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Category Archives: Spirituality

Destiny of the Dedicated

a shaved head, I grind, 
eyes jabbed blind
the unseen, still perceive
so fly to hold the blood-stained tree
for I've no recourse bearing me to cope
because I have been reckoned as already dead
and seek the resurrection bread
of the empty vault, but presently ahead
even if the word doesn't rhyme in time 
or in my benighted mind
I cannot continue the same 
--for 'son' is in my name
for what a flaming shame
I once became

but the childhood secret grows back
therefore no omnipotent strength I lack
opting to renounce all
like a bull catapulting from the stall
embracing the pillars of my call
should I skip over that(?)
living a life that's going flat(?)
or bemoan a Philistine's lot(?)
while grumbling for the wait(?)
no--  
         I'm destined to be great--



 
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Posted by on April 28, 2021 in Poetry, Spirituality

 

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Tiger Food

two Bengal tigers were known to terrorize a village
they were notorious for killing goats, cows, and even people
Tigers are known for having a taste for humans

a sadhu holy man was passing through and heard the stories
being a pacifist and a vegetarian, he convinced the village elders
not to hunt the tigers --he would have a holy conversation with them
to persuade them to leave the village alone --the elders agreed

the holy man walked into the jungle-like areas where the tigers lived
after a few hours, he heard a growl behind him; they were hunting him
he tried to keep his nerve and turned, shouting Sanskrit to them
their shining eyes told him they were happy about the meal
even though he would be a stringy snack from much fasting

so the sadhu ran and could feel the breath of one of them on his back
just before leaping off a tall cliff
as he was dropping, he reached out a hand and managed to grab a vine
breaking his fall --he hung there dangling, suspended halfway down
he looked up and saw the tiger that chased him, salivating above
he looked down and saw its mate waiting below for a future meal

the vine wasn't very thick
some mice came out of holes and began nibbling the vine
it began snapping, giving way

he noticed a beautiful strawberry bush growing out of the cliff side
he picked a big juicy one and put it in his mouth
it was the sweetest he ever tasted




 


 

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Brian’s Senryu Maxims

don't put yourself down:
God loves you right where you are
without condition

you can't be coerced
to  regard yourself as cursed,
unless agreed first

ask God for guidance,
don't take counsel of your fears;
consign all to God

expect miracles
then attempt great things for God
trust God's faithfulness

errors will be made
with God, forgiveness certain
with humans, not so

to thyself be true:
the Socratic injunction
without compunction

life's affirmation:
reciprocation is life's
appreciation







 
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Posted by on April 17, 2021 in Poetry, Spirituality

 

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Wings

hourglass years erode our dust whirling into rottenness
when spirits learn to trust, they're armored whole with righteousness 
attend the suffering hearts, seeking, we are not alone 
childlike, our simplicity, until our hearts turned to stone
drifted by our wastefulness, a reason for us to mourn
the heart is remade by trust, yet still, so much needs reborn
true, the angel conflict won that certifies permanence
surer than the setting sun, more profound than shifting sense 
discover we can fly with spirit-wings and fiery breath 
looking to the wooden beam that reversed the cause of death






© Brian Hodgkinson Jr. (aka) Limericist 2021
 
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Posted by on April 5, 2021 in Poetry, Spirituality

 

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This Tree

a tree is my healer
wholesomeness attends me
it gladdens me to lounge under its canopy
it shields me from the blazing sun
it whispers rustling leaves soothing me
aiding me to come to balance and perspective

my earthly sojourn is headed for decline
but you, without fail, stand stalwart for me
your roots, trunk, and branches brace me
despite the reverses I face
you are constantly prepared to help me
with medicinal leaves, flowers,
and delicious crisp fruit
overwhelming my focus

There are not many things I can be sure of
but come what may, 
this tree has proven to be my link to life
and my constant health
now and forever


 

 

 

 

© Brian Hodgkinson Jr. (aka) –Limericist 2007/2021

 
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Posted by on March 29, 2021 in Poetry, Spirituality

 

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I Bet

Sitting in class during 6th grade, waiting for the teacher's arrival, a few kids engaged in a conversation about whether there was life after death.

My best friend was John. His father was a noted geologist who worked for the metallurgical society in Ohio.

Like his father, John was an atheist. He was adamant that we just go to the soil to be eaten by worms after we die. And that's all there is; there is no soul or spirit.

Somehow, that made no sense to my 10-year-old mind because I lived with a deep sensibility of the unseen even then. John got bitterly angry with me because I said I believed there is life after death. He even said he couldn't be my friend anymore if I persisted in accepting it.

My father never went to church, and I was pretty irreligious too. Still, from my earliest memories, I lived with the feeling of an unseen realm. I felt I was even visited on occasion. So, my belief was not conditioned by a religious upbringing at all.

John invited me on a picnic to meet his scientist father. It was an annual picnic for the metallurgic group his father worked for. John's father soon cornered me and asked me about my belief in an afterlife. He assured me that it didn't exist, that his scientific knowledge proved it didn't. Then he said that unless I gave up what I believed, I could not be his son's friend anymore.

Wow, a 10-year-old was a threat to a scientist. I felt like I was on another planet. It's important to note, I never pushed or preached my point of view. Others would draw me out by asking my opinion, and I was simply honest to state what it was.

After the picnic, John caught me at school and told me that his father had forbidden him to be my friend anymore. He said he would honor his father's wishes and that was that -- unless I renounced believing in an unseen world.

I told John that I couldn't stop trusting in some kind of life after death, though I had no idea exactly what it consisted of.

Emboldened by his father's decree, he made fun of me in front of the other kids.

I told him that I would make a bet with him. He agreed. I said, "Whatever currency is on the other side, a hundred." He scoffing, laughed, and said, "No worries."

John never spoke to me again.

55 years later, I still hope I don't have the opportunity to say I told you so.

 

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Center

I can know what to do today,
but should not act before I pray
skies are a bluer hue, this way

The worried world within me winds
demands my mind jumps into dreams
but I ‘m not driven at all by these

media entertains this scene
poisons our heads with kerosene
but at our Center, soon serene

..

.

© Brian Hodgkinson Jr. (aka) The Limericist 2021

 
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Posted by on March 19, 2021 in Poetry, Spirituality

 

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Fragmentally

day, a fabrication
by one who made the space and time scheme
a sound back of occurrence
wraps up mutually every part of the theme

hereabouts with thoughts sparking the mind’s screen
shows senses are nevermore alone
like a projector expressing a film
sentience zigzags with a one

back before the big-bang bursts a baby
a cognizance nibbles at itself
a big bird hovers over the hollow mess
presence to express

but, puny insect-like beings
big-brain the very makeup they live
refusing to acknowledge
of being more than an accidental hive

a mite of them once arrogated
a sophist answer to explain what’s ‘to be’
to dump all notions of a presence
what remains is humanity

a squeaky scientist lately stated
our infestation shouldn’t be here at all
we are only a random horizon
no more dignity than a hole

..

.

© Brian Hodgkinson Jr. (aka) The Limericist 2021

 
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Posted by on March 18, 2021 in Poetry, Spirituality

 

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Untitled

I can stop my worrying.
I can quit my hurrying
because I choose to rest.
to stop and to pray
an essential part
of any day.
 
When I sit and concentrate,
I clear my mind of all I hate
I just let it all go
trusting God for a change
then I choose what I need
to rearrange.

Let me show this practically.
it’s not a vain philosophy
if a person at work
gets up in my face
then I pray inwardly
to give them grace.

We live in times of fear and rage
as we try to turn the page
but those given to hate
our way cannot clear
but are promoters of
destructive fear

Some think feeding anger is alright  
and necessary for the fight
but I beg to differ
you can’t fight hate with hate,
only love can make it
dissipate

Judgmentalism leads to war
it is motivation to keep score
wearing the hat
of ugly tit-for-tat
and protesting, looking
for a spat

The world we live in is unjust
everyone should now adjust  
Carry on, trusting God
resisting hate, rage, and fear
knowing God is very
very near.

 

© –Limericist NOW

 
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Posted by on March 9, 2021 in Poetry, Spirituality

 

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Aleph

An eaglet was an earthbound orphan
because the nestling did not find its wings
& spun awkwardly to the ground.
Now the apex predator was the hunted
& a snuffling bear was near.
However, an old crone found the baby
eagle. She lived in the forest as a hermit.
She tended it until, one day, the young eagle
took off.
As it soared away,
it could spot her loving tears.
The eagle was full of gratitude
for the caring old forest hag.

In a nearby kingdom, a foretold child
was born that an evil dragon-sorcerer
was obsessed with killing.
Prophesy had said that this child
would end the dragon-sorcerer’s
reign of black magic over the kingdom
and set up a new domain of mercy
and justice.

So, the child’s caregivers hid
in the forest with the child.
But the sorcerer’s minions
found and killed them,
nevertheless, the child was unharmed.
The evil sorcerer would
stop at nothing to find
and destroy the babe.

One day, the eagle was hunting
when its keen eye caught sight
of something at the edge of the forest;
a moving bundle under a ledge.

Flying down to investigate,
it heard the baby whimpering.
Recalling the kindness of the crone,
the eagle decided to tend to the child.
It built a sizeable warm nest
insulating the child from the elements.

Then, the eagle revisited the crone
and directed her to the child.
The eagle and crone became
the child’s surrogate parents to provide
and protect it from
the sorcerer’s intrigues.

The dragon-sorcerer regularly scoured
the forest but could not find the child.
His minions also tortured
and interrogated villagers
for any information about the child’s
whereabouts.
But they were no match
for the keen senses of the eagle
who observed the sorcerer’s actions.

Later, the forest tiger and bear found out
that the eagle and crone
were harboring the child in the forest.
They threatened to tell
the dragon-sorcerer unless
the eagle gave
them the child to eat.

The tiger, bear, dragon, sorcerer,
and crone failed to understand
that the child
orchestrated everything.
The child’s overruling power
didn’t mean they were its puppets.
The baby was just always a step ahead
of every decision made regarding it.
Those who intended good
toward the child were blessed. Those
who intended evil toward it
succeeded only
to curse themselves.

© –Brian Hodgkinson 2021