Under the aegis of loving grandparents
children raised of the heavenly host
In the father, his son, and the Holy Ghost
grandchildren here tales of their parents
As children generations taught Bible stories they learn of their lessons and glories

Everyone Sang The Jesus loves me song
“Little ones to him belong
They are weak but he is strong  
Yes, Jesus loves me for the Bible tells me so” 
 Their four year old Granddaughter
Gets down on her knees each night to pray
This precocious child has a lot to say

The era back in the day when everyone
Dressed their best for Sunday Service
Easter perfect parents were nervous
Moms made matching outfit for her girls.  
They did their hair in ringlet curls

Shiny white Mary Jane shoes with either
Tights or triple layer lace ruffled socks
A frilly dress, and purse that locks
Wore forget me, Nots
Easter bonnet with flowers upon it
The girls made themselves.
White gloves, just like mother top shelves
Coordinated Easter basket to keep them occupied money for the offering plate, tied

The family took an innocent four year old to see a reenactment of passion of Christ
The play opens
The Olive Grove scene at Gethsemane
Jesus comes on stage then his enemies

The little girl Jumped up, stood on the chair
Her mother asks what are you doing there
“I want to show Jesus my new Easter Hat”
She beamed as a matter of fact

The grandmother wrapped her loving
Arms around the child
Whispering softly in her ear
“It’s not real they are actors”

The soldiers started pushing, shoving
Yelling at Jesus grabbing him not loving
The little girl’s eyes opened wide
Her hands over her face to hide
Peeking through her fingers
Her terror lingers

The grandmother wraps, your loving
arms around the child
whispering softly in her ear
“It’s not real they are acting”

But the little girl persisted
Unable to look away she insisted
She shook her head She didn’t understand
She took  her grandmother by her hand
She started to sob “please help Jesus”

The grandmother wraps, your loving
Arms Around the child
Whispering softly in her ear
“ it’s not real they are actors”
But the child can’t be consoled
The child wouldn’t hear what she was told

Final act
Jesus was being nailed to The Cross
His life, Paid the cost Satan’s loss
A large spike in the soldier’s hand
Then there was a loud BANG
The hammer hit The cross of wood
The little girl tried to get to him but no good
The audience jumps and screams
Some laughs nervously at this scene

The grandmother wraps, her loving
Arms around the child
Whispering Softly in her ear
“ it’s not real they’re actors”

The little girl lets out a shout
a blood cuddling Scream
” Nooo STOP DONT HURT JESUS”
Standing on her chair
For someone to care
She searched strangers, eyes
Her face ask the question why

The grandmother wrapped her loving
Arms around the child
Whispered softly in her ear
“ it’s not real they are actors”

The innocent child shaken to her core
A new raw emotion to explore
By the grace of God, the powers that be
For the first time the grandmother
Can except the Child’s plea
to SEE through the innocent child’s eyes
And Now understand why she cries

The audience becomes transfixed on this innocent little girl and her ringlet curls
For the first time the people in the room
Understood what it meant, An empty tomb
They no longer saw just a play,
they witnessed The totality The reality
through The eyes of a trusting child.

On TV today we watch acts of violence, ****** deviance, gratuitous actions killing Breaking every commandment
All in the name of entertainment.
People tell themselves  
“it’s not real they’re just acting”.

What is our culture feeding us
An evil we don’t see oblivious,
until
We looked through the eyes of a Child
This was based on actual events
Perhaps it was heaven sent

There wasn't supposed to be a clock shop there.

Deep inside the lane and away from the bustle
the door quietly opened to the world of time.

World of Time, yes, that was the name of the shop
though it resembled more a curio shop
with the man at the counter as antique
as the time long flown away.

I want a clock to gift to somebody,
said I, amid the chiming and ticking
that if listened to for long, I was sure
would lull even the alert into sleep.

Thanks for stepping in, said the man,
with a hint of smile passing across his face,
nobody cares for time anymore, it's banished,
but for the connoisseurs still enchanted by
the melodious rhyme of swinging pendulum,
a midnight music, half listened in dream.

There's the clock chiming hourly music,
the man pointed, big but worth having,
obviously a misfit in the shrinking space,
but I say, don't compress all into small,
like say, he smiled, love and heart.

He set the music on
and slowly everything melted
from before my eyes...

I was carried home from the pavement
and some days later I returned.

World of Time, an old man recollected,
was wound up long time back.

Selling the elixir of youth
It sounds so shrewd uncouth
Selling meaningful beauty
It’s sold as a woman’s duty

What would you do to achieve?
That which the commercials deceive
Women buy into the hype, at what cost
Spending obscene amount of money lost

Pressuring woman to feel less inferior
A fake false façade on the exterior
The true essence of a woman lives within
A smile, her luminescent grin

Her radiant inner beauty shines through
Naturally cultivated as she grew
The light Shines in her eyes and in her face
From God’s beauty and loving Grace

A modern quatrain with rhythm AABB

Many cultures use the broom
in a uniquely different way, a useful tool when you have something to say.
The broom, always Present in the corner

Some used it as a ceremony for marriage
Each New Year, out the door they sweep the dust and dirt, of the old year
Then they sweep in a fresh new year Cheer

Others used it as a tool to disparage
Their loved one in a marriage
While most just, swept the floor
This is about our broom, history and more
The broom always Present in the corner

Our grandparents used the
broom to settle a dispute.
This process was resolute
The broom always present in the corner

husband demanding, and did not listen
Broom bristles turn skin red until it glisten 
Eventually, the husband would learn
Until his next turn
With every poke, the wife spoke her mind
Peace and harmony both would find
The Broom always present in the corner

Old fools
Don’t give the Younghans enough credit
Some are grounded, Worth their salt
Some have manners, tantrums they halt
The broom always present in the corner

Young fools
Today’s generation, no respect for elders
Not only do they think they’re right, but they demand everyone see things their way
And there’s absolutely nothing you can say
It’s just a broom in the corner

The younger generation societal shift
Throwing tantrums ,Pitching a fit 
Screaming protests, facts unfounded
we are at war , fighting ,Gaslighting lit
Elders surrounded, warning bells sounded
both sides refusing to recognize the day 
Shut down ,Neither side has a word to say

The broom stuffed in the closet, put away
Covered in cobwebs, collecting dust  
discussion Falls upon deaf ears Decay
Facing fears No muss no fuss

Emily post ,Decorum  demeanor, respect
Values no longer taught in schools
“The golden rule” a lost term ,neglect
Emotional education taught in retrospect
Whoever holds the broom makes the rules
That is what is taught in school
Teaching Children to be cruel
A broom is no longer a useful tool

Broom bond fire light the night
evil rules the day
Another tradition of past has gone astray

The older generation are reduced
to the term of useless eaters
By Younger generations of Calus cheaters
Otherwise known as tweaking tweeters

How did the separation become so vase
Younger generation can be so crass,
Perhaps Smoking too much grass
The broom A relic of the past

Out with the old
In with the new
Neither generation has
A clue of what to do

The younger generation
The master of the faux pas
pushing limits, doing things
that should NEVER be done,
What? pray tell,
Having ***
In their parents bed
Is a perfect example of one!

Where do you draw the line?
Polar opposites will never be fine
How can we meet in the middle?
How can we each learn to give just a Little

Mind you this is conjecture on my part
Yet the poem came from my heart
If we want humanity to survive
We need to work together to stay alive