I felt no shame I did not cry
When I shouted: "Let him be crucified!"
And you forgave me
It was I who turned away and denied
Who swore to all I did not know you
Only later did I realize all along you knew
And you forgave me
It was I who betrayed you with a kiss
After all this time it has to end like this
And still you forgave me
I could not watch so I ran away and hid
I was a coward a scared little kid
And you forgave me
It was I who slept when you needed me most
It was I who foolishly abandoned my post
And you forgave me
It was I who mocked you and I who jeered
I who rent your clothes and plucked your beard
And you forgave me
It was I who condemned you out loud
To appease the maddened mobbing crowd
And you forgave me
It was I on your left that told you to prove
If you are the Christ, then stop this and move
And you look at me with love
It was I on your right who asked "Remember Me"
And in spite of everything, all of my history
In that moment I was free

It was I who shared the burden on the road
Helping you to shoulder that heavy load
It was I who stayed close to the very end
Why you would suffer though I could not comprehend
It was I who tenderly wiped your face
A small act of love, and mercy and grace
It was I who anointed and dried your feet with my hair
Sparing no cost to show you how much I care
It was I whom you saved from a life of sin
You would die to make new life begin
It was I whom you called from the sleep of death
And I watch as you now give your last breath
I who gave you life now mourn and weep
My heart is pierced with sorrow so deep

It is you who took our sin and shame
It is you who took on all the blame
It is you who died so I might live
It is you who said to me: "I Forgive"
It is you who looked with loving eyes
It is you who saw past all disguise
It is you who make me reconciled
It is you who call me beloved child
It is you the pure spotless sacrificial lamb
It is you my Lord my Savior, the Great I Am

Something wicked, this Way comes
When sadness surrounds the Doldrums

Melancholy’s bit is Bitter, Sweet
Looking for mom’s face on the street

Praying as a child to find her and care
Streets of LA, sea of empty faces , cold stare

It’s strange, What we hold onto, cherish
Reminisce, of a loved one who perished

Unfinished business, Hardens the heart
Moments before, we were pulled apart

We find Silent comforts to cradle our mind
Where’d we come from what did we find?

Dealing with death’s passages of times
Needing help with our imaginary crimes

The first person I ever knew who died
She was 46 years young, my soul cried

My beloved mother Throat Cancer
Disenchanted asked God for the answer

Each second Every breath More Shallow
Then the one before, her face Hollow

Questioning The last time for this or that
Lapse memory, The Last time I fed her cat

Yet I never really paid attention
The uneasy emotions we never mention

Now, I pay attention to the smallest details
beauty in rain in hail that clean wet smell

The last thing  I’ll ever mention
Having your full undivided attention

Mom needed all her children near
Leaving earth the biggest unknown fear

Feckless children weren’t around
Couldn’t be bothered wouldn’t be found

What to expect on the other side
Her guardian angel her ethereal Guide

Three days before mom died (her and I)
We were sitting on corner curb outside

Her words were soft, gentle and kind
I don’t worry about you in my mind

You’re like a cat You’ll have many lives
You’ll land on your feet not on the street

Her voice grew intense serious and brave
Listen to me Don’t go to my grave

You need to realize I won’t be there
Find comfort with others Grieve elsewhere

She knew in the crevices of her head
Funerals are for the living not the dead

Pretentious, pompous circumstance
Don’t cry a pity party, Sing and Dance

A gentle smile graced her face
Her wisdom a tear stain trace

Find something Spectacularly brilliant
That will remind you of me resilient

A remembrance you’ll see
put it in your house, There I’ll Be

I found a clear quartz crystal cat with claws
Amethyst heart Dangled between its paws

Daily Family walks Nonchalantly By
A dust collector they see with a naked eye

I see life’s memories in vivid detail
Mother’s Grim Reaper rang her bell


Inspired songs;
1) fire and rain by James Taylor
2) He stopped loving her today,
sang by George Jones
Written by Braddock and Puttman
3) go rest on the Mountain by Vince Gill
4) tears in Heaven by Eric Clapton
5) Live like you were dying
by Tim McGraw
Songs of morning and say goodbye. These are sacred so you don’t need to be religious to have a song universally touch your heart and touch your soul. Each one of these songs has a backstory of death and dealing with that pain. If you listen to the backstory on each of those songs, you’ll hear this song differently. This is why, when I read poetry, I always want to hear the backstory I get a wealth of information, and a deeper understanding of the poem and poet.

Sorry for the lengthy footnote, but I guarantee it’s worth the read

My mother had terminal cancer she did not want the children to see her dwindle away. She left us five children with my father. I was so young I thought she died any time I would mention her I would get a kick in the shin or a elbow in my stomach, learn later, my older siblings in life are now the truth. My younger brother and I did not until I was 10 years old. She tried to see his children. Mother said no I asked my sister who is that person and a small boy she said mom. I prayed every day to God. When I’m a grown-up, let me find her and let her know I care and she made a good person . Grandma (her mother) wanted me to take up with a private investigators left off after seven years of searching for her. (grandma was dying )They had some leads I was 20 years old. I found my mother when I was 21. I had been to every Alley in Skid Row and places young women should not go alone. I had a friend at know downtown LA the roughnecks. The last place of all the places we had been for months with a thrift store women shelter For personal necessities. I showed the photo went through this story to my surprise. The lady clerk pointed to the back of the room.
I took my mother home. I thought she’d be living with me now not on the street but on the third day, she said, I have to go home or they will give my room away she actually was living in a Victorian hospice with Catholic nuns. The headmistress came and asked me if I knew what was going on. Of course I did not because mom didn’t tell me. She told my mom was dying . she only had three months  to live. I prayed just let her be alive. I didn’t pray for more. God gave her to me, and then he took her away. I was angry for a long time. And then I realized God gave me three month to love and be a peace complete unfinished business. It Took me a long time to find my way back to Jesus . so when you see a homeless person , that’s a mother or father, uncle a grandma or grandpa those are people. Some of my family could not make peace with things until they knew she was dying. It was sickening toward my mom didn’t care about going to rodeo drive. They wanted to put a huge angel statue over her grave $25,000 a time ago I said no give the money to the nuns.

I’d like to get to know, A fellow poet’s writing style
Especially After reading their poetry
for a while.
I am sure it would be interesting to know
How a fellow poet establishes
their; meter, form, and flow.

I realize all poems are unique
and use a different method, formula, tact
Finding that sweet spot is writing
for full impact
Since poetry can send us on a wild ride
It can be interesting to see the process from inside
At least it’s an interesting concept to ponder
As we let our minds wander

There are some poems this happens organically
While others are built mechanically.
I start my poem in draft mode
I capture the original essence and let
The poem gradually unfold

I leave it sit for a day
Then revisit the word play
Checking for spelling errors and flaws
Looking for that hook, vivid imagery,
Our personal flair that create affects in the land of Oz

When I think I’m almost there
I check the title to make sure it matches the Content with flare
The title is what brings the readers in
too want more?
Effectively it opens the door.
I look to see, I’f it’s aesthetically pleasing
Perhaps word art?, Tempting, teasing
I look at alignment: left  center, or right
Then I’m ready to put the poem to bed for the night.

When I feel It’s completed and ready to
share
I’m amazed ,I pulled it out of thin air.
A smile explodes with a resounding Holy Cow
Then I’m left with a yearning.
What do I do now?
I click on Draft Poems, and I begin
A silent smile and a big grin

All the steps of MĔGILLĀH are often preceded by the objective whole
While some might find this rigor can take its toll
It’s the steps that keep words under control

Byline;
Currently I have over 30 poems in draft mode. It stays there until I feel they’re ready to move and grow into what they’re meant to be. I’m great at concepts, but building a poem takes longer,
It can only go as fast as inspiration.
I’d rather have quality than quantity.
I have to write down my poem ideas
for future development.
Have you ever thought oh, that would be a great poem… but you don’t write it down, and the thoughts gone forever
Lost in obscurity
That’s my process for developing creativity
What is your writing process??

which way will this year go is it good or bad
maybe its the best year that you ever had
we just have take it live it day by day
what ever comes along what ever comes our way

hope it will be better than the one before
filled with lots of happines no sadness anymore
maybe dreams and wishes this year will come true
all you ever wanted is  waiting there you

we  have to wait and see.  which way the year goes
what it has in store no one ever knows
we just have to cope what ever it is sending
hope the year ahead as an happy ending

daddy  had a christmas song he used to sing to me
he would pick me up sit me on his knee
family they would gather around the christmas tree
they would sing along to daddies melody

always made us happy when he began to sing
christmas to your heart daddy he would bring
words they told a story reached into your soul
made you feel happy made you feel so whole

i wont for get his song that he sang to me
that made christmas happy like its meant to be
someday when im older and christmas comes along
i will do what daddy did sing his christmas song

words they told a story how its meant to be
i wont forget the song my daddy sang to me

Little Monkey was thoughtful that day,
And he had very little to say,
For he was feeling rather crabby,
Why many humans are unhappy;

Why do many constantly complain,
As though they were in perpetual pain?

Though it seems they have so many things,
They keep hoping for more wealth that brings,
Ultimate happiness till they die,
Money, more money, their daily cry!
When many others less fortunate,
Have accepted their ultimate fate,
And they make do with their daily lot,
Thanking the good lord for what they've got;

So he concluded true happiness -
Is not having a mountain of wealth,
But having good friends, real love and health.

Then he saw some peanuts on the ground,
And was delighted with what he'd found.