Each of us can be heroes of our own story From the humblest beginnings, we can find glory. Childbirth is a mix of care and witticism When what's needed is optimism.
We can hope, but it's a kind of deviance That a child is born regardless of convenience. A child will be fussed over all the same, When from the first moment, he earns his name.
Day after day, a child becomes who they are. Without deliberation, they follow their own stars. With patience, they learn the letters of their story. Their numbered days lead them to know glory.
Memories are woven into our lives led. Until the last day when we wake up dead. But the in-between moments are filled with days Cherished and lived until we reach our grown-up ways.
Childhood days are also filled with open skies. There's a world to see with childhood's eyes. From farm field to the seaside's shore, With riches like these, one cannot be poor.
Any complaints perceived rise from grievances had. It's easier for some hearts to pretend to be sad. Life is to be had by who have lived and dared, And having ha it, forget about being scared.
Each face has its own sort of prominence. Each place is filled with its own importance. Life is meant to be lived with its romance, Filled with dreams and every taken chance.
We must watch those who would take our happiness. After all, life is meant to be filled with bliss. Childhood is to be enjoyed, not a constant fight. It's the worst sort of shame, if not done right.
The worst sort of monsters insist on control, Rules imposed only rob a child's natural soul. It's easier to learn when touched by love. Isn't that the lesson taught by our Father above?
Let us share, and even be mindful That some find life less than wonderful. The will take advantage of our good nature, As we find life as it is and naturally mature.
January 23, 2024 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
“If money is your hope for independence you will never have it. The only real security that a man will have in this world is a reserve of knowledge, experience, and ability.” – Henry Ford
“What is the most sacred duty and the greatest source of our security in a Republic? An inviolable respect for the Constitution and Laws.” – Alexander Hamilton
For the millionth time, we in the US live in a Republic under the Rule of Law, and not in a Democracy under the rule of the ‘mob’.
In a timeless sense that somehow conspires, A show of barbarians rising turned up to inspire. Telling stories about almost heartless empires, With moral convictions that are as hot as fire.
A sharp whip cracked on Boudica's royal skin As if trying to save her people was a Roman sin. A queen and her daughters were exposed to unjust might, The Eagle claws at her honor on a blood-stained night.
Rising high like a fire into that night's sky, The Queen of the Iceni was too proud to cry. The scars of whips and cruelty cannot chain A people from rising up to break Rome's reign.
Freedom and death spin on the chariot's wheel, The warriors fight, and the Druids heal. Queen Boudica wished for freedom's dignity It could only be found if Rome chose to flee.
When Celtic blood wakes, it will not sleep. In the sacred groves, war drums reverberate deep. Andraste's priests die in a whisper of doom, It's as if the ancient oaks chose to conspire.
Rising high like a fire into that night's sky, The Queen of the Iceni was too proud to cry. The scars of whips and cruelty cannot chain A people from rising up to break Rome's reign.
The boom of remorse spread like thunder had decided That the Celtic Britons would fight united. War cries were swallowed by the day's fading light, Thousands would die that tear-filled, unholy night.
Swords swung, spears flew, river surged of blood, As the Iceni and Roman bodies lay on the stained mud. Eyes like ravens looked sharply into the fateful night, It would be freedom or death and death it was that night.
Rising high like a fire into that night's sky, The Queen of the Iceni was too proud to cry. The scars of whips and cruelty cannot chain A people from rising up to break Rome's reign.
However righteous, there are some battles not to be won. Some brave dances with death's cruelty can't be undone. The drumbeat falters, and the rhythm itself breaks, The souls of Britannia are born for freedom or to ache.
With a last breath, a mother urges her child to run, That battle was over almost as soon as it was begun. Listen closely, though, and hear that the drumbeat never dies. It can still be heard under the East Anglican skies.
Rising high like a fire into that night's sky, The Queen of the Iceni was too proud to cry. The scars of whips and cruelty cannot chain A people from rising up to break Rome's reign.
(c) January 22, 2026 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
We live in a dual age filled with creativity. But it is also an age of reactivity. The outcome so much depends on our energy, As we take every thought into our captivity.
The Lord commands us to push away negativity. We are to give these over to Jesus immediately. In spiritual warfare, our armor is worn reflexively, Be the need to do so offensively or defensively.
The mighty name of Jesus Speaks to us with majesty As the Holy Sprit whispers With the Kingdom's authority.
We are living in and through an age of anxiety. It is a time filled with much complexity. Worry and fear are vexatious to our living souls. It feels as if it is out of our control.
We forget the sacrifice at Calvary Gave us all our fullest atonement. It meant everything for you and me. All toward our good contentment.
At those times we are overwhelmed and feelings rush, It can cause feelings of overwhelm and be too much. At times like these, we must pray for calm and trust. It isn't a mild suggestion, but truly we must.
With prayerful supplication we offer our petition To the Holy One who well knows our very position. Casting our concerns on the one we know to care, Then we rely on our knowledge that He will be fair.
There is a fullness in our holy God. It comes to deliver us and to save. His will pulled my sinful self For my otherwise well-deserved grave.
When we find ourselves feeling downcast, And are sure we are twenty years before a mast, We turn to embrace the rightful attitude, And we know that we owe our Father rightful gratitude.
We keep our eyes peeled for signs of blessing, And we know this is more than second guessing. If our Lord is for us, who of consequence can be against? Let's not sit on the proverbial fence.
We know that there is no one who compares In the righteousness that He has been given. The life He gives us is right righteous and fair. To start with we owe to Him that we are forgiven.
To worry about the what ifs of life leads to sorrow. We are to live today, and leave alone our tomorrow. Any seeds of worry should be turned into worship. We know better and to trust in our holy relationship.
In Christ, there is no longer any shame of condemnation. He is our redeemer and the essence of our explanation. The faithfulness of Jesus helps us resist the temptation To shed His acceptance and keep His love in our contemplation.
Love has replaced pride in a world that can be demanding. In our conversion, we've learned to not lean on understanding, But instead in the meekness of confessed humility, We learn our imperfections are the path of all humanity.
And even now as we struggle forward, we stumble and hesitate Taking the scripture into our hears as we meditate. Here in our prayers we find our way to know encouragement, And through this we have found another layer of discernment.
(c) January 21, 2026 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
“Go, therefore, to meet the foe with two objects before you, either victory or death. For men animated by such a spirit must always overcome their adversaries, since they go into battle ready to throw away their lives.” – Scipio Africanus
In a complete break from understanding, Far Left critics feel they must keep demanding All the details down to the minuscule That will allow common sense to face its ridicule.
The protest is that there is nothing spiritual That could ever prove even near capable Of being of any use in trusting our hearts to health. It's a role reversal that has no need for stealth.
In the Sixties, it was the Left who talked spirituality As being that something extra with astute ability To bring healing to the sick and mending into life But now, out of a headstrong love for constant strife
Now they choose to talk about a salad bar approach. It's as if they think interconnections might encroach, That is, at least, if it's in the slightest disagreement With the Left's unspoken sense of covenant.
Though I, myself, rely on more conventional institutions, Why do feminists suddenly get rabid about female intuition? Self-realization and waking divinity are lacking for me, Who am I or anyone to say there may not be some utility?
It seems to be that most of the Left spoke of wellness, As if it were something certain and that we could feel this. I'm unsure of what to make of the Left's new form of pessimism. To be completely honest, I believe in individualism.
It strikes me as odd to hear the Left speak ill of slowing down, And God forbid if you listen to heart intelligence, as if a clown. It seems the pantheon of articles published pooh-pooh all of this. If it's not mainstream or Trumpian, it's something to dismiss.
It's not for me, but the author that I have just read Puts down all that she has previously advocated and said. The reason she cannot deny is that Trump is for it. With faulty reasoning like that, what can I do but adore it?
(c) January 20, 2026 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
Heading out of Australia to escape this Aussie winter. First stop Japan, then UK/Ireland and if work doesn't call me back, onto Chicago. I will make it up as I go along
ALOHA PROMISES FOREVER 