It is my way
Of sadly seeing.
My temperament,
A type of being.
A melancholy
View of life.
I tend to see
The sadness, strife.
Don’t think you ought
To be like me.
It’s good that others
Flowers see.
But if my tears
Will help you care —
That is the reason
That I share.
Or to let go
Of burden borne.
We’ll share the load,
Not be forlorn.
[At this time of year (late July, early August), the redwood tree next door
is continuously dropping its cones on the ground.]
All day long
The redwood rains.
Its cones, they drop
On concrete,
Wood, and dirt,
On tiled roofs,
On weedy grass.
It is their task …
To reproduce,
To bear much fruit —
But, alas …
They’ll rarely come
To new green shoot.
The lonely redwood
Planted there,
In city, town,
In suburb brown,
Will boast a solitary crown.
No seed will sprout
On concrete, wood,
On tiled roofs,
But maybe dirt,
Or weedy grass.
Then soon is trampled
Underfoot —
No room for more.
[Describes the battle against negativity, depression, believing lies,
wrong thinking, etc. I don’t despair now, but have experienced
the feeling.]
Eyelids lifting,
Day beginning.
Lifting bones;
Must keep from sinning.
Every minute
A battle rages.
Mind’s temptations;
Are you winning?
Laziness
And deep despair.
The battle in
My mind aware.
The thoughts that come
I must resist.
The lies, deceptions
Must desist.
Don’t let Satan
Warp your mind.
Look to Jesus
Strength to find.
A sound
That many sounds contains,
Like rushing wave,
Like windy day.
It’s calming, soothing,
Helps me sleep.
A restful peace
Across me creeps.
I long for ocean,
The real thing.
It’s glorious sound
Will bring me peace.
Just a blank wall
Is all I see.
But still, Your hand
Is touching me.
I feel alone,
And yet, I’m not.
Blindly following,
But still — not lost.
Your hand upon me,
An unseen plan.
Your ways, mysterious;
Please help me stand.
Black butterfly
On angel’s wings.
A brown and common
Bird that sings.
A blade of grass
That no one sees.
A quiet child,
A bright sunbeam.
They pass her by —
Nothing unusual.
She sits and sighs —
It’s life as usual.
What is in your heart?
I cannot know,
Except through long years,
And even then, my picture is incomplete.
What can we know of others?
Only by what they say and do,
But mostly by what they do.
How can I know you?
Will I ask you many questions?
Will you lie or tell the truth?
How can I live with you,
Unless we are both honest,
Although honesty can hurt.
How can I love you
Unless I know you?
How can I know you
Unless you share your heart?
How can I love you? —
Tell me your story —
That may be the start.
For twinkle in my father’s eye,
For mother’s constant sacrifice,
For precious, awesome gift of life –
I give thanks.
For patient husband, children too,
Grandparents, siblings, nephews, too,
For cousins, in-laws, nieces few,
I give thanks.
For teachers full of expertise,
(Those projects – staying up ‘til three) –
But passed on knowledge expertly –
I give thanks.
For fellow students com’radarie,
For late night chats, and shared coffee,
For sharing notes (I’m panicking!) –
I give thanks.
To friends who shall remain unnamed;
Like parents, they did guide my sail,
Much wisdom did their words contain –
I give thanks.
For other friends, who stood nearby,
When I could not then socialize
(They really do deserve a prize) –
I give thanks.
But most of all to God above,
His plan, His purpose keeping on —
I couldn’t have done it without His love –
I give thanks!
(June, 2016)
clarakatalin 
Book Review: Vikings at Dino’s
My friend Will Duquette has written a fun, frolicking, time-travel fantasy novel entitled Vikings at Dino’s: A Novel of Lunch and Mayhem. The hero, a small man for his age, endures encounters with Vikings, ancient Romans, and Mongols, all within his own little American town of Corey’s End. Or are these invaders really who they seem to be? And the poor man never seems to be able to eat his lunch in peace.
There’s danger, adventure, romance, and a thread of humor throughout the hero’s first person narrative. What more could you ask for? The violence, barely hinted at (no gory details), is of the comic-book type, mainly there to create the conflict and challenges for the hero.
Did I mention that the hero is a software engineer? Computer geeks and other assorted nerds should have no trouble relating to this story. This includes my husband and 23-year-old son, who both enjoyed the novel. (They might object to my classification of them, though.)
Perhaps my only quibble with the book is that the author makes the Roman types seem nicer than what I know of ancient Romans; for example, they perfected the practice of crucifixion (although it seems to have begun with the ancient Persians).
At any rate, when you’re small for your age … anything can happen. Well worth the read.
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