The Human Experience ‘kills’ people.


Does life travel on a train to a place arranged, or, do we risk this trip unknown? Spend our a ticket to be transmitted light years away from home? Do we know why this trek is a material world, why some ride first-class, why some crouch in cargo? Do we remain on the train an equal while, or depart by the plan of tomorrow?

Is destiny determined by deeds towards those near our seats? Or is our fate in the fine print on the flip side of our ticket, decided by long ago? We passengers only ride till we crash, or till our contract here is met. And who decides our baggage, increased through each scene we go? I heard that we pack our own and add to it as we travel. Bitterness or forgiveness, self-control or self-made sorrow; kind deeds or gratuitous greed? The human experience ‘kills’ people.

We stumble or stand through Earth’s dark tunnels. The train ride’s a mere twinkle. And the stations are full, tickets stamped with “Free” bestowed by He whom grants each with Free-will to play our best game yet. Some perform to finish, and some just quit; others, they succumb and live with regret. The journey is never easy, and no one said it would be. Where we travel depends on our goal. People need goals.

The objective depends on our own beliefs. Selfishly we think we know which track leads more quickly, but life isn’t to be rushed through, nor does it suit only our own needs. There are many mandates to guide us. And there are barricades and obstacles. Pay attention to where you go, remember the scenes, play your role, ride the train, and grow. Learn from troubles; learn from blessings. If life were so easy for everyone, then what’s the point of living?

The journey… is all about learning. Earth is Boot Camp—crash course for we spirits being humans.

© L. P. Penner, 2015


Tranquil Forest


Sometimes it’s too much to handle… life’s quizzes, life’s thorny paths, and riddles. Yet the tranquil forest has answers when the solitary soul stepping on rich dark soil, is yours. In the valley of dark days, there are lilies at your feet. Grand trees tower over to protect the forest visitor from the busy world. Rustling leaves pour out peace on the soul seeking refuge. And bring your needs to your King, who waits for your stillness to hear Him speak. In the valley of dark days, brilliant lilies guide your path. Hike beneath the protective tree tops which sway gently in God’s breeze. Savour warm patches of sunshine between branches of lit-up leaves. Observe clouds on their way somewhere as your mind floats afar from worldly cares. And to you, your trusting heart brings the voice of our Master, the voice of our King. In the valley of dark days, scented lilies lighten despair. Lay in the soft pedals, let go and dream. Inhale the sweet scent of escape to peace. Walk with confidence on your journey. Ride the majestic eagle above earthly worries. In the valley of dark days, just as lilies are at your feet, so is love all around you.

© L. P. Penner, 2015


They Know Me, Wisdom


It is I, said Wisdom,
who brings to mankind
the choice to love life
or to succumb to death.
That choice is Free-will.

It is I, said Wisdom,
who is able to inspire
mankind to follow the
I AM who made each
morsel of Earth and
creature and breath.

The universe and its twinkling stars,
the burning suns and reticent moons,
the elliptical orbiting planets, the butterflies,
winds and mammals, animals, they know me,
Wisdom. I am she who is
directed by He, the omniscient.

And reject not inevitable Peril,
for it is she who heaps upon you
strategy through training
which brings forth strength
and insight and personal dexterity.

It is I, said Wisdom
who knows not to
deceive, but
to wholly discern.

© L. P. Penner, 2015


Perceptions Poetry


Each day is new and real,
as yesterday is old and late.
Day by day we must chip away
at sorrow, guilt, anger, and hate.

To our misfortune we all make the mistake
of allowing these feelings to build up on our plate.
As sure as the sun rises announcing tomorrow,
these feelings will haunt us instead of guiding us forward.

Talking and sharing, crying and caring,
laughing and loving, or hating and hurting…
prone to emotions, we are created the same.
Whether peaceful or despairing, we seem played like a game.

Sane or disturbed?
Who owns the blame?
We were all born with an instinct to never bury our pain.
We all need to realize why God made us this way.

To hold our minds hostage—a mirrored maze!
Find someone to talk with, unashamed.
Understanding brings comfort and remember me saying,
“Someone you trust can hug away pain.”

A talk over coffee, a laugh over tea,
or a cry due to tension.
And every tear shed will find happiness,
And the peace will set your fears free.

Anxiety fades… as we are finding sunshine.

© L. P. Penner, 1999


Self Test


Do you wonder who is in control of your life as it is known?
Why do things happen along your tailored road…
It’s good and it’s poor.
It’s grand and it’s sorrow.
It’s to believe and receive,
or ignore and grow cold.
What do you believe in?
What do you know?
What is your strongest wish
and what is your goal?

Maybe it depends
on the heart you have within;
bitterness, non-forgiveness,
or an open mind and letting go.

What do you have about you,
inside and around?
Will these things you do cherish
go with you when you’re gone?
This material plane is practice.
It’s here that we should learn
what trading bad for good is,
and how life is not our own.

It is here on earth we find out
that trials are how we grow
into our flesh, or spirit and soul.

Gather all the greatness and
harvest your purpose.

Your deeds are how you’ll know the difference
between what love is, and what you think you know.

© L. P. Penner, 2008

encouragement, inspirational

Dyslexia Has Gifts

The Making Up of a Dyslexic’s Mind
Lynn P. Penner

Have you ever had a session at your computer where you fork-out more finger power tapping the delete key than actually accomplishing your writing piece? Or you waste the ink of your favourite pen, scribbling and crossing?

Maybe it’s ie, but it could be ei… “i before e, except after c”… Believe me, there’re wicked word reversals too. Some nasty ones: won / now, pot / top, form / from or left / felt… This reversal business also happens with reading and writing sentences sometimes. (I what know I mean down to write.) And certain numbers and letters, b, d, 9, 6, g, p, q. L and 7, invert and flip around in my brain so rapidly; but I have to make up my mind. When reading and writing, I have a tendency to twist the truth around. Pardon the pun.

Just to humour me now, please sing along to the flipping letter: My eye-bone’s connected to my—brain-bone, and my brain-bone’s connected to my—spell-bone…. which is connected to my—funny-bone.

The delete key on my first-ever computer keyboard was the advocate who deserted me; went south, leaving me in the cold. Imagine my shock when I discovered that— ’cause it happened all at once—no warning! I tapped delete, and a whole word— sentence—paragraph was disappearing before my horrified green eyes, gaping mouth and furrowed brow. And it’ll always be the first key to wear out. Dang. Dyslexic. Who, me?

I worked retail for years. I had to fess up about my dyslexia. Working with numbers and letters all day on tags and transfer orders jacked up my blood pressure. Admitting there was “something wrong with me” was dicey, but most coworkers didn’t mind checking my transfer forms on my more flippy days. Others treated me like I was developmentally delayed. Win some, lose some.

Understandably, though, sometimes I feel like I’m on the brink of a disastrous, dyslexic breakdown. I’m confused by written directions and instructions, I don’t organize well, and I live by a “sticky note” memory. Persistence and perception are key for dyslexic persons.

Consider this: LD, Learning Disability, or “DL,” Diverse Learning? There’s quite a dissimilarity between the two acronym meanings, and yet if you’re dyslexic, your perception decides the D and L order. Not just the order of the letters, the order in which you view yourself. LD represents Learning Disability. Disability means unable, affliction, disorder, defect, impairment… but what if we review this word, disability, as differently able? Wrap your dyslexic mind around that reversal, because difference means alteration, diversity. Diversity literally means multiplicity, heterogeneity, variety, range. So, understand the meaning of diverse as unique, variation, assorted, multiformity. Plenty of talent, if you will, because able means capable, qualified, accomplished, competent, skilled. What a concept to consider that disability also means differently able. Learning Disability verses Diverse Learning. LD to DL. How’s that for a dyslexic reversal—of attitude? Our attitude towards everything in our lives determines our success.

There are many well-accomplished persons with dyslexia / learning “disabilities”. If you’re so inclined, check internet sites. Google “famous dyslexic people.” If you’re dyslexic or learning “disabled,” by the time you are finished viewing sites, your head may not fit through your T-shirts. Also check out http://www.dyslexia.com/articles/Mitchell2003.htm. That’s how I came to know that my creative outside-the-box solutions, imaginative thoughts and ideas, ability to visualize in 3D; literal interpretation of words as imagery, and heightened sense of spacial perception are due to my dyslexic mind. Before I knew what being dyslexic meant, I was ashamed to admit to it. Now, by exploring my innate talents, I realize my capabilities range and I’m proud to be a diverse learner. I wouldn’t trade it, so please don’t cure me.

Have you thought that your worth as a person with dyslexia is invisible? You are actually invincible. Remember, undercover detectives are invisible, yet their work is brilliant!

It’s okay to be human. Enjoy your mind.

© L. P. Penner, 2015

Writer's Block


TICKLE TO NONE Wakefulness grows wide—an all-encompassing mind vibe! Awake before cawing crows ‘cause I can’t sleep at night. Mind’s on a mission, a welcome surprise. That’s how it goes for writing most times. Ideas assemble side by side. A creative tickle for fictional stories, or truths as a riddle. Flow…flow…. Don’t quit—don’t go! It’s so fine; wakeful wide. Don’t mind time disappearing into the tickle. But ground control always comes along, takes me down, steals the tickle, strips the fun. Sleep now, through dawn and coarse-voiced crows. Lethargic; can’t write lyrics. Nothing rhymes. No fictional triumph, either. Try anyway… write limerick junk. Tickle’s gone… Oh no… blocked mind, filtration’s on. Deaf, blind; down time. © L. P. Penner, 2015