Grounded in faith
I lay
In rich fertile soil
And so
I am ready to grow

Watered by His blood
I sprout
And put out leaves
And so
His sacrifice lets me live

In the light of His glory
I bloom
And free my petals
And so
His resurrection gives me hope

On this holy day
I free
My imprisoned hallelujah
The Lord is risen indeed
Hallelujah

The book that I was raised on
said we killed You today.
That it took three days
and You rose again.
I believed it.
I still do.
But it says You're always with us.
And honestly.
I'm starting to wonder
Where?

It was an April noon,
Easter Passion with unexpected,
shine and  clear tones.

The spirit of enjoyment and desire
With hopes and wishes,
from all living things

Went swimming in a private lake,  
like a multitude of sounds
The budding groves seemed eager to urge on
The steps of May, as if their various waves
Such an entire contentment in the air,
at a shine, shine, Shine Friday

Love that is pain, the unspeakable
joy of the heart, a transformation

and here in this world cruel of men,
it is to love that is to suffer;

And so when you love with all your heart
with all your soul,  with all your mind
with all your strength,

so is the suffering sweeter the water
deeper the well, dug into the earth
where walked the prophets;

But we can die a hundred times on the cross,
for there is no love that does not heal, and

blessed is this sky under which
such a thing as love blooms;

Risen, we live, when in suffering we die, loving
such is the gospel of love we contemplate tonight.

It's sometimes hard to rhyme,
But it's even harder to find the time,
The right time.
To say the things,
The right things,
I should've told you,
Years ago.
I handed you an easter egg,
The chocolate are my towns best,
Years ago I gave you everything,
but the words that needed to be told,
And now my chest is feeling cold.


I'm watching ''How I Met Your Mother''
It's stupid to hope, to feel, to be,
When you've found another.
I adore your smile,
I adore your style,
I just wish you were mine,
You are my Robin,
And I'm just an architect,
You've have found your guy,
But you are my Robin,
So nothing can change- not even time
I am building the home, where you should be mine.

Passover or Easter or Happy Any Ole Thing, Sam I Am

she
asks me good naturedly
which to wish me - a happy this or that
and a poem’s immaculate conception is instant arisen arising
hot ****

rueful smile and unruly reply
a solid out loud Ha!

neither either or he writes and so believes

for I am a god loving man,
whom we’ve -Him/It/Me have agreed
that I may call
Sam I Am
and the answer to your question is
why not

for most quests and questions can be well-answered
why not!

my genes my historical beings my ancestors and my issue
all declaiming that I am a jew who left egypt, no defaming, a slave to no man who cannot love another like his own self

but some in all that I write, this deity boss slips in quietly unseen in one of his jokes-on-us-disguises like singing ave maria

and thus whose to say
his rightful name, is not
Sam I Am

my choice and the big D
     (a self-employed informal his choice, nom-de-guerre)
has agreed via his acknowledgement in his normative style of
low volume taciturn tacit acceptance

so wish me a u happy
anything you want-to-call-it-day

don’t matter. but know this u were there
when, all on that happy day where, @ the manger,
when this Sam-Approved-Appeared
poem was born and Sam blessed it with a
hot ****!

she laughs, tosses back in my face, some schematic I
prior penned that I can’t recall the when or where or my
nom-de-guerre employed but fits this ex-slave perfectly

“there are no lines or lies in my writings
there are no definitions and
perception is only your truth”