It’s Awfully Hot

 

 

It is awfully hot

In this country of ours

And to make it cooler than at present

I have no such power.

 

Here I am sitting

With three fans on me

But I am still feeling uncomfortable

And full of lethargy.

 

It’s not me to complain,

I am just stating the fact

And bear in mind I am sitting here

With no shirt on my back.

 

To move from here

Will take determination

And right now, let me say most clearly,

This is not my intention.

 

For to move from here

Is to use up precious energy

That the heat has already sapped

From out of me.

 

I am grateful, though

That I am here in the shade

For were not for the roof above me,

Nothing would avail.

 

I am thankful also

For this open window

Through which there a light breeze

That constantly blows.

 

I had to share with you

The almost forgotten side

For while as I said, it is awfully hot,

The good I must not hide.

 

Three fans, I have stated

And two open windows

Through which I have mentioned.

A slight wind blows.

  

I am sorry for you

Who are traversing the street

And for workers on metallic roofs

It cannot be sweet.

 

 

 

Do rehydrate often

Not with water too cold

And in the event of a fainting spell

There’s something to hold.

 

It’s a good way down

From the roof to the ground

And do remember there is a family

Who wants you around.

 

It is awfully hot

But you are still alive

Whereas the dead cannot tell

Having not survived.

 

 

 

Let’s give thanks for the sun

However hot

And let us look forward to the time

When temperatures drop.

 

Stewart Russell © September 28, 2025

 

Just a Regular Habit

 

 

 

Solve this puzzle

Figure this riddle

One is uncomfortable

It’s a real hassle

 

What is it?

A regular habit

Here’s a bit

And there’s a bit

 

In the muscles

And in the joints

Then in the bones

To make a point

 

It’s never tangible

So I cannot touch

I cannot see it

But I feel it so much

 

It’s all the time

Particularly with age

Respects no person

At any stage

 

A puzzle sometimes

As to source

But make no mistake

It’s a compelling force

 

It troubles the mind

And robs of sleep

You may doze

But nothing deep

 

Sometimes it’s masked

Sometimes deferred

Nothing one likes

Nothing to be desired

 

Medication helps

Only for a time

Soon it’s back

To mess with the mind

 

Babies have it

To the aged it’s habit

The youth a bit

To all it gives a fit

 

It’s a mechanism

In the system

But medication

Masks the problem

 

When it’s around

Something’s wrong

Affects the weak

As well as the strong

 

Robs of energy

Affects one’s health

Shows no respect

For those with wealth

 

 

Affects the living

Never the dead

Troubles the foot

Annoys the head

 

Solve this puzzle

Figure this riddle

One is uncomfortable

It’s a real hassle

 

Spoils your features

Lines you face

Makes you squirm

With every pace

 

Can be excruciating

Sometimes dull

Recessive sometimes

But often full

 

Can be long lasting

Or for a season

Or apparently sometimes

For no reason

 

Some will argue

That cannot be

Something is wrong

If it finds you or me

 

What is it?

A regular habit

Here’s a bit

And there’s a bit

 

In the muscles

And in the joints

Then in the bones

To make a point

 

Something’s wrong

Have it checked

If you don’t

You may regret

 

 

It’s just like sin

It will nag and nag

Get to the source

Do not lag

 

Fix the symptom

Won’t fix the problem

There is a source

From which it stemmed

 

Fix the source

Will fix the symptom

Jesus is the answer

To the sin problem

 

Back to the start

What is it?

I am sure by now

You have a bit

 

For the answer

Search yourself

You will find it

No matter your health

 

Be patient

And you’ll get it

And you will see

It’s a regular habit

 

Solve this puzzle

Figure this riddle

One is uncomfortable

It’s a real hassle

 

If not now

Just wait a while

It’s never out of fashion

Or out of style

 

Stewart Russell © 2017

 

Is the Dead Alive?

 

 

 

What do the dead know?

I surely would like to know,

No, not that I want to die

Oh, dear me, No! No!

 

I am so enthralled with life

I could live forever,

That’s why I consecrated my life

To the heavenly Father.

 

Some believe the dead lives

And they are definitely sure,

Others will tell you straight up

The dead lives no more.

 

Atheists believe the latter:

When one dies, that is the end,

There is nothing after death

For either foe or friend.

 

That is a good conversation

But for another time,

Right now, let me get back

To what’s foremost on my mind.

 

Is the dead alive?

It would appear so for some

Given what they say at funerals

When one’s life is done.

 

 

Rest in Peace (RIP)

Is conferred upon the dead

Certainly, giving the impression

The dead is living instead.

 

A rest in peace

Indicates there is a rest otherwise

And any kind of conscious rest

Doesn’t fit the demise.

 

So, why do we say rest in peace

When the individual is dead?

He hears and knows nothing

The grave is his final bed.

 

Maybe it is because

The dead is not really dead

But somewhere the dead is alive

And living life instead.

 

Sounds like pure madness

That the individual could be alive

And we hold a funeral service

For someone that survives.

 

 

And we say rest in peace

As though the dead can hear

But then hurry him off for burial

In a hearse and bier.

 

If death is a rest,

Is it only peaceful for some?

Are some therefore in turmoil

When this life is done?

 

In either case I dare say

That none can be dead,

If they can experience any rest

They must be alive instead.

 

I pose the question again:

Is the dead alive?

If your considered opinion is yes

Then how do they thrive?

 

No doubt some will say

Not in their bivouac of the flesh

But surely in their spirit or their soul-

Their answer would be yes.

 

For others, I can tell you

It would be a resounding no

For from dust they were created

And it’s back to the dust they go.

 

No spirit and no soul:

They believe that nothing is left

Barring the result of ongoing decay

From at the point of one’s death.

 

Psalm 146:4

 

In the day a man dies

His thoughts also die with him,

His breath goes from him

And he returns to the earth.

 

Ecclesiastes 9:5

 

What do the dead know?

The dead know they shall die

But the dead know not any thing

When in the dust they lie.

 

John 11:25-26

 

We still hold to Jesus’ words

Regarding all that are in Christ,

They that live shall never die

And they that die shall live.

 

I have never experienced death

So, I cannot say I know

And I am in no hurry to die

To see if I can tell you so.

 

 

Let me repeat again,

I am not excited about death

But I will refrain from saying RIP

And simply say, at rest.

 

Stewart Russell © September 11, 2022

 

 

Small Change

 

 

From run to ruin

From team “We” to team “I”,

It’s the agenda of the individual

And all must comply.

 

From the “we for the people”

To the people for us,

Is it any wonder

There is so much fuss?

 

With subtle switches

We have made big changes

From what God has mandated

To what man rearranges.

 

From manage to damage,

Note the wreckage we’ve caused

By simply advancing the “I”

And putting God on pause.

 

What a sad day for it was

When Eve fell for the “I”!

Adam unreluctantly followed

And now we all die.

 

From run to ruin

And from mange to damage,

Observe if you will

The resulting carnage.

 

The trend to destroy

In the belief we are fixing,

The subtle blend of truth and lie

In the cocktail we’re mixing.

 

Progress we call it

Though regress is the result,

We are rejecting godliness

And accepting the occult.

 

Just insert the “I”!

That’s not much of a change

But notice the result:

Both strange and deranged.

 

“Only collateral damage”

“Nothing to worry about”

Our lives will be so much better

When it’s all worked out.

 

It’s just a “D” for an “M”

How much change is that?

Manage has become damage

Can’t you see this fact?

Just a little insertion

Concerning what God said

And mankind was fast tracked

To the land of the dead.

 

“Hath God said?”

Note Satan never said He did

But it was enough

And Eve fell for his bid.

 

Just a small change

But the consequence was huge

Ever since Mother Eve

Was Satan’s first stooge.

 

Stewart Russell © October, 2021

 

Not Sure Any More

I decided on the short cut

Since the alternate way was long,

I may look small

But believe you me I am strong.

I fear not a living soul

I can take care of myself

I may be on the other side of fifty

But I am still in good health.

You may wonder

Why I am telling you all this

But keep apace with me

And not a detail you will miss.

It was late going on to midnight

And I was on my way home,

My short cut was through the cemetery

I had never done this alone.

My friends and I had done it before

But we did it mainly for kicks

And they expected at these times

That I would be up to tricks.

But we would do that for fun

I wasn’t sacred of the dead,

I had always said to them

If I had to, I’d fear the living instead.

However the truth be told

I neither feared the living nor the dead

And that night in question

I knew only the dead lay up ahead.

I began to whistle a tune

As I unhurriedly walked along,

Right then a strange thing happened

Somebody was whistling the song.

At first I thought it was an echo

But that was not possible,

I decided it must be someone living

Since dead people can’t whistle.

  

Suddenly I picked up a scent

It was the scent of cigarette smoke,

Looking around I saw no one

And I decided this must be a joke.

I stopped whistling

And whoever it was stopped too,

Then someone chuckled and said,

“You really must like the view.”

Fear began to rise up in me

“Like the view?  What does he mean?”

His chuckle broke into great laughter

And then he screamed.

“Can’t you see the fire?

Can you not feel the flame?

How can you stand there gawking?

How can you do nothing about our pain?”

“Our pain?  What could he mean?

I couldn’t feel a thing”.

Suddenly there was that scream again

And then he began to sing.

He sang in plaintive tones

The same tune that I was whistling

But the words were different

From the words I use to sing.

In my ears they still ring,

“Do you remember me now I am dead?

If so sing along with me, please sing

Let me feel your love instead.

You’ll soon be joined with me

That’s the reason you are here,

Your trek through this cemetery

Is to help you for death prepare.

By then I had had enough

In a flash I shot out of there,

I don’t know if it was the living or the dead

But this I can tell you both now I fear.

Don’t ask me to explain

For your guess is as good as mine

But I know any other night in a cemetery

I would have to be dead at that time.

Not even in a group as I did before

Not if the group is big or small,

Not for a funeral that’s running late

Not another night for any reason at all.

Stewart Russell © May 2018