Tuesday, April 23, 2013


   My cousin and I are friends, the deepest of friends.We do have pen names, hers being Z.O.Z. , mine being O.B. We enjoy writing  poetry, here are two letters that have a lot of  poetic quality.

I am in, how do you say it, a bright frame of mind.
So much awaits us, if we only reach out our hands to grasp it.
Such ideas... such triumph! Forgive me, my thoughts wander... Have you ever noticed how beautiful words look as they form on paper? They grow under the tip of my pen... Like flowers blooming brightly beneath a shower of rain. When I live a day in my life, I  want it to be worthwhile.
I want each day to be productive. I want each day to be blooming with the flowers of spring.
I'm sorry, my thoughts are vague and obscure. Perhaps you can decode them, with a mind as deep and poetic as yours. I enjoy our talks... I shall speak to you again soon.



Your mind is a beautiful picture, frame it in modesty, the brightest joy, and pure love.
The love that is within your heart of hearts. I feel as if the horizon is so far away, but really I am a silhouette against the golden sky. Atop a hill I stand, not of sand, but of rocky land.
   Oh, ideas roll over my mind, like the tide rolls over a reef.
My thoughts usually wander, but why stop them? There's no telling where they'll take you. It maybe a long and tedious trip, but our pilgrimage will end, and our earned reward  will be delivered.
Yes, words look so becoming on paper. Like frost on the individual blades of grass. They look like glass.
Like two pieces of metal being welded together under a shower of sparks. Or a newly wed couple coming down the chapel steps, being showered with rice.
  My mind is like a gurgling creek. It bubbled and foams, it flows around bend after bend.
  Words, paper, pencil, my hand, and my flying carpet, oh they skip merrily together, my carpet's tassels turning my hand, which directs my pencil across this paper, creating ideas from mere WORDS.
  I would surely be an inkblot on the surface of humanity if I was unable to express myself thru words.
Words give meaning  to our feelings, giving them names and shapes, so we can express our emotions thru them.
I too wish to be of service along this pilgrim way!
I want each day of mine to be full of truth. Full of goodness, glory and righteousness.
I can relate,  my friend, poetical 'nonsense' , is my specialty. Vague and obscure are my cousins, we go hand in hand in hand, frolicking the whole day in verse.

Hasta luego.


Moving Forward

 Move forward, dear,
Move over, into the clear,
Look past,
Live every day like it's your last,
Into God's word let your heart's line be cast,
Grow up, into the fullness of the truth,
Even when faced with the uncouth,
 We must rise,
For ahead of us lies,
A prize,
The pearly gates of heaven.




     A large vessel is tossed to and fro upon dark waters. An angry storm is brewing on the sea, as you shall see. The pirate captain paces his cabin thinking. He strokes his bristly black beard.
Thump Thump Thump turn.
Three strides, turn on heel.
Thump Thump Thump turn.
His heavy brown boots strike the wooden floor. How to get to port in one piece. How? His brown eyes are bloodshot and won't stay closed long enough for him to get rest. His bushy black brows are knitted together in frustration. He sighs involuntarily and fingers his dagger. How to slip out of this guillotine with my head on my shoulders?
     The chief sailor's mind labors.
Thump Thump Thump turn.
     Down below the crew is sitting oddly quiet around the mess table.
The cook rings his stained canvas apron over and over in his shaking pale hands. The cabin boy's face droops and sags with fatigue and his blue eyes are rigid. He pinches his arm to keep his eyelids from closing. How long had they been sitting there? He inwardly groaned, He was quite sore. A rough faced sailor of 45 thumbed through a scarred Bible. It's brown leather cover is cracked and torn, the brittle pages are defaced. The print is mostly illegible, but he keeps it all the same.
   He traces over the faded cross on the front of the book with his finger, over and over again.
Thump Thump Thump turn.
  The cook throws down his apron in despair. "He should've come to a decision by now!" He cries, his young grey eyes shine with unshed tears.
The crew looks at him, regards him coldly a moment, and then begin to converse.
"Do ya think we'll make et out thus time?"
a small grey lad asks worriedly.
"O' course we will!"
A burly man with a chipped tooth bellows irritably.
"If the Lord wills it."
The middle aged man points out.
"O shut it, preacher!" A ruddy man growls.
   Preacher shrugs, and retraces the dissolving cross.
"Keep awake boy!" The burly man gives the cabin boy a rough shove.
"Oh!" He mutters, sitting erect in his spot.
Thump Thump Thump turn. 
   Rain begins to cascade in torrents upon the ship.
The ruddy man growls and stands up. The man with the chipped tooth follows suit.
Thump Thump Thump turn.
   The captain sighs.
"All is lost."
   The entire crew starts, and runs upstairs to the chief's cabin.
They swing the door wide, and there lays their leader, his cream shirt stained crimson...with his own blood.
His dagger protrudes from his chest, and as if on a timer, the boat capsizes at the death of it's commander.
   All is lost this night, for the crew of the FLEW...all, save a decrepit Bible, that floats, like a corpse, to the water's surface.

How was that?


Sunday, April 7, 2013


60 seconds tick by quickly,
making a minute.
60 minutes make an hour.
24 hours make a day.
7 days a week.
4 weeks,
1 month.
Twelve months create an entire year.
365 days have come and gone,
but everything is exactly the same.
Or is it..?
I'll let you decide.

Remember who created time itself.
God is the divine maker.


Wednesday, April 3, 2013

My Carpet

   An eruption of inspiration,
Lights up my seething mind.
   Carrying my carpet away,
On a swift breeze.
   Bound for anywhere,
But here.

My friends joke that my mind is like a flying carpet, flitting here and there at its whim (and often leaving the safety of my head lol)!

I wrote the poem on the back of this painting I made. Hope you like it!


Tuesday, April 2, 2013

A Little Ray

   The first rays of sunlight
Pour over the mountain
   They shine to kill
All malice and hate
   Restoring peace
To this beloved valley

Just a little something I wrote. :)