Recklessly innocent; He stayed, fearless
Eternity embodied in Immaturity
A boy with business
Pulled into the presence of priesthood
Melchizedek in miniature.

Three days later.
Three worrisome wisdom filled days.
Three timeless tomb-less questioning days after.

Caught in the act of defiant worship
Can a mother reprimand her Savior?
Where else would he be?
Being Human fully at the feet of forever.

Then He obeyed.

Happy 50th Birthday Mom



Fruits of the Spirit

She is unconditional.
Agape with thick black hair;
Extending gracious embraces.

A laugh so infectious the night smiles.
Humoring through hardships with serious content,
Her strength so obvious.

Like a river, tumbling perfectly still.
Making treaties with her eyes,
Cultivating harmony with her soft hands.

An artist of longsuffering,
She knows time will come.
Waiting; her dreams dance with a divine tomorrow.

Even to strangers her warmth is magnetic.
Tenderly striving to remain without enemy,
Her words serve souls.

Her reputation precedes her.
Virtuous in every way; Proverbially.
Like all of creation, she is good.

Always is her way of life.
Steadfast like a pillar, never letting down.
Loyalty as staunch as armies.

Holding hands at her hero’s bedside
Hymns on her lips and in her face
Gently her spirit caresses the pain.

Denying self she follows Him.
Bearing cross daily; arduously effortless.
Composed, she forms fruitful family.

Picture yourself on a raft in the ocean
Expansive emptiness; overcast skies
Somewhere beneath you, a rumble quite slowly
A beast with ambiguous eyes
Torrents exploding so grayish and black
Towering over your head
Look for Leviathans dark empty eyes
And it’s gone.

Princess in a tempest with dragons.

Follow it down to the floor of the ocean
Where underfed mermen eat navy supplies
Everyone weeps as you sink past the old ships
Full of bones that will never be dry
Newspaper rainstorms fill the horizon
Waiting to take you away
Escape from both faces; fierce as forever
And you’re gone.

Princess in a tempest with dragons.

Picture yourself after sea storms have settled
A sun in greyscale telling weatherman lies
Suddenly deep from the ocean around you
The beast with ambiguous eyes

Princess in a tempest with dragons.

This is a painting that my buddy Teddy did (click on the picture to see a clearer view) and I couldn't get the image out of my head after I saw it. I can't get the Beatles song, that this poem alludes to, from my brain either. (hint Princess = Lucy)

Check out more of Teddy's Art here

Hospital Thanksgiving

Something sad should be happening
With all the wires
But he won't let the sad come visit.

The night nurse, an east coast hispanic
Told him he wouldn't have to wear those Julumbo pants.
It's just as well with him.
The jokes are funnier pants-less.

That sad something should be happening
The way it smells
But farts can make a sad smell silly

The day nurse, a tall man-faced woman
Told him at 6 am to wake up and wash his groin
Apparently the way to man's heart
Is through his crotch

That sad something should be serious
Statistically speaking
But sometimes stories lighten up the numbers

He can say anything, to anyone, anytime
As long as he's in the bed
There's nothing sad about urine, stool, and sperm
Especially when he tells the part about the underwear

Shouldn't it be sad now. Seriously shouldn't it.
With all that happens next.
But only nothing happens now.

Crammed onto unfamiliar furniture with family
Gracefully God hangs from the walls' crucifix
Death has no sting, Nothing is serious
The Joy of the Lord is my strength. (Fart noise)

Paycheck to Paycheck
Till the Apocalypse
When my Savior Raptures me
From my Work ethic

Paycheck to Paycheck
Till Kingdom Comes
And Jubilee will take care of
Visa, MasterCard, and Discover

Paycheck to Paycheck
Till Judgment Day
Because my pastor said I have a purpose
And I’ve found that it’s expensive

Paycheck to Paycheck
Till Armageddon
When the enemies blood
Will sure up the war bonds

Paycheck to Paycheck
Till the Trumpet Sounds
And my house in the suburbs
Will still retain its value.

A Mudbox Mostly

It’s mostly a mudbox
Cracked and gritty earth
Packed tight like a parking lot
Light slips off scattered
Sand spots
A beautiful wasteland

It’s mostly a mudbox
Dark overdug corners
Plundered like a Pirate Island
Sun scorched
Pigment-less pail
Turned rain catcher

It’s mostly a mudbox
Half of a Hot-Wheel
Ass end up like an ostrich
Abandoned Army men
Green gun appendages
Stoically skyward

It’s mostly a mudbox
Innocent hands
Once shaped structures like a potter
Filled fingernails
With the future of flesh
Dust unto Dust

Individual instants
Creeping cowardly
From sex to silence

Wasted words
investing permanently
in lies of love

Apologize again
Crying cynically
on silk sheets

Degenerate Desire
resting secretly
in lock jawed lips

Hardened Heart
moving languidly
through lost life

Blue skies in February

Over look the expansive ugliness

Of imported dirt

Brought in to make things flat

Clearing earth for progress

The telephone wires

Cut the horizon

Like a police barricade

Between the unnaturally new

And the majesty of the ancient sky

Reforming Creation

Like a weak god

Constructing away the chaos

Into cookie cutter cul-de-sacs

For the cause of convenience

The concrete curbs scream separation

Standardizing the flow of the fallen rain

Away from here

Here all the water

Must first be bottled

I used to think cracked hands didn't hurt.
That dry man hands just felt like regular hands.
I used to wonder why he came home so tired sometimes.
It seemed like he never could get rested.

Selfish like a magnet
Heart like hardwood floors
Careless like weeds
Temper like a dormant volcano

Lazy as lillypads
Proud as a Pharisee
Patient as a fuse
Stubborn as cancer

As Lost as a Blind Man on Vacation by himself

Middle of the country written all over my face
With a magic marker
And well bred too
Like an expensive dog without
The brain damage

Over-Educated odor drips from my pre-owned shirt
Off the placemat
Onto the air
Errors I put on to impress you
I Spit in the face of the convention
His name is wind
Touch it for the purpose of knowing it
Just as I suppose most men do

I will tie myself to a classic beauty for forever
Shortly
Only without the growing up part
To have and hold hands with
As long as we both shall live the dream

Humor masks my intensity
Like make-up on a bad actor playing a cheap whore
Victim of the middle child syndrome
Having my sights set on failing least
I maintain the breath for the stretch run

I wasn’t cut out for this
In fact I think it was more of a falling out than a cutting
An absolutely flawless falling
A bowling ball and a feather in a vacuum
Somewhere in the space between my ears.

Straight Lines

The dawn cracks like an eggshell on a skillet
And the icy air waits just beyond breakfast
Quiet jelly toast is eaten off familiar forks
His once frostbit hand has yet to be gloved

The bright sun is as cold as the conversation
Where words are few his voice is strong
Shared silence is the music of the unheated cab
Broken only by the telling of his same stories

The frozen dirt shines its brown brightness
On the braced walls of suburban sameness
I continue to help him construct the future
In the form of a new houses for strangers.

The clouds dance along the top of new walls
Where he stands casting winter shadows
Taking measurements and figuring angles
Because he still build houses with straight lines.

Heart Hole

When I wake up crying
For the way things
should be
I feel it

When I spend my time
staring at pixels
of a far away life
I feel it

When my hand swings
lonely by my side
as a walk
I feel it

When time freezes in place
A place where no one
should be
I feel it

When I lose track
of everything but the
number of days
I feel it

I feel it so deep
I feel it at the center of my everything
I feel it in the silence
In the static
In the echo
I feel it

She's missing
And she's taken me with her

The words I prayed

If only I could be that man.
The one who knows what to say
When she cries.
I fear that each silent second
Ticks away
And I have nothing
To give.

Humility sinks in
When proud orations
Seem trite and meaningless.
Like the Hypocrites
I long to only
have to be seen
Not taken seriously.

A tear hits my chest
As expectant ears
hope that words will come.
Words that have
Depth . . .
Feeling . . .
Love . . .
Yet nothing.

What if it never came.
What if the time ticked
And the tears dried
And our hearts stopped
And not a word
not a single word
not a single simple word

The Spirit overwhelms
My silence turns
Into grumblings
Of peaceful apologies
Repentant promises
Careful visions
Helpless Adoration

Romans 8:26

In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express.

Spirit of Timidity

The door closes and rules change
Innocent to the touch
So perfect how could this be compromise
New issues with the same face
Complete disclosure would close her

The house is getting too small
It is invading every crevice
Skeletons are pushed behind books

Honesty comes later
After the white washed tomb
of an Uncircumcised Heart.
Repent for the masses and
Congratulate the complacency
Of one so far from victory.

Unto the third and fourth generation

Pain is in the tendencies
I can spot it a mile away
What else could he be doing

The routines that used to be mine
Before I perfected my lies
No innocence in an image age

Pain is in the silence
I refuse to admit my own improprieties
Role models model death to the dying

Maturity brings new closets
Denial is an art form
I can't even look in his eyes

Pain is in the similarities
The vigilant lust is to be pleased
Or the demon will only grow stronger

He is me. And I am He
What will They Become
Please God kill the shadows today

Pain is in the criminal dispositions
Can even retrospect correct this?
Or will the next follow in lockstep

To see him lie my lies
To see him reach in my bag of tricks
To see him seek at all cost
To see him lose his innocence
To see him begin to die
To see him mirror my every sin

Is to see my own sin again

A Love Poem

Absolutely fascinated with her everything
My mind races to places she resides
Memories and Hopes mixed into forever
She is mine. She is mine.

Her smile illuminates my everyday
Pictures can only whisper of her beauty
I am putty in her soft hands
I am hers. I am hers.

My skin shivers at her every touch
Commitment and Passion personified in kisses
If only tomorrow would come.
We will be one. We will be one.

Happy Anniversary Beautiful