Lord, You never stop. You pour out blessings without measure To soothe my heart and heal hope's rasure The blessings just flow From icy Everest to shimmering sea, With fireflies lighting the shore with glee My ways You straighten Undeserved, even when all seems lost You're flicker to sun to defeat the frost Lord You never stop, For great are Your ways to those who love To those who trust, and put none above. Lord You never stop, You seek the single, you search the void Ninety nine wait till one hears Your voice Lord You never stop, You call sinners to the feast beyond Where mercy offered makes guilt abscond Lord please never stop, My only hope, my only treasure My life and love, Your Word my pleasure. (c) nyonglema
S.P.A.C.E Space is a Perfect place, Almost peaceful. Coming and going days Everyday I enjoy on earth. (c) Balla (10yrs old) Moon The moon is a wonderful place Oh just look at its wonderful face. It shines so bright Oh just its light Will guide my path a while. (c) Meuna (8yrs old) Like me Jupiter and Mars are planets Because of rocks. I drew girls On Jupiter and Mars dancing Ballet like me. (c) Penna (7yrs old)
The lessons of the gears that power the universe Pour forth in ambitious drips into a bowl To build an ocean from simple watery smears. From Egypt slavery one was chosen to show the signs, And staff and cloak he led the scowling whole, Across the river; he parted it to stay dry from brine. Before reward for courage to preach against the abhorrent, The prophet chanced upon the Jordan's deadly bowl, And with his student, parted it for dread of its current. But when the promise long foretold at last came to pass God Himself, didn't take a staff, or cloak, But let the water be, and showed His friends His glory. (c) nyonglema
Speak again wind, blow through the virtual hair of my head.
I hear my children's voices in the yard,
I hear them gone on the stairs. It's hard,
But I can't touch them anymore than a jump to the ceiling.
They became beard-faced altered versions of me bustling
Through the challenges of life, baritone on the phone
Ordering me around, but basically never around.
I hear their children's voices in the yard,
I hear them going up the stairs. It's hard
To believe yesterday's a shadow I throw over dinner when
We meet to walk back to the plaid sheets I tugged over them:
Baby smiles, baby cries, dancing around to close baby eyes.
All those I have bottled inside, like chutney on a shelf.
The reign is falling on the pain at the window,
The "Hail" didn't come as royalty crawled
Out of its chair, senile and broken, like a widow's
Golden anniversary in black. Heroes sprawled
In the canoe, going to nowhere in the torrent.
The reign is falling on the pane of my window,
As I watch time unfold the end as scrolls
From the Dead See, anachronistic and cold,
Yet reel. Nobody foresaw the end of the troll
That brought so much destruction on the roots.
The rain is falling on the pain at the widow's:
Chaos spells letters of clouds over the silver lining
It's a bright loud zigzag that dares to show
And scare the crowds. There's hope for less pining
When the seed dies and a new reign renews.
The smell of freshly dried paint,
New plastic, new rubber, and new stuff
Fills the air. In the distance, faint
A familiar silhouette, a little less scruff
Waves a smile in my direction.
That direction has changed, it was
A different door and teacher
Last year. My pulse sings a chorus
I don't comprehend, metered
In fear and joy mixed together.
Together with teachers, parents console tears
From older versions of me
But younger, and scared of new peers
Unaware this we've lived, but glee
Now fills us to be here with them again.
Thanks to you all who with your stars light up my morning feed.
Thanks to you who sip my words and feel the emotions touch your core;
I cherish your readership, and I write only to grace your eyes.
Keep reading, keep liking. God bless you all.
The sun is up, and rubs itself all over my skin,
Yet I feel no flames, just lead filled with lead
Hanging from my bottom eyelids, swinging.
Sunshades usually cast shadows on eye pain,
But this time, the sun can see right through me.
Nothing can save me it seems, sitting on this bench.
The sunshades cast shadows in the teacher's mind:
Sleeping? Not sleeping? No need to check, I suppose.
The lead's getting heavier, and pulls my head down.
The lead's getting heavier, and lulls me, eyes shut,
Head bent. The teacher draws on the board,
And all I remember is that I sleepily missed it all.
Where do they find their solace when time takes toll?
Choices that is. You know, when a fur coat seems better than a wind-breaking
piece of plastic in a shop where the browned decay of the sales lady’s teeth
hint at the bad breadth of its shoulders, and the colours seem off, but you’re
worried about the environment, so you lean towards it and away from dead animals.
Where do they find their stretch when time takes toll?
At one point you’ve got many, and at another the page is blank. Even the word
to start a poem hides behind the distractions of the day, and your choice to watch
Infinity Wars till 2am, and be up to your employer’s hobby, your livelihood, by
4am, which meant that your brain factory remained littered with yesterday.
I’ve noticed how choices impact choices, no troll!
It’s like the Mahjong possibility counter, and the kanji sign you just clicked
to reduce it, or when you go for a piece further off to the left, and the counter
goes up the sides of your cheeks, like to say you did the right thing by chance
or by calculated meticulousness.
My daughter stares me in the eyes as I get daily old:
I answer her that every action from that first cry she made hanging upside
down with amniotic coat has determined where she stands now, and every
action she freely wills will determine the amount of freedom she can exercise
as time takes its course and my hairline reduces my freedom of hair styling.
My son stares at my lies, head cocked like “It’s getting old!”:
I tell him freedom comes from sacrificing freedom, like Isaac on an altar, or
Joseph in a well, or me writing this here, or Jesus on a cross, or hitting a campaign
or running trail, or studying for a test, or digging up fossils, or just helping a
neighbour: the more of your freedom you forfeit for the right reasons, the more
you’re ready for the fullness of more freedom to forfeit.
The End is at the start of every movie like winter and snow.
Like Autumn the most, the rest will surely surly follow
While you frown. There are things an eraser must allow
And things tattooed next to your eye, just below the brow:
The End is at the start of every movie like winter and snow.
It’s easy to ignore the metal chipping away as the engine churns,
Or the magnets slowly turning away as the Earth turns.
Even Kobe knew his jersey was meant to be hung off the floor
The fire from the line tamed, and yet it’s easy to forget, for
It’s easy to ignore the metal chipping away as the engine churns.
But let not the day be your friends opening the door with hats,
For there’s no cake, no replay, no rewind, just you and the facts.
Facts haunt you in that instant: your beds in disarray, unmade
Are where you must lay, and they bring you acrid lemonade,
But let not the day be your friends opening the door with hats.
So be ready, for every movie like Winter and Snow
Has its moment, and you’re the artist putting on your own show
And when the Producer pulls the curtain, we want rounds of applause
Let the next act with no drawn-out we-‘re not ready pause ’cause
The End is at the start of every movie, like winter and snow.