love these people
the crowds of strangers
that mill about me
in the city.
the looks on their faces:
smiles and frowns
sad lost eyes
determined stares.
we are one
somehow.
all nameless
lost in the shuffle
like a midnight masquerade.
yet we are known
each face
each soul
to the One
who whispers every name.
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 8:27 PM UTC
i don't wonder if it's worth it.
but sometimes i get tired:
last night was so long-
up every hour
wiping his nose,
trying to soothe him.
after he awoke bright and early,
spent the morning whining,
and finally succumbed to
a restless nap,
i collapsed on the couch.
fought back tired tears
and felt like a flop;
when i heard that
whisper-voice:
*thank you.
for taking care of My baby.*
that's when i knew
every frustration
every coffee-dependent day
every single hour of
every sleepless night
was a gift to the One
who made this little man.
yes, some days i get tired.
but i always know it's worth it.
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 1:58 PM UTC
my mind is a painter, thinking of colors in the form of stories and scenes
thinking about the brightest of city lights
streets teeming with foreign language
people passing by with stories i'll never know
silent seas along the coastlines
mountains towering above us, old and wise
cabins in the forest with little firesides
trains full of strangers to fall in love with
airports with people, greetings and goodbyes
postcard-perfect towns and friendly rivers
neighborhoods showered with pretty autumn leaves...
these are the stories painted in my head, the stories i'd love to paint with my own hands.
the places i'd love to see when i'm alone in my bedroom, the stories i want to see for myself.
and sometimes, i fear i'll never reach these works of art,
but with a brush and some paint, what's impossible?
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 7:46 PM UTC
You come along... tearing your shirt... yelling about Jesus.
Where do you get that stuff?
What do you know about Jesus?
Jesus had a way of talking soft and outside of a few
bankers and higher-ups among the con men of Jerusalem
everybody liked to have this Jesus around because
he never made any fake passes and everything
he said went and he helped the sick and gave the
people hope.
You come along squirting words at us, shaking your fist
and calling us all **** fools so fierce the froth slobbers
over your lips... always blabbing we're all
going to hell straight off and you know all about it.
I've read Jesus' words. I know what he said. You don't
throw any scare into me. I've got your number. I
know how much you know about Jesus.
He never came near clean people or ***** people but
they felt cleaner because he came along. It was your
crowd of bankers and business men and lawyers
hired the sluggers and murderers who put Jesus out
of the running.
I say the same bunch backing you nailed the nails into
the hands of this Jesus of Nazareth. He had lined
up against him the same crooks and strong-arm men
now lined up with you paying your way.
This Jesus was good to look at, smelled good, listened
good. He threw out something fresh and beautiful
from the skin of his body and the touch of his hands
wherever he passed along.
You slimy bunkshooter, you put a **** on every human
blossom in reach of your rotten breath belching
about hell-fire and hiccupping about this Man who
lived a clean life in Galilee.
When are you going to quit making the carpenters build
emergency hospitals for women and girls driven
crazy with wrecked nerves from your gibberish about
Jesus--I put it to you again: Where do you get that
stuff; what do you know about Jesus?
Go ahead and bust all the chairs you want to. Smash
a whole wagon load of furniture at every performance.
Turn sixty somersaults and stand on your
nutty head. If it wasn't for the way you scare the
women and kids I'd feel sorry for you and pass the hat.
I like to watch a good four-flusher work, but not when
he starts people puking and calling for the doctors.
I like a man that's got nerve and can pull off a great
original performance, but you--you're only a bug-
house peddler of second-hand gospel--you're only
shoving out a phoney imitation of the goods this
Jesus wanted free as air and sunlight.
You tell people living in shanties Jesus is going to fix it
up all right with them by giving them mansions in
the skies after they're dead and the worms have
eaten 'em.
You tell $6 a week department store girls all they need
is Jesus; you take a steel trust *** dead without
having lived, gray and shrunken at forty years of
age, and you tell him to look at Jesus on the cross
and he'll be all right.
You tell poor people they don't need any more money
on pay day and even if it's fierce to be out of a job,
Jesus'll fix that up all right, all right--all they gotta
do is take Jesus the way you say.
I'm telling you Jesus wouldn't stand for the stuff you're
handing out. Jesus played it different. The bankers
and lawyers of Jerusalem got their sluggers and
murderers to go after Jesus just because Jesus
wouldn't play their game. He didn't sit in with
the big thieves.
I don't want a lot of gab from a bunkshooter in my religion.
I won't take my religion from any man who never works
except with his mouth and never cherishes any memory
except the face of the woman on the American
silver dollar.
I ask you to come through and show me where you're
pouring out the blood of your life.
I've been to this suburb of Jerusalem they call Golgotha,
where they nailed Him, and I know if the story is
straight it was real blood ran from His hands and
the nail-holes, and it was real blood spurted in red
drops where the spear of the Roman soldier rammed
in between the ribs of this Jesus of Nazareth.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 3:38 PM UTC
nothing like jazz
to bring a community
together:
breezy summer evening
lawnchairs scattered
about the library lawn-
dignified grandmothers,
dancing toddlers,
long-haired ranchers,
hipster teens.
all sway to the beat.
smooth saxophone solo
bold trombone flair
drummer's voice crooning
wafts through the air
and for a song-long
moment,
time stands still
and we,
the motley assortment
of local folk
are a thriving,
living,
united
family.
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 1:45 AM UTC
and if i slip into the fog
that clouds my mind today,
and if i don’t return again
but in those caverns stay,
and if i snap and vanish
in my mind’s wintry frosts,
please know i still exist somewhere
though wandering and lost
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 11:20 AM UTC
I knew you once
I know you now
But it’s just not the same
I’m not sure why
I’m not sure how
Or if I am to blame
We were once held
By friendship’s cord
Nothing could separate
Our days were filled
With laughs and dreams
But now we hesitate
Where once we smiled
Across the room
When our eyes met at glance
We now pretend
We do not see
As if it were a chance
Why, my old friend
Do we go on
As if we never were
What caused the drift
Of lives like ours
Is it my fault or yours
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 1:07 PM UTC
Each day is like an empty page
And you choose what to write
Your choice of story, art, or song
To fill its pages white
That’s what I told you, but you laughed
You said you saw no cause
To ponder foolish metaphors
Much less sit down and draw
And as I watched you walk away
I recognized your crime
You filled your page with glaring blanks
And called it killing time
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 9:42 PM UTC
when i was small, i thought life was a lovely thing.
as i grew older, i saw how ugly it is.
truth is? it’s a grand mix.
tears and smiles.
hurts and joys.
bittersweet.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 12:28 PM UTC
The person I thought I'd become
Has vanished suddenly;
And in her place I find myself-
Unsatisfactory.
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC