In kissing the ocean
The old rivers dream
Of flying as clouds and
Reverting to streams

In drinking the river
The youth of the twig
Absorbs some small knowledge
Of trees that are big

In bleeding the mountain
The crack in the stone
Enriches the water
That springs from its bones

In breathing these pages
These poems I pray
Wish for me to become
A river someday

Thank you Lord for the gift of your love, and beauty, your power and your humility especially in the blessed sacrament of the most Holy Eucharist. It is here that you hide both in plain sight and reveal your divinity and humanity in a most profound and personal way. It is here that you meet us and here that you greet us as we fall on our knees to pray. You give us the sun to welcome us at dawn and send angels to guard at the end of the day. There is always something new and timely every time I am before you in this place. And every time I come away with a brand new look at your face. I look forward to the times we have together with such anticipation and afterwards am filled with jubilation! Help me cling to you, help me sing to you. In troubled seasons help me hold fast, and in stressful moments help me to relax. In sadness I ask for peace and the strength to rejoice, when I have a difficult decision help me to discern and make a good choice. We pray to you, we bring all we are to you. Our joys, sorrows, longings, praises and petitions. Give us eyes to see you, ears to hear you, a mind to seek you and a heart to love you. Help us also to see, hear, seek, and love others as you do for all of them and for each of us.

We ask this and all things in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.

Amen!

Written at Adoration at St. Peter's on July 7, 2017

Last Breath, 2nd edition
© Andrè M. Pietroschek, all rights reserved

Source of my anguish and wrath
do me the favor
and breathe your final Breath.
A life with you
is worse than certain Death!

My own kinda 'mors tua vita mea!'

…world without end, Amen.”

As the swirling maelstrom erupted around them,
each took to their own places, relative spaces,
while men of reason, they kept a small ration,
a morsel, a mention, of their old superstitions,
their predispositions towards ancient benedictions,
reflections not altogether wrong in these conditions.

In one particular corner, a Rabbi held his head high,
speaking of the mercy and love of Yahweh,
an Imam extolled upon Allah’s plan for them all,
a tall man in robes spoke in Gaelic to a small crowd,
while Zoroastrians just watched the loud storm,
distortions eating at reality looked every bit the Final Battle.

The Captain, for his part, was Catholic, of a sort,
his short stature kept him from standing out against
the broad black and white backdrop of two priests,
their hands raised, a prayer of blessing for their flock,
offering solace to wounded souls yearning to mend,
their words far-too appropriate as time folded in on itself.

“As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be…”

The words slowed and froze as matter surrendered to entropy,
the syllables trapped in an endless loop towards infinity.

Mark Lecuona Jul 15

We're glad we're the kissing kind
Whether son or daughter
We are the one's who wait
Walking deserts, believing in water

A blue storm builds inside us
We feel it's fight and fury
But we are the one's who can
It is faith that slays our worry

Wherever we are in the knowing
Of what tomorrow may bring
We will continue to live with love
Holding hands at dinner's bell ring

We summon every happy moment
Christmas morning in June
Singing our song of joy and love
Our smiles, the Lord's harvest moon

It is our kind that just as soon believe
There is every miracle under the sun
What another man cannot understand
We see in the glory of our rising son

Rising to meet the day once again
To light our life without grief or malice
The wick of every melting candle, and
Gathering wax inside God's chalice

Clive Blake Jul 14

Dear Lord,
If only we had your humility,
If only consciences were blame free,
Could turn our cheeks if roughly struck,
Could face moral issues, and not duck,
Serve ourselves right, by serving the master,
Serve no other; avoiding disaster,
Treat our enemies as long lost friends,
Treat our hatred as a means to amends,
Offer our souls as only yours to use,
Offer our spirits, which we never lose,
Share what we have with the sick and the poor,
Share what we have and be left with more,
Think of your will, and not think of our own,
Think of Heaven as our eventual home.

We know how hard it is to reach this goal,
We know that to score ... would make us more whole.

Vamika Sinha Jul 13

my sadness
is a bruise like ice-cream.
i can't keep my hands away.
it hurts but it's something
sweet i cling onto
on summer days
when there's nothing to do but think
or pray

prey
on my fault lines like maggots
on a wound, prey
on my positivity till i've shattered
its glass roof
pray
till talking to walls
starts to feel like god is really in the room.

just for a second

just for a second
i am fixed. a broken vase
glued together with hope.
finding solace not sadness
in being alone
just for a second
it lasts

just for a second

now i wait for my loneliness
to recede
to dissolve like sugar in my green tea
that all the self help books said would
cure me
along with yoga and
stand up comedy

i am tired.
my bed has become a measuring scale
for the weight of my
thought-heavy brain -
it knows when i sleep too much or
too little.
sends alarms through my body
as an ache, as sores
as nightmares as riddles

but the bed will not
get me help, give me
pills, call somebody's
cell. i
don't even know what is wrong with me
but i know
that a 14 year old girl shouldn't be reblogging
black and white quotes
about killing herself.

i learn the term from a magazine
like a kick in the face.
self-medicate
with denial
till i find myself staring
at pills in closed cabinets.
sometimes i think
it gives the shadow
of me some colour, some shape.
sometimes i feel
it's the only thing that makes me interesting.

and i haven't said the word yet
the word "depression"
because no one really wants to confront
a poem about sadness
that's not sadness but an illness -
have i lost you already?
see, there'll always be cynics and critics
saying isn't this frivolous
a teenage millennial
who can afford the twin privilege
of eating belgian chocolates
and indulging her so-called
emptiness

how do i explain it?
when textbooks stand with netflix
as our education
on mental health.
is that enough?

is it enough
as we open ourselves up
to our smartphones
till we're colonised by the screen.
stroke our egos with clicks
let the "likes" become our therapy
while my phone's face
symbolises the escape
from being me
by any means.

i'm sure
the colour of loneliness
is the white glow in my eyes
in the pit of the night
when it's dark
and i'm googling ways
to start sleeping
and stop feeling
stop breathing.

you are not alone
the internet says
and yes i've got
insta followers
facebook friends
yet i have never felt
more disconnected from myself.
my soul is calling on the telephone
but i just cannot help
feeling like it's got
the wrong number again.

isn't it time to start listening?
the heartbeat has a rhythm for a reason.
and i've never been one to ignore the music.
i just need some help.
won't you help?
won't you play it a little louder for me?
my veins are wires i've been wanting to cut
been dulling my senses too much
i need you
to help
put the needle in the right place
let the record of my life play

this song has been silent too long now.

Star BG Jul 13

My life is like a prayer
as I move with open heart
My eyes observe beauty.
My heart beats with song.

Ups and downs come.
Good and bad surfaces.
Doubt transmutes into trust.

Life is breeding ground
as I plant seeds of love
seeds of dreams
seeds for peace
and watch them grow.

Today, I planted a seed of gratitude
and from the rain a rainbow formed.

Today, I grounded myself on earth
and from footsteps a waltz ensued.

Today, I connected to source
and divine orchestrations occurred.

Today, life inside prayer blossomed
for miracles to come.

Miracles to come.


StarBG © 2017

chipped tooth Jul 13

in the small town land marked by it's single gas station,
teens skateboard through
the Walmart 15 minutes away
smoke cigarettes
in the baseball field of their high school rival
spend Friday nights at waffle house
after football games
the hospital near Walmart
is being closed down
history replaced by
churches and banks
patriotism and school pride
is sewn into the school
t-shirts
a memorial for the boys
who drove drunk and died
it's a community
built on family values,
everyone recounts their
blessings and after years
of collective prayer
He even
bestowed upon that town
a Dollar General

Full Moon burning white
Warriors Hearts filled with Might,
Darkest Night, they channel Light.
Cowards souls ripe with fright,
See only lies and not what's right.

Sight Blighted, Blinding Bright.
Warriors heart-strings strung so tight,
As they charge into the fight,
Freed from thought of their plight,
Glide on air, Soaring Kite.

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