Tempest

Waiting
he arrives
confidently wrestles
frozen sheets.

Silence.
Long walk
to search existence.
Where? Stop in such a place.
Let us sense the world without pollution.

At the top of the stairs
slippers. Still.
Ghosts take room
where empty exists.
Feel the breeze brush
against the feet.

In the end
remains
trusted lover
cascade.

Crux

Sunday morning poetry. Church; my words, spoken to me, shared lovingly to and with you. Second chance to make it right every Sunday for a year.

Do you see my side?
I certainly cannot see yours.
Foreign words spun
from cottonwood fuzz.

A tree
circles storing knowledge.
Good and evil burning
ash covering the world.

This is not about me ruling over you.
I would hope it is not about you ruling over me.
Fear divides the space
aggravate the mind.

Identity

Restless mind
thoughts standing bold before the queen.
Dare scatter the sharp-sheathed seeds?

Zealous lyrics stretching into the dark corners.
Songs ringing through the kingdom.
Freedom exists for those who dare.

A brave soul!
Rare
as a bird’s treasured feathers.

Then

Poetry is the very breath of God. In His Words He spoke life into being.
Deep inside each of us something speaks. Listen. Believe.

I rock back and forth in life’s womb
hiding behind lie’s pain.
Love masked by passing shadows.

The home’s walls unstable
I need to find me,
the sky’s clouds, the dirt’s grass.

Anxiety is sorrow’s prison.
Discover life’s joy.
Learn to handle grace in God’s arms.

America’s future

Courage does not look at the past to justify a hateful heart today. Vile and ugly thought spoken in the public arena is not conducive to bringing brotherly peace. What is needed? I believe inward introspection focused on changing individual hearts. We all should face the world confidently with a smile, being brave not in vengeance but in healing and love. Perhaps we need a Gandhi or Nelson Mandela running for office.

An eye for eye only ends up making the whole world blind.  — Gandhi

If you want to make peace with your enemy, you have to work with your enemy. Then he becomes your partner.  — Nelson Mandela

 

For me that means getting on my knees and praying for myself. Praying for those who hate me. Praying for a time of peace, knowing full well that may never be, but I will be satisfied I did my part.

 

Connections

Wretched days and shameful nights
forgiveness alludes
the family whose wounds
speak to a weary clouded sky.
Child accused for all the wrong
with dad and mom and home
not acknowledging the aching
lips she keeps shut tight.
Oh save us, the child cries
scared to move at night
the beasts in the window
screaming a great fright.
No one comes to save
images prepare to fade
if only the day would
send some grace for these endless wretched ways.

Spoken

Sunday morning poetry. Church; my words, spoken to me, shared lovingly to and with you. Second chance to make it right every Sunday for a year. Valentine’s Day today.

Don’t ever forget I love you.
For a moment and a day
you are the lover
I wait for in every particular way.
Not for the world to understand
or solely for your sake
not strictly for our pleasure
but my chance to be awake.
Sitting on a park bench
holding hands before the crowd
who singly walk past
thinking I understand their unconscious thoughts out loud.
We are forever
marking our place in this world
that I wouldn’t have in any other fashion
even if I could.

Hoarders

Worldly baggage
turns corner
jolting suffering stranger
“Help carry?”

Unload your mess
onto a naive bystander
with no rhyme or reason.
A desperate effort.

Fulfill their craving
accepting more
than you would like to know.
Vacant stare!