#commission
Let me shine
As a city set upon the hill—
Unhidden, unwavering,
A beacon carved in twilight.
Let me burn,
Not as a candle
Tucked beneath the bed,
But as a flame that dares the dark
And declares the dawn.
Let me radiate—
The glory of my God,
Unmistakable,
Undeniable.
I must shine,
That the world may see,
And testify of good works born of grace,
Then lift their voice in praise
To the One who lit this fire.
It is mandated—
It is commanded:
By your fruits they will know you.
So let them see Jesus in me,
As He is in God,
His breath within my becoming,
Alive in the current of His heart,
No longer I—
But Christ revealed.
Apr 19, 2025
Apr 19, 2025 at 12:23 PM UTC
a long time ago,
when poems fell
*from my mouth like easy tears &
excited eyes revealed more hid
in the cracks of city sidewalks,
just trying remember/recall all the
airy compositions that flew from the
inhabited urgent pulsing of creativity
from/of a living duopoly, heart + head,
was ironical, the greatest challenge;*
it was easy to give my excess to
nurture the young ones, bend their
path to higher plains, testing resolve,
my wingspan span so lengthy room,
to tuck, hold, encourage even lend
to the raw, the preternatural talented,
my self-pleasuring, a weedy high (five);
*nowadays, there is little now in my day,
pinpricks of light suggest, but the juices
fail to follow the lead, leashed, restrained,
s t r a i n i n g, to believe my words possess
3V’s - validity, value and vividness deserving,
scraps are heaped in the corner awaiting my
incineration, permanent~premature incarceration;*
wondering, who will nurture me now,
cloak me in arm-round-shoulders and murmur
sage wisdom snippets, refill, reattach my quill
to the paper with no time or space interference,
but I wait not for your soft & silent rejoinder;
*whatever I can draw from an infernal and infertile
weakened pulse, is this meager complain, I once
gave freely to others, who can - who will - payback?
those who gave nurture understand its healing prowess,
so I beg & ken you, nurture me, in my old age, give me
commissions, order me to compose, I daren’t disobey…*
Sat Dec 31 2022
LPOTY
Dec 31, 2022
Dec 31, 2022 at 11:02 AM UTC
You're the needle ***** to our contraception
your seed swims sick through tunnel vision
you contradict your contradictions
direct your horses to Gallup opinion
Take a sip from your golden chalice
you've poisoned our wine with Iocane powders
your time ticks of Lyme diseased malice
fictitious fortunes, SEC counts the hours
Oh Lord I pray this won't sleep off
Oh Lord I pray this won't sleep off
For You
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 1:41 AM UTC
Virtue in waiting:
Patience is tested, again,
hair cut, then go home.
’P’s don’t **** people.
Golds, gunmen do it for them.
Or, they let them die.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 8:00 PM UTC