Good morning, Lord. I’m…I’m not sure where to start
I come to you with a cheerless and overwhelmed heart
“I know, child. I can feel the pain
Stirring within you like torrential rain
I know you’re scared and you don’t understand
But NO PART OF THIS is out of my plan”
Your…PLAN??!! How can THIS be your PLAN, Lord?!
My body, mind and spirit are practically in one accord!
Through blood, sweat and tears I’ve come so far!
I’ve gone through so much, Lord! I’ve worked so hard!
“This is only an imprisonment of body, child
But your mind and your spirit are free to run wild
For they cannot imprison your goals and your dreams
So let them explode as laser beams!
Try to find laughter while others will wail
And KNOW that your God can NEVER fail!
Do NOT let the enemy win this fight!
For when he asked if he could have the right
To put you through trials you’re experiencing now
I pondered awhile, then made him a vow
I said, ‘You MIGHT send her to prison awhile—
You dark enemy, so wicked and vile—
But what you mean to destroy her will not!
For she is my child; much loved and blood-bought
What you intend to use as a catalyst
Of her eventual destruction will just
Take her to places which she’s never been
Where she’ll be My light in a cavern of sin
This will allow her to help out the poor
And the wretched to carry addictions no more
Like Peter and Paul in the Bible, I will go
With her each day – everybody will know
She’s a warrior of God! You cannot defeat her!
For I love and believe in and will now fight for her!
Satan, you think that THIS will destroy
This child of mine?! NO!! I will deploy
Her to a new battleground when this is over
For she is my daughter, my love and my soldier!’”
Precious Savior, I know not what to say to this
Should this happen, I’ll miss the freedom, and morning’s tender kiss
But if this is the path to Heaven, I’ll take it
As long as You’re with me I KNOW I can make it
“Lo, I am with you
ALWAYS
Even unto the end of time”
Titles O – S
"Oh, What a Tragic Legacy!"
I knew a man of bitter air
With sharpened eye and tongue
His presence I could hardly bear
As he grew old from young
Not a single friend had he
Oh, what a tragic legacy!
He lay there upon death's bed
His wife as still as stone
Though they said he'd soon be dead
She'll be no more alone
For she knows not what love can be
Oh, what a tragic legacy!
He growled at her into the night
‘Till full she felt of him
Darker, blacker grew her plight
Until his eyes fell dim
For not one shred of love had he
Oh, what a tragic legacy!
No tears shed beside the bed
As breath ebbed slow away
No joy had we, but felt instead
He'd squandered every day
And still in death a scowl had he
Oh, what a tragic legacy!
She planned a cold and perfect wake
With flowers bright and fair
All "mourners" there but for her sake
Contriving thoughts and prayers
For such a bitter life had he
Oh, what a tragic legacy!
Although he lived in misery
I'm glad I knew that man
For I love all life's mysteries
And steal joy where I can
My faith, my wife, my family...
Oh, what a golden legacy!
“Painted Toenails on the Slab”
Painted toenails on the one
Cold-dead upon the slab
A bright red polish bold
Against the walls so tan and drab
Thursday worries stolen by
An evil act of hate
A vibrant girl whose day unfurled
A sudden, ugly fate
Labcoat solders now begin
Inspecting flesh and bone
Grayed abrasions screaming out
A story of their own
One faux golden earring, where the other,
No one knows
Cut away the matching outfit
Carefully she chose
Methodically the cause of death
Reveals a dreadful truth
Rope burns all around the neck
A shattered jaw and tooth
Then her broken shell is stuffed
Into a metal case
Until someone she knew can put
A name to her sad face
Tears and cries of “Why?” are heard
Though answers will not be
Random chaos ripped
The fabric of serenity
Shadows there inside the tomb
A shining light snuffed out
And left behind a world of anger
Worry, fear and doubt
But in a Heaven not so far away
She is set free
Her soul to dance among the angels
Barefoot and carefree
“Peephole”
Got my cherry slush
Hold a royal flush
In my crooked hands I hold a half an ounce of weed
One eye shut up tight
Pinched and frozen sight
Universe in circles while the icy mountains breed
Bells are ringing out
A strobe-light flash of doubt
Colored bubbles sparkle and explode inside my head
Double-swinging lovers
Jelly in the cupboard
A blanket wrapped in Kool-Aid stains to cover up my bed
Step two feet back when you talk stand in front of me
So I can see you clearly
Fear appears as round and hazy
Do not faze or shake me, dear
Hello? Who’s here? Perhaps I’m crazy
But I see through my peephole clear
Cut my paper skin
The magic’s creepin’ in
Yellow pigments flaky lying dead right at my shoes
Ride a magic broom
Liquid orange room
Never threaten me again I’m paid up on my dues
Violet walls will crack
A needle full of smack
When the powder hits my nose I’m freaking up my head
Jumping Jacky Frost
All I held is lost
All is hopeless, lifeless, man; it’s meaningless and dead
Phantom drums appear
Scratch my bloody ears
Bloody speakers start to cough in choppy clouds of smoke
I’m not paranoid
Wait...I heard a noise!
Control is the illusion when I’m ridin’ high on coke
On arthritic knees
Begging Jesus please
Melt the fog and wipe the sweat off of my fevered brow
Clear away the door
I’ve seen this one before
As angels tend to wounds that speak of ancient, broken vows
Step thirty-seven feet back; the door is gonna blow
The Lord has saved my soul!
Joy annoys as demons listen
Lucifer has fallen here
Hell beware – I’m on a mission
I see through my new eyes clear
?
??Poem to My Lil’ Bit”
This poem is for my precious daughter, Jess. I am fully aware that I mention wrapping baby fingers around mine in the poems to both her and Trey. I am further aware that a poet is not supposed to repeat themselves, but since this is my book, and that particular memory—along with both kids falling asleep on my chest when they were babies—is precious to me.
Sometimes it seems like only yesterday
You curled your tiny hand around
My finger, your head lying
Gently on my chest
Breathing easy
- At rest -
Making tiny child noises, squeezing such
Laughter, so many tears, from your
Beautiful eyes, and I would
Smile from my
Heart at last
- Happy -
Do you fully understand that this feeling,
For a loving father, never ends?
I still long to protect you
With everything I
Am, even if
I can’t
But you remain the angel of my heart
My shining little girl, and one of
My great creations, my holy
Discovery. I take you
With me always
- Everywhere -
You were dedicated to the Lord, and are
An amazing and beautiful creature
Full of His great love, hope,
Faith, laughter, mystery,
Light, joy, beauty
- All of it -
Please carry me in your heart, and know
I am standing right there beside you
At all times. My dedication
Is that rare, cool breeze
In the desert. Know
I love you, babe
- Forever -
“Prayer at Siren’s Call”
Our house is located a couple of blocks from a nursing home, and we tend to hear sirens on a semi-regular basis. One of the traditions in our family I’m most proud of is that, upon hearing a siren, we try and stop to pray for the entire situation. This poem is not a verbatim “Now I lay me down to sleep” prayer we recite, but is a dedication to our tradition. It is a prayer for the Fire Fighters, Police Officers, Emergency Medical Technicians and all others who put themselves in harm’s way to secure the safety of strangers, and for the victims and their families, who never expected tragedy to visit them when they woke up today.
“Go with heroes, God, I pray
And clear a path to let them pass
Keep them calm amidst the fray
On streets of blood and broken glass
Strengthen hearts of valiant ones
Who risk their lives for us each day
Bless these daughters, bless these sons
Who dance in peril’s flame today
May those caught in scenes of death
Be comforted by Heaven’s light
Let the dying feel Your breath
Caress their cheek at final night
Peace to those whose loss is near
Be God to those who stand afraid
Calm, I pray, these hearts of fear
And let the sirens quickly fade
In Jesus’ name…
Amen”
“Proverbs 7 (Looks That Kill)”
Once, God spoke in whispers, saying, “My son, remember what I say
Treasure and obey my commands, and you will not perish in dust
Guard my teachings as your own eyes; write them on the tablet of your heart
Treat wisdom as a sister, and she will guard you from sly and beguiling lust”
Yet, from the window of my apartment, I peek out through the shutters
And watch foolish men, young and old, fling themselves into the abyss
Scuttling down the road toward houses of concealed and lethal desire
Accidentally damning their souls, unaware that something is even amiss
In the twilight of the evening (and sundown is just the beginning, mind you)
A creature of lust approaches them, dressed as night, plans of clever deceit
She’s always there, one minute hidden, the next minute bold as Vegas-neon
Laughing, raucous and stubborn; born to wander lonely city streets
She grabs and kisses them deeply, passionately, with no shame or apology
Sighing, “I have the makings for a feast; I know the burning I feel, you feel too
I have covered my bed with perfumed and silk sheets imported from Egypt
Let us make love all night, for I have reserved all my passion only for you”
Her clever words and come-hither glances seduce weak men into error
Thus, many follow her blindly; an ox led to the butcher, a deer ensnared
All fixated, careless animals, shot through the liver with a treacherous arrow
Trapped, not knowing she would kill them, not even the wisdom to be scared
Again the Lord said, “My sons, listen to me; Pay close attention to what I say
Don’t be tricked by her; never go where she leads, and you can be saved
She has ruined countless good men who have naively, needlessly perished
Her illusory abode is a house of fools on the road leading down to the grave”
Whether swathed in flesh or staring out from a clandestine computer screen
Hallowed men of destiny must vow to shun this cheap and damning thrill
We’ve all suffered the pangs of Madame Lust, promising quick adventure
But hear me, brothers: this demonic spirit is not of God…
She’s got the looks that kill
“Rat in the Palace”
Here, amidst all the golden silk
There scurries a vermin, sir
I speak the truth! For in this palace
In this…cathedral…as it were
Skitters tiny claws on marble floors
Transporting ugliness and disease
We must now dispatch a man from the village
Who will dispel this dreadful creature with ease
Thus screams my heart in the temple of God
Upon first entering the door
My soul enemy, the village man, whispers
“Unworthy vermin, nothing more”
My sin wreaks putrid, bringing foul odor
To such a brilliant and sacred place
And I weep at my fetid wretchedness…until
Until
Until I see Your face
And you remind me I am born of you, my King
You alone make me worthy
And your hallowed blood expunges filth
As I and my family begin to sing
"Rumors"
Yes, the rumors are true
Jesus is the only way to Heaven
I know, it's been misconstrued
Some say there are many ways to God
Or at least, what, six or seven?
The other day some dude asked me
"You Jesus people think you have found the only light?
So all other religions—i.e. the whole world—
are going to Hell? Ok, explain to me, genius:
Why is it only Christians are right?"
I can't tell ya, bro
I didn't write the Book
"S'all Good"
In mourning of the lost art of “The Pursuit of Holiness” within the church
S'all good!
S'all I hear from hypocritical twice-a-monthers
The "holiness challenged"
“Wait, why'd you order a whiskey and cola, bro?"
"S'all good! Bible only says 'be not drunk.'"
While a 19-year-old at the next table is confused
He didn’t think Christians were supposed to drink
A week later
A casual conversation is peppered with TV-PG curse words and locker room talk.
"Wait, when did it become ok to talk like this, bro?"
"S'all goo
d! I'm not taking God’s name in vain."
While a 34-year-old thinks, "I'm not wasting anymore Sundays in church.
Looks to me like we’re all the same."
The following night
Charley Black surfs the net for new porn.
He's read all the old stories.
Fourteen blocks away, Charley’s wife Judy is pressured into
sleeping with her married boyfriend, the deacon.
Two hours later they pray, “Forgive me, Lord. I won't slip again. S'all good!"
The same prayer they’ve uttered 87 times before
“Simple Prayers”
Have you been taught to pray?
I have, I dare say
By podgy, stodgy professors
In the most excruciating of lectures
They tried to teach how to preach, what to say
Although most of their words have skulked away
There are many sides to me
But I’m primitive when I spout God-pleas
Just a one-trick pony, to be certain
Once I step inside my prayer closet
And draw the curtain
So be forewarned: if you ask me to pray in front of others
My unembellished prayers fail to impress some Christian brothers
My words are a poor man in rags
Creeping into God’s throne room
Not like those rare and haughty Theology-hags