My Sonnet About Healing

The Cure

Be healed in Jesus' Name today and live,

You were not meant for darkness and defeat.

We've told you once and twice and we repeat:

What we have got is what we freely give.

Majestic mountain, Riphath's cross on high,

You are a worldwide opus sweet and smart.

Of all that's evil Satan is a part!

Be gone you ghastly ghosts! The Lord is nigh.

Be healed in Jesus' Name today and breathe

Compassion, warming by the fireplace,

His faithful floating feathers do receive:

A healing stream of love is in our space.

 Be healed in Jesus' Name and give Him praise

For flakes of wholeness falling on your place!

Am I Jewish? A Sonnet.

Parts and pieces

Yes, my arms and legs are me you see

What is wrong with two blue circles in brown

Whether upstanding or slightly sharp down I frown

From a catching continent this was sent to me.

Banished branch, you are not the trustworthy tree

Four wheels are not the vehicle or the van

You think they transport pomegranates of our clan

No, distinguished sages have studied your plea.

Yes, my lengthy scarlet thread is not simply straight

It's tossed like a knight move in a game of chess

Not only one but one-third and eligible eight.

Languishing for her city is the arm of my right

Longing for its luster her generational mess

Reaching out to index its intriguing height.

Philipp von Heinsberg van Valkenburg 1167-1191, with Star of David 

Abigail Valkenburg, September 20, 2017

My Poem: Sounds of October

Sounds of October

The linden trees have their leaves and the poplars are still green

but the winds are more hasting and somewhat colder,

somewhat bolder. I've seen on my screen fashionable clothes

for the coming season.

Suddenly, at a shocking early time of the day

black darkness is pressing against the windows of my abode

trying to push the depression mode, no way, I kindle

a number of tea lights.

In a month of October I was born, greatly cherished,

making my young mother unaware of the Cuban Missile Crisis,

of the fear men would perish in a new World War:

cradle between icicles.

October, what can we expect, last of summer warmth,

first of winter's frost, a little rain amidst heavy downpours.

I love to be feasting in cuddling family arms, for sure,

 this time of year.

When the Second World War our hilltop villages invaded

my little mama and her baby sister were members of the Old Church,

ethnically safely hiding (comparable with crypto-Jews),

and they made it.

The year is old , the year is new, sweet  as honey and without hatred.

We are longtime related,  nations who know times and generations,

like God-fearing heroes rising to overcome woes and foes.

There are sounds in the sky.

my mother and I in 2016

My Poem About The Jewish Temple Mount

Temple Mount

Ancient mountain, holy mountain, bought for a price.

Dedicated, God's possession, great is its size.

Overpowered, point in the middle, earth is gazing.

Dome of the Rock, men are shouting, hearts are raging.

God's House had built King Solomon, King David's son.

Destroyed it was, seventy years, favor was won.

Persian Cyrus, granted Jews returning, fixing

Wall and Temple. Sanctifying, ending mixing

Jews with goyim, Ezra and Nehemiah built

Wall and Temple, Second Temple, Levites filled

God's eternal home with joyful Torah reading,

Temple rites of Moses, David, they were heeding.

Conquest, the Greeks, horrible idolatry came,

But also the Maccabees, who fought for The Name.

Miracles occurred, God provided, lamps were shining.

Romans came in, Jewish scepter undermining.

Herod the Great magnified the whole Holy Mount,

Killing Mariamne, infants, many lost we count.

Jesus survived, preaching salvation to all people.

Bleeding on His Mount of Olives, watch the steeple!

King be He on Mount Zion, where Crusaders stood,

Everlasting songs of praise shall sound, God is good!

Mount Moriah shall see, place of God's example,

Jews and nations praying in the East Gate Temple.

Abigail Valkenburg, August 19, 2016

Temple Mount, picture sent to me from Jerusalem by an intercessor

My Poem The Spirit flows inside

The Spirit flows inside

When you shall see the Lord that final day

And He shall look at you and test your life

Will He find in your soul offence and strife

And evil spirits leading you astray?

Were hateful things you've said like stabbing knives

Unruly conduct carelessly your way?

At unclean places you preferred to stay

With devils as numerous as bees in hives?

Not so! The Son of God must see the glow

Of love within, the oil for burning light.

His Spirit fills us with His living flow,

His goodly virtues shining bright inside

And many wholesome fruits will greatly grow.

The Lord we shall see, what an awesome sight!

Miss Abigail Valkenburg (1962)

Picture of my mother's garden.