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Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

 
 

Courtesy of sion.hr

 
 
I somehow lost Baby Jesus at Christmas.
I know they say Baby Jesus was born in September.
Still it never mattered to me.
 
Each Christmas I was filled with excitement of the news
of Baby Jesus’ birth.
That changed several years ago.
 
My family discovered a religion between Jewish
and something else.
They tend to make fun of the New Testament.
 
They say Jesus was just another man
like other famous men in the Bible.
I been a get alone in all of this.
 
Still in my heart
I know Baby Jesus came to save me.
Baby Jesus opened the gates of Heaven to all of us.
 
In my heart Baby Jesus is my Lord and Savior.
There was no Christmas tree at my home.
There were no lights upon my home.
 
No presents awaiting under a tree.
Still in my secret heart
I know Baby Jesus came for me.

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There is something wonderous about a hug.
It is a way of saying,”you are special to me.”
A step beyond the boundries of formal convention.
 
The assurance of a heart touching a heart.
A touch of comfort to calm a grieving heart.  
A cheek touching a cheek
with a kiss of greeting.
 
Whether a man to man
or woman to woman
or man to woman
or woman to man
there are no limits to showing
our love for another.
 
We are all souls in His creation
with an eternal bond between us all.
The hug is the sign of our sisterhood and brotherhood.
 
Let it not become forgotten in your life
it is precious honey to the wounds of this life
forever giving
forever loving
in the wonder of love
to us all.
 
 

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Picture taken with Samsung smart phone on December 10th, 2014 at 706 at Northwood Shores on Cedar Creek Lake in East Texas.  Copyright 2014 by John J. Rigo

Picture taken with Samsung smart phone on December 10th, 2014 at 706 at Northwood Shores on Cedar Creek Lake in East Texas. Copyright 2014 by John J. Rigo

View from “Oz” at 7 a.m. on February 25th 2012 on Cedar Creek Lake, Texas
  

View from “Oz” on Cedar Creek Lake, Texas, February 25th 2012 at 7 a.m.

 

“Another View of God’s Church”

I have been to many churches in my lifetime.
None can compare to the beauty of my church.
My church lies outside my back door.
 
Before me lies miles of beautiful water
its beauty more clarifying upon a Sunrise morning.
The clouds above this church of God’s home
are higher than any church steeple.
 
There is no wall or ceiling painting to equal
the clouds above my church.
No gilded statue that equals the sun’s glory
as it breaks forth upon the horizon.
 
There is no choir that rises above the sweet sound
of the wind that sings across my ears.
There is no preacher, preaching to me
nor a basket asking for my coin.
No where else can one
be any closer to God.

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Courtesy of Favin.com

I kiss thee
with my heart
upon my lips.
 
My breath held
in anticipation
of the moment.
 
Held so long
afraid to take
that next breath.
 
This magic
overtakes me
in this moment
forever locked
in your embrace.
 
 

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"Seasons" in Mabank, Texas

“Seasons” in Mabank, Texas

Commentary from December 2nd, 2013:  To me, the Christmas Season is the time of year for me to remember those who have passed on that were important to my life.  Following is another poem about another of those special individuals in my own life.

 
 
Joe passed away on February 12th, 2010.
It was after the record snow storm of February 2010.
The power went out in their home.
 
He and is wife, Christine were moving into temporary
quarters in the New Comfort Inn of Mabank, Texas
when he quietly passed on.
Joe would have been 81.
 
Joe was a sweet, loving and very kind man.
He loved McKinney, Texas.
Whenever he spoke of McKinney
his face took on a glow of peace,
his childhood, his friends, his memories
were many of those days in McKinney.
 
There was a deep longing in his voice
for some of those memories.
Some of those memories were with extreme joy,
while others seemed to carry regret.
 
As with all of us,
one could not have lived a full life
without a certain amount of regret.
 
I will miss Joe
and our talks,
when he sat down with us to visit
at the “Seasons” restaurant in Mabank, Texas.
 
Joe was proud of his wife Christine.
Joe loved Christine
with the deepest of love.
 
I myself, only have one regret
that I did not have more time
to know Joe Burton even more.
 
People like Joe are very special humans.
Sadly in this day and age
there are not enough
special people
to go around
for us all. 
 
 

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Courtesy of 123rf.com

What is the name of that song?
It does not matter
let us be silly and dance
swirling and twirling across the floor.
 
Our youth flashes before our laughing faces.
Yesterdays move into the now of our beat together
swirling steps into the footprints of ashen time.
 
For a golden time
our memories of the pain in our past
is no more.
 
We have each other
with our own very special song
and our own very special dance. 

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There is something wonderous about a hug.
It is a way of saying,”you are special to me.”
A step beyond the boundries of formal convention.
 
The assurance of a heart touching a heart.
A touch of comfort to calm a grieving heart.  
A cheek touching a cheek
with a kiss of greeting.
 
Whether a man to man
or woman to woman
or man to woman
or woman to man
there are no limits to showing
our love for another.
 
We are all souls in His creation
with an eternal bond between us all.
The hug is the sign of our sisterhood and brotherhood.
 
Let it not become forgotten in your life
it is precious honey to the wounds of this life
forever giving
forever loving
in the wonder of love
to us all.
 
 

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Courtesy of heavenawaits.wordpress.com

A heart is a terrible thing to waste.
If one comes to you with this offering
do not scoff too quickly.
 
Love is a precious gift.
It is precious to the one who gives love
and very precious to the one who receives it.
 
Do not be hardened to this gift.
Accept this gift with kindness
and tenderness.
 
Love is the joy of life.
Love is the light of life.
Love is the soul of life.
 
Be thankful and gentle
in the receiving of love
even if this love
is not the love you seek.
 
Remember one day
you will be judged as a human.
You will be judged to the degree that you loved.
 
More importantly
how kindly you received love.
Love in its many forms
is God showing
His face to us.
A heart is a terrible thing to waste. 

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Courtesy of Hubpages.com

 
She stood naked before me in the bathroom.
Before me I can see her beauty
amidst the scars of her two battles.
 
Breast cancer
twice in a ten year period.
 
Her left breast was twisted almost inward.
The scar under her arm pit made her nipple
bend inward toward her chest wall.
 
Upon her right breast the burn was clearly seen.
It was where six weeks of radiation were done
in one week. 
 
The right side was caved inward in this area of burn.
Her nipple stood straight high and proud on this breast. 
This was the breast that the doctor suggested
that she also have chemo due to her second bout.
 
Her hair had long grown back from this terror
of a heart-wrenching attack on her entire body.
 
As she smiled at me
and kissed the top of my head.
 
I thanked my Lord
for putting this beautiful
and strong woman
in my life.   

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Courtesy of answersto.wordpress.com

 
Commentary of October 10th, 2014:  My apology to my Followers.  October is Cancer Awareness Month and I am late in my postings of poetry work on the subject.  My Bride and beautiful wife is a “Two-Time Breast Cancer Survivor.”   She now is Cancer Free for Six years now.  The following poem is one I wrote when we were in the mist of her second bout.
 
I could see the sadness in her eyes
as each chunk of her golden hair came forth in her hand.
She placed her once shining, golden flax into a plastic bag
to be reminded of the beauty of her hair.
 
Her hair stylist assured her that baking soda
washed gently in her hair would prevent
the falling of her hair from her scalp.
 
In giving her this suggestion
the stylist refused to cut her hair shorter
in order to make her lost easier to bear.
The stylist was wrong.
 
Bear witness to the shining and blotched scalp
where beautiful golden hair once resided.
Nightmares of her past returned to her.
 
Remembrance of a childhood ring worm of her head
returned to haunt her again
of laughing classmates
finger-pointing to stocking capped head.
 
The Spector of Death upon a black chair
drove her to the decision
to move forward to this dreaded treatment.
 
Was the fear real
or made to fill the pockets of her doctors?
Payments for the Rolls convertible that sat
shiny and pale green in the doctor’s slot
of the cancer treatment center.
 
A large cow-like-barn room
where milking looking machines of death
pumped their questionable medicine into their hosts.
 
A winged angel of slow death
masked as an Angel of Life
to claim another possible victim
in its green flow of money from perhaps
its victims?
 
Dear God,
please protect
the one I love so dearly
from this possible
self-inflicted treatment.

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