I picture my heart
like a cartoon character
with Betty Boop legs,
tapdancing around,
shuffling off to Buffalo

How many times must I learn
that I cannot elevate anyone
above God?
That I am not to worship idols?
My heart has no place with them

God and I are not that different
after all
He is a jealous God
and we are all made
in His image

So why would I
trade Him
for some wooden idol
or absurd image
that cannot compare?
Why do I let my heart
wander off
when it really belongs to God?

I am not Eve
Not paradise
I live in this world
Many troubles I have seen
Yet hatchling sparrows
in the pottery gourd
I have set up outside
by my kitchen door
have reminded me of simplicity

As squirrels come by to beg
for a scrap of food,
my two cats
lazing in the sun inside my home.

Is this how it feels in
the Garden of Eden?
Tending the animals I love so much,
providing shelter and food for others
that belong to the wild
If just for a moment or two,
no worries, no struggles,
no sadness, no doubts
A complete feeling of joy
at nature outside and inside my door

Open the windows,
part the curtains
Bring light into this house,
natural and soft and sweet
Smell the morning air,
an air that is special to this hour

Hear the low activity
of the Saturday morning
Saturate yourself in the tranquility
of a new day
See the humble beginnings
of a fresh start
and be ever so thankful

Adopt its ways
Own the light inside
Fill your lungs to abundance
with the cool air
Get intimate with the late summer,
approaching autumn
kind of inbetween season.

Satisify your ears with the post-dawn hum
Sense the day that will bring life,
that allows you the gift of yet
another day of a beating heart
Give back to what it has given you
by living your life

I have to ponder
Abraham Lincoln
I've seen his archaic face
so many times before
An icon of the Civil War
yet timeless in its definition of America

He poses, patient and wise
but more myth than man
The crags and valleys
of his complex face
forge out a map of my America

His rugged beard and stoic stance,
his jagged, rustic features bear out
the forests and the mountains
and the plains
A somber man
A sad man
A man with the weight of the world

I find a penny
I pick up a penny
and there he is
Abraham Lincoln
A shiny, new one
Its fiery, coppery red
sits a while and melts into my palm,
mingles with my imagination,
spreading illuminating embers like cherries,
like cherries in a tree with many branches.

President Lincoln
He set the captives free
His office, his aspirations cost him dearly,
cost him his life

I belong to a thousand faces
and yet I am my own
I look in the mirror for answers
How did I get this look?
I believe each lifetime comes
only once around,
and I have faith
in eternal heaven
Yet they live in me,
those who came before me
And they shape these eyes
And they shape this nose, this mouth
I never need to wander,
or hang my head in shame
Like a well branched out tree,
with a firm foundation,
I am complete
I have roots

The heart keeps us alive
It pumps
Excited,
it jumps

The mind is what keeps us wise
alerted by the heart
it awakens
and the churning starts...

Both are organs
That make a rhythm
Who can live without them?

Been a fighter all my life
From a home filled with strife
Decided to put down my boxing gloves
Make not war, but love

But I realized the fight has merit
It is something that fuels my spirit
When I begin to lose that spark
My mind gives up, goes dark

I become the passive person I am not
So I'll take up the banner, a lot
Because the battle is never won
When you feel your life is done

I've been a fighter all my life

We reach out for dolls
with withered hands.
Stooped over, we play
in the sandbox.
Ancient children,
so old, with innocent eyes,
we never grew up
in an aged world.
Time steals our hopes,
to have everything be alright.
The ticking of the clock goes on.
Yet we cling to youth,
not quite knowing how to mature
to where we need to be.

We are the adult children of dysfunction,
and we feel equal weights of young and old
balancing on our scales of self.
The hardships we endured
heap wrinkles upon our souls.
But we go on.

Ancient children,
we've been around forever,
relics in the nusery,
babes wrapped inside
the armor of adults,
feeling all so wise,
street smart to a cruel world,
but only pretending,
so naive,
Ancient children,
we become in reality
what we long to still believe.

I was born there
I hummed its famous tunes,
those unique harmonies and melodies
I drove its cars
Didn't everyone want one?
Those wheels were built by people like us
My father elevated his lot in life,
a Chrysler man by trade

In time, my parents fled its borders
to join up with the other suburban dwellers
This was before I was born
Few of us stayed behind,
the rest of my kin,
too poor or too proud or too scared to leave

I wish it could rise above its troubles
I wish I could brag about it instead
of feeling like a stranger to it
I can't call it home,
but I can claim it as my birth right
Nobody can take that away from me
Detroit, the place where I was born

A tear shed,
Mingled with blood
How could I not
Give Him my love?
Alive to this world,
Yet He was dead to sin
How could I not be
Born again?
Died and risen,
But He sees us
How could I not
Know Jesus?

In the park
I saw you
And how could I resist?
I was always a pushover
for a sweet face
Squirrel!
Persistent, little thing,
aren't you?
That innocent look
Big, bright eyes
and a bushy tail,
twitching your nose
as you scurry about me...
You beg for a peanut,
knowing very well
what a sucker I am
for a sob story

Do you believe in fairy tales?
Does the prince always rescue the maiden in distress?
Does the guy always get the girl?
Do they always live "happily ever after"?
Do you believe?

I thought I did

Do you believe in Hollywood endings?
Where the bad guy always loses?
Where the good guy always wins?
Where all his problems are solved in two hours?
Do you believe?

I thought I did

It all satisfied my most inner longings
It deeply touched my heart
But time went by
And age shed  away my innocence
Do I really believe?

I thought I did

Storms!
The weather vanes twirl about
in mass hysteria
North!
South!
East!
West!
Lightning crowds the skies
with white gold
Instantaneous rods of crooked steel
pierce the horizon
Booming, clamorous crunching
clap throughout the hushed heavens
quaking the frames and foundations,
making cats and dogs
rush under the beds for protection
The young ones peek out of windows
and defy their nervousness
The adults slam the windows closed
to shut out the savage elements

Blustery winds work their way
through each crack and crevice
as looming, ominous clouds
hanging low in readiness
finally burst forth like a breaking dam

People run for cover
running for their very lives
from the rods of steel
that slice the sky
ducking drops so wild and wet
that they make the very soul
shake and shiver
drenching each victim to the bone

Flowers and grasses drown deliriously
in the quenching drink
Worms migrate for safer territory
to find little comfort at all

Until the deluge is done
and the skies have decided
they have bore enough
will they subside
yet only to blow their way through
to trespass another town
their violent wrath satisfied
for now

Because they provide us with
needed sustenance
we can be obliging to them
these storms that strike us
usually against our will
Because they amaze us
educate our thoughts
and entertain our imaginations
we can be forgiving of their tempers

Tears flee the sky
in mass exodus.
Rain showers our earth
with wailing water,
heaven crying for you
heaven crying for me.

Pity...I have none.
These eyes refuse to cry,
hearing not the plea of angels.
Weeping dry,
these ducts have closed,
as stubborn as the woman
who shut them down.

But though my heart sleeps,
my spirit wails its own song.
Pleading and mournful,
yearning to break free...
but compassion--
I have not to give it...
as God weeps for me.

All equals,
we are all developing
in the womb
called potential.
All are ready,
each and every one,
to be born,
an unlimited woman or man

All equals,
we are all seen
through loving eyes
of our Creator
as a baby is looked upon
by its mother,
led by a gentle hand

When one
dominates another,
they are gaining ground
but loosing sand,
for we are all
granules on the beach,
equals upon the land

These words of mine
I wish these words
could walk off this page
and travel across lands
and bodies of water
to encounter another,
sending a bit of myself elsewhere
even if I cannot physically do so myself.

These words of mine
I wish these words
to be at least somewhat inspiring,
to touch someone's heart and soul
or to at least make them think,
and help them to make meaningful words of their own.

These words of mine
Maybe one could visualize them,
or hear them without my voice,
smell the fragrance of their worth,
taste the salty and the sweet on their tongue,
like a concoction unfamiliar, yet palatble.

These words of mine
Perhaps they will never win accolades,
or thunderous applause,
but they have merit
for they are from the heart
and soul...
These words of mine.

As I sit here today,
apart from society,
hit with this cold,
feeling not well,
I struggle again
to find my purpose
in this world,
as I often do.

But if I have just
helped out one person
and I know I have
I already laid
a firm foundation
which leaves room
to be builded upon
some more,
perhaps by me,
perhaps by someone else
coming along.......
the floors,
the walls,
the ceiling,
the windows,
and the roof,
or simply planting
a seed in the garden
which will from one
tiny beginning
spring up life.

Light the candle
to my world.
Don't let it burn away.
Preserve it,
guard it,
share it,
say a prayer over it,
and it will rock your world.
For its light is of God,
and nothing can harm
its fluorescent flame,
no shame,
no darkness.
Healing and blessing
are its radiant essence.
Like tears of pain,
as the wax drips
down to the bottom,
and the wick
fights on
to survive,
keep the flame alive!

I want to go
where people are free
from the gravity of life's care,
the needless cares
that keep us feeling like we
weigh a ton.
To never feel
the pain of rejection.
To never feel
that I don't measure up.
To never feel
like I have to fake it to be myself.

I want to go
where people
don't have their ear glued to a cell phone,
their fingers feverishly texting,
where people pass one another
and know someone just passed them by,
knowing enough just to smile.

Caterpillars are simply butterflies
who have not learned to fly the skies
Creatures who are temporarily earth bound
without the means to leave the ground

I saw one by circumstance
It died before it had a chance
To transform and spread its wings
So sad to me, this lifeless thing

It reminds me how our wings must spread,
If not, we are found left for dead
We were never meant to crawl in the mire
We were meant to fly higher and higher

Backed in a corner...
No way out...
Find a way

I guess it's "no" this time
I cannot accomplish my dream
Find a way

It will never find me
It does not have legs
But God willing
And I am still in the running

I will find a way

I'd cry with you
but what did I say?
My tears have all
just gone away.

I once was like you
of flesh and blood
and how my tears
have caused a flood!

But now my eyes
have all gone dry
because closed up hearts
refuse to cry.

I'd take this world
into the palm of my hand
and crunch it up
just like paper,
turn it into a vapor.

Not in reality
but in my head,
empty out all the wrong if able,
crunch up all the pain
wash it away with rain.

I'd start from scratch,
this earthly patch.
I'd breathe fresh air
and walk the streets
without any fear.

Yet people still hurt
on this hunk of dirt
that is our earth
And the world still turns
with much to learn.

And like the flowers
are the people truly like
growing only strong and upright
if love has no conditions
and is not a work of fiction.

Amelia fixes her veil in the mirror,
and tilts her head from side to side.
Not satisfied, she removes it.
She brushes her brown hair.
If only God had made her the way
that she wished she could be.
The artist that she is,
she desires to paint herself pretty.
It's like she feels that her Maker
put out His first draft on her
and forgot to erase the mistakes,
to improve the rough draft.

Amelia adds rosy color to her cheeks,
and petal softness to her lips.
She dots her eyes with lovely additions
and powders her nose as if icing to the cake.
Yet Amelia's love does not care
if she looked perfect.
He always teases her
when she fusses and fusses,
and he often reveals to her
that she is more beautiful
than a garden of flowers.

Amelia relaxes her face.
Maybe this isn't what she would have ordered
if she could have possibly gotten
her choice of looks
right out from a store catalog.
She can tell by her own eyes
that they are alive.
She laughs at herself in her reflection.
She knows her beloved is the right choice.
From down the hallway to her room,
Amelia's mother calls out,
"Come along, Amelia.
Today is your wedding day."

Where did you go?
I cannot find you
You are a stranger to me
It's like you've gone away for good
and are not coming back

Sometimes your there
Sometimes your not
Sometimes your hot
Then cold again
Back and forth
Back and forth
I cannot figure you out

I beg you to answer me
to help me out
to find my way
but you just shed a tear
revealed in the reflection I see
as the mirror reveals the pain

I got news for you
I ain't your fool
Who are you anyway?
The wicked things that you say
You tell me I'm no good
That you'd choke me if you could
I try to tell you that you're a liar
But your words sting me just like fire
Who are you anyway?
The wicked things that you say
Yeah, I know who you are
Want proof just see my scars
You're the demons inside
But you can't hide
You're the demons within
But you can't win
I belong to Him
I belong to Him

The apathetic heart
Cannot be torn apart
It cannot feel
No want to heal
The apathetic heart

A heart made of stone
Does not ever groan
It will not break
When life seems fake
A heart made of stone

A heart broken too much
Cannot feel a human touch
Can it be revived?
Will it pump and thrive?
A heart broken too much

If I told you how dead
I often feel inside
would you want to run
the other way?

If I told you how scared
I am over the same old things
would you tell me
not to be such a baby?

If I told you that my words
could inspire you
to write words of your own
would you laugh?

If I told you all these things
and many more
in the depths of my soul
would you call me friend?

Would you?

Hey, flower!
How come you have to come along
and disturb my state of mind?
Confusion, unrest, and the like.
What a manipulator you are!
Winking at me with soft petals
and subtle hints of sunshine.

Brilliant and bold
in your gentle composure...
Pastel petals as delicate as butterfly wings
Yet strong enough to make a statement
like a captain in command

I just don't think you are fair
For you just gave me a jolt
And I was having a
perfectly miserable day
until you came along.

I got a notion
to swim in the ocean

Or maybe fly high
up in the sky

Or maybe climb
somewhere sublime

But I got to stay home
and write this poem

It isn't so bright
but its all right

We are all a garden
of sorts.
We all spring up
from a single seed.
And like a flourishing tree
or an expanding bush
we can branch out
and multiply
in number and in strength
surrounded by tender loving care,
being watered by others,
paid close attention to
as the gardener nurtures us
to maturity.

We bloom.
We blossum.
Beauty abounds.
Our colors come forth
in a harmony of hues
upon every petal
and every leaf.

But then come the weeds
that choke out our foliage
and wrap around our roots,
our foundations.
The weeds of hatred,
the weeds of bitterness
the weeds of loneliness,
the weeds of shame,
the weeds of fear,
and depression
invade.

Bugs infest our garden
and eat away at us,
tormenting us,
picking away at us,
and the beauty
and produce
that once was the glory
of our garden
has gone away.

Did we do this to ourselves?
We often wonder.
Did the gardener get too passive,
get too neglectul and uncaring
and forget to tend the garden?
Maybe we were not strong enough
to take up the fight,
wilting, fading in the sun.

Yet even a dying flower
produces seeds of growth,
and of renewal,
as a rebirth will come from
its entrance into the earth.
Even the most tragic looking
of sickly plant life
will have a comeback,
a resurrection
of sorts
when golden raindrops
do fall again
like prayers from the sky.

And so it is the gardener
was never asleep on the job,
did not neglect the duties.
And like all healthy ones do
abundant food
shall grow once again
in our garden,
fragrant flowers,
and branches
for the birds to perch upon
when at one time
all seemed dead
and hopeless
and lost.

Worm,
cant't you stand a little rain?
A puddle here,
a puddle there
You squirm so helplessly,
desperately seeking out higher ground,
hurriedly scurrying for shelter,
but stuck in a rut
for want of dry land

Some lay before you,
fully defeated,
a mass exodus of worm refugees
The blazing sun
shall work against you,
to parch the ground below
How cruel does this world
seem towards you
when all you want is to stay alive?
To survive,
to thrive,
for one more day

I will seek Your face
I will run the race
Weary and tired,
but awe inspired,
I will seek Your face

Snake prowls
Preying owls
Welcome to the jungle

Night things emerge
Carnivores get the urge
Welcome to the jungle

Rainforest mammal
Dry desert camel
All know the law of the land

Swinging monkey on a tree
Or the flower-loving bumble bee
Know a jungle when they see one

Creatures with hungry jaws
Tear flesh with razor claws
For that's how a jungle should be

Man so set apart
Just because he has a human heart?
The joke's on me

So bask in the fantasy
That life comes so easily
Then welcome to the jungle

I lit
the wick,
a slow start,
barely a fire...
almost smoldering...
but
just the same,
there's a flame
rising above
a flicker.
And I can see
no doubt
it's gonna shine.

If I embrace it
it sifts through my hands
like sand in an hourglass
It has been about as obtainable to gather
as carrying water within my fingers

Time has not been my friend
It has mocked me for all the countless
swings of the pendulum
that I did not heed.
One day I was a child,
but then I blinked
and I was grown

Only when I wanted time
to hurry itself along
did it trick me again
as if to tell me
it would take its time
Only then did its busy hands
seem to stand still

It rudely invades my dreams
when it is not welcome
sounding the alarm
to call me to attention,
and I must answer its dictates
as the world does not wait
for slackers such as me

I wear it on my wrist
like I am bound to it,
a symbol of my mortality
Its ticking away
I cannot escape
Its two hands
I'd like to break
and smash its face
against a wall

At times

Child, woman.
Wise, innocent.
Stained from the past
with blood of the ages,
generations make their nations
out of common DNA.

Slipping slowly
is my memory of youth.
Not forever forgotten,
but the little girl inside
is like an apparition,
who has tried to go away
for good.
I yearn for the newness she once had,
and I wonder if I'll ever
know her again.

Paradoxical chimes
on the ticking clock
fog my yesterday
and alarm my tomorrow.
Memories are like a sun-setting dusk,
some at peace, some not.
The future and I never met
But I want to race there to meet it
and not in foolishness pass by today.

Not underaged,
not a wise, old sage,
I'm a half-breed to both
Thirtysomething.
Stuck in the middle.
Wading waist deep in exasperation
waiting to fly,
to fly higher and higher,
regretting that I did not fly that far.
But I cannot turn this watch inside out,
I cannot turn back time.
Can I accept that?

I'm half brave,
half afraid.
I'm part greedy,
part giving.
I want to be part
of the whole picture
of the puzzle...
but I'm holding back
the missing piece.

Child, woman.
I'm a tree splintered in two directions,
and after much inspection,
I wonder...

Which one will I be?

I danced and danced
and danced away
until the sun
turned into the moon
A curious sliver,
a faint silver
was it
I cried out to the darkness.
"Show your face again!"

But no answer

So I shouted out
"Never again will a light shine
that beams warmly on mine!"
The clouds could scatter
with the blowing of my breath,
but the call of night
was as cold as death

Yet, oddly, dots of light
peeped out from the curtain
of velvet black,
like a celestial pact
were stars upon stars
as rays of hope
from afar

Gathering as glowing jewels,
fireflies dancing the skies
in shimmering pools!
I shouted out in triumph,
"I win! I win!
Never again
shall light end!
All but lost
if not for God's gems!"

Alive with wonder,
I cried out once again,
"Shine! Shine!
Rebels, all of you!
You sea of painted pearls!
Don't you know it's a dark
and lonely world?"

Soldier Boy in Iraq,
sleeping with your gun
nestled by your side,
pimples on your face,
a foreign place
to rest your head,
and your bed
is as harsh and unforgiving
as the desert sands.

You fear maybe the next bullet
may be for you,
nothing new
in your mind.
You've seen your kind
fall before.

Iraqi faces,
some grateful,
some hateful,
give you odd and curious glances.
Women and girls in veils,
tales of woe,
tales of fear.
Men and boys draw near,
captivated by the Yanks
who dare to be here.

Soldier boy in Iraq,
say your prayers.
Draw close to God,
and He will draw near
to you.
Your mom is looking forward
to your letter
and you think it's better
to waste no time
and write it now.

I woke up today to a tangerine sun,
the fullness of its round belly
perched upon the city
in an orange, growing glow.

The day was adorned in autumn,
but all its best, in arrayed pockets
of majestic color, could not compare.

The traffic passed on by
as if the world foolishly seemed
to never notice it was there.
But I could have plucked it out of the sky,
delighting in its mouthwatering sweetness
for days and days and days,
consuming its bright fullness for life
in copy cat decision
as I would gently swallow it up
completely.

A miracle this is not.
After all, maybe it was there
many a morning,
but I forgot to look up and see.

Yet today its lantern presence
lit a fire upon my thoughts,
for God so loves us,
in spite of us,
that He shines extraordinary light
upon us
to wake us up,
to embrace the life we have been given.

This is my testimony,
fruitful expressions
of creative hope and faith
yet fiercely fought for
with every fiber of my being
to be feasted upon in my soul
for survival.
Crazy words to some,
but to dreamers not.

Today I claimed a small victory,
somewhere between here and heaven
all within the world
of a tangerine sun.

Pea soup,
but peas too few.
Life is a bowl
of murky green,
just wading
our way through
faded memories.
Reality,
hard to grasp
with a spoon.
Chunks and pieces,
a hint of aroma,
a fulfilling taste to soothe,
but hungry in an hour
for truth.
Pea soup.

I remember fear,
when fear lived inside
I did not invite it in
It had its own key

I remember fantasy
Fantasy and I got along
Together we overcame,
and fear took off running

I remember stubbornness,
determined to make my own way,
not to live in a little shoe box,
determined to fly away

I remember that little girl
That little girl knew me
I am not anyone I can recall
I'm just me

Towers,
raining down tears and blood,
Showers,
raining burning steel,
a gushing flood.
Panicking people,
leaping to their deaths.
The only chance to find
a dousing rest.
Buried in the heap of ash,
the smoking pinnacles have crashed!

Oh, New York!
Mourning for your dead!
The flag's colors have run,
all have bled
into darkest scarlet,
deepest red!

Frightened Lady Liberty
had dropped her torch,
her harbors so badly scorched!
The dust pasted on each ghostly face,
the horrified, tear-stained
human race!

In a Pacific Ocean playground palace,
calm Alaskan waters--
but no comfort!
No hideaway
for this American daughter!

Thousands of miles away,
oh, New York City,
was I in a midst of serene sea,
yet longing,
longing to be home
nearer to thee!

She has fire in her veins,
fire in her hair.
She might light your world afire today.
So beware!

Her autumn reflection,
burning bright,
has much detection
throughout her night.

She has a hurting spirit,
but a proud name.
The fire she did inherit
is in her eyes the flame.

A mist of rain does tend to descend,
threatening her torch with dread,
but in spite of its might and unceasing end,
the fire is never dead.

A hand-shaped heritage,
it opened its huge palm
and waved at us,
welcoming us in
It made us farmers
It made us chefs
It made us factory workers
It made us business owners
and inventors
It gave us higher education
to dream taller and wider
It bridged the gap
between two peninsulas
to include everyone
It smiled upon me,
and patted me on the back
"Well done, lady poet
Well done"

Hope is something
I do not take lightly
It gives me a reason to be
So I fight for the right,
the right to believe
In the things my eyes cannot see

Dreams come, dreams go...but hope,
an intangible more precious than gold,
most assuredly lingers on stubbornly
I cannot discard it or disregard it,
a promise the world cannot sway,
a result of God's divinity

Hope is something
that does not die easily
It gives me a reason to breathe,
so I fight for the right,
the right to take flight,
and the right to believe