The sunflower and the butterfly
In fields of gold, where sunbeams play,and dance,
A sunflower blooms in a bright array of yellow.
Its petals spread, a radiant crown,
Upon the earth, it won't be bound.
A butterfly alights with grace,
Its wings are aflutter, a vibrant embrace.
With colors bold, it takes to flight,
A dance of joy, in morning light.
Together, they dance, in nature's embrace,
The sunflower sways, with gentle grace.
The butterfly flits, from bloom to bloom,
In harmonious rhythm, they chase the noon.
Through azure skies and golden hours,
They paint the world with nature's powers.
In whispered sighs and silent song,
Their beauty echoes all day long.
For in the union of sunflower and butterfly,
There lies a tale of the earth and sky.
Of growth and change, of life's sweet dance,
In this fleeting moment, they find romance.
A letter to the one I truly love
My Dearest,
As I sit down to write these words, I can feel the weight of your struggles pressing upon my heart. It pains me to see you wrestling with the challenges that life has thrown your way. Yet, even in your darkest moments, please know that you are not alone.
You are a beacon of strength and resilience, capable of weathering any storm that comes your way. Though the road ahead may seem daunting, I believe in your ability to overcome the obstacles that stand in your path.
Remember, my love, that it's okay to stumble and fall along the way. Each setback is not a sign of weakness but rather an opportunity for growth and self-discovery. Embrace your imperfections, for they are what make you uniquely beautiful.
In the depths of your struggles, never forget to be gentle with yourself. Treat yourself with the same kindness and compassion that you so freely offer to others. Take time to rest, nourish your soul, and seek solace in the things that bring you joy.
And know that I am here for you, always and unconditionally. Lean on me when you need strength, and let me be a source of comfort in your times of need. Together, we will navigate through the darkness and emerge into the light, stronger and more resilient than ever before.
With all my love,
Chantelle Cherie
You can’t Buy Your Way To Heaven!
A month ago I fell in my home and broke my ankle in three places.
I had to crawl to the living room to get my phone to call 911, then I had to crawl to the front door to let the Paramedics in because my dog wouldn’t allow them to come in the back to the unlocked back door.
Luckily I live in a tiny little house!
The following day I had surgery to put my bones back together, this has been an ordeal! Then after a week in the hospital, they sent me to a “Rehab facility“ or what most of us know as a nursing home.
At fifty six I can tell you I was the youngest one there and I surprised a few of the nurses and patients when they saw how much younger I was.
This state I live in has some of the lowest regards for our elderly people that I have ever seen. It’s plum shameful and disappointing. Our childcare system is handled the same way! Elderly and infants are treated terribly at some facilities.
Here’s an idea why can’t they have a retirement home, that’s a big farmhouse? The farmhouse is on let’s say five acres and two acres are dedicated to a big vegetable garden and those elderly people who can, can come out and tend the ggarden and
there could be raised beds for those in wheelchairs.
Also a spot for chickens and goats maybe a cow or two and a pony.
Then in another area have a nice big flower bed with all kinds of flowers that bloom all year long.
And in the very back of the property a bee colony to make our own honey and sustain our garden.
I noticed how many elderly just waste away in beds or chairs staring off at nothing. A lot of these people have useful information about life and they remember, but they are thrown away and forgotten. They are thrilled to get to pet a therapy dog, or cat, or see a therapy horse! Fresh flowers make their day! Also, talking to them as adults instead of like babies would be an improvement.
I know it’s hard taking care of people who are hateful talking. Most of the time it’s not their fault.
If I had the money I would set up a place like I described above for the lower class because they need it the most.
After all
You Can’t Buy Your Way to Heaven.
comme ci comme ça
comme ci comme ça
His makeup held in place. His wig removed years from his bald spot. The workouts did their magic. He dropped six sizes in the last two months alone.
He worked for each and every one of those new computer user certifications. He even attended night school to learn Python and PHP.
On paper, his resume told the story of a programmer who could step into this mid-career position, sans training, and hit the ground running on day one.
And it would have been a great first day if he could just get past the HR Lady who did not subscribe to his POV.
“Um”, as she nibbled on the cheese fry with her left hand while trying to type with her right, “I see that you are a programmer. Tell me more about what you do again.” He waited patiently to repeat himself between her slurping gulps from her near empty 64 ounce soda.
It didn’t matter. She could hear, but could not listen.
I review this video with each of my new hires. Upon its conclusion, I rarely have to comment. Perhaps the stigma of not understanding the importance of a job well done speaks for itself.
Profits and productivity are up another 2% this quarter.
Not bad for a so-so web-development firm.
The Shadows Veil
In shadows deep, where whispers lie,
A cult of darkness 'neath the sky.
A virgin's fate, held by their hands,
Infiltrate their forbidden lands.
Silent steps through moonlit night,
Cloaked in darkness, out of sight.
Mystic chants and eerie calls,
Within their lair, the temple walls.
A sacred place, where shadows dance,
Entranced by rituals, a twisted prance.
To stop the sacrifice, a daunting task,
Unveil their secrets, wear the mask.
Through the threshold, brave and bold,
Into the secrets, untold.
Infiltrate their sacred rite,
A silent guardian in the night.
A virgin's innocence they seek,
A darkened ritual, twisted and bleak.
But in the heart of the cult, a flame,
To extinguish their sinister game.
Disguised among them, a spy unseen,
A guardian angel, fierce and keen.
Whispers of conspiracy, secrets unfold,
As the cult's veil begins to fold.
Symbols deciphered, cryptic signs,
A web of lies that intertwines.
In the heart of darkness, light prevails,
Against the tide, courage sails.
The altar stands, adorned with dread,
As the cultists bow their heads.
But in the shadows, a hero stands,
To break the chains with steady hands.
The virgin's eyes, wide with fear,
But salvation's whispers draw near.
A daring rescue, swift and brave,
From the clutches of a cultish grave.
The cult's demise, averted doom,
Infiltrator emerges from the gloom.
A saviour of the innocent, a beacon bright,
Against the cult, a valiant fight.
In shadows deep, where courage gleams,
A tale of thwarted, darkened dreams.
A hero rises, in silence sown,
To stop the sacrifice, the light has shone.
A Portrait of Old Mister Wilson
When you came to me you were just Wilson.
Full of confrontation, unimpressed
with your own kind, with mine as well, but stressed,
you were seeking quiet contemplation
with Buddha in his lotus position.
Peace may come from within us, Buddha confessed
Yet we lack the grace which a cat is blessed.
The cat curls against the Buddha’s cushion.
You were not yet old, not yet a mister,
An acolyte to our little garden
born wild but it’s no accident.
Sweet Bodhisattva, gentle inquisitor!
a cat will love, no matter how far then
humans are deceived by our own embarrassment.
for cats, self-deception is not in the bargain,
and when it comes to love; they’re expedient–
sunlight and belly scratches; a solemn Sacrament.
THERE IS NOT THERE ANYMORE
If I were a poet
I could write a love song to God
that only she would hear
I would whisper it softly
into her ear
softly.
if I were a poet
while I was singing
I would brush away the tears
that would fall
upon her holy cheek,
gently.
softly.
was I wrong to reach my hand
out to you
when I saw you cry?
and when I said I believe in Karma
you misunderstood.
if I were I a poet
I would tell you
the Wicked are not always
Punished.
the Righteous do not always receive their Just Reward.
it’s that
All Of It.
All the Good. All the Evil.
She. Will, Consume. It.
All Of It. It will amount to Nothing.
I lay my head upon your chest
just to hear you breathe.
if I were a poet
I would sing my love song to Gaea
softly, gently,
until you fell asleep
my words, like jewels, would fall
in the spring rain.
only…
it’s the spaces between
the words we remember,
the pauses on long walks,
the barely remembered glances,
one hand touches another.
If I were a poet
I would never catch my breath,
nothing to say.
stare out the window.
hear the door slam.
was I wrong
to reach my hand out to you
when I heard you cry?
I Couldn’t. and i’m sorry
I’m sorry for hurting you. I was wrong and self-centered and scared, honestly. I was afraid of you getting too close. I was afraid of showing myself to you and as you got closer, I instinctively pushed you away. I, at the time, felt that a part of me was too dark and scary to reveal to anyone else and I pushed it down, deep inside myself. I couldn’t come to know you while I was trying to amputate a part of myself.
I hope he loves you in the way that I couldn’t.