Renewal

Upon the trek through slopes of inner conflict
beneath the transient turquoise sky,
the eyes of the soul behold
those tangerine fingers of light
and inside swells the power of faith
as that calming sense of serenity.

In the splendor and trails strolled
within still yearns for the beauty of belief,
to see in that scenic tapestry travelled
something more than mere vivid visual visions.

It’s the questions quizzed of quintessential quest
located deep within the heart and spirit,
reaching so far inside while on any landscape
where we know so intuitively
answers are found we need so much to know.

Upon the plateaus passed in poignant passage
though every lair, layer and land of life,
we pause on the pilgrimage of clarity and wisdom
for an hiatus in understanding.

How the wind blows its secrets
when morning rises in our minds,
a dawn of renewal once we finally are ready,
ever so willing to inhale
the air that carries God’s scent of grace.

Oh the joy, the intense sense of tranquility
once we look and at last gaze with acceptance
at the wonders before us
with a willingness to truly fathom
they are from a divine fingerprint.

Humbly standing instead of wandering
because that new song rises within
from those notes of forgiveness
that begin with forgiving oneself.

The Call

He stood the silence and solemn wake,
upon the night’s litter strewn street,
clutter’s aftermath of high school
homecoming celebration
that erupted in chaos after illegal beer party.

So hard to curb his policeman’s night stick,
when drunken teenagers lost control.

But a father’s heart filled with love
was a shield for his soul,
never veering from remembering
the badge and law,
which he vowed to uphold.

How irony nearly buckled his knees,
because of all the streets
where he could be sent,
did he really have to be this one?

For his mind still stings with grief
over his son’s death
on this very concrete,
killed by a drunk driver.

Oh how it ripped at his gut,
remembering his son
had been the team’s star athlete,
knowing they lost to their opponents
whose leader had been the child of the drunk driver.

Years of law enforcement and noble sense of duty
kept him from giving up,
having a faith in God preserved his will,
imagining his son now on Heaven’s football field,
it was another way his courage and conviction
overcame the trials of life,
just like his refusal to let this prejudice destroy
a sense of pride in his heritage
winning that battle over hate,
summoning the courage to serve equality
even to the ones who had only treated him unjustly.

Winter’s Vest

White drifts of snow’s silk
weaving their frozen blanket,
dressing life in chill,
icy fabric covers thoughts,
warmed by the spring’s dream mantle.

Fireplace helps clothe
the heart in calm reflections,
cocoa sweetens cold,
arms of lover thaws insides,
winter’s vest serves its magic.

Beyond The Clutter

When the last glass ball shattered,
one more collectible I thought was treasure,
inside I felt crushed and in pieces
for I had placed my faith in a thing
one more hope hinged outside myself.

Yet morning came anyway
and once I reached beyond my loss,
there were flowers still to possess,
air to breath and days to be lived.

In the pain comes the awareness
how so much we grieve
is other than permanent,
it would die eventually,
only inside we are the ones
who have to find the truth,
the one that is our life
then let it rise in our sorrow
until we find what thrives
despite the sadness.

Might not be like others value,
doesn’t matter
as long as you can find yourself
among the pieces
where you rebuild
what can be apart of your own life,
honest and genuine
regardless of how it looks.

Random

Oh the dreary drudgery dredged through my head
when that random button did disappoint,
I wanted incoherence and nothing that made sense,
the ramblings of politicians and bureaucrats,
instead I got poetry and some of it very sensible.

What kind of random is that?
Even ask it as question from the ask a question link,
still waiting on an answer.

Yes, I want real random
from the core of life,
people and minds merged in union
to offer up something totally insane and bizarre.

What an inspiration that would be,
a chance to prove sanity is not required,
perhaps giving hope to so many of us
that are better at not making sense anyway.

Sent off a ticket with a recommendation
hope it gets a good response
as I wait to have my lunacy
given a chance in the spotlight.

Alas the gifts of abstract
are sometimes unappreciated,
but hey I didn’t make the button
all I want is equal time.

Beyond The Sums

The math doesn’t add up in my favor,
cancer and heart attack,
age and the ever declining nature of its pull
upon the mind, body and soul,
just treading water in a river of tears,
barely holding on to another frayed thread of faith,
when I cry oh Lord for that renewed vision
what now is the path you seek for me?

It bodes harsh this current trail,
through pain and burdens that have no end,
but I cling to the promise of His forgiveness
and provision for my every need.

Then I exhale the temporary visions of my void,
reach out by trust in His promises
to let peace come in the struggle,
find the light His will would shine
not to dwell upon my own choices,
instead to celebrate and obey
wherever He would lead.

Out the detour where I fell,
now I simply yield and embrace His unconditional love,
allowing it to write a hymn for my lips
enough to give a chance to truly walk again.

Those steps will go where He leads,
sometimes it is there are times it gets fuzzy,
yet is the steadfast nature of faith
and by His spirit’s power will it carry me
unto the terraces in praise and thanksgiving
as the foundation to grant calm
taking me by His mercy
one step more to the place I’m meant to be,
which will bring peace in the simple haven in joy
felt from not fretting what I am,
instead embrace what He will empower me to be.

Three Words

I love you
opens the heart,
with this ring
I thee wed,
fires the spirit,
rest in peace
mind's prayer.

A Quiver Of Quills

The muse never hides though feels so distant,
always clothes herself in the clouds and sun,
a thicket of trees, waves of the ocean
and any place
her voice can whisper, “listen to me.”

But it grows silent in our soul at times,
our minds ceasing to sense her song
when the band of life
marches by too loudly,
pounding in our thoughts,
muffling our very heartbeats
until the stroke of her hands
upon the harp in our spirits,
just stops singing such stirring notes.

When we call and think she doesn’t hear,
perhaps it is because
she is speaking where we aren’t looking,
like a zephyr breeze that blows gently over our pores,
so she blows that soft wisp of inspiration.

Pausing in the stillness
until her caresses brings
a quiver of quills,
not a shockwave just a touch,
coming in a simple waft of image,
slowly growing as we let her sway
seep into our fingertips.

It may come as chaos at first,
because we got out of practice,
allowing it to built from a trickle
into a waterfall,
at the pace she creates.

How it will shudder in the joy
once you’ve walked again those steps
she leads by nudges,
where it will change suddenly,
coming when least expected,
yet so worth waiting the moment.

Heaven's Eyes

Faith's light shines forth from the soul's beacon
past life's storms and seas of questions,
beyond the reefs where hope's vessels are shipwrecked,
for empowered stroke from God's brush of grace.

Weathered memories never forget joy's sea shell song
nor the tides blessed with mercy's waves,
standing against the elements bearing their tests to the heart,
devoutly gazing towards eternity.

Love's electricity charged by the Lord's spirit,
gives one's conviction a golden glow,
seen by those adrift upon disillusionment's sea
as guiding torch helping them reach safety.

Never arrogant in tending this ancient lighthouse
where other keepers is presence is felt who stood watch before,
hearing their voices of assurance
in times when darkness cripples ability to stand,
strengthen in one's vigil
feeling watched by
Heaven's Eyes.

Rivers

Her waters seem so mesmerizing and spellbound,
flowing from her immortal well, deep into the heart,
washing, immersing,
until the eyes are transfixed and see visions in scenery
glimpses of paradise, powerful and pristine.

Then her voice drips into the head,
suddenly gripped with this lucid uncontrollable obsession,
creation and life must be defiled for it is evil,
rage is the brew intoxicating addiction
what was sane is now surreal and corrupt.

Still the taste becomes a narcotic
while pillaging and plundering the world,
uttering oracles thought divine
to make the holocaust of bloody brutality so justify.
Thinking you drank ambrosia, though it was brimstone’s champagne.

DUNKED

Life is perfect when the dirt never stains,
down by the riverside,
hallelujah chorus cleansing
before feet touch the water.

Reverend Buford Bellicose
bringing sins before a watery altar,
tomorrow will be dry and lily white.

Life's venue savored and sermonized
how glorious is paradise
once one's demons
are drowned by bath and vow.

Rituals dunking yesterday
into the rationalization's washer.
Donning a wet tee shirt
as hospital gown
for cancerous impulses.

Laundry done next week
bound to catch the filth
missed last time,
if not there is always
another opportunity,
because everyone knows
forgiveness is Heaven's chalkboard
that God always erases
when there are enough witnesses.

Behind My Curtains

Behind my curtains
the world expands to a karmic canvas,
ancient tolls in light
immerse my mind in their tapestry,
pyramids rise in golden sheen,
sky becomes leaden and weeps,
droplets of silver auras
drench the ashen fields with seeds shaped as hearts.

It is a moment spoken
a gaze of illumined song
opening a portal to my soul,
where heaven and hell wage war,
demons prance in envy
angels waltz in their allure,
but my mind stays on a fence's barbed wire
before spring comes to the playground.

Then all dims except of a single flame,
having language that speaks with my own voice,
summoning a symphony in my blood,
I hear the tones play a sonata of serenity,
embellished with love's lyrics,
praying for a spell to share it with others,
curtains oft being open by dawn's hands
before the music is remembered.

Captivated

Beyond the stairs
where we climb to greet the morn,
the steps taken because
school or work demand,
there is the door in our mind,
that opens to precious private places,
where plants have souls and we have wings.

A footpath shall I guide you towards,
for a stroll upon the winds,
dancing with airy toes
over the tops of flowers.

We'll visit the fairy spirits
which hide in the bushes,
listen as they sing their magic melodies
until it makes us forget
what waits when we return.

Afterwards, sipping upon the honeysuckle nectar
served by pixies,
lie among the emerald grass
to watch the clouds become
a thousand different stunning forms.

Then inhale the enchantment
blown by Mother Nature,
happily drifting through the trees
on golden beams of sunlight,
time, a watch broken,
while we play among the fields
created by dreams,
only returning when our hearts
have been warmed enough from the visit.

Sunrise Miracle

The rays release their illumined relief
upon the chains that once imprisoned his life,
now the cell door is open and tears stream
finally the injustice of his innocent
being wrongly punished
has mercifully ended with an exhale
of pure, rapturous joy beyond any words.

What irony an earthquake was his pardon
ironically he the only survivor in the penitentiary.

But as he wanders our of the ruins
and into the cold winter desert,
all that shines like a fire in his mind
is incredible euphoria of freedom and the blessing
from forever vanishing from that undeserved cruelty.

Formations

Faith is the stone set to stand in any wind or terrain,
the solid and stable conviction that always points to the light.
Though outwards the appearance of a believer
might not seem as scenic as some,
inside the rock of the Lord remains steadfast.

Until Shiloh calls and the soul goes home
where His spirit takes any flawed and jagged heart
and loving polishes it to a smooth everlasting and saving gloss

The Sweet Succor Of Psalm Serenades

Oh my soul has a voice
in the still soft silent shadows,
in the burnished glow of morning sun flights
with their quiet embraces
for life’s vernal and scenic bouquets.
That is when the whispers of my heart
are laid upon the spirit’s altar
and rise in deepest earnest sounds
through complete awe sired hymns
just laying them at His bountiful throne
of HIs eternal love and grace.

But by intense groans of such enthralling praise
comes the gold of gratitude
during night’s tarnished tinsel
after on a pause upon that path of call.
Standing on the prickly pricks of piercing pang
when within still flows the resonance of rapture
lifted out of the wounds and melancholy wrappings.

It is that pinprick moment that renders bleeding
on the truly grieve soaked shroud of suffering
that we give notes to our inner psalm composure.
Rise out of the catacombs
and sing the joy that visions recall
from the incredible expanse of blessings,
which outshines and burns faith so radiantly inside
amid every era of angst and tears.

Oh my Lord, my savior, my very life and breath,
is the plea I pour forth from His touch in inner jubilee,
how it takes me to winged hymns beyond my peril
slowly entwined in that airy entrancing transcendence
as His gift of mercy through any struggle.

Strumming the harp strings of my hearts
with a melody of dulcet rejoice,
totally filled with such affection and gratitude
for His everlasting watch care

Oh Sacred Incandescent

Oh Lord who lights the candles
of pure righteousness and faith,
send your divine shower of refining
deep into our souls,
cleanse and strike with all your healing flame,
give us again that inner burning,
the redeeming touch of your Holy Spirit.

Let us have that radiance on our lips,
grant us the sacred incandescent
to shine into our every doubt and darkness,
make us ablaze by your touch,
until we again are alive like a boiling broth
and seared with the craving for your caress,
every vision and praise your power inspires,
each precious longing to only think of you.

Send down your lily flare of anointing iridescent
that can erupt within our hearts
turn every thought into a praise.

Transform our minds to only seeing
what is your will as the sun of our desires
so we can stand at Zion’s gate in our longing,
lift up with joyous chorus of Selah
all that we surrender to your omniscience.

Willingly entwined in a glorious supplication
for the rich bliss of sublime closeness
as a precious gifting of yearning,
utterly illuminating any darkness
with the lightning stroke of salvation.

In that overwhelming feel
shall we know only the beauty of redemption,
constantly singing of our renewal
by that everlasting torch you have lit
during our humbling submission.
Giving thanks for the way you immerse us
fully and completely in that beautiful clarity,
which only wants what you have to reveal.

I Know Who You Are

I can see deep into your secrets
every need and pain I understand,
your future I will make so blessed.

For so many hearts have I cherished,
able to work my miracles
with such vivid precision
to leave those I have helped
in mesmerizing awe.

How so often the poor and down trodden
seek my wisdom
to clothe their journey in armor
so they have no fear
of beast that might stalk their path.

Because I am the all seeing eye of vagabonds,
the deliverer of nomad souls
taking them from the path of violated trusts
unto a perpetual sanctuary of moving peace.

Salvation for stumbling steps I offer,
serenity shrouded in complete security
seeing faces shine with pure contentment and bliss
my greatest source of joy.

Warmth

It is the sun that lasts until the next morning,
silence from lament’s howling wind,
a place you visit between questions
where light and peace touch the heart.

Journeys taken standing still
nothing greeted,
except a friend,
nature’s tongue
licks with the rain, sights or scents
that caress and inspire,
mind immerses in a laughter
without voice or sound.

So many faces
form in the mind
bringing the pure sense of euphoria.

Like a wind it is fleeting,
has so many origins,
but for that precious moment
of inner radiant song
the world becomes a melodious piano
whose music
quiets the dogs of night.

The Spring Of Hope

We are the Lord’s lilies
seen as pure and blameless,
when we by faith
trust to His gift of salvation
as the spring of hope.

Mercurial

Inside within the deepest recesses
swirls a starlight,
the mercurial luminosity from a timeless shimmer,
that celestial umbilical cord,
indwelling with its constant migration
of ideas and visions,
creativity’s cosmic quintessence
reaching outward through the mind’s camera
placing on array
the flux in universe nature,
ever transcending and mutating,
unveiling the galactic panorama
dying and being reborn,
captured through the silent starry epiphanies,
those nocturnal silvery nectars
inspiring a tether in the conscious
to the burgeoning clarity
of oneness between all life.

We dream the comets streaking towards truths,
feel the asteroids of waking throb their presence,
until our spirits expand to become an inventive womb,
a black hole of imagination
drawing inward into a mental vortex
all the constellation songs penned over the eons.

To extend out with a cerebral finger of lucid caress
is to dip it in the slipstream of what is ageless,
allow the brain to become a canvas
for painting the tapestry of profound,
discovering the masterpiece of those who came before,
feeling the touches of the original divine artist
and embracing the love radiating
from its everlasting and evolving mural.

In The Woods

Hiding from the plotting eyes
who want to make an angel
by the death of one’s heart,
stripped naked of illusions,
crumpled wings of featherweight dreams
stretched in the woods
where trees are invented
to shelter the tears.

Can’t keep the wounds
from staining the hand me down gown,
they drip with knife wounds to back,
hoping there’s some magic left
that can make the pains disappear,
but this forest in the head
is filled with ghosts
instead of fairies.

Remembering Hansel and Gretel,
can there be a gingerbread house
in this private peace
where a witch doesn’t own your head
and will devour you in your sleep?

Problem with paradise
dwelling in the brain,
its beauty is often acid,
the landscape needed for freedom
ends up having bars.

Want to stop the screams
echoing in the leaves,
but autumn for the memory
only comes went you stop thinking,
which seldom happens
unless it is to worry about
some place you can escape
without more wolves than flowers.

Trials

In love’s courtroom
hearts vote
on truth.

Non Stop Flights

Eyes seeing runways among the cubicles,
mind in the sky
riding on the back of a Phoenix,
on a glide to ever
in the cloud bank of fantasia’s air.

Catching creativity’s zephyr wind
aloft the heart soars so serenely,
while sitting in cockpit
of youth’s jet plane,
when flying never required any airport
just the believe in the impossible.

But the brain of dreamer
is always on a non stop flight,
refusing to succumb
to doubt’s gravity,
finding peace from eagle visions,
never giving up on a chance to soar.

Tickets purchased on passion’s airline,
always going first class,
horizons reveal golden sunrises
where tomorrow will be reached,
touching down on tranquility’s landing strip,
all while sitting in a chair
owned by the control tower
whose radio you never accept for directions,
because only the compass inside
points towards your own true North.

Phantoms

Landscape moans it guarded secrets
buried under age's sands,
of messages scrawled in creation's diary,
stuffed into a scenic mattress,
wind carrying the muffled sounds
of ancient harps that are sleeping,
their notes resonating in stone, sky and sand,
they call in ghostly soliloquy,
phantoms that etched life
with melodies of light now faded,
energy of their essence
always lingering as Deja vue auras.

Incense from their vibrations
becomes a puppeteer of muse's strings,
they pull upon the fingers
that sculpt and craft their faces
hiding in time's mirror,
apparitions of breaths
tapping on the mind's shoulder,
creating the feeling of being watched
whenever hands obey the tug unseen,
unveiling the specters within, spent and vented,
until they possess the eyes of those
who are witnessed to the gems expressed,
always nagged by sense of being
stalked and never alone
life becomes a gravedigger's plight,
ever excavating the corpses of invention.

Parties

My life has been one constant invitation
to parties held by those
who insisted I wear a disguise
according to their rules.

Their costumes never fit
and they always felt so uncomfortable,
while forced to play their games,
knowing the winner was chosen
before their started.

Each celebration
at home, work, school and church
stuck me with their hoods,
painted with some image
that was never me.

Though they often suffocated
no one cared to see what lied underneath,
soon I couldn’t even remember
who existed when I was naked and alone,
this day’s charade stinging in the awareness
it was all a vain façade
and I was expected to play it as a mime,
never complain the loss of self
nor the sense I was dying inside
from dwelling like a lump of clay
everyone modeled to please their notion
of what I should be in their minds.

I drifted from party to party
feeling more a clown and servant
than a participant,
so miserable and destitute
after the countless antics lacking value or joy.

Then heaven’s door opened before my eyes
and the Lord draped me with His robe of salvation,
not meant to impress, but did cover so well,
content to wear the Holy Spirit’s aura over my essence
as the image worth being seen.

My Script

I wrote my morning in precision
loved to have it carefully orchestrated,
same player and sets used
the story line penned in flawless expectation
so every scene should be performed
just as I have directed it.

But it never turns out as I think
some of the players get so moody
and the props at times break.

It all turns into unpredictable acts,
nothing becoming as I have wanted.
As the lights go down and darkness come
inside I feel so hollow and frustrated,
peace erodes away,
all I want is the calm,
which consistency brings.

How it truly gnaws at me
there is no cohesion in the events
not a single chance to claim
what gave me hope and happiness
among the hours of a certain day,
fades and doesn’t get repeated
even when nothing seems to change.

So I search for tranquility
beyond that stage I create
to grasp a few blessed moments
able to restore that absent serenity.

Then returning to that dressing room
prepared to try again tomorrow
at clinging to this hope
my best joys will be repeated.

Valleys Of Baca

Valleys Of Baca
The path of faith, the one of real blessing
is one by the Psalmist declaration
that passes through the Valley of Baca,
which means tears.

In the light of real scriptural revelation
does the truth shine so clear,
for to trust the Lord with all your heart and soul
walk though stumbling by His word,
will carry with it times of testing
so that faith is made stronger.

It refines and helps to remind what is important
though some will always treat such tears
by the misunderstanding that blessing
is painless and never includes a struggle.

Yet, when one has felt those stripes in retrospection
able to grasp their purpose
with the help of the Holy Spirit
there comes a sight more clear and vivid
because it is focused on more than oneself.

Through it glows the flame of grace
that gentle warmth of such insight
helping to appreciate God’s love
doesn’t depend on our perfection
isn’t conditional by our goodness.

Thus is silenced the echoes of recriminations
murmuring how sin alone brings all suffering.
Instead inside comes the peace
over appreciating there is no journey
without facing storms and more.

Then growing in the maturity of knowing
finally discarded the sounds of that seductive voice,
which suggests any bruises that are felt
are meant as a curse.

At last able to march without constantly
thinking those weeds and thorns that are revealed
mean you are going in the wrong direction.

Daffodil Lives

Balancing on the breath of survival
world feeling immersed in its creation,
alone and trying
to find purpose's nectar.

Fate's breeze brushes
fancy's wings,
clinging to fragile security
of where the heart soared.

Battling against
challenges to faith,
finally returning
to the hive
in one's lover's arms
savoring affection's honey.

In Daze of Days

To feel the song the sun sings in shiny notes that warm the soul
in airy tones that cast their lilting spell over mind and heart
with a visual orchestra charm that lifts spirit beyond any noon's light
enables eyes to find enchantment even in the middle of the night,
hearing a flute of thought when we dare to believe notes are magic
and look at each day in daze of they symphony playing before our eyes.