Poetry, writing, drawing, painting and more.
There is a spot on my heart.
Not a hole.
Not a blemish.
Just a spot.
~
A dark spot.
Dull.
Black.
Just there.
~
It exists to remind me of something.
A failure.
A missed opportunity.
A something.
~
Something I can’t remember?
Something I don’t want to remember?
Something I choose not to remember?
Just a spot.
The Snake
There was a knock at the door. We had been so busy with our mystery that we heard not the bell.
“Come,” Holmes scolded.
It was Mrs. Hudson, “a gentleman here to see you sir.”
Holmes ran to his room, reappearing with a coat, and threw it on the table; then turned to the window, “show him up.”
A very well dressed man came in, taking off his hat. There were stripes of gray throughout his hair and the hair around his ears had started to grizzle.
My first impression of the man was a snake: a giant gray snake that was lurking in the shadows waiting to squeeze his next victim. He created in my bones a chill. I quickly composed myself, “come in.” I greeted the man as he walked into the room. “I am Doctor Watson; my friend and colleague Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Sit.” I showed him to the sofa. “How can we be of service?”
“Well gentleman, I am here to seek your assistance finding someone.”
“Missing persons is a matter for the police.” Holmes spoke from the window.
“I did all that,” replied our guest.
“And?” Asked I.
“Nothing sir; not a trace. I gave them a full account of my story with the hopes that they will get back to me as quickly as possible.”
I looked over at Holmes. He remained quiet still with his back to us staring out the window. “Tell us your tale.” I finally asked the chap. Not quite sure what to do since I was getting no direction from Holmes in making a decision in the matter.
“There is not much to tell.” His manner was much uninvolved; there was no inflection in his voice.
“Get out.” Holmes spoke in a low agitated voice that astonished me.
“I beg your pardon.” Our guest looked confused. “I have heard you can be rude at times. But sir, this is appalling.”
Holmes’ voice remained the same, “get out.”
“Well I never.” Our guest collected his hat and left.
I turned to Holmes just in time to watch him melt to the floor. “Holmes!” He was shaking violently. “Holmes?” I ran to the door. “Mrs. Hudson! Come quickly.”
If you had to change your name, what would your new name be?
I like my name and would chose to keep it. People (talented or not) sing me to all the time. It’s a great ice breaker. ‘Your name is a song.’ ‘Which came first, the name or the song?’ Some folks (who can’t sing) will sometimes just hum around me. 😂 🎶
I’ve always wanted to collaborate with Weird Al. ~
Let’s see if you get an ear worm. 😉 I tried to post a link but I don’t think it worked so I removed it.
My latest Monday School lesson.
Picture it Egypt 1,447 BC – kinda. You’re a slave. You have 0 to no rights. Your day consists of work, work and more work. Someone has to make the bricks. There is one spot of joy in your life. You are going to have a child. A blessing from God.
One day you start to hear rumors, rumblings from the Egyptians. Pharaoh has proclaimed that all male Hebrew babies are to be killed. Panic fills your heart. What if your baby is a boy? You rub your belly praying to God that your baby isn’t a boy. ‘A girl Lord. Please, let it be a girl.’ Those rumors are true.
The big day arrives. Your heart is full and broken at the same time. A boy. Healthy, happy but sadly – a boy. You’ve heard the screams of your sisters as their babies had been ripped from their arms. You’ve heard the wailings that languished long into the night. Your arms have ached from holding your sisters as they shatter from the devastation. Now, you will know their sorrow, it’s a boy. All the thoughts are there. All those painful moments with your sisters overtake your joy. How God? How could you let it be a boy? The sobs can’t be controlled. All you are able to think is, ‘it’s a boy.’
A mothers love is for her child. To love, to share, to hold, to know. You’re going to keep him. You will defy Pharaoh and his gut wrenching policy as long as you can. Delaying the inevitable. God gave you this amazing gift and you want as much of it as you can soak in. The fear is still strong. The fear stops you from naming your son. We have a saying, ‘if you name it, you make it real.’ Your son is real. But for how long will he be a reality?
Babies grow. Babies make noise. The day comes you can no longer hide him. God gives you this amazing plan. It’s gonna hurt. But the thought that your child is alive somewhere, anywhere is better than knowing he was killed. Ripped from your arms. Most likely bashed against the very walls of the home you live in. So you get to work. Trust God’s plan and make a basket for your child to float him down the river. Praying all the time he will not be eaten by creatures, killed anyway. You must protect your baby boy.
Jochebed teaches us that no matter how much it hurts. Or we think it’s going to hurt. We should always trust in God’s plan. Not only was the life of her child saved but she got to openly (without fear the soldiers would kill him) raise a boy. Yes, Sue next door thought she was raising Pharaoh’s daughters baby. But she knew. God knew that was her baby boy. And God had big plans for this child.
The Bible KJV
Describe your dream chocolate bar.
This poem is being written in stages to highlight the things I do toward frugal living.
https://byjolenerice.wordpress.com/2023/05/12/waste-not-want-not-dinner/
The poem
Kessa had left before Kol. She always left a note on her pillow for him. This night, she was home first. When she looked at her pillow, her heart sank, her note was still there. As she got closer to the bed; the realization hit her, this wasn’t her note. This was a scroll tied with a ribbon.
Celebrate You
I struggle with the words.
Emotions I can not name.
Words run and hide from me, when I see your face.
When you are near,
I force the world to appear.
Your presents drowns out the noise of my dizzying life.
Things I need to say, sound weak to my ears.
Words turn to disgust in my mouth.
Nothing, is what I can spit out.
When you lay down; your head on my shoulder, should be.
My arm around you as you sleep.
Protecting you from the demons in your dreams.
The taste of your lips is always in my mouth.
Your name on my tongue.
Your scent in my nose.
Your voice in my ears.
The feel of your skin on my finger tips.
You on my mind.
You are present always in my thoughts.
My dreams soar around you.
My body aches to be near you.
One touch from your hand, calms my crowded mind.
One word from you, turns my heart to water.
Your lips on mine, turns my body to sand.
No flower have I touched as delicate as you.
No scent have I smelt as sweet as you.
Nothing in this life have I experienced as intoxicating as you.
You are my rock.
Your strength keeps me grounded.
Your love keeps me from flying away.
You are my anchor.
You keep the tide from pulling me apart.
Your love keeps me safe from pounding waves.
You are my foundation.
Your faith covers me.
Your love amazes me.
It encompasses the beating of my heart.
The words I can not say.
The emotions I can not name.
My praises to God that you are in my life.
My praises to God that you are my wife.
My prayer to God we will grow old together.
Hand in hand.
Heart to heart.
Soul to soul.
I love you is all I can manage to say.
I love you is a weak statement of your effect on me.
I love you is all I can say to celebrate you.
Happy Birthday
Her heart overflowed as she read his words. His arms slid around her. She leaned into him. “My husband, you are sweet. Thank you.” She turned in his arms.
He wiped the tears from her cheeks.
List three books that have had an impact on you. Why?
1. The Bible
I’ve read the Bible from cover to cover once. The rest of this time, I’ve been studying it with a lot of help. There is so much in it. It is a hard read. Even if you are not a Christian or practice religion, the Bible is full of wild stories. Especially the Old Testament.
2. Ray Bradbury – All Summer in One Day
This is a short story about a girl whose parents move from Earth to Venus. It rains on Venus all the time, except one day a year. When this young girl starts telling stores about Earth, the other children get jealous and lock helper in a closet on the one pretty day. I remember reading this story in grade school and it just stuck with me.
3. The Little Red Hen – Paul Galdone
Yes, the is a child’s story. But what a lesson that has stuck with me all my life. No one wanted to help the ‘little red hen’ do the work. But everyone wanted to reap the rewards.
4. Stone Soup – Ann McGovern
Looks like the books that have stuck with me have been children’s books. A clever young man tricks an old woman into believing that soup can be made from a stone. As the pot of water boils with the stone in it, he urges her to add more and more ingredients until the soup is a feast “fit for a king.”
Though, I do love Sherlock Holmes.
https://byjolenerice.wordpress.com/2023/05/28/the-science-fiction-equation/
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