There’s no snow*

The weather outside’s delightful
No reason to be frightful
No matter where we go,
There’s no snow, there’s no snow, There’s no snow

It was raining but now is stopping
We will all go outside hopping
Christmas lights are all  aglow
There’s no snow, There’s no snow, There’s no snow

When we finally kiss goodnight
We’ll thank God that there isn’t a storm
I will pray that you hold me tight
Even if in the car we’ll be warm

And the party is slowing dying
And our family is still good-bye’ng
As long as you love me so
I’m grateful….there’s no snow, no snow, no snow

*An Original NJ Parody for 2015  Christmas

Copyright 2015: G. Miguel Perez-Santalla

There's no snow

 

A Soul Apart – In Loving Memory of Karina Acosta

Heaven

This poem was written on the news of the death of the young and beautiful Karina Acosta a few years ago. She gave birth to her son in New York City and unfortunately for this world had contracted an infection while in the hospital and died a few shorts day later. She was a professional in the precious metals industry and was working at Mitsui Precious Metals at the time. She was a member of the IPMI and her name is never forgotten. I wish I had a picture of her to include with this to share with the readers. I hope for the readers that somehow the poem imparts the force of presence that was this young woman’s smile and personality.

I knew her,
Too few years
Yet my heart
Is filled with tears

News of her passing
Shall take its toll
On those she touched
With her beautiful soul

Always smiling
A beautiful face
She brought happiness
To any place

From Metro Mexico
She did come
To New York City
She brought the sun

At Peñoles and Mitsui
She was hired
Her gracious presence
Raised them higher

The precious metals
Were her care
They now lose their luster
Without her there

A family’s love
Is left behind
Also left,
Hundreds of friendships
Which she did mine

Before she went
She left a present
Alonso, a beautiful son
Her loving intent

A word,
That comes to mind
In thinking of her
Is love divine

Her loving grace
She gave to fill our hearts
Where it hurts,
Bring it in to mend
The tearing part

Dear Karina
You left us too fast
But you’ve touched us all
A true blessing

That will never pass

(C) G. Miguel Perez-Santalla

A Couple of My Favorite Chesterton Quotes

G.K. Chesterton“According to most philosophers, God in making the world enslaved it. According to Christianity, in making it, He set it free. God had written, not so much a poem, but rather a play; a play he had planned as perfect, but which had necessarily been left to human actors and stage-managers, who had since made a great mess of it.”
G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy

“An abyss of light”

There is at the back of all our lives an abyss of light, more blinding and unfathomable than any abyss of darkness; and it is the abyss of actuality, of existence, of the fact that things truly are, and that we ourselves are incredibly and sometimes almost incredulously real. It is the fundamental fact of being, as against not being; it is unthinkable, yet we cannot unthink it, though we may sometimes be unthinking about it; unthinking and especially unthanking. For he who has realized this reality knows that it does outweigh, literally to infinity, all lesser regrets or arguments for negation, and that under all our grumblings there is a subconscious substance of gratitude. That light of the positive is the business of the poets, because they see all things in the light of it more than do other men. Chaucer was a child of light and not merely of twilight, the mere red twilight of one passing dawn of revolution, or the grey twilight of one dying day of social decline. He was the immediate heir of something like what Catholics call the Primitive Revelation; that glimpse that was given of the world when God saw that it was good; and so long as the artist gives us glimpses of that, it matters nothing that they are fragmentary or even trivial; whether it be in the mere fact that a medieval Court poet could appreciate a daisy, or that he could write, in a sort of flash of blinding moonshine, of the lover who “slept no more than does the nightingale”. These things belong to the same world of wonder as the primary wonder at the very existence of the world; higher than any common pros and cons, or likes and dislikes, however legitimate. Creation was the greatest of all Revolutions. It was for that, as the ancient poet said, that the morning stars sang together; and the most modern poets, like the medieval poets, may descend very far from that height of realization and stray and stumble and seem distraught; but we shall know them for the Sons of God, when they are still shouting for joy. This is something much more mystical and absolute than any modern thing that is called optimism; for it is only rarely that we realize, like a vision of the heavens filled with a chorus of giants, the primeval duty of Praise.

G.K. Chesterton— Chaucer (1932).

Constant Longing

TwilightEarly morning sun
A welcome guest
Too short when it comes
A light-fest

Rising become easy
Like a lover’s kiss
She wakes me
I rise for this

The joy it brings
It warms the heart
Smiles abound
Great way to start

Days filled with laughter
And wonderment
Life enriching
Life’s compliment

Slowly
She begins to fade
Less time for me
I grow afraid

Darkness comes
No rising light
Taking over
The coming plight

Dreams of her
Will keep me going
Her every word
Bright and showing

Be the light
For others to see
Chase the black
Out to sea

Peace and love
Triumph always
Battle charge
Opens pathways

A swift return
This I pray for
A hope that’s full
A dream I care for

Rising sun
Come back to me
I miss you so
Don’t let me bleed

Your light fills
Every essence
Without you
Life lacks presence

Opening eyes
I see your rising
All is right
Blinding and uncompromising

© Miguel Perez-Santalla