Father
Son
and
the Holy Ghost,
which one
do I love
the most?

Hope
Faith
and
Love,
all three
are
from above

Threefold infinity
all
wrapped up
in the
Trinity,
to you
I give
my life

I know
before I lay me down to sleep
that I pray to my Lord
with clouds of doubts
Dark within my room at night
I lie ready
to close my eyes to
everything above
and about me

But as I stare up
in my bed
I know there is a God
beyond that ceiling barrier
I know there is a God
transcending these plaster walls
I know.....
I know

I raise up my hands to heaven
and say to God,
"Pick me up
Embrace me
Love me"
But then I shrink back
and I insist
that God must be hurt
by my exposed, broken shards

"I am not whole,
and not huggable
My pain is like thorns
that cut and inflict"
And so I look away with remorse

But God answers me
as only He can do, saying,
"Then we have a lot in common
Or did you forget the cross?
My Son on it?
Jesus, who was the most
broken of all"

I agree that I do...
I must!
But still...

"A nail in a hand
A wreath of thorns for a crown
He died quite damaged
for those like you
Yet was I not there to embrace Him
and welcome Him home?"

In spite of my tears, I reason
My mind and heart agree
So my Father and I embrace
and I accepted God's grace

After all

Rage
It's the age
Peace
Conflicts cease
In the world
In your soul

A small, frail woman,
very much a shy recluse
who prefered only
the company of few

Like many classical poets
she lived mostly unrecognized
until after her death
Immortality in the pages

Perhaps she was more daring
than her lifestyle
She had to be so, simply because
she was a woman and not a man

It is because of her
and those like her
that female writers,
even amateurs like me,
can let our pens flow
and our papers fill up
with wondrous words

So I thank you,
Emily Dickinson,
for having the courage to write
and to show the world
that females can make
such interesting words
come alive!

There are lobster fisherman
There are those who catch many fish
with big commercial boats and big nets
Many like to fish for the sport of it
for trout
for bass
for perch

But the only catch I like
on the end of my line
are compliments
That's right
Maybe I never got enough praise
A shy, nerdy kid with the low self-esteem
Maybe it's just a narcissistic need
to be noticed

I can sit there for a while
in my sea of creativity
Sometimes I might snag  
an old boot
an old tire
a glob of seaweed
or a message in a bottle that says
"YAWN!"

Kidding aside
I write because it keeps me sane
Whether or not I have an audience of one
and that audience is me
or whether I can entertain others
I cannot stop or start the flow of my pen
for any reason but the love of writing

They say one man's junk
is another man's treasure
So when I feel that tug
on the end of my fishing line
with the paperless technology
we have to express ourselves
I know someone was hooked
onto the end of my invisible pen

So I am not too proud to admit it
I toss "modesty" out of my boat
for a bigger, shameless fishing experience  
Grabbing my pole to reel in
the sweetness of those kind words
and I say, "Thank you!"

I'm not Little Miss Muffet
From a spider I won't run away
I'll just squish you in a tissue
Or grab a can of bug spray

If that won't be sufficient
If that would not do
I'd just take off my footwear
And smash you with my shoe!

Spider, Spider there I see you
crawling upon my bedroom wall
You give me nothing but the creeps
with every single inch you crawl

You may weave interesting webs
But don't think I'm making nice
If I were not human (but a fly)
I'd be an entangled, delicious bite!

I hate your figure-eight, rounded body
I hate your dangly legs, eight
Is there anything about you I like?
No, I think everything about you I hate!