LAIR OF THE PENMAN

My Ears Always Ring

2011-07-31T07:30:00.000-07:00

I sit in this sun baked corner
no one to offer me shade
while so many climb into my closet
where they wrench from their guts
so many secrets and lies
pound on my insides when outraged
never once imagining the way
this makes me feel so used.

They never care I am so sensitive
unto being their place to vent intimacy
make me endure hearing
every sordid detail of a life
that I can’t ever shared.

So I have to see the sky and dream
Let those tales I must tolerate
That they sing so passionately
Into my essence with their details
paint me with such vivid longings,
still they are only mind mirages for me,
none carry the anguish I suffer
from my dread over a lack of feet.

All I can do is be their comfort,
hold them in silence as they vent
let each emotion sting my inner core
and quietly hold onto my fantasy
over how someday I too
might know of love
untarnished by the perils unto my sanity
by the forced concrete servitude.

The Stripes Of The Sun

2011-07-30T07:00:00.000-07:00

Lines of radiance
burn deep into the mind,
cut their vibrant etchings
into the crannies where we scream,
we shelter our thoughts from their creations
or worship their scorching
by the images they induce
only never can we say
there is no artist in the dawn,
no tattoo that is placed
upon the morning.

Whatever the eyes choose to see
among the brushes of rays
will be the tints we mix
within our own brains,
where some feel a sting
others a caress,
but it always leaves a mark
for us to love or protest.

Glimpses

2011-07-29T07:00:00.000-07:00

Gallery glimpses
framing frozen seconds
in ballerina charade.

Leotard life
forms a hangman noose,
dangling from crystal chandelier
shining upon her opulent
display case cell.

Shudders from toxic masquerade
fractured the glassy veil.

Finally heading
out into the light
upon the stage
made of concrete and asphalt,
dancing for the first time
in moves not rehearsed,
steps as if in the sky
when done to a song
that you wrote yourself.

A Simple Stroll

2011-07-28T07:00:00.000-07:00

I shall treat your precious pooch as if he were my own,
so proud I would be to take him for a simple stroll.

And show him the sights of Hollywood
a walked down its enchanted avenues,
stopping a Hollywood and Vine
where dreams were made,
before step or two along the Walk of Fame
so we can touch each celebrity star
while I told him all the tales about their famous name.

Then inhale the visual panoply of eye feasts
over every denizen of its cinematic realm.
Taking him to see the Wax Museum,
maybe even a fabulous meal at a taco stand
sitting next to a woman dressed
as the Statue of Liberty that is named, Godiva Jones,
who keeps her Martian buddies
in her grocery cart, underneath her ball of lint
and collection of empty beer cans.

Next we could mosey to admire all the ladies
dressing in their provocative attire,
being sure I pointed out their rainbow colored mustaches.

Also the wonderful guys
peddling maps to the star's homes
wearing raincoats in July,
but nothing else
except for black socks and red sneakers.

And if we had the time,
to show him all the friendly folks,
couples, men holding hands with their buds,
ladies walking arm and arm
all enchanting in their black leathers.

Would certainly be day to remembered,
perhaps even get out picture taken as a souvenir
from a guy wearing a tin foil pyramid on his head,
he says the pictures will be ready on Tuesday,
providing the world doesn't it.

Ah, it will be precious memory to cherished always
even introducing him to all those with their own pets,
which only they can see.

Silver Sojourns

2011-07-27T07:00:00.000-07:00

Tattling tales the tongue translates
from each layer of seconds lived.
Does the voice that sleeps in the mind
really have a compass for the night?

Beguiled of lust and vented by quips,
each glance into the looking glass critic
is cause for invention and excuse.

Never comes the day of reconciliation
when eyes and image are in harmony
just passages from our past and future.

We hold with a ticket to lofty isles
where one is divine, unblemished and holy
it evaporates in our gazes
as face staring back into our secrets
stirs so many oxymorons one tried to live.

Somewhere in the questions one can't answer,
the reflection journey traveled reaches a pit stop
whether it become oasis or cemetery
depends on how close to truth
one cares to dwell.

Faith's Cliff

2011-07-26T01:00:00.000-07:00

What conviction
vows with
fervent lips
and what heart
believes,
only becomes truth
when life pushes
one off faith's cliff,
either trusting God's wings
or decides gravity
is death sentence.

Liberty

2011-07-25T07:00:00.000-07:00

Trapped in the realm of mummified souls,
the stallion inside so longs to run free,
but the day is stale and suffocating
so tarnished by the tainted thoughts
that stain the heart and ruined the vision.

Softly speaks the feathered siren,
a creature awakened by winds of encouragement
who slumbers in the mind so very encumbered
unable to imagine breathing or dreaming
with hope and power to truly believe
there is life beyond this crippling mental morgue,
somewhere totally filled with liberty.

Slowly the dawn rises within the spirit
when the still small voice inside
urges, and inspires to hold
onto the plumes of independence
and feel the fresh clean air of true reliance
upon those quiet ascensions
above the tombs where so many are prisoner.

Oh gently glide that finally brings release
unto the life so it can float with bliss,
touch the skies never before reached,
While eventually realizing
the wake of transcendence
that siren was God’s presence
as wisdom’s expression in awakening.

Blankets

2011-07-24T07:00:00.000-07:00

Old tattered threads of traditions
clung to as part of one’s heritage and past,
wrapped to tightly over the heart and soul
until you feel the ancestral resonance
ring through its fabric and into the spirit,
it summons the visions of a proud legacy
though it has faded over the decades.

Still that weave is apart of your essence,
an integral and essential element of your identity,
which cries out with your name
because it makes you hold onto your memory
even the frayed fragments of tales
told as legends and lore by relatives.

To feel it buffer from the wind,
the inevitable swirls of endless change
that seem to swallow that bond
with the inheritance of cherished celebrations
making life so tied to the circle of life.

Huddle in the cold of night
while using that old mantle for comfort and peace
so you know regardless of the perils
given flight over any day or hour
as long as the garment is there to warm
because it has love stitched into its design
then the silence won’t slay the dreams
and morning shall still come with hopes.

Gaps

2011-07-23T07:00:00.000-07:00

Alone so far from the hearth of serenity
where in better dreams it was home,
such suspended in a gap
between joy’s haven and sorrow’s snare.

Heaven is felt in the mind
as the vision of sky born flights
far from the rain of tears.

Below is the gray foggy haze
of what is unknown
though the ghosts of the past,
the terrors and tyrants howl
to make the skin cringe
from the fear they might wait again
if one dares to descend
into that maze called reality.

While their sounds dig into the nerves
every sense recalls that pains,
yet feeling so empty inside
over just sitting where there is no happiness
just a cold silence archway
ever inviting one to bridge
each concern and anxiety
and discover the gems of life.

Migrations

2011-07-22T07:00:00.000-07:00

The soul sails the eternal call
from celestial miasma shadows
ferried by the sandman’s
slipstream of cosmic echoes.

Their sounds guide towards the waiting star lights,
those shining spheres from veracity’s timeless suns
who glimmer by their everlasting illumination,
its iridescence causes as catharsis
in clarity felt as a flame that ignites wisdom’s flare,
a flame for the mental night as a nova for the mind.

Silently the shimmer burns its message
as the heart bathes in the flood of tranquility,
and by the dawn is swept along a calming current
from the oneness infused in the glide
between self and the universe.

What lingered as menace
over the vast unknown
becomes a companion before the day,
peace chimes upon that union
where the images cast
while aloft above the pillow
are etched in their stunning elegance
with vital and vivid reflections.

At last having ascended
to the constellations of being
no longer just a meteorite of musing
that tried to chase a glow amid the galaxies within,
now evolved both body and spirit
into an energy with purpose and point,
one more cerebral projectile who finally reached
that world inside where one is not an alien.

A Different Kind Of Free

2011-07-21T07:00:00.000-07:00

Is there yet a place
where words mean what is said,
that liberty doesn’t have strings
to wrap around your expectations
so nothing is given
without a price tag
or the bill on what was marked as free?

I want to know lips
who bless without a fee,
don’t offer gifts tied with bows
you have to pay in order to remove.

When the chains are truly removed,
not hidden from view
and hearts don’t carry cuffs
for restraining what you hope,
then perhaps we can finally stop cringing
anytime somebody offers help
through a simple act of loving charity,
because we are so conditioned
at knowing they always
have so many unspoken conditions.

Then share a time
when we don’t have to be slave
in dread of lies and deception,
just be able to accept
what is provided
while not having to worry
about an added charge coming later.

Fading Sunrises

2011-07-20T07:00:00.000-07:00

Withered warriors clinging to their war,
one last clash to gleam its prize
one last dream of past victories
to obey the heart of their embattled life,
but fate is the villain lying in wait,
they prowess of military skill
pitted against its fickle wilds.

Harsh and brutal it collects
a bloody trophy for their effort,
nobody wins in the duel
death the only master left,
but in the end they remain
soldiers fighting the war inside.

Finally moving to a epilogue of fatal honor
against the enemy they can’t avoid,
along the way they leave a trail
of blood drops, bullet laden bodies
and the reality of old west life.

Oh the past is their ghost that haunt
because progress is its own minions
who march in a parade
where the wild bunch are unwanted,
hunted and regarded as criminals
undeserving of mercy.

That’s the unspoken rule of their world,
survival has no middle ground of peace
and knights in the saddle easily fall,
their tarnished armor splattered in claret stains.

Then in a moment of respite
someone looks for a person to blame,
“they” is muttered by a young follower,
an old veteran just butchers that phantom guilty term,
like a reality of acceptance
there is no retirement
for the crusader
just a grave that doesn’t care their life.

Inspiration

2011-07-19T07:00:00.001-07:00

One droplet of encounter
ripples the lake within the mind,
waves of inspiration
disturbed the lethargic calm.

And it washes over the thoughts
drenching them with new images
suddenly riding a crest of creativity
until it causes a cascade
of deep refreshing wash,
unto an immersion
in the genesis of concepts
where something is born
so different and amazing
as it becomes like a drink
totally inebriating in its influence
since its origin is inside.

Keys

2011-07-19T07:00:00.000-07:00

Afternoon skeleton keys of inebriation
slipping on its honey through a crack
in the mind’s door to yesterdays
as a journey of signs
read on the highway in the head.

But the ride was never alone
another’s hand was also on the wheel,
got to find the arch under which to pass
on this cruise out of sobs.

Radio tuned to every ballad
that is a saddle torch song,
it never kills the feeling
of being on rewind,
yet it allows the heart to hum
and vibrate another entrance
to the living room of serenity
where the television plays
epic happy endings
out of youth’s toy chest.

Wish this road was straight
had no detours into walls,
wish there was a destination
called peace
that didn’t end up
at some fast food café,
which only sells greasy lies
leaving a bitter aftertaste inside.

Expired

2011-07-18T07:00:00.000-07:00

No longer content to wait
for you to taint the feast
you always served with deception's flair
containing another ounce of toxic trust
giving me a sugar delicacy of fabrication
which left me languishing
from amore's food poisoning.

This time the seductive chocolate icing
your lips wiped over my heart
might have tasted so sweet
until truth soured its flavor,
will no longer ruin my appetite
to seek what will fed my hunger soul
beyond a snack that burns in afterglow.

Now I've seen the cook of passions
underneath that serpent's charm you possess
who kills with smiles
biting with invisible fangs of betrayal
venom in your veins instead of love

At last I've noticed the expiration date
upon your soul and conscience,
regretting I didn't see it was past prime usage
before we even met.

Salvaged

2011-07-17T07:00:00.000-07:00

Scanning the refuse soaked in sorrow's sanguine cesspool
vacuous intent to gleam in essence what is mentally drooled as dross,
for seeing in the wasteland lament stretching with wretched writhing
chasms were neglect has tarnished the silvery slivers of essence
grazing in the decay with gourmet prevarications that restores lost glimmer
knowing with right seasoning what seems a festering pustule is really a diamond.

Genesis

2011-07-16T07:00:00.000-07:00

Upon the inaugural dais of patriotism’s plank
the symbolic herald of hope,
stood the living light of tomorrow,
our new guardian and sentinel.

His presence brings a ladder
to help lift a nation’s spirit
from the pit of deception
having been drug
across the thorny thickets
in fabrications.

Letting his voice and wisdom
wave a flag within our hearts,
upon a vision’s wind.

That we might again
breathe freedom’s air
feel the crisp breeze of democracy’s sky
spread over the land,
hands in hands,
celebrating a rebirth
of our lost dreams.

Once again to see our sacred soil
as the womb of equality,
where we follow our new leader
along a path
not using a rhetoric map
that was written by minds
more concerned about their own survival
than the common good.

Shaped

2011-07-15T07:00:00.000-07:00

Before the tangled tentacles of technology
formed a Gordian knot over the mind,
when fingers still possessed the power of sensitivity
to caress and explore with care
any of the emblems of our souls,
life was a passage of more intense artistry.
It was a song from the heart molded in shapes
and we all breathed with intention
to know, discover, taste, embrace and savor
every vivid and vibrant essence
for all the treasure they truly held.

That was the past time of poetic winds
where beauty was fondled and cherished,
where hands crafted the meaning of life
in the subtle abstract embryos of creativity.

Now is the winter of that sunlight,
the time of cold, shrouded and silent mementoes
of an evolved conscious,
full of surreal and distant souvenirs,
using dialogues by emails and texts
instead of hearts and lips.
Taken on journeys of pragmatic meanderings
on cyber walkways of vague and hazy truths.

Lost is the touch that spoke of bonds,
those objects we held and treated as gems
because they were crafted by the spirit
with love and passion to give them life.

Machines are the gods with programming
for a genesis of feigned progress,
they have become the sovereigns of imagination
cranking out the monotonous myriads of sameness
we accept as our only remaining choice.

Before the tangled tentacles of technology
formed a Gordian knot over the mind,
when fingers still possessed the power of sensitivity
to caress and explore with care
any of the emblems of our souls,
life was a passage of more intense artistry.
It was a song from the heart molded in shapes
and we all breathed with intention
to know, discover, taste, embrace and savor
every vivid and vibrant essence
for all the treasure they truly held.

That was the past time of poetic winds
where beauty was fondled and cherished,
where hands crafted the meaning of life
in the subtle abstract embryos of creativity.

Now is the winter of that sunlight,
the time of cold, shrouded and silent mementoes
of an evolved conscious,
full of surreal and distant souvenirs,
using dialogues by emails and texts
instead of hearts and lips.
Taken on journeys of pragmatic meanderings
on cyber walkways of vague and hazy truths.

Lost is the touch that spoke of bonds,
those objects we held and treated as gems
because they were crafted by the spirit
with love and passion to give them life.

Machines are the gods with programming
for a genesis of feigned progress,
they have become the sovereigns of imagination
cranking out the monotonous myriads of sameness
we accept as our only remaining choice.

Oh Blessed Miracle

2011-07-14T07:00:00.000-07:00

I’m counting my blessings now every day
thanks to this cleaner I bought off of Ebay,
it’s fantastic and perfect in every single way
for how it wipes off errors even in what I say.

Best of all the fumes that rise from that can
makes my head see things like a UFO fan,
ah who can ask for more bliss out of life
than a fluid that removes any sense of strife?

And if anyone decides to question what I say is reality
one whiff of this stuff makes them agree with me,
so I’m just thrilled and filled with complete ecstasy
over how a chemical eliminates every problem I see.

Yeah, I might pass out from sniffing it too much,
but it sure takes away every stress and such,
even removes the blunders from what I might touch,
which makes me love it as my error erasing crutch.

Going to take some out to stick in my boss’s desk
to be sure he stops thinking my mistakes are grotesque,
will be a delight when his brain to goes into some haze
that allows my goof up to be worthy of a big fat raise.

Sheltered

2011-07-13T07:00:00.000-07:00

There’s no key to the lock on the brain
because it is a sign of independence,
nor is the mind really imprisoned
inside a windowless box
for it is shelter against evil.

All the tales invented in stoic silence,
muted memories stilled by writing
on the walls of that oppressive chamber
called safety instead of fear’s cellar.

It’s the dementia of pride
carefully contriving creative causes
about the shivers and shakes
so you don’t have to admit
this cell where thoughts go to die
is more a morgue than haven.

How exquisite is the eloquence of fractured reality
where existence is seen as paradise,
forget the summers outside
when the heat made the veins simmer
and every day was full of surprises.

Those were ramblings of a precocious innocence
not fact or truth you have to live,
much more tolerable
being entomb where you were the mortician
so the cold and death of that cursed climate
can be explained as peace
even after the moans rob the night of quiet.

Seedlings

2011-07-12T07:00:00.000-07:00

Seedlings sleep beneath potential's surface,
they germinate from water's flowing out of mouths,
drenching in golden nutrients,
nurturing the essence,
or if the fertilizer by toxins
stagnating what might have bloomed.

Eyes fondling the future
gaze at seeds with flower visions,
carefully and thoughtfully cultivating
what the senses say awaits to be awaken.

The face the eventually is revealed
for each gem that is planted
is never forged and fixed
when love's husbandry culls
its depth of what can truly shine.

How often life's petals,
viewed as strangling vines,
transform into a gift of beauty
if lips have more water than fire.

Hearts always sprout
from the soil where they are sewn,
finding their way to sunlight
with petals full of grace and wonder.

Unless they were drowned in waste
poured out from a mental outhouse,
which only brings into being
the foliage of negativity
so often mirroring the fingers of caustic desires
who tended to the growth.

Morning

2011-07-11T07:00:00.000-07:00

Cold concrete holds the tomb of passions,
but the footsteps still echo like ghosts
for their vibrations never cease,
because in the middle of the chaos,
the loss of self and submission,
still the identity screams for its own sunrise.

Ornaments of prosperity
are strewn like litter on the streets,
this holiday of avarice
observed as a tradition
with suit and briefcase
and gowns tightly tailored to conform,
it’s all the diary of vaporous dreams
spent in mental soliloquies of questions
about the treasure and loves
that slipped through the fingers
before disappearing into the shadows.

Yet, inside their simmers hope
another morning will awaken the eagle inside,
time to soar and seek a nest
on top of a skyscraper
only seen in magazines.

Today will bring more crisis
another heart wrenching awakening
of being other than immortal.
Walking those pavements will allow
a chance to step on what has rule
over one’s fate,
by silent , reflective steps
one mind rises on a elevator
to stand on the top floor of any steeple.

Nakedness

2011-07-10T07:00:00.000-07:00

Swimming so long in the sea of solitude
so far apart from that shore
where hearts dwell whose songs
echo their notes in your mind,
but still moving through the waters
in search for what will fill the quiet,
drown the loneliness that flows like a tide
over the spirit and the mind.

In that drifting flow,
finally stripping away every illusion.
At least submersed enough
beneath the swells of struggle
to reach so deep inside
and touch the truth that was cloaked.

Silently releasing all the tangles
of sorrow’s kelp,
finally feeling free of each sadness
like a swimmin floating so featherweight
through the current.

Somewhere from that abyss
there comes the touch of wave song,
its notes like the sea shell caress
from reaching that rendezvous
with the self that was sunken
below the face in the mirror.

Eventually rising again
unto the light and air
no longer trapped to hold one’s breath
for liberty of that release
makes a blessing
out of the dive to find
the missing coral of the heart.

The Narrow Path

2011-07-09T08:00:00.000-07:00

The smell of cigarettes and stench of whiskey
clung to her nostrils in a perennial pungent bouquet.
Even when teaching her grade school kids
and more so during her Sunday school class,
like it was God’s punishment on her nose
for nights that were blurred images of bars,
blended with the naked flesh of nameless lovers
met and spent in endless trails to motels.

Inside, sometimes the guilt and panic would devour her,
but she was cursed, her body addicted
to the constant, shameless journeys into inebriated ecstasy.
Perhaps it was why she felt no discomfort
over the times she stripped off her clothes
then lied down to let anyone, male or female,
do as they desired with her.

Part of her did cringe during the flashbacks
as she would relive the hazy recollections
from those nights of pure ravished pleasures
just pushing aside the depths she fell
because it was all a game with no winner.

One swig of Bourbon tonight
stung as it went down her throat,
it didn’t matter, just didn’t matter
was what she kept telling herself.

Somewhere within this same old voice,
a soft sounding siren of sympathy
told her it was all acceptable,
part of her walking that narrow path,
this odd journey of rebellion
against her mother’s ancestry.

So she refused to succumb to the black sorcery legacy
wouldn’t let herself join that dark, evil voyage
of incredibly intense wickedness.
Only the price of rebellion
meant to dwell by night
in the realm of lust and wine,
which all made it somehow tolerable
to her mind that was trapped
within a murky mental maze of misdeeds.

Across The Desert

2011-07-08T07:00:00.000-07:00

Across the desert of rituals, dogma and traditions
have I tread as a wounded soiled soul,
clad in my filthy rags, always stumbling,
always straying from the narrow path
even though in my heart
I wanted to be different and less flawed.

Oh, the sin inside never ended
no matter what I learned
or what I did to feel it was gone,
it just left me feeling so dry and brittle,
totally unworthy of my Lord’s attention.

Years spent in that wilderness
have never rid me of every mar to my heart,
they still cling to my life
until at nights I feel that heaviness of my inadequacies.

But the Lord’s spirit comes as a soft, cooling wind,
He breathes over my wounds and doubts,
as I hear His voice speak that wonderful word of grace,
then I am renewed in my strength,
comforted in my failings,
while reminded that of how
perfection is never the path to heaven
since none of us capable of being sinless,
instead He opens His gate of unmerited favor,
the amazing blessing of His unconditional love.

Then I feel the peace comes
within my ache
happy to hold onto his promises by faith
not because I am deserving or righteous,
just because I take Him at His word.

Inspiration's Prey

2011-07-07T07:00:00.000-07:00

Pet's owner
considered herself an artists,
carefully creating tasty sculptures
upon demand of growing customer base.

Thought it was pure genius
when she made the tuna
for a fisherman's birthday.

So proud the way she mixed real tuna fish
with the fruit
to make it look and smell like real thing.

Leaving it on box while getting cleaned up,
returning to find Fluffy purring and content,
sitting where her masterpiece use to be,
her burp the feline stamp of approval.

Where Wings Touch

2011-07-06T07:00:00.000-07:00

Eternal is the song that sings in the soul
written by the heart of God,
that carries the notes of His everlasting love
where wings touch.

For in His eyes all are cherubs,
meant to share the garments of compassion
not just for those wearing
success's shimmering vanity raiments,
nor the plastic masquerades of manicured elegance,
which shallow orbs define as mankind's alluring opulence.

Beauty that Heaven crafts among the earthen tapestry
takes shapes and forms to be adored
because they are the Lord's creation
regardless of their flawed facets or fractured features.

When we can gaze into the heap of life's refuse
and not find only stains,
but also discover the gold hidden,
then we have learned how to weigh value
by a scale having no false measure of worth,
instead celebrating with mercy and charity
in ways we are viewed and cared about
as in the place of everlasting hugs
given without need for justification,
over why we spend more time thinking of ways to harm
than ways to inspire.

Food Poisoning

2011-07-05T07:00:00.000-07:00

Gorging on arrogance's fast food,
pride's grease clogs ego's veins,
headache comes from swelling
in vanity's blood pressure.

Stomach sours from chemicals
of self deception's additives,
mind suffers from diabetic reality.

Palate of boasting taste buds
ruined when sugar of greed
leads to prostrating side effects
in one's esteem posture.

Starving from having
one's gourmet meals
out of reach.

Force to eat humility's mud pies
in order to survive.

The taste is bittersweet
and one that is never forgotten.

In chill of quiet calm

2011-07-04T07:00:00.000-07:00

In chill of quiet calm
a weave of wintry white
bewitches in its icy serenity
as if nature slept in sound reprieve
exhaling a majestic alabaster breath
over the scenic canvas of ageless tales
from the hearth of democracy's soul.

But the spirit calling from the clusters
of weather's defiant trees,
speaks to the quintessence of ardent force,
which dwells in subtle pulse
inside the faces of creation.

River's relentless flow
through its dark water resilience,
brings its resonance in defiant reliance,
giving a serenade of stamina's theme
immersing the one standing in gaze
at its inspiring metaphor of endurance.

To stroll the wooden bridge with focused eyes
and sense the residue of drama
from past performances,
is to sense the visionary template of freedom
bespeaking to the fire that burns,
which bears a light as sun unto one's shadows,
marching vicarious in images of the yesteryear
on the heels of the tests and trials
of which it reminds,
hearing the cadence of independence
strike its beat within the mind.

Touchdowns

2011-07-03T07:00:00.000-07:00

Goal post dreams beset his soul,
roar of crowds bore in haunting vaporize images,
how the heart could feel every victory
the body missed when scrimmaging against
all the impossibilities.
He was a god upon the high school campus
for the fleeting months of fall,
rest of the year spent reliving each glory,
dying underneath his illusion’s face mask
because it wasn’t more than a game,
no scholarships waited to complete his fantasies
to the university’s that were portals to the pros.

At home the trophy shelf
was a tribute to his father’ obsession
having forged his life to model the athlete
which his dad had never been.

It felt good to gain that first award,
but they became hollow shells of pride
when it didn’t fill the emptiness
spreading as a cancer inside.

What aches his soul
was the denial of self in that jock mask worn
smothered the heart of his passions,
calling forth in the night as a seductress,
the endless symphony of questions
on ways he could satisfy his cravings
for more than sweat and running,
where is that touchdown for his life
that would make it more than a uniform?

On the field he silenced his fears,
all the moaning creatures from his anxiety
over spending his life
always practicing and never feeling any real peace.

Letterman’s jacket clothed his secrets,
knowing it would fade in time
hoping he’ll find some game plan
where the being trapped within
finally gets to be first string.

On The Clock

2011-07-02T07:00:00.000-07:00

The world is a stopwatch
constantly, ticking, ticking,
every life having a deadline,
each creation carefully crafted
with a timepiece of aging.

You can’t stroll any avenue,
linger somewhere just to taste the wind
that the sounds of alarm clocks
won’t be heard in the head.

Born aware it seems
some schedule is foreordained,
nothing exists without an expiration date.

Walking the ramparts of reality
confronted by an added layer
in the second’s charted lines
stripped of any immortal illusions
by funerals and the constant changes.

Even existence is precarious,
learning how falling asteroids might doom the planet
or some prophetic visions
have swore the future will bring some pain.

So we spend the moments
silencing all the sirens,
quietly muffling their dreaded resound
grabbing hold of the fleeting joy
wherever it can be found,
because as long as history
still has hour hands
it is far better to savor its movement
than give up on any plans.

The Sky Kissers

2011-07-01T07:00:00.000-07:00

Their nose is so high in the air
minds can possible know
anything below the clouds
because angels are holding them skybound
above the muck and filth,
perfect, pristine, beyond capacity
never making a single mistake.

Naturally, nobody else
can match their flawless flight,
it is their duty, a sacred calling
to described in precise detail
every miniscule mar in your life,
make sure your smallest goof
is seen as a capital crime.

Can’t allow anything to exist
unless it is dissected and slaughtered
god forbid a word might be uttered
possessed of a syllable in hope.

The world would be vaporized
before they uttered one kindness
or didn’t use your heart
as a stone to sharpen their knife.

Should by chance you expired
they would point out
how your corpse was littering
and doing it with bad form
after all death is no excuse
for letting your body
stop trying to be as matchless as theirs.

But then they would no doubt
have no need for a coffin
why bother when you will
just float up to heaven
and sit on your throne.

The Heart Of The Sky

2011-06-30T07:00:00.000-07:00

They were born at sunrise,
two lives fated by the great spirit as a single heart,
foretold to the mystic ones during their waking dreams
when the gray smoke of divine presence
rose from their tribe’s sacred fire pits.

Their births came at the same moment though miles apart,
on a cloudless day under a brilliant turquoise sky,
the morning brought a strange, lurid wind,
a blue mist appeared driven by its invisible breath,
carried across the villages with a mesmerizing magic,
deeply it soaked into those tender young souls
and left a mystical azure birthmark upon their heads.

Love exuded from their touch at the moment they could walk,
an amazing powerful warmth flowed
so able to reach every hurt and fear,
how it calmed and soothed anyone they met.

Inside they still where haunted
by an ever sensing call of their other half
at night they saw that face in hazy visions
it lingered during the sunlight as intense waves of longing,
subdued by those conversations with that ancients seers
whose ghosts were summoned by the old woman
when they used the hides of buffalo
for listening to the earth song
of what lived and cried from its suffering.

They were the ones who sang the prayers
over the hope for a return of their lost blessings
from hunts where beast were plentiful that fed them all winter.

In their teepees they wept and waited
for the divine power to unite this couple
so their pure love would bring again
all that had been taken away.

And when the autumn leaves fell upon a breeze
finally the two tribes were brought to the same river,
eyes of destined lovers seeing each other for the first time,
knew a the feast had come they were missing,

When All Remains

2011-06-29T07:00:00.000-07:00

"If there was nothing else,
and no one but us two..."
with all that was is just a memory
for it will always be
merely wisps in thought
next to the love we share,
I would still feel rich and blessed
wrapped in your arms
far from the cold and ruins.

Our hearts have a song
that sings above every crisis
drowns out the groans and tears,
together is the sun that shines
as a day that always gives us light.

It is the wind from our lips
rising out of breath in longing
gently brush such peace
over each other.

A morning we can face anything
because in our oneness
we have a foundation
never crumbling or decaying.

What whispers you give
keep me so strong and alive
though time and pains intrude
for ours is its own planet
within our souls,
rich and fertile,
sublime and complete
regardless of what surrounds.

Oh my fated lips
shall bear all scars
be destitute and a vagabond,
yet dwell in joy forever
as long as I have you.

Prophets And Experts

2011-06-28T07:00:00.000-07:00

Oh the lips that flow with the world’s honey,
never know of heaven’s bees or eternal wisdom
where all they see and can assess
is by what their own hands can hold or make.

So when you live by faith and trust with all your heart
though the rain comes and the day is far too long
out come the soothsayers to dispense their doom
only their mouths suppress their forecasts
by simply uttering that feign omniscient, “aha, aha”
rolling their eyes with mocking glares
quietly thinking how moronic you are
for clinging to something promised in God’s word.

Unto the soldiers of the cross
who have their scars of walking with the Lord,
in the heart is held that power of His spirit
ever remembering each time some valley came
where the end was not easily seen,
but knowing that God was at the end
making sure you arrived as His hand made possible.

Now while those silly nitwits mock and snicker
over the supposed lack of wisdom you express
it is the time to just keep walking and trusting,
aware sooner or later all those who trust to their own strength
will make a mistake and fall.

That is the time a quiet curl of the lips
and mere stare at their embarrassment
is as bad as pouring hot coals on their bodies.

Then walking ahead singing a psalm
while they sit and burn in their own shame
allowing the chance to laugh a tad,
which is an echo that it always haunts them.

The Time Clock

2011-06-27T07:00:00.000-07:00

I sit in the darkness and hear the ticks
from that clock that cancer
placed within my life.

No clues how long it will
keep on working
or when it will possibly stop.

If I could change on thing,
it would be to have this question mark,
this wondering wasteland,
suddenly turn into clarity.

To have the chance to end
all the tests and treatments,
let it come to a halt
without a morbid end.

Not that I worry over eternity,
but do wish my family a chance
for us to truly stabilize our security
so they will remained able to chase their dreams
regardless of what happens to me.

Meanwhile I trust in the Lord
seek the choices that have the most promise,
quietly chase rainbows
and refuse to stop living.

Better In Time

2011-06-26T07:00:00.000-07:00

Knives get dull,
people eventually forget,
the snow melts
and fires finally die.

How we try to recall
when the crisis is lingers
it will get better in time,
then we exhale that stress
like a promise we lie to ourselves
that the pain will end,
sadness shall cease.

But the scars still remain,
broken hearts seldom go away,
improvement is the path of healing
where we don't deny the wounds,
rather to treat learning as the progress.

Because even in spring
there are signs that winter came
and to see it with eyes open
is to embrace change
with all its flaws and values,
while not pretending
hours will erase the past
instead of accepting transformation
doesn’t always translated into
into the death of every problem.

Blades

2011-06-25T07:00:00.000-07:00

It isn’t the field where you fall,
along that trail turning left unexpectedly
where you assumed would end at a mansion,
which covers your mind
and consumes your attention,
utterly screaming so deep into your senses
so it totally dominates each thought.

Instead it is the blades that brush against your leg,
poke through the fabric and give it reality
that transforms the long fail trek towards an oasis
into a pit stop at the profound.

Words spoke while walking,
those assumptions of the sight,
suddenly lose their meaning,
no longer are they gems waiting to be found.

For that meadow met in its raw earthy essence
in life’s genuine heartland
has its own splendor and fascination,
provided you take time
to truly embrace the scenery,
feel its wealth with all its textures
rather than bemoan
how it isn’t heaven.

What lies before the feet
are the detours to truths without costumes
carefully and intensely touch
as either a the dwelling place embraced
filled with what can honesty be,
or just keep on telling yourself
somewhere will come that is greener.

Fete of Luminary Communion

2011-06-24T07:00:00.000-07:00

Opulent incandescent globules radiant with the efficacious effulgence
replete with panoplies of myriad tinctures resiliently effervescent
drape in the harmonic illumined tapestry shrouding in its shimmering splendor
beguiled and bewitched in the elegant ephemeral kaleidoscope panorama
serendipity's sanguine supplication elongates in ominous oblation.

Melancholy's pallor surrenders to lustrous allures in iridescent arrays
palpitating a diaphanous symphonic resonance in numinous echoes
infused by the ever transcending easel of shimmer's litany of lucidity
night enraptures with gossamer chains of magenta, emerald, lavender and cerulean
visiting the soul as opiate hues in this mesmerizing fete of luminary communion.

Our Season's Feast

2011-06-23T07:00:00.000-07:00

In our lives each Holiday serves its own entries,
sometimes warm and satisfying others far too bittersweet.

Sitting in a house only two years old
replacing the one my father owned that became ours when he died.

But in the twinkle of lights I remember
of the year fight with relatives that never heal dimmed their glow,
about the December without a job,
one when death by suicide ruined the spirit
as well as the occasion when my mother was dying of cancer.

Stuffing it in the stocking
with the memories of cherished first experiences,
toddler son walking at last on Christmas Eve,
having that deep gratitude of first festive occasion
after thinking my own life was about to end in the hospital,
then knowing the sweetest delight
when holding my first grandson.

Gazing into his vulnerable eyes
hoping that perhaps
I can make his own memories
filled more with love than tears.

The Summit

2011-06-22T07:00:00.000-07:00

Her spirit strolling reflection's mountaintop
faith's wings fluttering to float with praise,
single rose of hope blossoming in spreading splendor
God's breath felt swirling through the pines,
eyes feel his fingers leaving their strokes in the branches and soul.

Inhaling the whiff of heaven's scent felt so easy on this summit
letting it revive and refresh deeply and complete,
only wishing his husband was beside her,
instead of carrying his urn in keeping with his wishes,
spreading his ashes upon the Lord's winds of grace where his spirit already flies.

Forward

2011-06-21T07:00:00.000-07:00

And I stopped before the road curved
because I panicked over
what I couldn’t see,
sat down and pretended
to gaze upon the sky.

It felt good to lie
when it didn’t give me risk,
it felt good to avoid
for it spared me any pain.

Eventually I got bored
merely sitting,
still that bend looked so scary,
so I turned around
going back where I had came.

I heard there was an amusement park
lying past that curve
from someone who had turned back earlier.
We sat around drinking tea
feeling comforted in our refreshment
though both dreaming of rollercoaster
that we would never see.

The World Is A Commune

2011-06-20T07:00:00.000-07:00

The world is a commune,
a cacophony of voices
trapped under the same canopy
all screaming their light
though driven mad with fears
for the sunset has no lasso
and sunset has too many closed doors.

We don’t earn a title
by acting before a stage of eyes
don’t receive a reward
from writing excuses
in a gold bound book
with impressive calligraphy.

Out of stagnation we escape
once we start to dream,
but there are always nightmares
within the circle of our fantasies
and there is no paradise
that we will ever conceive,
which doesn’t exists
through something else dying
the moment we start to build.

It a cycle with crisis and rain,
blessing and curses co-existing,
the only true improvement coming
when we stop running from every doom
cease pretending there are only rainbows
then build umbrellas
before we risk drowning completely.

Maturity

2011-06-19T07:00:00.000-07:00

Aging has so many seasons of springs
by countless steps upwards
for mind, body and soul.

Yet they can also lead downward
when time has some lesson to teach,
but there is never a single staircase
one can walk without some unexpected changes
since we can’t control all the options,
merely decide the one that works for us.

I delved into mystery of hand rails
those supports that give us stability
on any direction we choose to take.

If we survive long enough
wisdom is found during our labor
with the hardest knowledge ever gained
is that there is no end to those steps,
a single group always leads to another.

Resting is not the blessing
from all the climbing done,
it is the awareness,
the revelation from having moved enough
to realized you never stop growing,
at least in understanding
as true maturity comes
after accepting ascending is truly essential
because without it
we just never discover all the truths
that come from the experience,
which without moving
would leave us so stagnant
from seeing the familiar every day.

Threads

2011-06-18T07:00:00.000-07:00

The weaves worn over the heart
thread the feelings within,
how it touches with passion and fear
where we must soothe that flame.

Is there really joy in a fabric
clad upon your life
if you just appease a tailor
who carries a knife?

What we do to dwell
in the garments of life
becomes the colors of our will,
each shade of what we have for peace.

Some haunt in their textures
they are timeless in their design,
but they are hollow in their feel
when dressing for weather,
cold and full of anxiety
instead of out of a dream
that matches our fantasy.

I Sing My Hymns

2011-06-17T07:00:00.000-07:00

I sing my hymns
as supplication feathers on the winds.
The Lord’s spirit touches within
and my soul feels the balm
of His psalmic praise.
Suddenly brought to that altar
where I remember with such clarity,
Jesus is Lord of the Sabbath.

Then every scene, sky and sea
becomes the presence of His power.
Within it grows in awareness and peace
while I celebrate His love
by seeing with spiritual eyes
how to remember the Sabbath
in deep sincere faith and thanksgiving.

Letting Him grace me with thoughts
to pause and embrace life as His creation,
allow His word to spread it wings
inside my heart and being.
Until it becomes the very breath of my day
where I cling in joy to the truth,
keeping the Sabbath is to trust Him constantly,
walk with Him ever in my thoughts
and rejoice in the blessings of accepting
each day is His gift
that should be kept in honor to Him.
So as the scripture, Psalm 150:6, commends,
“Let everything that has breath
praise the Lord.”

Her Jar

2011-06-16T07:00:00.000-07:00

Wisdom pours out her waters
into the pool of minds
always offering to rinse
away the dirt of thoughts
smudged by time and wrong.

Her jar is ageless and unbreakable,
but it contains fluids
not everyone loves to taste
for some find the truth bitter
and won’t sample her fluids.

Still she stands on her foundation,
those ancient bricks of light,
where she forever blesses
all those who truly drink.

In visions some have seen her,
they have been driven to seek
the place where she resides,
some get sidetrack by other wells,
others immerse in the lure of false streams,
yet once one has consumed her purity
it forever bathes you in a panoply of possibilities.

Dear God

2011-06-15T07:00:00.000-07:00

I sit at my small desk of thought and write what I know you already see,
inside I struggle with the enigmas, ironies and paradoxes. I hold onto that frayed faith amid the tattered moments when this world bends to break my visions,
which came to me in the middle of the night of your presence constantly evident
though fleeting so often from my feelings, still clinging to the conviction
you are there and always watching answering our prayers in your timing
while we wait and wonder about it all.

Perhaps in the countless question there you can grant us light,
enough to make sense of this life. Yet will I hold onto the belief
what is in my heart is your gift, what I grieve over as my ills. Still I feel your
deposit of a need to trust you just the same.

Now in the silence I wait. I sit and wonder will you somehow touch us in some way
that it will end all this confusion. But I must leave it to your will, as I have always.

If there is truly mercy in your ways. If you are amongst us, then grant us eyes
more perceptive than we now have.

Thank you for the times you have blessed both with tears and also smiles. Thank you
for the many ways you have influence us through the halls of history where
all mankind have strolled.

And now, I leave my heart at your altar of grace, as so many others have done.
Always will I hope somehow you will end this sadness, but always will I still know
you are real.

From the depths of my soul

William

Flutters

2011-06-14T07:00:00.000-07:00

When the world loses its thorns
because you at last found the lighthouse
so igniting the eyes with spiritual sight,
how it flutters true freedom’s flight
no longer afraid to taste the wind,
no longer letting the heart feel desperate
for the Lord’s candle shines in that tower.

To stand on the rocks of life’s jetty
look out at the dream sea with joy
for now willing to swim and know
all the crest of experience
there are to know.

From vagabond of loneliness
unto the sweet redemption of a stand
where peace blows from the Lord’s breath.

It’s a moment of incredible happiness,
just one in the embrace of His guidance
utterly thrilled to be beyond that quest
that had stole serenity from the soul
since all one trusted to was one’s own path,
now it is cast aside in the Son’s light,
liberty glowing in the illumination of His love.

Icebergs

2011-06-13T07:00:00.000-07:00

How they appear too small
you assume they are limited in influence,
but life is full of those unexpected creations
encountered that we take for granted
until you deal with them
finding out it really is monstrous,
spending a lifetime afterwards
just feeling the grandeur
that was ignored.

New Paint

2011-06-12T07:00:00.000-07:00

Oh what incredible sense of peace
to think I can’t remember
every foul up, blunder and error
from a different life in a different face.

Only it does make me pause and think
is there a way to suddenly get a charge
into my psyche from my other lives?
Yeah, perhaps a blast of hypnosis
would unlock those wonderful achievements
that I did in some other life.

Now this can lead to so many questions
such as could I find out I was some villain
in another age that I really hated.
Maybe I would feel so guilty
that I would need to confess my crime
like that would really prove I was sane.

But the amazing bounty that lurks
in those shadows of past times,
makes it so appealing to know
what happen in a distant era.

Sure does get fuzzy though
since I worry most
I’ll find out I was my own ancestor
and then how can I blame my problems
on my heritage
because it would be my own fault!

Across The Desert

2011-06-11T07:00:00.000-07:00

Endless Easements Of Languishing Languor

2011-06-10T07:00:00.000-07:00

Azure sunrises staining the senses
while slowly the walls squeeze
in their claustrophobic press.
The cerulean sky becomes a shroud
covering the heart in a sullen, morose mood
as melancholy creeps over the heart
where tedium snares the throat
until another tick of the clock,
one more moment of boredom
pushes the mind outside sanity’s frame.

Life on replay of a broken record
bears such deep lethargic tones,
ever seeing that spiritual molasses
smother the eyes of other souls
like an infection it spreads
so every face greeted is in such despair,
bitterness and darkness bring stagnation
with a scream the only passage
out of this tear stained cesspool.

Sinking into the deep depressing morass,
self drowns in the immersion
while doubts cover every thought.

Once more the night comes
once more there is no rescue of dreams,
somehow inside clutching at the clock
for a miracle to end the ebbing essence.

Slipping between the sheets,
drained and dreary,
yet waiting for the next season of visions
because it will arrive with some new sun
shall dip the dawn in radiance
and for a while there will be peace
in the crypt within the head.

Philosophical Precepts Pontifically Pronounced

2011-06-09T07:00:00.000-07:00

Produced panoplies prevailing precarious ponderings
practiced profound pentamblic pretense purposes.
Preparing perfect poetic plum phrases,
perseucitous piercing passages privately pristine
producing primal passions pumping precious
pioelte presumptively prideful plebiscite pilgrimages.

Pledged portraits pressing pugradome paths
progress people persuasively passed prejudice.
Pushing pleasing prods, pounding pangs poignantly,
plotting plarchurry personas providing presentations.

The Shovel

2011-06-08T07:00:00.000-07:00

It stands in the shed,
metal rusty and handle worn,
furrows now fallow
as summer sleeps under snowy sheets.

Was a day when digging
unearthed the heart,
subtle stabs reveal the soil’s fertility.

Mind affixed in fascination
over the blossoms yet to be.
But weeds choked the life,
crops yielding less harvest
than appeared on midnight’s field.

Spring beckons in the fireplace,
in flames that remind of rebirth,
sipping on an aged brew
how it numbs the view of seasons,
no strength left to lift that shovel
from recalling what never flowered.

Encore

2011-06-07T07:00:00.000-07:00

Behind curtain
of housewife's stage,
her mind pirouettes in memories
to homecoming queen's ballet.

Heart unclothed
during her afternoons
spent in nostalgia's waltz,
marriage symphony
never a dance hoped,
wearing mother's tutu,
dreaming of encore
unto her youth's star performance.

Finish Lines

2011-06-06T07:00:00.000-07:00

Telescopic eyes
gaze from life's stadium,
searchers heart's flame
in body language
rather than lip's boasts.

Love's recruiter
stalking
romance's marathoners
for passion's athlete
who will cross
marriage finish line.

Margins

2011-06-05T07:00:00.000-07:00

Math can outline your brain
calculate sums and factor in equal distances,
of them you can decipher
analyze and assess that gap for its perfection
put it on a pager, calculate the space,
but if you are a teenager
taking your driver test for the first time
it all is worthless at the moment
when you have to figure it in reverse
because the examiner checks for dents not numbers.

The Flour Of The Heart

2011-06-04T07:00:00.000-07:00

What shifts in the fine, delicate ingredients
found within any given heart
is the flour ground by each fresh experience
sometimes its gets granny and hard to use
if tainted by something that truly frightened,
others it can be so very flaky and fluffy
in the texture felt
should love’s water be added to the mix.

When that throbbing sack inside
is opened with gentle hands
and each ounce encourage and cared about,
just seeing good in its essence
then the get made into a loaf
so frail in its serving
that any sounds of criticism
can cause it to end up flat.

But to the baker
who always uses inspiration’s oven
for a creation that is truly rich and colorful
with a flavor lasting and satisfying
each person is a raw dough in worth
capable of becoming an incredible pastries
which will be a meal to fill another’s hunger
because it was made in compassion’s bowl.

Veils

2011-06-03T07:00:00.000-07:00

The morning holds its light in the predictable tones,
blissfully wandering the walkways,
mind set it crafted expectations,
while the world is a land that each moment
lays another brick upon the nerves
until a wall is built and the sky is hidden
behind veil of shadowy pillars
that someone else calls a throne.

Just shuffling along in compliant steps
fantasies tucked beneath the clothes
where they can be protected
from the weather and winds.

In the heart there is the glow
of a fire that as burnt so long
to heat the night and keep the body alive
because the air is held in a vase
a fragile vessel stored in the mind,
ever pouring it out to try an control
each layer of time and thought touched.

Then in the midst of the seductive illusion
the precarious lace in presumption,
nature spreads its own tempest tapestry
across the spreading sheet of reality.

Covered is the sense of security
as the frozen dandruff from a cloudy toupee
showers its own litter upon all creation.

For a while the sense of reliance ebbs
before the icy talons cling to roofs
and we have to surrender choices
unto the whims of inclement incursions.

Like intruders we cope with their marauding ways
seek the means to keep the hours sane
silently dreaming of sun tans and long summer days.

My Confidant

2011-06-02T07:00:00.000-07:00

I feel so naked if we dare to meet
for secrets are an incense
unto my confidant.

But there is no point in asking for mercy
since it will result in some lecture
about a group of rules
that I can begin to remember.

Still, I quiver in my night
from knowing this journey of day
will mean sooner or later
my most cherished thoughts
shall be heard by this person.

Perhaps I would be brought to tears
if our meetings weren’t always
at my expense somehow,
but you see I was drafted
into their club without a way to escape,
now all I can do
is rejoice when I’m spared
sometime of spilling my guts.

Oh wretched soul I am
to have this person in my life
thank goodness
outside of April Fifteenth
our meets are only chance.

Vigilante

2011-06-01T07:00:00.000-07:00

Seething snarls
foam form crazed lips,
villainous faces snared
from the darkness
for their brutal death
without any trial.

Rage roams in rumors
heat of vengeance
is their incense,
murder out of righteousness
always a throng magnet.

Then shots are fired
as papparazi
gather to butcher
another life’s fame.

Candles In The Closet

2011-05-31T07:00:00.000-07:00

Closet monsters kept me
from poking inside its space
when the dark would come,
so I put some candles
on the shelf,
then lit the wick
to be able to see
into the blackness.

Only I remembered
how flames could burn
could cause harm
if you got to close
and never went near the closet
just being too afraid
of fire.

Falling Through The Sky

2011-05-30T07:00:00.000-07:00

She chased an angel into a hole
during an afternoon of silent dreams,
paradise was filled with mazes
and detours through bushes
where tears clung to the leafs
since Spring lives forever in the mind.

Oh roses bloomed upon the weeds,
there was a garden in the moaning woods,
it was all the passage of love
into her secrets and fears
just longing for an embrace
without a knife or whip.

But the blanket of slumber
was woven in fibers
made in the clouds,
they had grown tattered
over the years,
yet she remembered their feel
when she was still a virgin
with ladders in her head
able to reach heaven.

Now she sleeps
as that small child,
a little afraid though hopeful,
because the heart still breaths
the air of fantasies
so rich and pure of promises.

Tomorrow the morning
shall dress the day
in images that glisten
though tarnished inside,
still she stroll and have visions
from her own private haven.

Wonderland lives,
for nothing can steal
your imagination.

My Stumbling Thrum

2011-05-29T07:00:00.000-07:00

I come before the Lord
and He takes me as I am,
lets me see Him
in a way that I can understand.

And though all Heaven and Earth
are under His rule,
unto me He appeared
without intimidation
or covering me in shame,
for those were the rags
worn by my own wounded heart.

But His mercy and love
became a light to shine
through my torn garments,
they revealed the gems inside
though unpolished and unknown to me
for I was so bruised and broken
my eyes had no vision for inner truth.

Now, in small stumbling steps
do I yield to His grace by faith,
not as other than sinner in need
of His salvation and help.

So within His Holy Spirit’s breath
revives and reveals those pearls,
all so I could in my own joy
give all I am into His hands as offering.
The faith, the tarnished thoughts,
the praise and sacrifice of lips,
where my succor of gratitude
is whatever He shows me
out of the closet in my heart,
becoming the drum of my talents,
which beats by His will.

Each day He shows me a new beat
from some facet I didn’t know.
It is enough to tarry at that altar,
letting Him grant me a flame
to each candle of gifting He created within,
only for the pure and simple purpose
of helping me feel His power of anointing
where I cherish it being used for His glory.

Refuges

2011-05-28T07:00:00.000-07:00

Beneath the tarnished tints in terraced terrains
the heart keenly discerns a deeper beauty,
so knowingly able to intensely savor
a peace that dwells within any scenery
when the gaze inwardly explores
the refuges of truth residing in the soul.

It never comes instantly
upon the path of pilgrimage
through the many labyrinths and lairs
along the way to any sanctuary of light.

Doesn’t matter if the abode has a kingly ambience
amid its chambers of veiled clarity,
for it is the view intently taken
that learns with an inquisitively passionate pursuit
to always delve for the real quintessence
even if the façade before the mind
has an image dilapidated and decayed.

For the seeker who craves an astute sojourn of enlightenment,
real serenity comes not from avoiding what inspires irritably,
but by harnessing havens within
regardless of if the sight that surrounds
is interestingly intriguing or just a listless image.

Swinging

2011-05-27T07:00:00.000-07:00

My grandson
goes bananas
when gets ice cream,
calls it “monkey”
because his mom
acts like a chimpanzee
when sharing a bowl.

Not Quite Like The Brochure

2011-05-26T07:00:00.000-07:00

They thought it looked lovely
in the travel agent’s brochure,
an oasis and sanctuary of real serenity.
With a staff who were available both night and day,
plus a very special form of entertainment
for a very budget package vacation price.

So the Mr. and Mrs. Gullible
were off to enjoy their trip,
why they thought the screaming door bell
a very creative welcome device,
also found it very amazing
how the maids all were able to float through the walls,
which were a very nice shade of red
that seemed to flow like blood.

Bed was very comfortable
even if it did hover off the ground
and rotated in a circle all night long
while some voice moaned underneath
about loving to devour hearts.

Meals were a tad on the lean side
since they were transparent,
but they didn’t mind since wanted to lose weight anyway.

They came back and recommended it to their friends,
Mr. and Mrs. OMG What’s That?
Figured they could use a break
with having weak hearts and being treated for extreme paranoia.

Next year the Gullibles can’t wait to go on the desert retreat
where the dirt glows at night in nice shade of green,
owned by some leisure expert by the name of Toxic Waste.

Tomorrow

2011-05-25T07:00:00.000-07:00

If tomorrow came before my eyes
with every vivid detailed it held in its hour glass
could I cope with the sight of suffering
suddenly seeing some of the people I know
become corpses as I viewed their agony and death?

Would I thrive on seeing each new invention
while having to also watch the horror of evil
inflict its wounds upon the world
and observe each scream or plea for protection
though having no power to stop the crimes?

And what fate would I face
if I dare to warn of some catastrophe?
History shows most prophets
end up being silenced in some terrible way,
plus knowing that horrible event was coming
surely would eat at my insides.

Perhaps I would suffer the usual malady
of knowing things you’re not meant to know,
eventually ending up in padded room
until my sanity was destroyed.

Yet, how could I not dare to look
despite all those risks?
Can’t imagine I could resist
because I would still hope
that view might give me a chance
to help someone before disaster struck,
even if it carried a consequence
just never know when it might
undo what was a potential tragedy
and in the process
next time I gazed
there would be a different future.

My Box Of Droplet Diversions

2011-05-24T07:00:00.000-07:00

I have my leaded sky treasure trove
of ways to cope with those downpours in droplets,
first is my collection of DVD’s,
only the ones I can get for five dollars each
so filled with the lamest and silliest movies there are,
just helps to turn my mind to mush on stormy days.

Then I have my assortments
in those old magazines and National Inquirers
where I can look up those annual psychic predictions
about the future fate of the world,
so far it is it is psychics zero in terms of accuracy,
but it sure is fun to read again
about the aliens who were supposed to come,
the utopia that they claimed was going to happen
even the cure for every disease,
which makes for a fun laugh to read again.

Oh I also have my list of special phone numbers to call
like the customer service people at the cable company
love to dial them up and ask something absurd
such as if they have the life after death channel yet?

Just no end to the distractions a creative mind can imagine,
pity some have no appreciate for that inspiration,
doesn’t seem like those people at the pizza take out place
have much of a sense of humor
when I call and ask if pizza sauce really causes warts
or if they give discounts for road kill toppings?

Alas it is hard to be a poet on some showering times
because not all appreciate my efforts
at a different kind of expression.

Unforgettable

2011-05-23T07:00:00.000-07:00

When the flakes of wintry memories
fall in the long, silent nights of questioning,
slowly brushing with their icy thought
from those moments spent
forced to walk through drifts
alone and unsure when it will ever in.

The phantom flakes of those encounters
still sting the face in their icy reflections.
while inside the rainbow glow in bright remembrances
flows outward like a waterfall
over the times after the blizzards
that life thawed and felt alive again.

How it reminds how even when the winter bites
with its cold, frozen touch,
it doesn’t keep the heart from holding onto
those colored ribbons
in the precious portraits,
which always leaves a tattoo
of countless spring colors in hope
upon the mind and sight
about times that always follow January’s storms.

You can see them like a make up
always visible in any reflection
as the stripes that leave a glow
so you don’t forget snow doesn’t last forever.

Changes

2011-05-22T07:00:00.000-07:00

Walls crumble yet we build them anyway
over the soft path of our minds,
over the gardens of our nights.

Some see seasons in every view
always ending in winter
without a chance for changes,
others don’t stop looking
deep beyond the obvious
aware it never stays the same
and in the most solid of landscapes
there can be quakes.

To stand and watch
is to let the mind walk
even through walls
because the footsteps
of those who travel
have passed through
those barriers before.

Fathoms

2011-05-21T07:00:00.000-07:00

Depths of the heart sunken below the tides,
far beneath the tarnished sky,
out of reach from the ravages in polluted soil
while dwelling in crystalline domes,
so hoping to submerge the beasts inside.

But you can’t drown the mind under waves,
eventually the utopian lusts of this sea oasis
slipped into a stale climate,
it is never enough to watch the waters and fish
and let them gently nudge the spirit
into imaging swimming among their realm.

What claws within breathes its own hunger
suddenly there is the dread of claustrophobia,
then comes the insanity of panic,
until you can’t bear the walls surrounding,
completely desperate to touch the earth.

And then the others watch
from that haven of glass
as another desperate life
opens the portal to the ocean
to rise upward to the imagine freedom.

It is merciful if the sharks attack
even if they run out of air
before reaching the top.

For if they survive to tread upon that surface
one has to face the brutal reality of its hostility,
at least until one gasp too many
brings enough poison into the body to end the misery.

Dreamed

2011-05-20T07:00:00.000-07:00

A place of ever
beyond this fear,
a place of joy
outside the hurt.

Dreamed
in the heart
where we always
hope
it has breath and reality
on a plain
where always
is the state of being
lived without end.

Trinity

2011-05-19T07:00:00.000-07:00

Man teaches his idea
of a triune nature,
interpreted as the mind, body and soul,
persuaded it is essential to clarity,
even including the word
as the name of college in Hartford, Connecticut.

He tried to make the world obey
a triune element in power,
by land, see and air
when tested his first nuclear explosion
at a city by that name located in New Mexico.

All the subtle diversions
to try and cope
with the revelation by faith
of seeing three deities as one,
attempting to mimic that concept
in his own mortal versions,
which never create heaven.

Ambience

2011-05-18T07:00:00.000-07:00

To bask in the soft, subtle shade
of smooth and still cerulean seas
bathes the heart in the pride of living
awakening that peacock soul
in stirs of the conscious clarity.

One moment of blessed breath
besets the heart in breathless moments
when filled with the turquoise tranquility
that brings that scenic ambience
into the soul with its satiating spell.

Shared so enticingly in a communal gathering
where wounded and downtrodden spirits
find the filling radiance of an encounter
as it inspires the silent vigil in union,
which works its soothing magic.

Oh call the soul by a plaintive sigh
unto this balm of bluish bliss,
for it sings in the mind
with its alluring azure tones
bringing the calming caresses.
They flow like a tide
over the seconds of visit.

Swelling from the splendor surge
bonded in the traveler’s steps,
quietly slipping into a dream
where the hour is worn as a diadem
exquisitely felt as an enraptured expression.

The Celebration

2011-05-17T07:00:00.000-07:00

Where there’s an election, there’s a celebration
of success yet to be born or achieved,
knights and princesses dancing in their regal attires
to victories claimed that are never won.

Scaffolds erected for the former nobility,
whether they are guilty or not,
because executions allow the blood to cover
what will be tomorrow’s mistakes.

We get drama and pathos,
action in words, tear streams of speeches,
lies to blindfold to the exchanging of cash in bags,
marching in song around a flagpole,
on top of poor they want to forget,
history books rewritten to insert
the future only existing in a vision totally out of focus.

What a glorious spectacle besets the display,
pride and passion so well acted,
perfection air brushed by media spin doctors,
so nobody will notice the flaws.

For one moment in time
patriotism is center stage as a sick comedy,
wanting us to believe on this occasion
a true sage of solutions
will walk across the public stage
and manage to build a utopia on the dump.

Then after the pomp and circumstance operas,
comes the parade of booths wearing tax shackles,
so many having fallen asleep during the party
they never make it to the ballot invitation.

Afterwards we live with the hangovers
pocketbooks getting the tab,
not exactly what was intended
as meaning for the bill of rights.

It’s a process, a platform,
the boundless panoplies of politics,
served as entrees at democracy’s tainted buffet.

Unto The Lord Of The Impossible

2011-05-16T07:00:00.000-07:00

Heavenly Father
who controls both earth and sky,
that breathes life into all creation
for whom nothing is impossible,
we praise your mercy
and petition in humblest words,
to touch with loving hands of healing
this heart who is so need.

Make a miracle before our eyes,
so it will bring honor unto your name,
grant us this request
let it be the redemption from the reaper’s grasp,
which only your divine power can provide.

By your grace we know
every creature is special
in thanksgiving do we claim
the promise of your word,
declared in your holy name,
“Jehovah-Rophi,”
where you are revealed as,
“I am the Lord that Healeth Thee.”

May you shine the mercy of this truth
upon this moment and soul,
in Jesus name we pray,

Amen.

They Said It Couldn’t Be Done

2011-05-15T07:00:00.000-07:00

Pride and presumption piling their pillars
against the sun,
hand carving glory by plots and plans,
oh the victories claimed before they are won,
where fingers empowered with arrogance
decide they can treat fate as a puppet.

But God has so many strings
hidden from our view
tied to our lives and so easily yanked
as we stand on a shaking precipice
proudly declaring it can never collapse.

Words of defiance and absolutes
boast the concrete foundations
of our lusts,
nature a trickster
often used by the Lord
to achieve what we claimed
couldn’t be done.

Of elements we never tame,
yet treat as predictable,
His finger stirs such rude awakenings,
so even an insect can topple a mountain
if manipulated by a divine hand.

Regardless the pages of man
written in head scratching episodes
mortal thought still clings to notion
tomorrow will never have any stories
with heaven’s ghost writer
penning another surprise ending.

Heaven’s Chapel

2011-05-14T07:00:00.000-07:00

In Heaven’s chapel the angels sing,
of the sacred bond
between a knight and his queen,
two hearts God wrapped in a lasting love,
a union His hands
have tied from above.

On that blessed day
when vows of golden word are woven,
His raiment of joy
drapes their spirits,
eyes locked adoringly in purest affection
as the ring of complete devotion
is slipped so willingly
upon the heart.

A cake of happiness
is baked in a divine oven,
served with bliss for icing.
May its taste forever linger
in a flavor that is never forgotten.

And as the years
help the fondness to spread
hold its warmth in constant embraces,
cherish that precious time when you were wed.

It is beauty only marriage truly creates,
two lives always on a honeymoon,
facing tomorrow as passion’s flowers,
which will constantly bloom
in endless, wonderful hours.

Sunrise Miracle

2011-05-13T07:00:00.000-07:00

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.

Reveries

2011-05-12T07:00:00.001-07:00

Pangs of the soul in embryonic swells within
as gyrations of passion’s seeds fermenting
from the reveries percolating in the heart.

And fear strangles desire's umbilical cord
slowly transforming the mind's inventive angel
that is the winged vision of future feel
until it stings inside as a steady ache.

Wishing out of regret to cease the torment,
writhing from its fetal truth of unborn creative stillness,
yet the womb of will wants its child.
The offspring of what love has wrought
in the nights of entwined thoughts.

Torn between letting go and dwelling
at the intuitive ward in maternity of expression,
always agonized by the pain of waiting
for life to come unto what is imagined.

Every day of another dream left stillborn
is another morning of struggle.
But the poet is the muse’s surrogate
and being a parent of verse
finally comes in its delivery.
Sometimes sweaty,
sometimes with misery,
though always proud of your infant’s life.

Those Little Motivations

2011-05-12T07:00:00.000-07:00

Oh the inclinations in inspired insinuations
the beauty of a depraved and demented artistry
to meander the miscreant musings in mental misinformation
so to ponder and proliferate and preponderance
in a plethora in pseudo suggestive phenomena
that would prevent my goddess of the now
from wandering away from my lair in love’s façade.

What stratagem of stupendous seduction
would I render as a risked regime,
which would make my angel of my current obsession
be so content and calm under its control.

But if lurking detectives in the bushes,
bugs placed on telephones,
cameras hidden in air condition ducts
didn’t give me enough peace of mind
then I would naturally induce a few inspirations
such as some mind manipulative meds
slipped into her morning coffee
or perhaps some other mental persuasion
added to her cereal or other meals.

Ah the magic it would work
should I need that extra comfort
of a release from any worry,
unless all my prowess of cloaked antics
just didn’t proof to be
as fruitful as I would have wanted.

In which case I suppose
it would be time for a change
until I found that perfect match
With someone more susceptible
unto my sorcery with pills.

Castles

2011-05-11T07:00:00.000-07:00

Chiseled affections from quarry of groans
used as surety's marble in epiphany's staircase
so one can ascend unto the fortress sanctuary of reliance,
and accept the rule with discernment's crown
prudently clad in lace for seduction or wake
depending on if knights brandish a liar's swords.

Landmarks

2011-05-10T07:00:00.000-07:00

In the middle of wandering
before the raging sea in doubts,
there is that point of power,
overwhelming, stunning and spellbound
where suddenly you reach
some landmark of discovery
a place where you can see
what will last regardless of the tides.

And those hands of revelation
grab your heart with such intensity
so no matter what else comes
inside you become a rock,
solid, unmovable and filled with peace.

Upon My Heart

2011-05-09T07:00:00.000-07:00

Upon my heart blows the Holy Spirit’s breath
with the whirlwinds from the past,
the wisps of thoughts weave through my mind
with the ghost from the valleys that I trod
so I can pauses and let my soul inhale
His healing breeze of saving light
until my lips given song I praise
over how He gave me strength
through every shadow and tear.

In that celebration of His deliverance
I slip into psalm of thanksgiving,
by faith I reach out with arms of trust,
cry Selah and Hallelujah,
before me flees the floundering in my heart,
inside I feel His redemption heal
and in the Lord’s radiance of love,
do I feel that cleansing of my sins,
to look upon life as a new creation,
only filled with awe and joy
because my Savior has come into my life,
made every weed and stone a gift
where my eyes and essence bath in that power,
which He touches to bring relief.

It is the baptism of believe
unto a revival of renewal,
a believer’s holiday of such rapturous grace
that casts away any darkness.

Then I hear with my spiritual ears
His word recalled as truth’s manna,
every grateful for its nourishment
with the sustenance of salvation,
ever becoming the Myrrh of indwelling
able to lift my sight beyond its cares.

Temples

2011-05-08T07:00:00.000-07:00

Odysseys of inner iridescent travel into a metaphysical labyrinth,
the spirit moves while sleeping to seek truth and the candle of love,
deeper into those corridors of thought drifts the mind as traveler
until the mural of cosmic collections appears with its revelations
to paint the illumination of peace’s genuine stars so clearly
and in that moment of pure clarity and unveiled revelation,
the soul’s eyes discover the temple of life where joy dwells.

Ghost Writers

2011-05-07T07:00:00.000-07:00

Diaries written with pen from mother's heart,
men chasing dreams silhouetted by spouse's face,
pages turned in time's chronicles,
ink scrawled by creator often victims
of fame's memory loss
who dwell in the habitats of maternal watch.

Quills coming from their wombs,
bequeathed by sacrifice, held in child's well,
the skirts of her influence
covering every field and lair,
femininity flourishing in secrets of their care,
never exposed to limelight's glow.

A world unfurled in manifold
quilts of expression,
its fabric sewn so oft by fingers
weaving out of love
all the stitches of inspiration,
who do it not for wealth nor attention,
but because the artistry of her instincts
bears her craft without blessing of equality,
having left on life's stage
a play for which others take a bow,
done without being credited as the author.

Plucked

2011-05-06T07:00:00.000-07:00

In silence we sit and crave the choral caress
of the pulsing viola inside the chest.
Just a simple pluck by a solo’s tone
that brings its sounds with thrumming touch.

And we quiver in that quiet,
which suddenly shakes our stillness
feeling it resonate in such spellbound strums.
Oh what dulcet chimes are played
when the lips are heaven’s musician.

It is song we might have never heard,
but once it rings within where we live
all the world hushes from the vibration
as we are transfixed by the mesmerizing melody.

Though we may have slept through chaos,
though we might have dwelt
among the clamor of mouths,
once we know the hymn of inner sway
how it stains our soul with its serenade.

For we wake to the charmed concerto
moving us out of our lethargy
then into a chamber music’s airy float.

Peace hums its soft lucid strokes,
love rides the mind from the creation
while we are washed by the waves
of tranquility’s flute.
Happily dancing us across the clouds
by its harmony of wings.

Thus the rhapsody echoes
when it calls in our emptiness,
nothing filled by that bewitching bliss
where each chorus completely inspires.

The Luster of Decorations

2011-05-05T07:00:00.000-07:00

She fought against sickness
to chase her dreams
of being a marathon runner,
fighting out of bedridden starting block
where the cancer had left her crippled.

But her heart refused to give up,
months of treatment
faced with courage,
finally overcoming and battling the pain,
at last restore to be in that race,
receiving the ribbon
for crossing the finish line,
brought for the pearls of tears
their luster of joy from survival
a décor she would cherished forever.

Rhythms

2011-05-04T07:00:00.000-07:00

And time changes
the feel of the skin,
the visions of the mind,
the throbs of the heart.

Into seasons of circumstance
where I climb to Everest moments
then others to sink to such depths.

I only get to ride the changes
accepting them
is the maturity
letting yourself drown.

Threading The Pulse

2011-05-03T07:00:00.000-07:00

Slabs of concrete strewn in precious
for the solidity of transit dreams
to rise the wings of impoverished lives
out of their ruinous vacuum
and find liberty in the warmth
of a metropolitan womb.

It’s another vision,
another duty to the populace,
slicing through the sprawling urban canvas
just to breathe hope where it has vanished.

One more pillar of progress,
a single thread of pure lifeblood
added to the stitches already sewn
that shares a promise of prosperity
without the peril of commuter stress.

In the steady streams of seconds
where memories are scarred
by rage and chaos,
minds become an architect of passage,
which will add some joy
unto alleys of angst.

How the city of Angels
through its elected guardians
keep crafted new chances to fly
by corridors to ambition.

Soon more eyes will watch
their world shrink in its obstacles
because a few with genuine charitable ambitions
forged by concrete and steel
one more path out of misery.

By a new dawn shall they ride the light
out of their deep shadows of need,
stopping where toil and passion
can find a jewel of opportunity.

The Charmed Succor Of Soul Healing Canticles

2011-05-02T07:00:00.000-07:00

In the solemn stillness
of sacred ceremonial sanctity
where a stained spirit
finds its saving sanctuary
the voice of the soul
sings its scriptural hymn
rich in notes divine
washing anew fragile believes.

Reaching inward like a rare vintage wine
to inebriate with a soliloquy of light.
Lifting the weary hollow life
from its vacuous quandary
unto a winged wispy wandering
among the airy parapets of celestial tones.

This is the precious dawning
though salvation’s sunrise
guding out of the deep
darkness of doubt pangs.
A song that is written
by its chanted veracity
summoning the healing
for carnal infections.

Through a precious and frail interlude
roaming the ethereal terrace in the mind
what beloved communion collects
out of the chaos in mortal thoughts.

Refined through its purest inner voice,
softly strolling the beauty
though a faith reviving serenade.
Summoning the serene harmony
that yields the eternal whispers
with their ageless gold revelations.

Oh rejoice the calm of angelic flutters
stroking with their inspiration feathers.
It is when the moment rings
an euphoric mesmerizing meditation.
Yielding a love that flows
out of the earthly distractions
unto euphoric visions of golden streets.

Flares

2011-05-01T07:00:00.000-07:00

Lights shot from the mind
streak into the nights of ignorance.

Spirals in the blackness.
little firefly archways
across the dark,
reflecting on pool of tears
swam in midnight’s solace.

Prints

2011-04-30T07:00:00.000-07:00

Each soul a cloud drifting
through life's sky,
unique, temporal,
crafted by the winds and weather
that blow across one's face.

Some leaving their marks
upon other's soil,
droplets of love's rain
or the deluge's in thunderous words.

One can forget how swiftly
any breeze can change direction
or that no billowy presence
last forever.

And that what truly remains
are the prints
left on those
whose memories
remember when a storm
brought more joy
than misery.

Spaces

2011-04-29T07:00:00.000-07:00

Weaves of wispy white,
morning's soft, elusive lace
binds itself in lilting inner notes of soul song
which cling to the spaces in my heart.

Towers of pine reaching upwards as if in praise,
poke through hint of mystic alabaster,
show way to Heaven's thoughts and God's face,
lush foliage cushions with serenity's pillows.

Bird song dances through the quiet solitude
never truly alone, for Lord's spirit ever caresses the journey.

Noon

2011-04-28T07:00:00.000-07:00

Park's flowers
brilliant blooms
given to lover
lunch for heart.

The Unseen

2011-04-27T07:00:00.000-07:00

By mortal eyes we only see the depths of now,
those limits of time and space
placed upon our sense.

We know of atoms,
but can’t see their infinitesimally small essence,
nor can we appreciate how divine power
is able to violate the law of physics
so that perhaps heaven is really
some place that dwells
as a spec on a electron
where immortal creatures
are able to change size at will.

While we scan the stars
for any sign of eternal life,
it might thrive as some incredible tiny
part of a paper clip.

It is all to say we define by boundaries
though they may have no reality
with ethereal sources of energy.

And what is unsaid is also unseen
when it comes to the scriptures,
where the Lord is a mix of awe and questions
what we don’t know
leaves the door open to so much,
for who says God can only take a single form
or Jesus even had to be only as a man?

Our limitations restrict those chances,
yet also there are clues,
little hints in the scriptures
how more lies beyond our thinking
than we can really accept.

Because one prophet spoke of seeing the earth
with cities and yet there were no men,
basically a place occupied by another life form
before man was created.

Where did they go?
Just another detail that fades into the unknown,
maybe they are still around and dwelling on some spec
visited by the Lord along with countless creations
that we have no clue exists.

Orbits

2011-04-26T07:00:00.000-07:00

Within the frail form of life’s daily dome
where the heart is held in a sanctuary,
we feel the sway of those who circle our reality,
the stunning stars in caring souls
bringing hope’s light into our the crannies,
they shimmer friendship’s shining splendor,
spinning the insides in rotations
away from our sense of aloneness,
sharing the constellations over our minds
and illuminating trust in their twinkle touches.

Then there are the meteors,
calamity’s comets streaking into our calm,
bearing their fiery flames upon our thoughts,
anxiety flaring in their collisions,
leaving craters in the landscape
in which we planted our flowers and thickets
as the scenery that summons serenity.

Aware too of the orbiting presence
from the beating satellites of our beings,
precious offspring we launched in parenthood
who mirror our most passionate expressions,
ever effecting every aspect of our day,
yet giving us such joy in the midst
of the tug they place upon our feelings.

Dwelling among time in our consciousness’ globes
though never truly alone,
just surrounded by all the ones,
which revolve around our essence by love’s gravity,
willingly accepting what descends into our quiet
because no one can have a sky
that doesn’t include what influences and inspires.

Grant Me New Eyes Oh Lord

2011-04-25T07:00:00.000-07:00

Grant me new eyes oh Lord
to see with my soul what is true
of your glory to worship
and your mercy to know.

Let my voice rejoice in praise
for the sight you give
as it shuts out all the other thoughts
when all I can see is you.

Bless me oh God with the joy
rising from casting aside ever encumbrance
that I might cherish what is truth
how Jesus as the lamb
is all the knowledge I need
totally transfixed by envisioning you on your throne,
an endless radiance of power and perfection.

Just to stand and lift up my psalm
in steady resonance of thanksgiving
when I know in my heart by His spirit’s touch
there is nothing more worthy
than my lord and savior
and I am blessed, totally surrendered
to cry out my heart’s deepest sense of love
over how in all that distracts
nothing can separate me
from singing salvation’s song
unto the one who is truly holy.

Bear me now the wings of gratitude
so I might fly in my meditative thoughts
upon the sweet rush of your longsuffering
in ever expanding inner longing
to only know you above all else.

For in your arms shall I always want to stay,
shout the adoration you summon
with such precious touch unto my lips,
today is yours and tomorrow
it is enough to live
only in the breath of every hymn
my mouth and heart can sing.