Sticks and Stones

 

Sticks and stones may break my bones

But words will cut me deep

They’ll keep on hurting long after

The breaks and bruises heal

Because the sticks will meet my skin,

The stones may hit my bones

But words will carve their way beneath

And make my soul their home

And this gives them the power

To control me and to win

‘Cause now I’ve words of worthlessness

From outside and within

See stones are thrown in anger

But our words are thrown in spite

And whilst they’re easier to pitch

They’re more difficult to fight

Because we cannot run away,

We cannot just unhear them,

Because their echoes resonate

Long after we are near them

And if we are not careful

Then those words become our voice

One that learns to shout the loudest

And to make the biggest noise

So do not be the reason

Someone hates their own reflection

Or thinks they are not worthy

Or deserving of affection

And when you pick your words

Weigh them awhile between your palms

Consider whether hurling them

Will heal or hurt or harm

Yes, sticks and stones may break a bone

But words can break a heart

And they can be the reason

Someone tears themself apart

So if you wouldn’t break their bones

By throwing stones and sticks

It’s likely for the best

That some words do not leave your lips

******

Becky Hemsley 2022

Artwork by Femke Muntz

'Sticks and Stones' is from 'What the Wild Replied: Poems from Human Nature' available on Amazon

Source: Becky Hemsley Poetry on Facebook

I'll Fly Away - Alan Jackson

 

Poetry

I started with this paragraph and played with it ... I had help.

When the moon is my only companion
I plunge myself into memories of us 

and swim in the river of blurred dreams

When the moon is my only companion,
I plunge into memories of us
and swim the river of blurred dreams.

The water carries your voice,
stretched thin by distance and time,
and I let it pull me under—
not to drown,
but to remember how breathing once felt
beside you.

When the moon is my only companion
I close my eyes and my mind to thoughts
of living days when happiness was
easy as breathing,
when laughter did not echo back
like a question unanswered.

The night listens without judgment,
silver light stitching memories—
a face I once held close,
dreams that learned how to fade.
I stay still,
afraid that if I move,
even the moon
might leave.

When the moon is my only companion,
I plunge into memories of us—
the water colder than I expect.

I swim the river of blurred dreams,
where the current tugs at my ankles
and every shape looks like you
until it doesn’t.

I don’t reach the other shore.
I just keep moving,
quiet enough not to wake the past.

I'm told this is a poignant image—using the isolation of the night to navigate the fluid, often hazy boundary between what was real and what remains in your mind.

ai art by me

Thrifting

 

The first round is for rushing.

For hoping.

For “maybe I’ll come back.”

You move fast.

You miss things.

Everyone does.

The second round is slower.

Quieter.

That’s when the treasure shows up.

The hidden cup.

The forgotten brass.

The piece waiting for you.

Because the best finds

don’t shout.

They wait.

Always take two rounds.

unknown

April Poem

April weeps in whispered streams

Soaking roots and waking dreams

Clouds roll in, then drift away

A lesson wrapped in silver-grey

Each drop that falls upon the land

Reminds us storms are never planned

They come unasked, they move alone

And yet they feed the seeds we’ve sown

The rain may dampen skies and shoes,

Obscure the sun and stain our views,

But what we often fail to see

Is that growth booms in times like these

For buds don’t need just sunny days,

They need the showers and the haze

As flowers trust themselves to rise

Through mud and dirt towards the skies

So when those skies begin to cry,

Don’t curse the clouds and question why

Because the truth is, without showers

We would never see the flowers

And don’t despair and don’t dismay

When all those clouds are silver-grey

For there’s a place, a role for sorrow:

To help us grow towards tomorrow

*****

Becky Hemsley 2026

I wrote this as the April poem for my 2026 calendar.

Artwork by Mark R. Pugh

Transformation

 

Transformation

Art & Poetry By Sophia Love Storey

Out in the open,

on soft sunny days,

a caterpillar lived

in her quiet ways.

moving softly, inch by inch,

not yet aware of

what soon would shift.

No thought of flight,

no need for more,

just a leaf to nibble,

a world to explore.

Then one day,

without a sound,

something within

longed to be found.

She slowed her steps,

then drew within,

she slowed her breath

once again.

She found a branch

and held on tight,

then slipped away,

out of sight.

Her life, once solid,

sure, and known,

softened gently,

into the great unknown.

No shape to hold,

no form to see,

just something becoming,

learning to be.

What looked like loss,

and felt like an end,

was something deeper,

learning to bend.

And in her stillness,

it was time to rise,

she slowly and softly

opened her eyes.

New wings unfolded,

soft and wide,

with quiet strength,

they reached for the sky.

Light arrived where

none had been,

life breathed through

what changed within.

transformation

Source: Sophia Love Storey on Facebook

Sealing your old life away for good.

 

Most people rush past the burial of Jesus to get to the resurrection, but if you slow down and sit in this moment, you will realize something powerful. The Son of God did not just die. He was carried, wrapped, and placed into a real tomb. Not a symbol. Not a metaphor. A cold, sealed place where dead bodies go. And that changes everything.

After Jesus breathed His last on the cross, a man named Joseph of Arimathea stepped forward. He was a respected member of the council, someone who had been waiting for the kingdom of God. He went boldly to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus. This alone is significant because aligning yourself with Jesus at that moment was risky. The crowds had turned. The leaders had condemned Him. Yet Joseph stepped in, took the body, wrapped it in clean linen, and laid Him in his own new tomb that had been cut out of rock. This is recorded in Matthew 27:59–60 and John 19:40–42.

Nicodemus, who once came to Jesus at night, now shows up in the open carrying a mixture of myrrh and aloes. About seventy-five pounds worth. That is not a casual burial. That is the kind of preparation given to royalty. They wrapped Jesus according to Jewish burial customs. Every detail matters. The same body that had been beaten, pierced, and crucified was now carefully handled and laid to rest.

This moment confirmed something the world needed to know. Jesus truly died. There was no illusion. No survival. No near-death experience. His body was lifeless. The burial removes every argument that tries to say He only fainted or somehow escaped. The gospel stands on the reality that He fully entered death.

But here is where it goes deeper than most people realize. The tomb was new. No one had ever been laid in it before. That means there was no confusion about whose body it was. No mixture of remains. No possibility of misidentification. Heaven was removing every shadow of doubt before the resurrection ever happened.

Even more, the act of wrapping Him in linen speaks louder than we think. Earlier in His life, when Lazarus came out of the tomb, he came out still wrapped in grave clothes and needed others to remove them. But when Jesus would rise, the grave clothes would be left behind. This burial is setting up a contrast. What holds humanity in death cannot hold Him.

Through the finished work of Jesus, this burial was not just the end of His life. It was the burial of sin itself. Scripture says He bore our sins in His body. That means when His body was laid in that tomb, everything that separated humanity from God was being put away with Him. Not managed. Not covered temporarily. Put away.

For us today, this means your old life has already been buried with Christ. You are not trying to bury your past. You are not trying to clean yourself up enough for God to accept you. In Him, your old identity has already been carried to the tomb. This is why Romans 6:4 says we were buried with Him through baptism into death, so that just as Christ was raised, we too might walk in newness of life.

Practically, this changes how you deal with guilt, shame, and past mistakes. When those thoughts come, you do not wrestle with them trying to fix yourself. You remind yourself that what you are being accused of has already been buried. It has already been placed in the tomb with Jesus. You are not that person anymore.

And this is where rest comes in. You do not have to strive to become new. You are living from what has already been finished. Just like His body was fully placed in that tomb, your old life was fully dealt with. Nothing was left undone. You can rest knowing that when the stone was rolled in front of that tomb, it was not just sealing His body inside. It was sealing your old life away for good.

Source: Brian Romero on Facebook