Soul to soul,
Heart to heart,
Rays of love energizing humanity…
Sending streams of serenity,
Hope, joy and unity.
Souls are strengthened by,
“Spirit Power,“
Ending need for,
Artificial power surges,
Of ego and vanity.
Accept the One,
True-Power-Source,
Get free,
Endlessly available,
Fully accessible Love…
God estimated you’re already deserving,
Of a Spirit-Powered soul.
Your last bit of will,
And hope need not be drained,
Before making that call.
-Gilda Patricia
The underdog, the outsider, the strong-willed,
The misunderstood, the introspective, the passionate,
The addicted, those living “on the spectrum,”
The left out, the left behind, or passed over,
The undiscovered and undefined,
The way-pavers and way showers,
The rule breakers and troublemakers,
The hard to please and hard to know,
The uncontainable and untrainable…
Shaking things up,
Preventing stagnation,
Rattling all the caged bones,
Keeping dust from settling on miscued priorities…
Their deep wounds keeping open or reopening,
Compassionate spaces in our hearts,
Stopping them from locking up,
Or rusting over from non-use,
And from everyday robotic living.
So rattle our cages,
Test our hearts,
Threaten our unquestioned days,
And complacent nights,
Push the element to expand our notion,
And vision of what it means,
To be human,
Our reason for being and
Our final destination…
For a spiritually sick, spiritually lacking world,
Cannot survive “status quo,” for long,
Thank God for the outcasts and misfits,
Who at the very least, get us thinking…
Perhaps the problems in the world,
Not their doing, but evidence,
Of one spiritually un-evolved and
Malnourished “Human Body“…
Filled with judgements and such.
Our world, perhaps in need of one big,
Group hug?
–Gilda Patricia
Waiting for the shoe to drop,
The ax to fall,
Walking on egg shells,
In tentative anticipation.
Can I see the door yet?
Hear deaths call?
Loved ones may die today,
Tomorrow or next?
Misfortune written,
In humanity’s script,
With permanent indelible ink.
Many faiths believing,
The day, minute,
And final hour preset,
In immovable stone.
What a heavy cross to bear!
So how is it,
We sometimes see people who,
Involuntarily laugh at a funeral,
Smile through tears,
Continue loving,
When they know…
All will be lost,
In a moment’s time.
Perhaps eternal soul knows,
Something more?
-Gilda Patricia
Out on a limb,
Hanging over the precipice,
Terrifying and thrilling, all at once,
This risky business, of being me.
Does life offer a more sensible solution?
Would it be better,
To “lie” around in bed,
With the living dead, instead?
Wrapped up,
Nice and tight,
With my “comforter,”
Of false security?
Siping with vampires and zombies;
Those depleting,
And troublesome bedfellows!
Sacrificing my life blood?
No thanks!
I’d rather dip my toes,
In humanity’s living sea,
Swimming naked, shameless and free…
Risking being me.
-Gilda Patricia
Day 15 word-siping (v.) to lie down beside someone
Word High July-30 Beautiful Filipino Words
Challenge set by, A reading Writer blog, and Doodles and Scribbles
https://areadingwritr.wordpress.com/2016/06/30/word-high-july-welcome/
Scaling the endless,
Breadth of the imagination,
And braving the solitary,
Depth of the human spirit,
With surprising grace and ease.
Capturing life’s elusive,
Inner rhythm,
Single heartedly;
The Lone Poet.
Traversing the inner landscape,
Of the human heart.
Stepping gingerly,
Through pathways and corridors,
Overgrown with richness,
And brimming with life;
Such a beautiful sight!
The Lone Poet,
Whose lines and verse,
Keep pace with humanity’s,
Brightest days,
And darkest nights,
Never really walks alone.
-Gilda Patricia
(This is Part II of my last poem “Deep Sea Inner Diver.”-Further explaining why I dive.)
Some would call my diving,
Reckless, pointless, morbid, or just wrong,
But not all hear the call of the Sea.
Some are children of the Earth and Sky,
Still others dance with Fire,
To come alive.
Four elements making up,
One body of explorers,
No one less necessary.
A true Piscean at heart,
Most at home,
In the ever-gifting, ever-shifting,
Ever-loving sea.
Reclaiming lost pieces,
And reconnecting with humanity.
Truth be told,
If it weren’t for God,
And my fellow soul companions,
I’d have long ago drown.
-Gilda Patricia
You say you love me,
But you don’t know me,
So how…?
The weight of this question,
Hangs oppressively,
Over my bones.
Why this brick wall,
Barricading my spirit?
And yet, I don’t even,
Really know me.
The more I live,
The deeper I go,
And the more I see.
Gathering small pebbles (of truth),
From this unknowable,
Free flowing Stream.
But God, You know and love me,
And so my heart is joyful, light and free,
As a butterfly taking it’s final flight home.
Infinity’s daughter,
Blessed by life’s endless discoveries.
Carried softly on the wind,
Of God’s love,
Accompanied by other,
Beautiful butterfly souls;
Our collective humanity.
(Because brick walls can’t fence butterflies in…)
-Gilda Patricia
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/fence
God’s love cannot be held in any container,
But permeates out to touch us,
Pouring forth like sunlight.
Maybe we can’t always feel the warmth,
Directly on our skin,
As we do in the summer of our lives;
As the Summer sun warms us,
Like no other season.
There’s a million sad stories in the world,
Every one, to me, a thing of beauty;
Stories of our fragility and our humanity.
Somehow the Springing forth of new life,
Or new love, like the first bud from a Winter‘s thaw,
Will always capture my hope and imagination.
The most beautiful gift a human does possess,
Is the power within, to keep loving,
In spite of a Fall.
These are the stories I never grow weary,
Of seeing or reading or hearing,
Like an Adele love song.
–Gilda Patricia
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/summer
A perpetual dreamer;
My head nearly always,
“In the clouds.”
Up, up, and away I’d fly,
Seeking and soaring,
To some amazing spiritual heights,
Once releasing,
Little buried chunks of past lies,
There was nothing to hold me back…
Then dirty, messy,
Sometimes ugly and chaotic,
Raw, real and wonderful,
“MOTHERHOOD,”
Brought me back down to earth,
Tethering me to my humanity,
Like a helium balloon,
Held tightly in the fist,
Of a small boy;
Keeping me from crashing,
And burning, into the sun.
Now heaven walks with me,
As I walk beside,
My sweet and precious son.
-Gilda Patricia
gildaspoems 