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Showing posts from July, 2007

You Gotta Have Heart

To the sound that we make daily daily In the hustle bustle marketplace, Quiet, slowly, softly, when we wake. In the gym room with other hearts that beat, In the bathroom echoes the drum that shakes Our head like any outside noise, but We still sit and breath our lives away. Dulled by our chewing talking sleeping life The resonate of our ribcage stays stays. So thanks, heart, for your humility; You contain the servent’s spirit true And I truly want to beat like you do


Tiny shards of glass Hang from tree branches, Illuminate the rustling leaves, In the light of the setting sun. Strings twirl and spin, Warm evening breeze, Of glass on glass, The unrehearsed melody. A grass hill expands from the roots Supporting the large trunk. A man slouched, Asleep, With a wooden flute in his hand. He’s not wearing a watch.

Written on a Card

(to the tune: “What Child is This?”) What child is this, who laid to rest on Mary’s breast is sleeping? The purity of maturity is one that’s quick and fleeting. If I am Christ the King to this world born in apathy; who am I becoming and therefore who is He? Tender and soft were my first born steps, the virgin mother’s hand held firm. Now I tread on glass and tacks, to the whore who I’ve known since birth. This is my identity; Up to my neck in quiet insecurity; Can I be sure of anything, O’ Babe, O’ Son of Mary? Teacher I am left to dry, Your apprentice writes in his mind again. Thy faithfulness will bring me nigh, But who’ve I have been since then? My Un-faithful ways Are chaff and must be burned away; But once the fire has done the glaze What there will remain? Two end stanzas: (don’t fit the line requirements) Savior, O’ coming King, Thou knowest all things; Will I lose my own integrity For the sake of losing me? Savior, O’ coming king, Tho


Yeah, I own a place up in Washington. My friend and I built it From scraps and stones. (Cough.) I trucked for Cabela’s And headed up there in the off time. (Sniff-wipe.) The land spreads out for miles on miles We got all the goods—knifes, hunting bows... (Scratch.) We sit around for daaays and eat deer, rabbit, You name it. (Smile-Scratch.) The house is like a mansion, I have a pic of it, Not with me tho’, but I’ll show you next time... (Smile.) I’m just hanging around here for now, But I’ll be up there in the next few months. I can’t wait, Yea, I love that place. (Cough. Smile.)

To A Man Who Lost His Mind

to lengths we go our toils naught worth of all that we bought? nae, dear friend meaningless toys all parts of meaningless ploys (Isaiah 55:2) How then to step and where to wander when hearts give up and go asunder? to choose and live to choose and die to live to choose to die how and where when and why the plague of every mind yet all things are left behind in light of Glory Divine to a man who lost his mind when balancing your crooked line of life so twisted yet grace so fine fear and faith there intertwined you’ve given close to all your life what more, dear friend, is there to find? I know not Though I try But peace will come, on the other side…

The Innocent Strength of Grace

Reality A street harlot sat, the child passed with his mother the whore sunk, alone, in the corner his innocent, inoculant eyes, suspended hers cast in sight of his color “Mother, Mother, why?” sang the child’s little voice but mother tugged his wrist “Walk on, walk on boy.” Potential There they met, lover on lover in the corner, in the twilight, in the evening now she’s in the streets, now in the squares, every door, every corner seeing, the brazen face with linens prepared, myrrh, aloes, sprinkle her bed, as bird hastens to snare, and is captured there, “Let us delight ourselves with caress.” As an ox goes to the slaughter there they met, lover on lover. Reality “Walk on, Walk on boy” the mother’s glance A corner whore the boy runs to embrace, In innocent grace, small hands hold her breath shakes. Tears break, “Let him be the first to throw...” there they were left, her and Him, all alone.

For the Sage, Activist, and the Liar

The Sage, Activist, and the Liar, Men whose repute did front arrive. We wail and mourn, ashes drier, For those who think you still alive. Decive. Discern. Decide! Decide! Those who think you still alive! The Sage who brought the proverb few, An’ left us glad with our wisdom bent. Wove stories, fables and filled the pews, To know the practices, and balance the fence. Declare the word; the Sage is dead! Listen to what he did and said! And Activist your flair and fuss, To help the poor, to break the norm. Reorient their thoughts of us, We, of whom, the world does scorn. The Activist, his flesh is torn, A body, limp, in dew of morn. And last the Liar, few do know, But gladly sing your melody. Even though your character shows, That’s not whom you prove to be. Self Sacrifice, humility, The Liar himself, crucified with these.. The heart of those content to rest, With scaled eyes and distant gaze, Morns the three they knew best, The Liar, Activist and the Sage.

Tend Gardener, small affairs

Frail thin cracks Fingers linger, aged and sure Seed pressed deep In soil moist, sweet Rain and sun Rain and sun Again n’ Rain and sun Over n’ over ‘Til air is won Bloom bud of mine Bloom and be, done


Lord Thou art as pure as light Let Thou face be my delight And if I burn at Thy sight Then let Thy waves wash over me On the fullest moon lit night Ocean deep reflects the sky Upon Thy waters a path of white Then let Thy waves wash over me If the rain from heaven’s store Should upon me fall once more The rocks and I shall sing the score Then let Thy waves wash over me And if my will be earthly bound And even my thoughts can’t escape it’s sound Then, my God, will Thy abound And let Thy waves crash over me Thy purity’s captivity Despite my small capacity Makes defiled eyes to see And let Thy waves crash over me I know that Thou will not deny ThIne child’s prayer that he would die Please make holy, don’t spare the knife And let Thy waves crash over me The pure in heart blessed be For it is Thy face they see To fear and seek Thou humbly And let Thy waves crash over me Thou art God of wrathful pleasure Thy jealousy is beyond measure Thy glory blesses us

A Toast In The Closet

In the closet, I hide my favorite things, I keep what’s best and you’ll never know. Alone I am sovereign, alone I am king who plucks the grasshoppers an’ the angels wings. The chariot is mine, and I’ve swung it oh so low In the closet, I hide my favorite things. “I like it in here” I hear my own voice ring, “I like you a lot, I just I want you to know... alone I am sovereign.” Alone I am king so I flirt with myself, but I know it’s a fling. Soon the chariot inevitably slows in the closet. I hide my favorite things. “There’s not future for us...” I teared and blinked “We’re too much alike—there’s no room to grow.” Alone I am sovereign. “Alone, I, am king.” Silence heaves, and one grasshopper sings, Please someone toast, to me and my woe— “Alone I am sovereign, alone I am king, And in the closet, I hide, my favorite things.”

The Blood

If I step out of the darkness Robes and rags, mire and mud And step into the light Is the Blood really enough? If you see my disfigure The way lust scaled my eyes How I’ve broken all my fingers Does the Blood really suffice? And if you knew my shifted spine Where pride placed on the stone That pulled and tweaked me out of place Does the Blood really atone? And all my rusted little trinkets That’ve buried themselves in me That protrude out of infected skin Does the Blood cover these? And if I told you of the mess To place addiction in your hands My own bloodied, beaten heart Does the Blood, all this, demand? If I told you my mind inclined Me to up and walk away No matter the amount of good that’s shown No matter the amount of grace Would you still wrap me in your arms? Would you still have gone to the cross? Would you still count me as gain When all I’ve been is lost? Would you still have spoken gentle words? Would you still convince me I am free? W

He Has Regarded Even the Sparrows

I am like a lonely bird on a housetop, the roof is smooth, hot, and my claws don’t stick. My hollow bones, weak in the wind, echo my cries and vibrate— still once I flew, Once I dived to catch insects my bread now only ash fills and I weep in the same pools that I wash and I keep losing feathers like dry grass withers my quills that clung strong, and proud, once. Indeed, I forget the crumbs the children leave and I breath bitter the sweet I knew so much then I did so much when I was so much now I lie awake on a wire, I wither, at night I die. But Thou , Thou dost abide. Psalm 102


As a child I had the freedom of mistakes As a child I held your hand I was afraid: You calmed the seas But now there’s a line in the sand As a child I wished the world away As I child I fit the mold As I child I dreamed everyday But now, just dreaming is old I want to live the things I’ve always desired And desire the things that are pure To forget the symptoms of the plague And instead seek only the cure A man is not much different than a child He is scared just the same But he sees the beauty in becoming what He never thought he’d gain

Dearest spirit of the three

Dearest Spirit of the Three Dare I speak You, humbly, Twist and turn Make in me The striking scars of things unseen And with a word part the waves And with a breath raise the graves All we do Never stays Yet Ghost of God you remain Like a melody of unsung tune Or un-smelt scent of sweet perfume Nature waves Mankind moves To taste, to breathe, to notice you Shouldered dove descend, descend! (Matt 3:16) As you did on the Son of Man Heaven’s Voice Clear demand My chosen one; hear Him! (Luke 9:35) Love and joy, patience kind (Gal 5:22-23) All good things in men, bind Self control Peace of mind These, your fruits, we, the vine (John 15:8) Once veiled specter, make us sons! (Rom 8:14) Bear us witness in words undone, (Rom 8:16, 26) Blessed comfort Shepherd’s song Spring of living water, come Inexpressible deity, rest us sure Sealed, in your promise, we endure Mystery, holy, Blameless, pure Our only good; our only cure.

A Poem Written in Class

WE are eccentric, eccentric you and I, Not in outward actions, but of our thoughts inside. We dwell across the spectrum from devil to divine We think ourselves the gods, and we ourselves the mime. The mockingbird will mimic, the sweetest psalmists song, The hypocrite will tell us that all he does is wrong. And we’ll crash the cymbals, and we’ll resound the gong And we’ll never live this live as deep as it is long. WE are dullards, dullards, you and I Forget we need to need and only deserve to die. I can’t convince you more, though I’m sure I will try, Because in my own words, it’s the blind leading the blind. Blacksheep, Blacksheep, do you know where you belong? Like a note without a scale; Like a color never drawn. If the existentials’ shouted would we all sing along? Well this is my rebellion; I think I’ll do things right.