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Thursday, December 29, 2011


           Winter in Bahrain

It's early December, with still no rain
a rain will bring comfort, and ease  
the dry summer's searing heat
a rain means, the start of winter.

I open my cupboard
check my leather jacket
long in length, leathery smell
softly-knit in black.

These past few days
fleecy clouds appear
the sky is overcast
at night, no stars.

The wind-blown dust
sweeps around intensely
I cannot see clearly
the day turned to grey.

I know the season, I've been here so long
after the dust disappears, rain will come
a respite from the summer heat
the start of winter, goodbye to summer.

The rain came this morning
I awoke to the sound
of gentle falling rain
upon my window pane.

I open the window
stretch out my hand
feel the cool rain
upon my open palm.

Now I know that winter has come
those small dainty plants
Forget-me-nots will bloom
once again in my desert home.


Tuesday, December 27, 2011


Seeds of Life

my technical life
never left time to plant
seeds for flowers
or greenery of crops

I seeded RRSP’s
mutual funds
and pension security
yet failed to nourish
the body mind and soul

retirement balances
always seemed to cry out
in continuous hunger

Copyright (c)EdWoods2011

Saturday, December 24, 2011


This simple prayer was written by Albert in June of 2010 but applies today as well.  Since it is the time of year where people stop awhile and hopefully think of the Creator, I thought this might be a wonderful time to share this beautiful prayer in the author's own words.

A prayer on God's Bounty
O Allah,my hair is grey,I am now old, every day twilight passes, soon curtain falls and to all men, fate will fall.
Life is like a spring flowing but one day will turn into a dry river bed, all pebbles and stone.
My faith in Thee is all I have, my simple goodness   I cannot ask for Thy bounty as it overflows like the Zamzam well.   Thousands of liters flow in thousand years.
When I will be frail, make my pain bearable, nor my feeble body a curse.I don't have the will to stand.
I am just  man.  I trust in Thee. Thou will set sail, easy and free, my soul, my soul.forgive me, have mercy.


"Allah" is the word for  God in Arabic.  Arabic speakers, and many other people in the Muslim world use Allah when speaking of God.  These include Presbyterian Arabs, and people of the Coptic faith whose language is Arabic.

The Zum Zum well is a famous well in Saudia Arabia where Hagar and Ismael found water which saved their lives. Abraham, at the insistence of his wife Sarah, took the young child (13 or 14 years of age) and his Mother Hagar out into the wilderness and left them there. From what I understand from studying the Old Testament and the Qur'an, this happened after Sarah gave birth to the baby Isaac.  Ismael had been born quite a few years before.  In the Qur'an, Hagar is given the title of  wife.  In the Old Testament, she is also called wife and was given to Abraham by Sarah so that Sarah could have children through her as she was barren.  Hagar was an Egyptian slave and Sarah was her mistress.  

Thursday, December 22, 2011


In this season of the White Witch
with frozen tears
crossing the face of the moon
remember the light
like roses in the Arctic
a miracle 
un-looked for.

Ellen S. Jaffe

Wednesday, December 21, 2011


I’m not shy, you know

I’m not shy, you know.
I’m not a saint, you know.
I just go there,
in the air,
You know?
I like to sit, in the
back, writing things,
seeing things, thinking
things, you know
I have chemistry,
you know?
With a few that
I know.
I’ve seen Angels,
I see it all.
From the back, in the train cars,
under signs, under lamps,
getting bumped,
gasping at people,
You know?
Testing ways I go on my instinct
waiting for what?
I heard it all – spirituality is wrong…
No. No. No.  I don’t think so.

I don’t think so.
You know?

Monday, December 19, 2011


Precious Life

we land softly
onto a safe runway
my passengers
should be vacationers
but this Mercy Flight
will save famine victims

doors open to fresh air
a tiny child looks at me
then points to a stilled figure

I raise her body
onto my chest
as light as a rag doll
and hold in tears
of sincere apology

our efforts failed
too late the takeoff
too long a flight

attendants approach
to finalize her journey
I recoil back and wail
“not yet”

the Grim Reaper
proved a little too eager
for this precious life


Friday, December 16, 2011



Christ, you were born with power
enough to fell a universe of
enemies of God,

but you reached out a hand
and smiled at fearful shepherds
and star-gazing kings.

Among the thunder of wars:
oppression, prejudice, meaningless death,
senseless abuse of power,

you walked to save us all;
free us from the curse that we deserve –
the fear of death.

And in your holy name
help me to do the same.

Jeff Seffinga


Thursday, December 15, 2011



I sit alone and cold
desolate bench shivers

poised so prim and proper
cute and delicate
big blue eyes of wonderment
framed by long blonde tresses
a secretive grin
by a naughty city orphan
abandoned under a canopy
of open country glitter

dark swirls of coldness
Goosebumps on clammy skin
wishing for comfort
on a soft safe bed
far away from this place

I was good this week
my lost and lonely look
of street life innocence
should entice a new friend
especially one with a car
traveling roads that lead
to my bicycle
if still where I chained it
among downtown crowds

for now
I just want to curl up
under warm covers
sink into soft pillows
drift into cozy dreams
and I will promise
forever and ever
with all my heart and soul

to never let the final bus
that leads to my bicycle
leave the casino without me


Sunday, December 11, 2011


Along the Seashore

I stroll along the road     
eyes gaze across the sea  
take in the scenic beauty
of the sea along the bay

The shifting sands meet my eyes  
white flamingoes graze miles away
like white pebbles with orange skinny legs
dotting the great expanse of sand

The yellow rays of the sun 
sparkle and dance on the blue sea
this makes noon time very special
I’m alone, but not lonely. 

I breathe in deep breaths
the air so sweet, warm
serene sea, blissful solitude
in my memory forever

I wish I had someone with me
to share my deepest thoughts
of life being like the sea’s
ebb and flow – always on the move


Albert Magsuci was born in the Philippines, and speaks English and Tagalog..  He has lived in Bahrain for 28 years and owns and operates two bakeshops, Lolita’s Bakery and Panadero Sweets.  He is a pastry chef by profession and makes scrumptious chocolate pralines.  In his spare time, he plays the violin, flute, guitar and the harmonica.

His first love is to paint on canvass and also to create word pictures in poetic form.
His paintings are about nature and flowers.  His love of nature and of God comes out clearly in his poetry. 
The pastry chef in action

Wednesday, December 7, 2011


Editor's note:  I wrote this today as I have a friend who is suffering from Pancreatic cancer and I felt impressed to write a poem for her. 

      FOR  KATHE

God’s gift is life eternal  
for those who follow Him
life may be long or short
with riches and with wealth

Pain and sorrow comes to all
in this imperfect world
we need not walk alone
God  is with us all the way.

We all have our ups and downs
God sends angels disguised as friends
who listen, care and understand
they  laugh and cry with us.

Friends and family love us dearly
as they hold us up in prayer
to ask God’s blessing on those they love
close at hand or far away.

May our days be filled with gladness
knowing that we’re in God’s hands
we trust in Him for all our needs
thank Him for his loving care.

Our days are few upon this earth
each day a gift from our God
let us strive to make things better
for those who live upon this earth.

CopyrightWilmaSeville© December 7,2011

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

JULIA FRUCK - age 13

Editors Note:   As many of you know, many young people have taken their own lives due to being bullied at school, on Facebook and other places.  This young lady has written a poem about this issue which is well worth the read.  I hope that it will focus attention on the issue of bullying.

She sits alone

She sits alone at lunch.
She wears headphones to drown out their voices.
She walks the long way home,
So she won’t see them.

Do they know she is crying?

They just never stop picking on her.
They call her names because of her weight
They make it impossible for her to fit in.

How did this all start?

We all watch them hurt her,
Some even laugh
We know she needs a friend but no one tries.
We are taught to stop bullying.

What are we scared of?

I don’t know what to say.
I don’t know if I’m the right one to help out.
I don’t know how to stop it.

How can I help?

I do know it’s not right.
I do know it’s not right.
I do know small things make a difference.

Saturday, December 3, 2011



today exhausted
work was work
my balcony is a haven
wine by sunset

sounds sooth the air
as slow as a flat tire
filled by hand pump

saxophone notes
reach my ears
sounds and sight blend

Copyright (c)EdWoods2011

Thursday, December 1, 2011


Christmas at Gore Park                                                

Twinkling lights on Gore Park trees

Little children shout with glee

Riding in miniature red train

I see them through my window pane.

Parents, grandparents, older siblings

stuffle feet to keep from freezing
as the snow starts to whirl  around
the little red train does its round.

Faces all aglow from the cold
little children  a sight to behold
scarves wrapped around red faces
snowsuits and boats with laces

Fingers tingle in red mittens
hands and feet feel frost-bitten
Santa’s elves in North Pole
two are here playing their role

Gore Park is a wonderland
lights, falling snow,  a fairyland


Monday, November 28, 2011


Week One

my first week
in Canada
much to learn
adjustments to make
culture shock
wonderment of changes

mall retreat
friends arrive
one by one
misty fragrance
of Asian Green Tea

we bask in our dialect
I feel better
in warm laughter

I look forward
to week two

(c)Ed Woods

Sunday, November 27, 2011


Please click on this link above to read my latest published story.

The original story won first prize in Perspectives Magazine December 2010.  It has since  been revised and new details added.

To give a quick review, it is the story of a returning Canadian soldier from Afghanistan and his family, particularly of his Oma (German for Gran or Grannie).  It is told from the perspective of the gift.

Hope you enjoy it.



to meet human obligations
a portion of income
is gifted to charities

with envelope in hand
at the postal box
a scene catches my eye

in fixated stare
across the street
I survey the line up
at my chosen charity
a local Food Bank

designer dressed people
from trendy sideways cap
down to signature soles
cigarette in one hand
logo coffee in the other

they jostle both
to cope with the dilemma
to talk on a cell phone
and scratch off a lottery ticket
until doors open wide
to fill their bags tight

reflected from a window
behind my blue collar soul
is letter of good intentions
about to be released
to cover their lifestyle

this image pauses
then peeled back the stamp
and ripped up the envelope

a quick reflected nod
and then it’s off
to the same logo shop
for a beverage to sip
in contentment of change
enroute home

CopyrightEd Woods(C)2011

Saturday, November 26, 2011


Exploit No More!

The fresh breeze of Spring
from the deserts of Arabia
traveling across continents,   
reaching the Western shores.

Claiming the leadership
giving the eternal message
that inside our skin, light or dark
we are one, we are human.

From Arab Spring to Occupy Movement
from coast to coast, resonates
the universal demand for human dignity
and need for mutual respect.

Young and old, men and women
same voice, same slogans, same purpose:
our need -  freedom and justice.
count us in, exploit no more.
we are the ninety-nine per cent.

Asma Warsi © 2011

Thursday, November 24, 2011



Praise Him among all created things, for His name is holy;
Praise His name with deafening music, with murmurs in every corner.

Let the acorn on the twisted oak sing of His faithfulness,
The wilting potted chrysanthemum proclaim His power.

Among shoes in the closet His name shall be honored,
Blue jeans and pantyhose are dumfounded by His glory.

Hear His name in the passing wail of police car sirens,
A jet engine’s scream, a dump truck’s broken muffler.

He reveals Himself in the scent of day lilies in the garden,
The disposable diapers tossed in the garbage profess His name.

Endangered whales sing of Him in the dark ocean’s chambers,
Children playing ball hockey echo His care in the side streets.

All things resound with His authority and His eminence.
Praise Him.

Jeff Seffinga

Saturday, November 19, 2011


At Home in Makkah
Walking by myself,
In the streets of Makkah,
Among thousands of people,
Of different race, colour,
Speaking different languages.

But we were not strangers,
We knew each other.
A kind smile,
A friendly glance,
Somehow we were connected.

The unique brotherhood,
And sisterhood of Islam,
We were siblings to each other,
Truthful and genuine,
Helping, caring.

As if I was in my hometown,
Among my people,
I had known them from ages,
They were my family.
I was one of them.
I was so at home!!!
Asma Warsi ©

Originally published in The Ambition Newspaper November 2011.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

DAVID HASKINS - Winner of Individual Poem Award at the Literary Awards

Urban Fox

In the filtered light from a street lamp
at the end of a cobbled alley
she hunches down to watch me
and seeing I mean her no harm
slinks to the farthest corner
her stealth drenched in shadow.

Long ago the city fortress
called us from the starved land.
Now it brings the wild among us,
miles from forest, field and brook,
this ragged waif plagued with mange,
opportunist fallen from grace.

A disenfranchised citizen-savage
scavenger of human refuse,
she prowls the markets of south London
to feed her mewling kits, their den
warmed with hair she pulled from her skin.

She shows no pride in owning the night -
like a beleaguered spy come in from the cold
or some old drunk nestled under cardboard -
depending on no one’s kindness,
as fearless as the rats she beds down with
and, if she has to, eats.

I want her to be the fox the prince’s
horse and hound and redcoat riders
hunt around my Tiffany shade,
never run to ground or torn apart
when blood rises in the teeth of dogs.

Or the glass-eyed fox my late aunt draped
around her neck at Sunday service,
the perfect tail curved down one shoulder,
head and front paws down the other,
watching me reach up to touch
the soft seductive fur without
interrupting her solemn prayers.

I don’t belong in this survivor’s street;
for now she knows she has the upper hand.
One day she’ll chew her black boot off
to free her from a leg hold trap
and all her cunning will bleed out slow
the wild, waning in her slit eyes
the mysterious sisterhood of fox.

Originally published in The Saving Bannister 25, published by the Canadian Authors Association, Niagara.

Editor's note:  Congratulations David for winning the Individual Poem category at the Hamilton Arts Council's Annual Literary Awards Gala!  Well done!