our chestnut earth the spinning eye sphere,
and what ruptured like a blister
is the life.
Meercats like poppies surround my garden home. because i left the seed.
can You hold onto the senses- these hills bend lower than the valleys.
sometimes
i let the trees carry me
in Your footsteps in the sand.
everything
even beyond my sight
is Yours.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 8:31 PM UTC
Beavers trolley snow for built dams.
Cleverness in their small minds,
Everyone has a place in the workshop,
Where wood is transferred as paper binds.
Keep on ice fishing
Until the sunsets winter red
And turns to twilight blue.
Snowmen sled nocturnal nights instead.
Owls give a hoot for the racket
Outside a gleam to keep on building,
Keep on building snowmen until frost covers wool jackets...
Keep on building snowmen until you know the beavers finished the dams...
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 7:29 PM UTC
My lips split
the wildest of dreams,
leaving behind the stars
for your guide.
I sail the paper boats
home.
The secret ditched last
call.
Freedom rang
to stand the break,
divisions run the
wake.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 7:18 PM UTC
When I look through transparent windows
I view over creation
My eyes fill the colors
The colors fill my tiring, laboring days
Boxes stack up with struggles
Papers written without ink
are wiped away by the puddles
and the foot stompers on the streets
Strength carries away my fading nightmares
The good fight
needs the seeds to plant
Out of the soil and roots is our sword and shield
Could we grow an extra tongue
to speak Truth more boldly
Or an extra ear
to hear over each echoing mountain?
Maybe we need a staff
when we walk through deserts and scorpions
Or we need a bay
so we land on shore and not wander away
The gnashing of teeth on chains
is heard like a siren
and can be seen like smoke
Seven days without learning makes one weak
How can I travel
to another galaxy
if I do not have a rope
to link myself back to home?
My rope is strung on a moon
and I fall into space
Finding only the map of the universe
I realize my home is there as well
We have never been to
where creation was never created
back home where I slowly walk
The trees can tell their stories of creation
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 1:07 PM UTC
When children run across
the faded green pastures,
a milky white tear
to shape a new galaxy home,
what is left in the temporary house.
How long do we have to wait
in an empty wardrobe made out of
the tree that gives life?
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 10:36 PM UTC