it. So I will be there, sure
To watch you discover, and when you'd finally
Face the world, proud, and ready, I will write again, with glee. 


(Note: This poem was written in February 2011, originally posted on Facebook)