Is There Another God?
A fiery preacher went wandering one night,
Walking home alone after a day's visiting,
His trail crossed the woods away from sight
So he hurried his steps, for darkness was falling.
His eyesight was failing in the ebony din,
As he almost flew with steps so swift,
Alas! As he walked into a ditch he fell in
With darkness covering the height of the cliff.
For dear life he held on to a branch by the side,
Not wanting to die, his heart beating fast
'Oh dear God please save me! ' With fear he cried,
Trembling at the thought he may breathe his last.
A voice came about and it said 'Let go! '
The preacher's heart sank, he was sad.
'I cannot die, and this I want to know
Out there is there another God? '
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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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A Father's Legacy
My Father's words are my legacy
He gave the pen of ardent writing.
The love for books and careful study,
And wealth of knowledge gained by reading.
The gift of painting self portraits
In oil and watercolor mediums
As artist he had various traits
That lingers now like sweet perfume.
He taught me best the gift of laughter,
Sincerity in friendships made,
In conflict silence is much greater
And cursing he always forbade.
'Strive to gain sound education
Value work and your family
Respect the race of any nation
Live well your life with integrity.'
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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Animals Can Count
PART ONE - DIAMOND AND HER KITTENS
She was a proud mother
Of four little kitties,
She told us thereafter
Of her maternal bliss.
Two days later, two died,
She looked and was frantic-
She thought we tried to hide
Her newborns in the attic.
Her mournful mother's cry
Kept gnawing through the night
To her we tried to lie-
Only two saw the light.
Yes, cats know how to count
So we had to explain,
Whatever one discounts-
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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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The Bully and Me
He was the neighborhood Nuisance
Each morning we heard his loud mouth
When he spoke he caused a disturbance
And he threw all his cigarettes about.
Actually he was just a nasty bully
Who suffered from very poor self-esteem
He speaks in that loud voice if only
To pretend he's much better, so it seems.
In that place where I worked was a cat
She would dropp by each morning for me
She would brush my leg and purr so that
I would bless her with food, hopefully.
One day this nasty bully took a slingshot
And hid behind our trellis fence to aim
At the innocent cat who lay on her mat
With the purpose of killing the same.
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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Running the Race Of Life
As we run this finite race of life
To the finish line in swiftness of soul,
We undress ourselves of the baggage of strife
Take love in our steps to reach our goal.
Forgetting whatever lies behind
We set our hearts on the eternal price
Fixing our eyes on Jesus we find
His strength and power in us will arise.
As we number our days like fleeting mist
And our frailty of body declaring
The end line maybe right here in our midst
Our life may be in for a proper accounting.
For Death like a Thief always comes uninvited
And will cut through the race with his sickle
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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Can You, A Jar of clay?
How can a lowly piece of clay
Unto the Master Potter say:
'Let me be You for I am me,
Enough to be what I can be.'
Release me from Your Hand Divine,
Alone I stand, my life is mine.
My puny mental capacity
Can plan the course of the galaxy.
I will fix all worldly tangled mess,
Yes I can solve it with success -
Correct the climate, filter sunlight,
Outlive all beings though I'm finite.
I will cure diseases with one click,
Stop all wars, peace is quick.
From heaven pour all currency,
To rid the world of poverty.
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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Death Comes To Any Age
There is one story that makes me shudder
And so with care I live each day
It is about a mother and a daughter
Who went to a mall for her birthday.
The mother promised the eight year old
For a cellphone as her requested gift,
Excited to call her Dad, she was told-
As they crossed a street, she ran so swift.
The daughter had crossed ahead and saw
That her mother was left at the other side
And so like a child she ran back although
The lights had changed for the street so wide.
The lights turned to green and it was a 'go'
As all vehicles started to go running
Cars and trucks speeding traffic flow
Not seeing the small child who was just then crossing.
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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Ask, Seek, Knock
I sank in my quicksand life of confusion,
Had knowledge and learning, had a degree,
Engulfed in theology and false religion
But I did not have spiritual eyes that see.
So much learning will never fill the space
In the human heart that's reserved for God
For only His Truth and His loving Grace
Had set me free from the limbo I had.
Moses said 'His Words are not just idle words'
For 'They are spirit and they are life'
The beginning of Wisdom and Truth accord
An active living sword, sharper than a knife.
'Ask and you shall receive' This I have done.
'Seek and you will find, ' and Truth had set me free,
'Knock and it will opened unto you, ' change had begun,
This seeker found in Christ full victory!
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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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The Real Children
Mere generalizations
Devoid of human logic,
These bungling conclusions
Are just simply pathetic.
All men are not God's own-
Though they are His creations,
But those who chose to belong
To Him, through Christ's Redemption.
All suffering in this world
These were not all God's undoing
For the present evil does unfold
Results of all men sinning.
Rebellion took the greater part
Denial of God's existence
Had darkened now the human heart
And sin caused its persistence.
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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Amazing GOD!
I know how it is to be lost
Rejected, scorned and abused.
I know the feeling and the cost
Of being unloved, cheated and used.
The hidden wounds, they always bleed
The angry words... they keep returning.
And through the years they all seemed healed
Those emotional scars just keep on hurting.
I used to hide under my bed.
My tears would dry as I fall asleep.
The fear and pain go through my head
And there's no one there to whom I can weep.
In anguished cry I called His name -'Jesus! '
No other word, not a scream for help.
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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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