Son’s of Thunder!

I have three sons of thunder
Sons of lightening, sons of fame. . .
I have three sons who live in a box on the corner begging for change.

They play trash can drums and acoustic guitars

They sing in the churches and they sing in the bars.

They rise up sturdy with strength like Samson
They have arms of steel and hearts of flames
They have eyes of knowledge from carrying much pain.
One is a prophet, the other a priest and one will inherit the pen of my ink.
One’s hearts is like Jeremiah,
One’s heart is like Amos,
And one’s heart is a broken stallion on a ride to Venus.
One’s telescope can see all of Jupiter’s rings
The other has a tongue that can polish anything.
One’s eyes are so childlike and gentle to behold
One holds a Masters in geology stones.
One’s a poet, ones a plumber, the other ones a thief
Stealing the others thunder every opportunity he meets.
One’s a gamer, ones a golfer, ones a runner pounding cement
One’s a tailor, ones a sailor, ones trying to pay the rent.
One’s a fisherman, ones a comedian, and the other a Seer for the king
One’s a prophet, ones a preacher, one wears a golden ring.
I have three sons of thunder and they’ll rise to heaven’s throne.
They’ll storm the gates of hell
And they’ll run the race steadfast
No matter how things look right now
The past is but the past.
HaShem of heaven’s armies will notice their zeal
Like Hercules, they’ll run
Like Solomon, they’ll build!
With wisdom and knowledge, they’ll cloak peace upon their backs
Like David with his sling, they’ll crush every giant that attacks.
I have three sons who live in a box on the corner begging for change
They play trash can drums and acoustic guitars
They sing in the churches and they sing in the bars.
They fly through the air and sail through the seas,
I have three sons of thunder and I’m as proud as I can be!

the men


The Taste of Rain


This is a poem I wrote in or around 2007 after losing my health, my home, my career, and occupation. During this dark night of the soul, my ex-husband left the country and never returned. The poem is darkness and light. Finding the light is like tasting the rain.


King David played the golden harp and drove the demons away.

I can’t seem to make the melody come, I’m plucking on strings of pain.
Once upon a midnight star, upon a sailor’s ship. . .
I stood and watched you sail right by, as my captain cried out in distress.

But you were much too busy, looking at the wind, and at the sea,
I tossed and turned and waved my arms, but you ignored my screams.
I’m thirsty and I need to drink the water that makes one never thirst.
I pray, I wipe the tears that slide and drip off my fingertips
I wish I hadn’t drifted so far into this black dark mist.

The only thing to stare upon is stars and moonlit beams,
They bounce and flutter upon the waters,
but I am so thirsty I could scream.
If only I could quench this cry and heal my parched, parched, soul.
If only the One who delivers would swiftly make me whole!

David came and plucked his harp and angels sang great praise.
My ears heard only screeching cries. . .
Upon my neck, I felt a demon’s haunted breath.
I wish that I could almost die, and forget my tattered past.
After much trepidation, I humbly bow my knees.
And before I know it I’m repenting of all my crimes with tearful heartfelt pleas.
More and more tears did slide and salt my anguished lips
I clutch my heart and squeeze my eyes and slowly began to slip. . .
Slip into the melody, like flutes and fainted dreams
And after long and bitter moans I hear a delightful sound
Twas king David playing his golden harp, he plucked and pulled each string,
a song only me and the angels hear as I glide through the sea.

Faster into the night, your silhouette I can faintly see.
Just a glimpse of you turning away, turning your eyes from me.
You abandoned me at my blackest hour.
It’s hard to take a breath,
I ride a wave into crashings currents,
Like Job, I beg for death,

But up upon a hill did glow, a light that caught my eye,
The lighthouse swelled with height so tall. It towered over the sea.
Like a knight in shining bronze, a beacon for all to see.
It glowed into the darkening night and dried up all my tears.
Demons scream and demons fled and I became serene.
Then suddenly the sky opened up and rained a glistening stream.

It washed upon my gown and ran gently through my hair.
My pores opened up to taste its purity.
It trickled across parched thirsty skin that had cracked
And bled and grieved.

I opened up my mouth and drank,
I drank till was content,
And suddenly you were but a fog upon the mist.

The rain pelted all the pain into the black dark sea
David played his golden harp and angels serenaded me.
I finally close my eyes and sleep under its amber glow,
The stars, the moonlit night, the beacon upon the hill. . .
And angels say they cannot cry, but whisper

Photo by Andrew Mushekov

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