Just six inches long and not hard to conceal,
I examine the pistol that began the Great War.
It’s been put on display in the British Museum
And it must be regarding with awe.

“The Archduke must die!” Mister Princip declared,
as he emptied this gun at close range.
“Sophie, live for our children.” The dying Duke begged,
But sadly his pleas were in vain.

Great armies mobilized, by August, guns roared
For Four years the slaughter went on
Till all the King’s horses and all the King’s men
and even the Kings, too ,were gone.

Now news comes from Turkey of a murderous deed;
a Russian Ambassador slain.
Once more a pistol was used for the deed.
How much can this poor Globe sustain?

Jennifer is my cleaning lady.
Very efficient, and reasonable.
She comes every two weeks.
She knows all my shortcomings,
She empties my bins.
One week, she left me a note,
With a poetic question.
Two weeks later, I waited for her
To discuss her query.
Jen is lost without love,
Lost her love,
Wants to write about the pain.
Quid Pro Quo, thought I,
We were soul mates,
So I took the opportunity
To ask about stain remover,
And behold,
Her poem is born.

You are worth the Cost of all of my Suffering.
To bring you into the Heavenly Family of Christ.
To see your Joy , face to face you are worth it.
You are worth the sacrifices that I had to do on the Cross.
For it was I that at the very beginning, spoke life into you.
I knew with Great Joy my child , all that is in your heart.
I knew the Sorrow that you would have to endure here.
But I been here with you throughout your Journey.
Loving you , even while you were saying evil things about me.
Because I truly Love you with an unconditional Love.

A heart that's been shattered into a thousand pieces .
Can be a thousand times stronger to a person whom truly loves.
For Love shall never fail, but through Christ it shall succeed.
For a Love so true and so desperate for change and healing.
Shall reveal what Love was created for in the first place by Christ.

Each drop of rain has been programmed with
exact coordinates from which to strike land
The direction of the wind rehearsed from a
remote corner of Earth
The sun signs off daily on lucky parcels that will bask in its
love
Every wrinkle in the mirror planned in advance
A lavatory faucet stream explosion where it meets
porcelain
Small rivers hurdle down cabinets retrieving dust ,
bound for trim moulding , another universe now forming
The trimmed end of a hair lying on the floor , the residents are attempting to contact the opposite end for answers , for surety of purpose , to prove they're not alone

The silence of solitude
sings to me at night;
soul-satisfying
words whispered
for my ears only
while the house sleeps.
I draw from the well
of my self, and savor
each drop thirstily.
The starving beast within
gnaws at every fresh
crust of aloneness,
melted butter soothing
scalded hands,
until my rumbling gut
is sated, and is at peace
with itself and the world.

in the dark
compass spinning
wanton wind
howling, wailing
brittle arms
in concert waving
emerald waters
whipped and raging

sky crushed velvet
sequins sewn tight
to the shattered
span of night
a million times
each time as new
with stardust eyes
with gratitude