Posted in Poetry

if i had chance

if i had chance

to live again
return my age -golden bough
outline the breast
“i had chosen you”

with gentle step
and languid kiss
poetry to sink my heart
graciously held our cup

of wicked red
scorns our bed
i chosen you.

Posted in Poetry


a brisk start

rapid steps -toward

pushed forward

crashing clang

hush subdued

Plover approach

skitter days -search

what’s left behind

(Day Three of White Sands)

Posted in Art, Musings, quotes

Roots (confession)

Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well-lived.

Christ before Pilate, David Aronson, 1949, Art Institute Chicago
(I think.)  We all like to believe we are the be-all to end-all solution to the adverse we face.  Complex problems are produced by simple acts gone awry.  Well meaning people get tangled in their desires that eventually overtake all soundness of mind.  We become corrupt in thought not out of kindness but selfishness.  I think I stand in such a bubble.

My bubble bumps my neighbor’s bubble and on and on the bubbles bump.  In time the bubbles burst and the earth is covered in a sticky film that does not wash away easily. It takes effort to see clearly.

The reflection that digs into my soul has both a hatchet and a pick.  A hatchet to chop off major faults and a pick to clear the crevices.  What is left of a person who undergoes such surgery?

Many find religion compensates for the faults of man. Those who object I ask, would you die for another? Most likely yes. Would you die for a stranger? Possibly. For evil of others? Probably not.

What drives a person to hang for wrong deeds that are not their own? Was Jesus a narcissist? A delusional lunatic? In the minds of some yes. So those who have faith, the affect of such love, to believe they are forgiven, not forsaken to their own hands, rest easy. You too may be ridiculed, beaten in the market of ideas but steadfastness is a peculiar trait.

“Well, then, I will tell you. Alexander, Caesar, Charlemagne, and I myself have founded great empires; but on what did these creations of our genius depend? Upon force. Jesus alone founded His empire upon love, and to this very day millions would die for Him.”
— Napoleon Bonoparte

World leaders such as Bonoparte are frowned upon in the “modern” age. Jesus is too. Or anyone who subscribes to such a philosophy.  So the world waits until every knee surrenders to what? If not Napoleon or Jesus, who?

Look around. Is this world any more peaceful. Do platitudes of “Be happy” make us so? Will we follow anyone who promises peace? Are we really still so gullible?

1 Thessalonians 5:3 “While people are saying, ‘Peace and security,’ destruction will come upon them suddenly, like labor pains on a pregnant woman, and they will not escape.

What of the little wars within ourselves? Are these not battles we should wage? I profess they are worthy! Inner battles given to circumspect.

Those who choose to end their inner battle we fight for their freedom to end life? Why is life not respected? Is pain only fought with the sword? Where are we in their hour of need?

“It is a higher glory still to stay war itself with a word, than to slay men with the sword,” –St Augustine

To be continued…

Posted in Poetry


i argued with my father

a lazy saturday

of how the man is taking

young men,

golden boys,

chivalry is dead.

War always

on the tip of tongues.

They use you father

i know father

You just dont listen

to me no more. I’ve

gotta go father

there’s work to be done.

Young boys dying in the streets

their lives


golden boys

chivalry is dead.

Posted in Poetry


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.