"Psalm"

I cry out for you,
In the wilderness of unfulfillment.
I cry out for you,
From the depths of grief.
I cry out!

In pain,
In sorrow,
In misery,
In madness,
I cry...

My heart empties itself,
As I whisper my words to the wind,
That carries it to I know not where...
I am so small,
Unheeded, unanswered.

I cry out in hopes of redemption.
I cry out in that you may hear.
I cry out that I may find rest.
I cry to you to release me from my bonds,
And make me whole once more.

Do not hide thy face from me, my Lord
As I have hidden mine from you.
I thirst from the emptiness of my transgressions,
This hollow vessel to be filled again
With the gentleness of your mercy.

The once proud and joyous daughter,
That knew your voice,
Now lay shattered in grief,
From foolishness,
Of unknown destruction.

I lie in wait,
To once more gain Thy favor,
And be visited upon
By the certainty you did bestow before,
And renew myself in Thy presence.

I lie in wait,
For your pity,
For your mercy,
For my sake,
In this desert of nowhere.

I call for you,
In search for you,
To surrender to you,
Until Thy will be done.
Selah...


- mgsmd "PT" 6/2015

"Stillness"

Time stood still with the very thought of you.

An eternity has passed yet left no signs,
No faded memory nor distanced dreams.

The longing has ended with the very thought of you.

The restlessness of wandering the in vain
An existence in search of meaning and to be meant for.

Time is an entity that had no place in this moment.

Sound and silence existed as one,
And the space between is a figment that held no bounds.

The ripples from the rocks I once threw has calmed.

The mirrored sky transposed on the waterbed,
Has cast its moonlit shadow on the floor.

The stars have fallen yet remains untouched.

They descend until their reflection disappears.
Such are fates entwined but do not meet.

My heart now beats in steady rhythm.

Paced with certainty.
Forged by you.

--mgsmd "PT" 6/2015

just came in to... read your stuff...nice..

Thank you. I appreciate it.

"Stillness"

And This one is my fave' ..you are very good Tilly! I Enjoy reading your meaningful poems. Nice. Looking forward to read some more.

Can you write using a quill pen, i think it would be so awesome..!!

Thank you lu. You always have a way to brighten my day.

I wish i could write with a quill pen, but i dont have the quill, nor the skills...haha...would be nice to have some stuff on with pictures...maybe like how tommy does his...but i have not yet discovered how to do it...

"Femme"

What makes you and who?
Your calmness and fury do
Belong in beauty and a burning to be everything
As water and wine for the masses and kings.
Flowing outlines that define your being
That thoughts do glide in endless seeking.
Where do you start and how do you end?
You are the philosopher's stone, an allure that transcends,
To know you, and have you, in sacredness and in sin,
Where answers stop, more questions begin.

Child of wonder, child of might
That gives the world its lively light.
Restless spirit of land and sea,
Find your abode that you may be
A sprite that dances in fields of gold,
And sits as still whence one is told
With seeking mischief in thine eyes,
While laughing gaily in surprise,
And innocent belief in what you do,
Such is the blessing inside of you.

When change did come and felt within,
A clashing inside thee did begin,
Of wants and needs and lusts do lie,
As guile and wantonness would deny,
Your simple yearnings of life's giving
Tangled in hopes of your receiving,
As known to you as the unknown
And fully you emptied that you've shown
Your own self poured upon the earth
Of men and beasts of your rebirth.

Shattered and endless your tears did flow
Death's grip released did not let you go,
But only for a moment, you sold your pain
And stood while broken, but never in vain.
A fragile warrior that sought destiny,
To create, to hold, to nurture and carry,
And be your own self as others you made
This led your path, once paid, now repaid.
A finished but unended turning of tides
That binds together the lasting divide.

This enigma, our myst�re.
This chaos, our desire.
This essence, our madness.
This blessing, our presence.
The proclivities we choose to take or leave,
In wantings prove what we aggrieve.
In the harmony of senses we make our home,
And in the threshold of our silence, alone
With unexpected longings that still pierce our depths,
That in timeless rememberings, we keep and are kept.


--mgsmd "PT" 6/2015

I would love for my writing to be criticized...
Anyone...?

---End---

Thank you to everyone who viewed, commented, and contributed.

Thank you to those who inspired, encouraged, and gave meaning.

Should there be more to say, just say it.
Should there be more to add, just let it.
Should there be more to come, so be it.

Will it be loved and cared?
Will they be shocked and scared?
What future holds for this unaware?
What fate and destiny will it bear?

We all are stardust, you and I,
Made to believe we could fly.
But time has passed and passes by,
And all we do is try and try... And try...

We hope our dreams, and make believe,
Our fantasies and realities can be achieved.
We toil, we sweat, we love, we laugh,
We think, we feel, we do, enough!

To what end our vanities pursue?
Searching...Another cycle, until we do..


Hi Pansytilly, I thought this was really moving. Thanks for sharing it.

Thank you Ja
It's really nice of you to say
I like many of your writings as well

The time i knew i liked you was that day on the bus ride out of Galilee. I purposely woke up early that day to watch the sun rise over the lake. It was about 5am. I took a shower, dressed up and started to explore the hotel grounds. The bus was waiting on the driveway. Some of the other guests have already woken up and were also wandering around. I went out onto the clearing to get a good vantage point of the lake and part of the beach that was below. The street was empty, it was quiet, and the air was still. The sky was a shade of light blue-purple with the first signs of deep orange peeking from the hills on the other side of the lake. I stood there for a good 30 minutes, just watching, and waiting-- waiting for the sun to rise, waiting for time to pass, waiting for something to take my breath away, just like i always have.

Breakfast was served buffet style. I returned to the hotel dining room and there was already a bevy of people lining around the 3 buffet tables set up. Some starting with breakfast, some finishing. I queued along with the rest of them, occasionally seeing a familiar face from the tour group, smiling and exchanging polite greetings. Breakfast was bread, salted fish, some processed breakfast meats, cheese, cereal, milk, instant coffee, juice, and fruits. I took the ones i've never tried before. The fish was good, kind of like herring but with a milder flavor.

I sat with my family. They were already in the middle of the meal, talking about the food served, the political climate of Israel, the people we were on the trip with. I saw you enter the dining area with the bus driver and followed your movements out of the corner of my eye. You both sat on a table for two in an obscure corner of the room and drank your coffee. Most likely black, i thought. You both were talking like good friends and long time partners. It was only after that i found out the bus driver was an Arab living in Israel, and much later when i found out what that meant and just how precious your friendship was with him.

I watched as you both stood up and separated. He walked out while you mingled with the guests. It was only the second day of our tour and you had already familiarized yourself with the faces included in the group. You worked your way to specific tables and groups until you reached ours. You informed us of the day's schedule and made some small talk on the food served that day. We all agreed that the fish was good, and you proceeded to inform us about some issues regarding the water level of the Sea of Galilee, where the fish was sourced. After which you reiterated the day's schedule, politely reminding us to be in the bus on time.

As is the usual practice, we start the bus ride with a prayer led by the priest. It so happened on that day, the group was especially inattentive to it, chattering away as he started with the sign of the cross. I was seated next to my sister, quietly looking outside the window watching the street and people pass as the sun continued to rise across the lake, waiting for the ritual to finish. Only it didn't.

The next thing i knew, i heard the familiar rhythm of your finger tapping against the microphone. There was a slow, reluctant hush among the passengers until you stopped tapping. You stood and looked around to make sure you had everyone's attention, slowly raised the microphone up and announced matter-of-factly that although you were Jewish, you found it offensive that this group of Catholics on a pilgrimage tour would blatantly disregard prayers being made by the priest, and instead we were behaving more like school kids on a field trip. Properly chastised, everyone stayed quiet. The priest slowly started with saying the sign of the cross again followed by an Our Father as everyone followed suit. I just listened, smiled, looked out my window again and i knew then and there that we'd get along.


---original unedited manuscript "Remembering Israel"

glad to have made you smile

recopied from http://mingle2.com/topic/429499?page=5 for visitors...

We went to 'En Karem to see Mary's Spring and afterwards, we proceeded to another church. This time it was the Church of the Visitation.

This was reputed to be the place where the virgin Mary and her pregnant cousin, Elizabeth met, as the unborn John the Baptist had "jumped for joy" in the womb at the news that the Messiah was to be born in the person of Mary.

The bus stopped in a parking area and everyone lined up to exit. It was a sunny day and some of the ladies in the group wore hats and took their umbrellas out. We walked to a small stone covered structure housing a spring. There was an arch that enclosed a spout where water flowed to a catch-basin, then continued to a spiraling square pattern on the floor. You mentioned that it was supposedly the place where Mary often drank water from. As some of the members of the group inspected the water and pulled out their cameras, you cautioned us not to spend too much time there, as we would still be walking up the road to reach the church. Everyone finished quickly and worked their way up the road, following your lead.

Entering the gates that led to the Church of the Visitation felt like entering a beautiful Mediterranean villa. As with many of the structures i've seen, various sizes of rough cut beige-colored stones covered the floors and the walls. But unlike the stark and spartan masculine nakedness of the other sites we have visited, or the modernized tourist catered centers, this was different. We entered an open courtyard with a wall that bordered with the outside world on one hand and a vine-covered walkway that led to the heart of the reputed holy site on the other. The wall was full of framed tile and mosaic pieces with the story of the visitation written in various languages. Lining the bottom of the wall was a plant box high enough to allow people to sit on the ledge. That day the plants there were blooming with red desert flowers.

You walked to the middle of the courtyard and signaled for everyone in the group to gather around, then announced some area information and tidbits and how long we can spend in the site. I was inattentive to what you said, but I stayed at the fringes of the group listening to the way you spoke with a clear diction and a timbre that carried well in that outdoor environment. Other people visiting the grounds seemed to be listening with one ear as well -- as if they were only pretending to go about their own business of sightseeing.

I looked at the wall filled with the various patterns of writings in different languages and quickly found the the ones that i was most familiar with. I took a few shots with my camera, but before i could read any of them, you ended your announcement and started to lead the group toward the covered walkway. Wanting to shoot as much scenery as i could, i followed everyone until you led us up the front staircase and into the main church hall.

We all went in and after i took a quick glance around the interior, i realize that everyone had started to take their seats in the pews. Not wanting to attend mass, i signaled to my parents that i was going outside to take pictures. I sneaked out the side door just as the priest was coming out to the altar in his liturgical habit.

As i stood on the second floor patio, i could see that back side of the church had more flowers in pots that led down a narrow stone stairway. Looking down, i could see one side of the courtyard that we occupied earlier. I took the scenery in for a moment and made my way down the stairs.

A part of me didn't expect to see you, but a bigger part of me hoped to be able to find an excuse to spend a little time with you out of sight from everyone. Two butterflies flew past me as i walked down the stone steps. I stopped and watched as they playfully danced past me and gently settled on one of the flowers. That was when i saw you standing in the shadows of the covered walkway. You were watching me with with a puzzled look in your face. I didn't know how long you had been there, so i gave you a tentative smile, then with a crook of your head, you signaled for me to come down and join you. So i did.


---original unedited manuscript "Remembering Israel"

The bus ride out of Jordan and into Israel seemed like a lesson in refugee camp or prisoner exchange 101 for me.

Upon departing the hotel, we drove out of Amman and to the border town of Aqaba. We started the drive with reciting prayers led by the young priest. Our tour manager proceeded with informing us of border disputes and what not to do while passing through the Wadi Araba crossing. Strictly no photographs.

One gate passed, then another. Jordanian and Israeli flags stood side by side along that road in the middle of nowhere. Our Jordanian tour guide had to get down as he was not allowed past the Jordanian border fence. The tour manager waited for that opportunity to talk to us in Filipino about some sensitive issues regarding the political climate of Israel with its neighboring Arab countries.

I looked out that desert land with nothing but parched earth and metal fences. A few soldiers were posted in the occasional bunker or blockhouse positioned along the road. There were some rocky hills that went past, and for a moment, i could imagine war going on in this area. From the time the israelites travelled across the Sinai peninsula to claim the land of Canaan, up to the Arab-Israeli war that cleaved its borders, this was a land of conflict, then and now.

As we approached the other side of this world we were traveling in, our tour manager reminded us to prepare our passports and other necessary documents. She instructed us not to stray from the group and to follow procedures strictly as this was a high tension area.

I remember seeing what looked like a few hundred people wanting to enter Israel in various states of anxiety. Singles, couples, families, men, women, children, luggages, bags, boxes, all in a state of orderly mess. Some looked just like us, while others were in their local garbs of tunics, veils and turbans.

I remember observing the scene before me in fascination as i mechanically took my baggage from the side cargo of the bus and followed the group. There was an odd mix of surprise and curiosity when i saw several uniformed and non-uniformed men and women with armalites slung over their shoulders walking around comfortably mixed in with us civilians. They were a stark reminder to any tourist or local to stay in line, whether it be the queue going inside immigrations or any desire to stray from their unspoken rules of conduct. Clearly, this area followed military law without compromise.

---original unedited manuscript "Remembering Israel"

The line through the terminal was long.

My family put all our baggages on the long inspection table where it passed through the machine and a few security hands. I saw a terminal officer come in and take position in one of the tables several feet away from us. He looked about in his mid to late thirties and had a mess of hair in dreadlocks tied to his back. He carried himself with effortless confidence that may seem like arrogance, and a self-assured stance that i thought made him tower over all the other employees as they faded into the background. He had dark olive skin, as if he was kissed by the very same sun that scorched the desert we had left behind us.

Lion of Judah came into mind when i saw him. The vision of what King David might have looked like both in his glory and triumph over his then enemies and the madness that overcame him after his indiscretion with Bathsheba.

We continued slowly down the line when i saw a female inspector insert a piece of paper in the pocket of my handbag. Being aware of the military system in place, i dared not make any protest. I was signaled by another officer to move out of the line and bring my bag to the inspection table with the officer i was observing earlier. What luck, i thought. I obediently did as ordered and walked up to him, and put my bag on his table.

He had the most incredible hazel eyes ive seen-- not that ive seen many up close and in the flesh, but those flecks of pale mint green swimming in light brown were a sight which i knew could inspire breathlessness in the right girl or woman. I gave him a tight smile as he studied me, looked at my bag and motioned me to take a seat on the far end of the room.

I left my bag and sat where i was ordered to. My family had already finished with the process and proceeded to the next station except for my mom. She gave me a look of concern and question as i shrugged my shoulders and mouthed for her to go ahead and wait for me outside. Waiting for what will happen next, i continued to observe the ordered chaos that ensued before me. Eventually, I saw the Lion of Judah bring my bag to a female co-worker, who in turn handed it to me and told me i could go. I looked into my bag and found nothing out of the ordinary and took my leave.

It had taken us about an hour and a half for everyone to be accounted for outside the terminal. Some of the members of the group were talkatively recounting what had just happened as i was not the only one to have had an incident. Random checks, said our tour manager, its something that they do frequently despite the large number of people going through. Maybe because of it, i thought. A quick head count and we were off to our new bus and guide.

That was when i first met you.

--- original unedited manuscript "Remembering Israel"