Life is difficult as it is,
Life is short at best,
Life has its ups and downs
Please do not take mine and drag me to your heaven,

Happiness is elusive at best,
Happiness is temporary and never lasts,
Happiness is only for few moments,
Please do not take mine and drag me to your heaven,

My freedom is scarce at its best,
The government takes part of it,
The institutions take part of it,
Please do not take mine and drag me to your heaven.

Don’t force me to cover up,
Don’t force me to pray,
Don’t force me to church, temple or mosque,
Please do not drag me to your heaven.

Don’t tell me how I should look, eat or drink,
Don’t tell me what to say or think,
Don’t tell me what to read, see or do,
Please do not drag me to your heaven.

If God cannot prove his irrefutable love for me,
If God does not talk to or hear from me directly,
If God is not righteous, merciful, forgiving,
Please do not drag me to your heaven.

You should let me decide for my own,
You should not judge or condemn me,
You do not own me or is my master,
Please do not drag me to your heaven.

If you covet, lie or steal,
If you are righteous in your own sight,
If you judges or condemns, I do not need your god,
Please do not drag me to your heaven,

If God is truly God, I will be found by Him,
God agrees with your judgments or accusations,
Then he is not god for me,
Please do not drag me to your heaven.

God will do His own work in me,
God does not need your help,
God does not need your opinions,
Please do not drag me to your heaven.

All men and women has a right of free will to choose
If  I  cannot freely choose to love God,
Then, love contrived for forced is not love at all,
So please do not drag me to your heaven

PRETTY PINK BLOSSOMS ON THE CASUARINA TREE

T’S A HOT N HUMID WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, AFTER THREE,

IN KUCHING, BY THE BANKS OF THE SARAWAK RIVER

TWAS IN THE YEAR 2018, ON 24 JANUARY AND NOT SEPTEMBER

THE BIRDS, PINK BLOSSOMS AND WIND BORE WITNESS, SURELY,

TWO SOULS FROM WORLD’S APART, DESTINED TO MEET ENTIRELY,

WITH A DIVINE APPOINTMENT IN THEIR INELUCTABLE FATE

AND THEY HEARD A SWEET WHISPER N ALL THAT WAS SAID

FROM ONE AND A REPLY FROM THE OTHER

THE TWO SOULS KISS AND THEIR HEARTS CAME TOGETHER

TWO LIVES JOINED AND CHRIST JESUS ALONE EVER GLORIOUS

MAY HIS WILL BE DONE BY FAITH AS HE ALONE IS RIGHTEOUS

2018.02.25 Norman Law

EVOLUTION

They teach and preach evolution all day,
Worship the high altar of C. Darwin everyday.
They poo poo you, if you disagree,
Denigrate and despise you, if contrary.
The intellectuals and media jump on you,
To sneer, laugh and double over, not a few.

They all ride their high horse pompously,
Chastise you, if you think differently.
The whales and dolphins often beached,
Men’s actions are contrary to what is preached.
On the shore, they all gathered to see,
And then dragged them back out to the sea.

The whales and dolphins are really trying,
Their flippers, fins and tails shedding.
With a mighty leap, their feet and hands to grow,
Really frustrating for them, don’t you know?
Wanting to walk upright and smoke cigars
And be pushed back to the sea again, dah!

Do they not see? Are they not believing?
Their DNA mutations are happening.
New species are evolving,
Their arms and legs to grow,
Hoping to dance and strum a banjo.
Really frustrating for them, don’t you know.

With their pride and intellect they elected,
The mighty hand of God rejected.
With thumbs up their noses to despise,
God’s beloved Son, the Almighty and Wise.
That they may believe Darwin’s evolution,
To God, the rejection and humiliation.

But I will praise you, Almighty Elohim Adonai,
Creator of The Milky Way, Orion and Beta Cygni.
Your glory in the flowers to me shared,
And in your Son your mercy displayed.
That sinners like me to forgive and bless
There is none like you, O God, I confess.

No God,

From eternity to eternity,

Everything that matters,

Comes to nothing.

In the doldrums of this long and cold winter’s blight,
I dream of spring time blossoms in the night.
In pretty purple, red, yellow and white dresses the crocuses display,
Unfolding themselves above the carpet of snow and in the sunlight glare.
Sweet smells of French lilacs fill the air around.
Daffodils and tulips with their bright colors abound.
The grandeur of the cherry and apple blossoms covered trees.
Ah, I wonder what the springtime blossoms will bring for you and me.

Will it be blossoms of charity, mercy, pleasure and blessings?
Or will it be blossoms of bitterness, regrets, disappointments and crying?
They quickly turn brown, fade and lay bare,
The wind will blow and carry them all away.
The blossoms are not upset with the wind as it blows,
Nor do they weep as they fall to the ground and are no more.
But if you do not forgive the wind and are sore,
It will bring you bitterness to your soul every time it blows.

The fruits of the blossoms take time to ripen.
The seasons are long and some are shortened.
As some fall to the ground before their time,
Aphids and caterpillars infest some before their prime.
The weather can be too wet or too dry, you see,
It is never constant or the way it is suppose to be.
Judgements are plentiful and they come suddenly like a tornado,
And if you let them overwhelm you, sadness will flow.

Harvest comes and there are fruits of blessings to be picked and eaten.
Mercies and charity are left for the squirrels and birds, never to be forgotten.
For some there are no fruits but or simply blossoms of pleasure.
Others bare sour fruits of disappointment and regrets for sure.
Some are fruitful and multiply to bring blossoms again for the spring, next year.
Past blossoms are forgotten and there are no answers or insights, I fear.
But to see spring time blossoms again, my spirit lifts and my soul to cheer.
All pretty and sweet smelling blossoms of hope for this new spring time year.

How I do love them, pigeons,
Boiled, stuffed or barbequed.
Oh, it’s more than that!
It is their attitude
And treating everyone equally.
That I admire.

For us homonoids
Too much regard is paid,
To respect and positions,
Wealth or fame,
Young or old.
But pigeons do not give a shit.

They just do not care,
To whom you dedicate the statues.
It can be to presidents, kings or queens,
Poets, artists or movie stars.
Heroes or heroines.
The pigeons will just shit on them anytime.

Pigeons can sit on their heads,
Their shoulders or arms,
Or even on their noses or laps.
They will leave their droppings,
At anytime or anywhere,
And they do not even care.

You can try to wash it,
Or you can try to shoo them away.
But pigeons are not easily intimidated,
Frightened or even concern.
As they will always come back,
And let you know they are there.

You can always train your pigeons,
But you can never tell them,
Who to honour or to respect.
Pigeons will always do their deed,
And to whosoever they please.
That is why I love them pigeons.

Last night I met a lady with ripples for her abs, I confess.
She is so tough that when she bends over she can crack a walnut with her chest.
There is not an ounce of fat on her legs or thighs.
So if you dare to put your head there she will squeeze the balls out of your eyes.
She can hold iron kettles with her arms outstretched for an hour, smilingly.
I am afraid that if I try to kiss her I will loose all my teeth and be fitted with dentures, truly.
But she is so nice to be with and refreshing.
So when we go for a walk I will stay a metre away beside her adoring.

One day I met a young man from Calgary,

His bladder is the size of a cherry.

After four bottles of golden Stella,

He ran to the men’s five times an hour.

To everyone’s dismay his fingers,

is always on his zipper.

This way he is always ready,

When he makes a mad dash to the potty

Living in makeshift tents that dotted the harsh, dry and rocky landscape
Romantic visions of nomadic tribes settled on the land with only campfires
The innocent moon and stars to light up the evening skies
The golden sun in early morning shines to you the naked reality
Children walking around with unwashed faces and matted hair
Dressed in tattered clothes and going without cereal or bread for breakfast
Cries of hungry babies can be heard in the early morning
Dried up breasts with little milk and dirty water from the collect pools of water,
the satiate their hunger
Adults with their lust for power, money, dominance over their own kind,
wage wars in the name of god
Children are never asked to be born cried to the heavens above in their little hearts
The only replies they get are the caws of the blackbirds,
the silent twinkle of the stars and sometimes the howls of the wolves in the night
How do children become adults to carry on this incessant quest?
The first of the winter rains turned the camp into a muddy sty, what a miserable Eden
After the rain stops, you can see the children playing with sticks in the mud
and the flies follow them where ever they go
Oblivious to all around them and not knowing any better
Sudden shouts and alarms ring out in the night and a great sense of panic is in the air
All the adults and teens, quickly pack some of their clothes,
guns and ammo with little or no food and flee to the hill beyond.
Only the elderly women, children and crying babies are left and
you can hear the cracks of gun fires and some explosions drawing closer to the camp.
Toddlers and tiaras,
iPads and iPods,
Facebook and Twitter.
Summer homes and vacations.
Ocean cruises and Porsches.
Calvin Kline and Christian Dior.
Pension and retirement plans.
Is this the meaning of this life and what hopes and freedom are made of?
Let me return to the earth below my feet and let this dream end.
If there is a soul and spirit then set them free from this Eden without God.

I am a canary,
A bird, I am, I am
I live with a widow
next door,
Who’s been married seven times before.
In her rocking chair she sits,
Smoking her fat Cuban cigar.
I am a canary,
A bird, I am, I am

She keeps me
In a cage,
With no room to fly.
So I pluck my feathers
off my breast,
She expects me to stand on the perch
and sing and sing.
Cause I am a canary,
A bird, I am, I am

She bought me a ladder,
A mirror and a bell,
When she sips whisky,
She goes stir crazy.
I hope she does not expect me to climb the ladder
or preen my feathers in front of the mirror
or ring the bell.
Cause I am a canary,
A bird, I am, I am

I hope she drinks
more whisky
than the night before
and be crazy as can be.
I expect her to jump out the window
fall down seven floors
and be dead evermore.
Cause I am a canary,
I sing, I sing and I sing.