Yahweh my Shepherd : September 2015

Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Can't Breathe

Can't breathe
Nasals arid
as a desert wind
The running ceiling fan
Cools me not
It dries
My sleepless eyes.

Too much
Tossing and turning
Unable to think,
Senseless thoughts
Occupying my mind
Leaving no room
For my fears
Of the night.

My stomach
Is performing
It's own concert
Like children whimpering
In their nightmares.

Can't wait to see
The eastern skies
Fading to gray
exposing the outlines
Of the trees.

I crave
The oncoming scene
Of the orange hues
To paint the heavens
Of the horizon east
I'll know then
Tomorrow is outside. 

William Bonilla

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

My Poetry #1

All poured into a glass spoon,
Teeth, her teeth sink past..
The gears turn,
Making metal noises,

Cries from above,
See the mean fairy dance,
Leaves fall, suddenly I don't know,
How long or how shallow the grave,
Will be


Thursday, September 10, 2015

Oliver Wendell Holmes

Extracts from a Medical Poem. The Stability of Science

THE feeble sea-birds, blinded in the storms,
On some tall lighthouse dash their little forms,
And the rude granite scatters for their pains
Those small deposits that were meant for brains. 
Yet the proud fabric in the morning’s sun
Stands all unconscious of the mischief done;
Still the red beacon pours its evening rays
For the lost pilot with as full a blaze,—­
Nay, shines, all radiance, o’er the scattered fleet
Of gulls and boobies brainless at its feet.

I tell their fate, though courtesy disclaims
To call our kind by such ungentle names;
Yet, if your rashness bid you vainly dare,
Think of their doom, ye simple, and beware.

See where aloft its hoary forehead rears
The towering pride of twice a thousand years! 
Far, far below the vast incumbent pile
Sleeps the gray rock from art’s AEgean isle
Its massive courses, circling as they rise,
Swell from the waves to mingle with the skies;
There every quarry lends its marble spoil,
And clustering ages blend their common toil;
The Greek, the Roman, reared its ancient walls,
The silent Arab arched its mystic halls;
In that fair niche, by countless billows laved,
Trace the deep lines that Sydenham engraved;
On yon broad front that breasts the changing swell,
Mark where the ponderous sledge of Hunter fell;
By that square buttress look where Louis stands,
The stone yet warm from his uplifted hands;
And say, O Science, shall thy life-blood freeze,
When fluttering folly flaps on walls like these?

Tuesday, September 8, 2015

The Hope of My Heart

The Hope Of My Heart

"Delicta juventutis et ignorantius ejus, quoesumus ne memineris, Domine."

I left, to earth, a little maiden fair,
With locks of gold, and eyes that shamed the light;
I prayed that God might have her in His care
           And sight.

Earth's love was false; her voice, a siren's song;
(Sweet mother-earth was but a lying name)
The path she showed was but the path of wrong
           And shame.

"Cast her not out!" I cry.  God's kind words come —
"Her future is with Me, as was her past;
It shall be My good will to bring her home
           At last."

-John McCrae

Thursday, September 3, 2015


Masked gunmen burst into Christian leader Yousuf Bhat’s home late on a Wednesday evening and shot him to death.
Yousuf Bhat, a respected Christian leader in India’s volatile Kashmir region, left Islam and became a follower of Christ more than 16 years ago. He could not keep his faith to himself. Yousuf distributed thousands of Bibles and JESUS films, planted churches and taught new Christians. And earlier this year, he paid the price with his life.
Will you pray for his family and Christian co-workers? Post your prayer on www.icommittopray.com.

This and countless examples of Christian Martyrdom are fluently scattered throughout the world and each individual Martyr is a hero of Christ in their own right. How can we as a body of Christ pray for the persecuted to find peace and love?