On praying – about life

I never considered me to be a religious man since I reached puberty. I went to a Catholic school so Christianity wasn’t new to me. But I committed plenty of sins. I thought it all was a made up tale, the Bible. Written by some crazy loons.

But now my life isn’t going to great. And I started praying again. I feel somebody is listening and genuinely interested in what I have to say. Being isolated I don’t feel so alone anymore. If I can’t go to my parents with my questions I ask God.

I started reading the Bible and I must say the Old Testament and the New one are almost opposite parts. My favorite is the New Testament. It teaches us humility and forgiveness.

It’s a fact Jesus died at the cross. We will never know the circumstances, but that he suffered is clear.

I am not ready to go to church again. I have anxiety attacks and don’t do well among strangers. But to have a line to a being greater than oneself is a comfort to have.

Keep Faith!

Trip to Luxembourg – a short story

Read the previous part over here: https://mydailypoetry.com/2022/06/29/assassin-on-board-a-short-story/

Holmes had boarded a plane with Watson. They would have to board another one to make the trip. Sherlock dreaded it, he had a fear of flying. Watson just ordered one drink after another. He had to confiscate his gun with all those terrorist attacks. He would get it back in Luxembourg.
‘Let’s analyse this situation with pure deduction,’ Sherlock said.
‘Shoot away,’ Watson said half drunk.
‘Moriarty will ship the money to Belgium so we can presume he lives there in the vicinity. Until the transaction is completed he is going nowhere. He has to fulfill the formalities at the bank. In person with his ID-card to create a dummy account for himself.’
‘And what as he already has an account?’
‘It’s possible but very unlikely. He will want to stay close to the source of the money. Papers need filling out. Of course he could use a fake ID.’
‘And what are we going to do? Stake out the bank?’
‘Do you have a better idea?’
‘As a matter a fact I do. We could inform the local authorities.’
‘They will be reluctant to act without a direct appeal from the US. Illegal banking is their core business.’
‘So, you are going to rent a car?’
‘Yes, and you’ll be driving, I don’t have a license.’
‘The great Sherlock Holmes doesn’t know how to drive?’ Watson laughed.
‘My mind isn’t fitted for medial tasks, Watson, you should know that.’

They drove in an inconspicuous Toyota to the bank. It looked nothing sinister. A professional business. A bit modest actually tucked away between several bigger buildings.
‘Watson, go grab you some food and drinks. This could take a while.’
‘What do you want?’
‘I like to keep my mind sharp by not digesting food.’
‘Alright, but you can’t have any of mine,’ Watson mumbled.
The stake out took an infinity. They slept in shifts. At the second evening they saw a limousine park in front of the bank. The door was opened by the chauffeur. A man with a beard and a cane stepped out.
‘Moriarty! It’s him.’ Sherlock exclaimed.
They got out. Watson found it abhorrent the authorities refused to give him back his gun. He could have need of it now.
Two heavy-built men left a dingy car behind the limousine. They were wearing glasses despite the late hour.
They blocked the entrance.
‘Moriarty has backup,’ Holmes muttered ‘this could get ugly.’
‘I take the left bald one, you take the hippie,’ Watson said.
They lunged at the bodyguards. Watson fared well. He kicked the man in the balls and connected his fist with his jaw. Then he took him in a choke hold. He had said he was a physician once but Holmes suspected military training as well.
Sherlock didn’t do well with the man with the long hair wrapped in a ponytail. He had taken out a knife and was stabbing and slashing at him. Remembering a single move his martial arts instructor had thought him he grabbed hold of the hand and broke it with a swift motion, the knife dropped to the ground and the assailant screamed in pain. At that moment they saw Moriarty leaving the bank in a hurry. He took the limousine and tried to move it out of the parking place.
‘Oh, you don’t!’ Holmes shouted.
He ran to the vehicle and pulled the door open. Giving Moriarty a blow to the face, smashing his head against the steering wheel he pulled his unconscious arch nemesis out of the car and cuffed him.

The police was first very suspicious of the detective. They didn’t like fights in their peaceful country. But at Holmes request they phoned the Keytrade bank in the US where the money was stolen from. Moriarty was put in jail after his identity was confirmed. He was to be extradited to the US soon.

‘Now, we deserved a drink, Holmes,’ Watson said.
‘Of course, I think I’ll have a glass too this time,’ Sherlock answered cheerful.

The end

Mister Nice Guy

Mister Nice Guy,
that’s me.
To a certain agree,
you deserve what you buy.
I let people walk all over me,
they could even pee
in my vicinity.
I wouldn’t make a fuzz,
in my head I have that constant buzz.
Must be crazy,
or to stand up for myself to lazy.
But then one day,
after being mugged
I was led astray,
it got me bugged.
I started cursing,
pushing people around.
I became a fierce warrior,
of this concrete jungle.
Smashing up an interior,
choking till I heard a gurgle.
At last I was arrested,
are you feeling well, I was tested.
‘Oh, I am the man formerly known as Mister Nice Guy,’ I grinned.

Caged – a poem

You keep me in a cage,
a golden one but a cage nonetheless.
I am served to my every whim.
But I can never see him.
My son is to be raised to be a tycoon.
You took him under your merciless wings.
Starting his education soon,
you turned him evil.
Downsize,
fire people
bribe
intimidate,
you sure gave him a lot to learn.
I can’t interfere,
as his mother I have my rights.
But you have the power,
and arranged me to be called mentally unfit,
locked me away in an asylum.
The pills numb me,
but the fire of revenge still burns.
I was a breeding cow to you,
once I’ll be a murderer too.

Helping hand – a poem

I help you climb the highest mountains,
lead you to great, refreshing fountains.
Life isn’t meant to be spent alone.
I will never quit on you, my friend.

To storm and high weather we will
still be together, facing all odds.
We have each other’s backs.
Our resilience shows no cracks.

Overcome we will the arduous,
once more we will be victorious.
If existence where a game,
it would be a multiplayer.

So we have each other,
to face everything they throw
at us in a frenzy of hate.
But we, we know only love.

Asleep – a poem

She fell asleep in the bath,
I saw a rat.
Or bathroom was a waste,
the renovations to our wreckage had no haste.
In the rusty bathtub she was sleeping between flower petals.
Everything, the tubing, the metals, all worn down.
But her beauty remained.
I had often complained of dressing to sexy.
Jealousy I guess.
But I must confess,
I started to like it,
at parties she was a hit.
And I was hers,
her hair soft as kitten furs.
Eyes glancing at you with a delightful hue.
A smile from full lips,
perfect breasts,
perfect hips.
With touching chests,
we made love
all night and day
pull and shove.
We were both a love bird,
nesting in this home’s dirt.

Lost son – a poem

Dire circumstances,
death’s glances.
It made me praying again,
it’s when
a faith lost will be restored,
in the past church got me bored.
But running away and calling myself an atheist,
put me on a list.
The list of people who couldn’t turn to solace,
let faith be my harness.
To endure the struggles of life,
take a deep dive
into God’s benevolence.
Because earth’s violence,
it’s to hard to bare alone.
For my sins I will atone.
I have to do this,
love is his
to give,
for me to forgive
treat everyone nice,
we are men not mice.
Religion is guiding us,
and so I am back a Christian thus.

Assassin on board – a short story

The first part of the story you can read here: https://mydailypoetry.com/2022/06/28/moriartys-game-a-story/

Holmes decided to follow the track of the stolen money and eventually Moriarty by visiting the Virgin Islands where his dummy corporation was vested. He took an ocean liner. Settled in his cabin he went through the file the FBI had forwarded him. About a billion dollar was stolen from the Keytrade bank by a hacker he helped arrest.
Suddenly there was a knock on his door.
He stood up and opened it. A cloaked woman stood before him, she wore a black and white robe. On her wrists she had blades attached. Before the detective could do something he got a kick and stumbled inside. How could someone dressed like that don’t attract attention?
Holmes got steady on his feet again and searched something to defend him with. There was nothing in his room that could accommodate him.
The killer launched an attack with her dangerous equipped fists. She was like a whirlwind. Then a muffled shot sounded. The shooter used a silencer of great quality.
She sank to her feet and finally collapsed bleeding to the floor. A man was standing in the doorway. He was dressed in an expensive suit. He wore gold-rimmed spectacles, had a blonde mustache and his hear was combed over. His face was a little bloated. The couperosis and skin tags his nose suggested heavy drinking.
‘Mister Holmes, I got here in a nick of time it seems.’
‘And to who do I owe the favor of my life?’ Holmes asked sharply.
‘Watson, Henry Watson is the name. I was a physician but made a severe professional mistake. I tried the private investigator business instead. Mostly insurance fraud but the FBI threw me this bone.’
‘Then we both are on the same journey,’ Holmes said ‘evidently Moriarty sent the assassin to make sure I wouldn’t bother him no more.’
‘You suppose you don’t have any scotch hidden in here,’ Watson asked ‘this action made me thirsty.’
‘Let’s visit the bar and talk things through,’ Holmes suggested.

It got late. Henry got drunk. They planned to work together on this one. Safety in numbers. However Holmes doubted Henry could get a steady shot with his trembling hands. Killing the assassin was pure luck it seemed.

They disembarked and took in the scenery. The temperature was high. Sweaty they checked into their hotel. After a quick shower and a change of clothes they decided to check the company out.
Holmes got an address from the server back at Keytrade bank. It was not far away. They both decided to look like businessman wanting to get some illegal account in order.

The trip was a total waste. Investigating the company brought up nothing relevant. The employers couldn’t tell them anything.
‘This is an investigation, I suggest you don’t hold anything back,’ Holmes threatened the employee at the desk.
‘I shouldn’t be saying this, sir, but we usually ship the money to Luxembourg. From there it goes to Belgium.’
‘Ah, a famous triangle for laundering money,’ Watson stated.
‘Fancy a trip to Luxembourg?’ Holmes asked.
‘Yes, of course. They have great whine there.’
A furious person came crashing in.
‘Quit asking questions, you have absolutely no jurisdiction here, and you Elena shouldn’t be talking to them,’ he reprimanded the desk employee.
‘I am sorry, mister Wilkins,’ she seemed ready to start sobbing.
Henry took out his gun and pressed it to Wilkins forehead.
‘The address for the bank in Luxembourg where you shipping the money too. Now!’
Wilkins turned pale and looked like he was going to piss his expensive pants.
‘The…the Allfunds Bank International, S.A., he trembled.

Holmes was furious about Watson’s action.
‘Pulling a gun on that twit. Are you crazy. We aren’t that kind of investigators. Imagine we would be arrested. We have to leave this island immediately. Wilkins won’t let this fly.’
‘It worked didn’t it,’ Henry took a sip of his flask and began to whistle.
They managed to get a boat to Europe. The search had reached a different stage.

To be continued…

Great expectations? – about life

My dad is slowly dying. We expect a dog in September. Are we trading new life while loosing an old one. It got me drinking again for a while. The constant relapses and visit to the clinics while dad is in soaring pain takes it’s toll.

I play a lot of video games to keep my mind off it. In the morning I make his coffee, put his pills on the table and his coffee cup. I hug him a lot. The end is near I fear. He isn’t eating anymore, the intervals between hospitalizations are becoming shorter.

His only option is surgery that will turn him into a diabetic. He isn’t up for that.

That damn pancreas won’t heal. He didn’t deserve it. The only thing he drank in his life were a couple of beers. They say alcohol is responsible for it. He should quit smoking too, but under these circumstances it’s easier said than done.

How do you cope with severe illness or loss of someone dear to you? Let me know in the comments, I sure could use some advise on the matter.

Power – a poem

From the one who went to school,
has a mansion and a pool.
To the one living in a trailer,
we have to stand united
to defeat the traitor.
Division, the politicians aren’t frightened.
They are bullshitting their way,
into the Capitol
the Court.
To our dismay,
we pay the toll for this horde.
An army of pencil pushers,
rushers to pass faulty legislation.
They rule till the next election.
And then they rule some more,
keeping their stolen money off shore.
It’s the ancient lore,
of mighty against feeble,
but we can’t stand for this, we the people.

Pagan – a poem

Like a pagan goddess,
you enchant me.
Take hold of my hands,
take me to the shrinking woods.


We would make passionate love,
laying on the soft grass.
I would say something crass,
you’d laugh.


Butt-naked we lay there,
stare
to the ever shifting clouds in the sky.
Drifting like we could fly.


It takes only love genuine to lift the heart up to the summit.

Wrapped up – a poem

Sometimes I feel I am wrapped up in plastic,
it literally makes me so sick.
People don’t listen to me,
they don’t see
I have feelings and needs too.
My heart turns to goo,
something has to change.
Turn a new page.
I should stand up and roar,
make my heart soar.
The destructive deafness,
I must confess
it turns me to shreds.
It’s what my despair feds
my brain
going slowly insane.
Nobody notices my pain.
Becoming invisible,
divisible
are my parts that make up my identity,
sometimes I want to let out giant farts to gain some respectability.

Flying- a poem

Sometimes I come undone,
I didn’t know when it begun.
Those blackouts,
my mother shouts
when I want to jump out of the window.
I believe the widow didn’t believe I am a bird.
I winded up on the ground covered in dirt,
I didn’t fly,
wanted to get high.
I ended up in a psychiatric ward,
my soul lost a shard.
The pills dulled the sensation,
after a mental castration
I never flew again.

Crimes – a poem

Crimes against the planet,
we need a dragnet
to flush the invisible advisers out.
Those who want the stocks up, they say loud.
Pollution,
dilution of biodiversity.
Growing, bulking city
devouring the green,
against extinction what stands between?
Do we have to count om some teen,
to stand up for what’s right?
With the nations might,
they could fix this within a hundred years,
otherwise shedding will be there of tears.
Every hurricane that came,
mud stream did seem
burning forests,
melting ice caps.
You conquests,
playing for craps.