by Maria Lisa Polegatto

There once was a horse named Mabel
She came from an Island called Sable
She was wild and very able
Her Two Rivers barn had a gable
While she had French Acadian heritage, she wore no labels
She loved to eat from a bowl on the ground not a table
I never want her to become a fable
Oh how I miss sweet Mabel.

by Maria Lisa Polegatto

For people who are trained to know better
Conflict is a positive thing
Airing out the changes needed to be made
But when lies overshadow
No truth can be seen
But it exists to those who tell it
Even to those who are oblivious 
To the lies fed to them
Building up daily 
Until the next attack strikes fast
A day's wage for a day's work
Apparently that's old news for old views
As today's world takes everything it can
Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick......
Let the torture begin
If that doesn't work, let's try again
Something more devious
Let's lie and swear to it
That's the new game
Only the ill willed will fall to it's use
Stand tall and be you 
His truth comes forward
It rushes not for there is more to be told
The crumbs lead back to the liar
Eat not from the toxin
Prayer is what keeps you close to His truth
Pray for you and also for them
Absolve yourself from their sin
Restore yourself
Hold your shield high
His Truth surrounds you
Let God deal with this as only He can.

by Maria Lisa Polegatto

While it was foggy along the shoreline
The loon call I did hear
I called out and it answered me

The seagulls gossipped as they heard
They knew it was me as they floated near
They knew not the loons and I are old friends

As the clouds turned dark and drew near
They humored me as I mimicked their voices
Delighted to be heard and understood 

​Not a rain goes by they don't come around
I standing on the shoreline wait for them
As their voices echo inside my memories

Seeing them dive deep and resurface 
As the paddle of my kayak dripped dry
Waiting for their next warning 

"Take cover, rain is coming!
Gather your young and drink"
For He has sent forth to feed His flock

A soft mist upon my face begins
I heed it not
Until I hear the last tremolo cry.