The Living Word

September 23, 2010

Lord, I live
by your word.
My life is in the spoken sentences
and paragraphs from Your mouth,
not the black and red ink on
rice paper that can be burned to ashes,
added to the pile;
but by Your voice that etches
the tablets of my heart,
by Your breath that permanently
marks my mind,
the breeze that brands my soul
as Yours
I live.

Reading the Bible by Moonlight

September 15, 2010
I actually attempted to read by moonlight. It was early morning, the moon was full and bright, but not bright enough.

Reading the Bible by moonlight
words are blurred and smeared
on a not so white surface
only thing clear the white space
the margins that surround ink
jot tittle blend indistinguishable
from alpha and omega

Dawn, increasing clarity;
words are ordered in steps.
O's are opened, I's made straight;
more white space is evident
in the pores of the P's and the Q's:
each letter clearly delineated.
Even the punctuation is comprehensible.

Taste and See

June 14, 2010
Straight from the printer to the blog.


Serenity lay in my arm,
left hand supporting
the bottle of formula,
ever moving fingers of her right
wrapped around my pinky;
working the nipple,
she relaxed as I rocked.

Reading the Psalms of David,
trying to hold onto Serenity—
the uncoordinated ballet
of her tiny digits
fingering the pages
as she gnaws the cover.

The Color of Piss

May 8, 2010
OK. This officially brings me up-to-date.
This poem, believe it or not, is based on a teaching of Christ. It's not what goes in a person's mouth that defiles them, but what comes out. Matthew 15:1-20 and Mark 7:1-16.


I believe
you can tell a lot
about a man
by the color
of his piss.
It's not orthodox.
It's fundamental truth:
a man's piss
don't lie.

Knew a man once
while in the Navy,
been up all night
drinking Bud in a can;
had to piss in a cup
next morning to prove
other substances were
not in
the system.
The cup held a nice
amber shade
with a half inch head.

This other fellow
been around the block--
a few times--
said everytime
he whizzed
burned like hell.
Had ulcers, too,
or something--
gut felt like barbwire
flossing his insides.
Not sure
of the final prognosis,
but his whizz
had a faint
reddish-orange tint.

There was a guy
worked hard,
did his best;
double shifts
got the best.
B complex
seemed to help
(Red Bull wasn't around yet,
but has a similar outcome).
Came out of the men's room
proclaiming
“My God!
My pee
is neon yellow.”

I am
lately drinking
more water.
Clean water.
Spring water.
Filtered and unflavored.
My urine
is getting clearer
and clearer.

Walking On Water

May 26, 2009

I want to walk on water.
               I want to dip my toes in the icy sea
               and feel the frothing foam
               hold my weight above the depths;
               to frolic over the fishes,
               to dance upon the waves
               and scream my lungs out
               over the roar of the storm;
               to have my steps lit
               by lightning all around;
               to be scared witless,
               but not fearing,
               knowing that it is not
               my flatfootedness holding me up,
               but by one word,
               but by Your word—
               come.

Peter did it.

Take This Cup

April 22, 2009

This is another in the "Dirty Jesus" series. The opening scene of The Passion of the Christ helped visually. We need to remember that Jesus the man did not want to go to the cross. This was his struggle in the garden. No man wants to endure that kind of torture. It was "God in Christ reconciling the world to himself." (II Corinthians 5:19) "God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son." (John 3:16) Our Father in heaven loves us and our sin required a sacrifice. The Christ, the Lamb of God, provided that sacrifice not because "Jesus loves us", but because he was obedient to the Father. "For as by one man's disobedience many were made sinners, so by the obedience of one shall many be made righteous." (Romans 5:19)


Take This Cup

…and then you went a little way
into the garden to pray.

I'm sure your students tried
to pray. It's hard work;
they just had a big supper.

But you have big plans on your mind.
God's plan. Not your plan.
Not your will. His.

You are the Father.
You can make another way.
               ("I am
               the way.”)
There has to be
another way.
Where's the ram in the bush?
Your will be done…
in earth…
No!
Let it pass from me.
Please…
make another way.

Falling on your face,
the stench of damp
soil in your nostrils.
Clenching the dirt with white knuckled fists;
force of your fists pounding the pebbles.
Forcing air out of your lungs
toward the darkened heavens.
Sweat pours from dusty pores.
Stinging sweat mingles
with blinding tears;
together flowing
through the dust of the day
forming paths of mud on your cheeks.
Soaked and tangled hair lashes at your brow.
Skin taut against tightened flesh.
Breath. Breathing. Breathe.
Heart beating so fast it
seems to stop
pumping so hard. Too hard.
Blood oozes from sweaty pores.
Great droplets
drip
drop to the dirt.

The angel appears.
Not my will.
Thy will be done.

Take the cup.

Of Priests and Prostitutes

April 2, 2009

My wife Lynn gave out several exclamations as she read this for the first time. I suppose it does border on the "R" rating. But how often do we sanitize the scriptures to fit our Sunday school view. God became flesh and dwelt among us. US. It's not always very pretty "among us". Stuff happens in the "flesh". But Jesus endured. He resisted temptation. And he was victorious. Jesus can sympathize with us. "For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin." (Hebrews 4:15, ESV)

I have combined two separate incidents from the life of Jesus; two different women with similar issues. If you have a problem reading this type of material, please do not read the Song of Solomon. I read this book of the Bible for the first time as a single man in the U.S. Navy. It made me blush.


Of Priests and Prostitutes

Thrown down into the dust,
her tunic torn exposing silky thighs
that beg to be touched,
revealing full breasts glistening with sweat,
a glimpse of a nipple.
                         (Come on. You know you want to look.)
Reviewed by the local Sanhedrin,
                         (Are those names being written in the sand?)
they require judgement.
The scent of her lovers still clings to her loins
and rocks are poised
             to pounce,
             to pummel,
             to purge her
sin, their guilt.
Looking past the passion,
the verdict is pronounced.
All are guilty,
one is forgiven.

As evening wraps its arms around the city;
as the sun caresses and deeply kisses the horizon,
she comes to you.
She has nothing to offer you, save herself.
So she kneels before you.
Hot tears spill from her eyes,
moisten your feet.
She lets down her hair,
stroking
your feet
with her thick tresses,
washing away the dust of the day.
Sobbing.
Bending.
Cleavage bared.
Heaving before you.
Were it anyone else…
And we know you were a man.
You were circumcised—
all the parts were evident
or someone would have said something.

They need not indignantly ask.
You both know
who you are touching.

Sheep Dung in the Upper Room

March 30, 2009

I suppose this could be categorized as an Easter poem. It takes place the day of the Last Supper. This is another piece that I want to include in my series concerning God getting dirty. The original inspiration came from one of our pastor's sermons (Cal Woods, Pointe North Community Church, Moncks Corner, SC) in which he related an experience in which he stepped in dog doo and tracked it into a church conference room.


Sheep Dung in the Upper Room

I jump out of the boat
and into the muddy water.
Dragging the boat to shore
silt and sand slide under my feet
and through my toes.
It has been a good day for fishing.
Hauling basket after basket
of flopping fish flinging
water and scales,
I think of the Passover meal
to be shared with the Master this night.

But the nets, dripping with kelp and fish crap,
need to be tended. Sand gnats
nip at my ankles as I hurriedly finish my tasks.
Running up the bank,
wet sand from my sandals
splat my calves. Rushing through
the pasture, tall field grasses slap my shins,
leaving their seed clinging to the sweat,
hiding in the hairs of my legs.

I push through the crowded market
of the multitudes making last minute
preparations for Passover.
The streets are covered
with discarded rotted figs and grapes
mingling with the dust of ages and
the urine of goats and dogs and sheep.
Heedless of where I place my steps,
I almost fall
when my foot finds the fresh leavings
of a sheep.

Vaguely aware of the odor
from my freshly soiled sandal,
I enter the upper room
and partake of the supper
with my brethren and the Master.
And though I try to ignore it,
the trail of dust and dung
I have imprinted upon the floor behind me
is evident to all.

Then,
at the end of the meal
after the bread has been broken
and the wine has been shared,
the Master girds himself with a towel
and washes our feet.

Gettin' His Hands Dirty From the Start

(March 10, 2009)

I was really tired that night. Really tried to sleep. I was already in bed when a line for another poem I was working on came to me; so, I had to write it before I lost it. Then another thought for another poem (I had notes for 2 or 3 in progress). I brought the flashlight into the bedroom so I wouldn't disturb Lynn. I really wanted to sleep, but if the inspiration kept coming I wanted to be prepared. Yet, I really wanted to sleep. This was merely part of a list of poems I would like to write exploring the divininty within humanity in the form of Christ or more precisely that God ain't afraid of getting dirty. I only slept for 3 hours that night.


Gettin' His Hands Dirty From the Start

I was out in the field the other day
just lookin' things over—
it was such a nice day and all.
I was just kickin' dirt clods,
when I came across one
kind of looked like my Grandpa Massey.
And lookin' at that clod of dirt,
               that looked like Grandpa,
got me thinkin'
about something I read in the Bible.

And in the beginning
there wasn't much of nothing.
So God made something,
and comparatively speaking,
it was kind of messy.

And the angels stood back,
amazed and afraid,
as God rolled up his sleeves
and stuck his hands elbow deep
in the mud.

Now to you and me
this mud was about as clean
as any mud can get.
After all, it's God-made mud.

But to God, who ain't had dirt
tracked into his kingdom for ever
('cept for maybe that Satan fellow),
mud is mud.

But he done it any way.
And by the time He was done
moldin' and pattin' and shapin'
this stuff,
He had done made a man.

Well, He wasn't quite done yet.
The fellow wasn't quite alive.
So what does God do?
Now at this point,
when the angels see God
start to do what He's about to do,
the angels gasp
(that's right—gasp)
'cause God begins to give
mouth-to-mouth to this mud-man.

And lo and behold,
the guy starts to breathe.
And to walk and to talk.
And he names all the animals
and tends to this garden God made.
And then he ends up
doing something stupid later on
that gets him kicked out of this nice place
to places where he has to break up clods of dirt.

But God really took a shine
to this guy anyway.
And the angels are still amazed
at how much God cares
about these walking clumps of dirt.

Me.
I kicked the clod that looked like Grandpa.

Thoughts and Intents

"It's not the beginning of the race that's difficult, nor is it the last stretch; it's the miles in between that make it easy to want to quit."

The following collection was written in the mid to late 80's. I had pieced it together and printed several copies for family and friends within the ministry that I was a part of at that time (see the poem "If I Never See You Again"). The ministry was very outgoing where community involvement was concerned (a bookstore, a coffee house, concerts, feeding the needy, a pregnancy center) and very outspoken about the doctrines and teachings of Christ, with an emphasis on exhorting the church to good works. A lot of the poetry comes from that prophetic background, with a good bit of soul searching and emotional wanderings and wonderings.

Looking through this collection, I find selections that I now find "cheesy" or amateurish. And others I read and think, "Not bad. Nice line. Very insightful. Quite profound." But it was all part of the journey. All of it was written to put a piece of my heart, my soul, my mind on paper; for me to be able to see what was going on inside of me.

From my heart, soul & mind,
Jongleur the Cupbearer

SONGS OF REPROOF

Against Flesh and Blood?

Sign here
On the dotted line
Don't fear
It's during peacetime
It's clear
It's us who keep the peace
Thanks dear
For the life you've leased

I've got
to propect my freedom,
freedom to worship,
worship where I like;
freedom
freedom to speak out
about Jesus' love
so that they won't die.

Not yet
But soon they'll rape your wives
Get set
What are you, men or mice?
Those reds
They really aren't so nice
Be a vet
Kill a commie for Christ!

Onward Christian soldiers…



A Song for Billy Sunday

(chorus)
Tell me, Billy,
                    where have the preachers gone?
                    Have they all run away?
          Where's the fire and the brimstone?
          Where's the preaching of the cross today?
Tell me, Billy,
                    where have the preachers gone?

Let's look at the men of God
          who have come down through the years;
Humble men who've sown the Word
          in bitterness and tears.

In the days before the flood
          hearts were hard with wickedness.
Yet Noah was a perfect man,
          a preacher of righteousness.

Joshua, Samuel, Elijah
          exhorted the people to hear.
Will you follow pagan gods?
          Or serve the Lord with fear?

(chorus)

In the book of Acts we read
          of Stephen whom they martyred.
He spoke the truth of Jesus
          and cut the hearts they'd hardened.

Finney and Wesley and Sunday,
          and other old-time godly men;
Preaching; living holiness—
          sinner forsake your sin.

Now they speak of “liberty”
          and living “free” from law.
Forget about repentance
          and giving Jesus all.

(chorus)

In the last days shall come a famine
          of hearing the word of God…
be doers of the word and not hearers only…

Him who has ears to hear,
          let him hear,
                    oh, let him hear…

Tell me, Billy,
          where have the preachers gone?



Play Acting

Yes, the world is a stage,
Has been from age to age.
All are players on it
Can't get away from it.

Give me a cue on time
And I'll read you a line.
No, it's not from the heart,
But I still play the part.

Play acting—
Tell me who is who.
Play acting—
Won't know 'til you read the review.
When the make-up is off
and we look in the mirror;
When we become doers
And not just hearers;
No longer—play acting.

I played so many parts,
I had so many hearts.
Can't tell which one is real;
Why do I play on still?
But when the curtain is down
And the house Light is on;
That is when I can see
Which one is really me.

Play acting—
Tell me who is who.
Play acting—
Won't know 'til you read the review.
When the make-up is off
and we look in the mirror;
When we become doers
And not just hearers;
Not acting.
When we put our script
Upon the shelf;
When we look at Jesus
And not ourself;
No longer—play acting.


SEVERE THOUGHTS

Valley Revisited
(Ezekiel 36:16-38)

Dry bones,
dry bones
          were all Ezekiel saw.
They had no flesh;
they had no life;
          shackled by the law.

This was Israel long ago;
          dead men's bones
                    without the tomb
                              needing the Breath of God.

Dead meat,
dead meat
          is all you have today.
There's no framework;
there's no structure;
          you've left the narrow way.

This the church we have today.
          “Weightier” things
                    left not undone
                              without the Mind of God.

Who will hear me, says the Lord,
who will do my word?
Him with whom my Spirit dwells
and him whose heart's not hard.



Look To Your House! (originally untitled, March 1985)

Feeble man,
          theorizing theology;
          cubbyhole doctrine
                    to fit your plan.
          Gaining knowledge
                    you lost the truth
          to faithless philosophy
          and science falsely called.

Oh, man of sand
                    (shifting sand)
          Look!
          For it is the faithful doer
                    doing by faith
          on the firm Foundation
                    who stands.

Burn
          the fences that divide!
Break
          down the fancy facades!
Build up strong walls
          within the fortified city
                    founded upon the solid Rock.



Against the Truth (March 20, 1985)

Twisted and torn
          perverted
          polluted

Lies! Lies! Lies!

Why do men want to take
          the simple truth
                    of God,
                    of Christ
                    our Lord
and change it into something
          ugly,
                    damnable.

Seducing spirits
          killing men's souls
                    for the sake of
                              killing men's souls.

Vengeance is mine;
I will repay,
saith
the Lord.



Statue of “Liberty”? (August 15, 1986)

There she stood in the distance,
Amidst the muck and mire;
Shrouded by the fog and smog—
I was not awe inspired.

Yet they lift her up and paint her face
To give her a “holy” glow.
What are her true desires
Her lips and feet do show.

You pledge allegiance to her,
Declaring her your god;
But soon she will be broken
By a heavy iron rod.

Return your face toward Jesus;
Restore your trust in God;
Remove your sin stained garments;
In His righteousness be garbed.



Inside Babylon

O mighty towered city,
                    your high walls
                    hide the open sky;
With cold indifference
                    you look down
                    on the common passerby.

O rich and noble city,
                    gold paved streets
                    leading to death's end;
The poor continue
                    in your sight,
                    yet you won't even lend.

O wise and knowing city,
                    brain of software,
                    heart as hard as steel;
You say there is no God,
                    deep within
                    you know that He is real.

O pious, holy city,
                    what will
                    your end be?



Submit (originally untitled, august 27, 1987)

What is this?

She that has been delivered
          should now be the deliverer?
Was not she made the weaker vessel?

Desire for independence
          has kept you distant from me;
stubbornness has secluded you.

And I am angry.

Why must you constantly persist
          in being the one to wear the pants?!
Can't you see that submission to my love
          is such sweet passion!

Oh, come to me and do not resist
          I am your husband; you are my help.
You were made for my pleasure.

Oh, how I would protect you with my laws;
          I would comfort you by the strength
of my authority! my power! my love!


SUCH AS IS COMMON TO MAN

Contemplating Sin (originally untitled, January 1986)

There is a place to
          just stand
where thoughts are most
          uncomfortable:
A motionless vacuum
          in which many pretty
          and desirable
                    things
swirl around your head,
catching your eye,
snatching at your heart.

All that need be done
          to escape
this dizzying death
is to move into
          the engulfing light.

Ah, here is the matter—
          to decide to step off
          the platform of this
          pleasurable sickness
into the knowledge
          of a death
          where the only life
can be found.



In Bondage (January 1986)

In bondage to love—
                    a need to love
                    and receive love in return.
          A bondage that separates
                    from true Love itself.

          In bondage to feelings
                              so long held
                              and so very long formed.
                    In need of a Saviour
                              to free me from self.

                    In bondage! In bondage!
                                        how to let go?
                                        how to totally spurn
                              This thing that does bind me
                                        from denying self?

                              I must be in bondage
                                                  to One who is true—
                                                  for His love I yearn.
                                        I need only to trust Him
                                                  and forsake myself.



Proverbs 18:24 (July 6, 1986)

Distant.

All alone on a Sunday night;
Trying to surrender to this inner fight;
I feel so…

Changes occurring on every side;
Separation seems to grow ever so wide.

Is it something I've said?
Is it something I've done?
Is it some sin,
Have I left my first love?

The Lord has been faithful again and again;
I need to remember that He's still the same.
Jesus is merciful,
loving,
righteous,
and true.

Draw nigh to Him, He'll draw nigh to you.





Lot's Lot (July 22, 1986)


Just like Lot
I'm daily vexed;
My righteous soul
becomes perplexed
By blatant rebellion,
Pride and lustful sin.

Yet like Lot
I daily toil,
My holy garment
becomes soiled
With ungodly spots,
Faithless fear and doubts.

I must conform
to Christ's image
And throw off
this worldly visage.
Flee from Sodom's lack!
Flee, not looking back!




Darkened Glass (originally untitled)
Titus 2:11-15

Looking in a mirror
          at an empty room
                    reflecting on the condition of my soul.

(Sounds kinda poetic, huh?)

I know that I'm a
          lonely stranger here
                    sojourning to some place that I've never seen.

(So how'd I get here in the first place?)

Moving on, moving on
          prodded and comforted
                    by the immenseness of The Living God.

(It certainty isn't U-Haul!)

Don't look in the mirror at the empty room;
          but look through darkened glass
                    to the One who's coming soon.




unstable man in midst of temptation (August 16, 1988)

precariously balanced
on the precipice of decision

blinded
(partially willingly)
with eyes wide open

teetering toward
the expansive chasm of catastrophe

almost wanting to
                                        DIVE
on the deadly desires
below
but fearing the fate
that would follow the fall
simultaneously
(though not as strong as
                    should be in such situations)
hanging on and groping for and hoping that
The Handrail will hold

And It will.

For It is firmly fixed and stable,
and holds on tighter
than It is held;
but binds only with bonds
forged by the bonded himself.



Cold Flame (March 1989)

I would that my heartstrings were cut
so as not to be blown by the slightest
breeze of Romance's breath of folly.

It seems unfair
for one to have the natural desire
burning in one's bosom
                    blistering the soul in solitude;
left vulnerable to the variant elements
                    of chance and circumstance.

Let it be swept into flames
or smothered to ashes!

The flames
          dance with life;
                    consuming,
                              energetic.
                                        Light.
                                                  Warmth.

The ashes
          lay out dead;
                    no pain,
                              still.
                                        Gray.
                                                  Cold.

This glowing ember
          only smoulders;
                    a dull,
                              throbbing
ache,
          on the verge of either extreme.

This lonely coal needs
          the fuel of a lover's heart
and the steady wind of the Spirit of God
          to ignite it into flames.

Not the illusory inferno
          of Lusty Romance
          (which subsides in a moment),
But the abiding Torch
          of Lasting Love.

The ashes have no hope.



Alone In A Dream (March 14, 1990)

It is past midnight;
          darkness has long
          taken hold.
It has gripped me;
          squeezed me;
          twisted my bones up tight.

I look past the darkness
          to a distant shore
          (it is far away
                              (or is it?))
To a vision of loveliness; of light.
          Can I see it?
          Can I hold it
                    in my heart?

Do I dare?

How pleasant it is
          in this vision—
The day is smiling; it's bright.
          (Oh, will it smile for me?)
The shoreline is simple and pure.
          Dancing is in the air.

See!
                    The birds don't care
                    for the impossibility
                    of flight.

Oh! Could it be?

I dream...

I am awake in the darkness.
Someone pull me from this sleep.


"THE SPIRIT OF MAN IS THE CANDLE OF THE LORD..."

Fragments (originally untitled)

Fragments
of broken lives
scattered
across the floor
only to be swept
away
into endless gutters.
Who
will pick up
the pieces?
Who
can make sense
of the confusion
we allow
ourselves
in?

Only He
who
has walked
these roads
can gather
the remnants,
unraveling
the confusion;
forming
new lives
when
we allow
Him
to.



Paradox (August 15, 1986)

The sun was shining
in the rain;
Reflecting joy
within the pain.

Take up your cross
and die to "me";
And you shall live
eternally.

Humble yourself
God will exalt;
Stand still and wait
with Christ you'll walk.

To God's law you must
be bound;
And you will find
where freedom's found.



Journey To An Oasis

Passing through a barren land
O'er wavy dunes of salty sand
Parch'd by the blazing sun
Weary and worn, no where to turn.
I thirst.

'Cross the steaming plain I see
A vision of an isle; of trees.
Tis this true that I see there?
It helps me none to just stare.
I search.

A well of water find I here
A river flowing crystal clear
Wondrous trees of fruit abound
A place of rest; my soul resounds!
Rebirth.



He Is Giving

He's given me friends and a family,
His grace, His comfort, His rest;
All this and more He's given to me,
You see I've truly been blessed.

What more could He possibly give me,
He's given all that there is;
His life, His love and His mercy,
The knowledge of knowing I'm His.

So why should I ask for anything more,
What more could He possibly give?
I pray that He will open more doors
So that others, like me, might live.



The Worth of a Bird (May 18, 1986)

I saw a sparrow
fall today
with not
my eyes alone.
I felt the pain
my Father feels
when one of these
has fallen.
He tells us that
He loves us more
and carefully
watches us.
This is love
unfeigned and real
and not
poetic lust.



Habitation of God (originally untitled, June 1987)

God is not pleased to dwell
          in buildings of brick and stone
                    which are made from the sands
                              of the earth.
For He has created finer and grander
          sanctuaries in the forests
                    and mountains and seas,
                              which are carved from nothing.
Though these are more suitable
          (and the heavens far more so)
                    the Lord longs to dwell
                              in the stillness of the soul of man.
It is there that He desires to build
          a beautiful and holy habitation
                    designed for His pleasure
                              that His name be known.



Mouths of Babes

Daddy?
are there still angels
and do they
still help people
and do what God says?

          And Daddy
          does God still
          talk to people?
          Sometimes
          I talk to Jesus.
          Sometimes…I don't.

                    When I grow up,
                    I want to be
                    just
                    like
                    Jesus.



…And There Was Light

Narrow bands of amber
stretching forth
from behind puffy silhouettes of clouds,
pushing back
the night blue skies.
Beneath,
a shattered reflection of the same
spread across
the broken blackness of the sea.



The Choice (November 1987)

You cannot choose to choose,
the choice has been chosen as yours:
to choose not to choose
in itself is a choice.

So choose you this day
the choice you will choose—
to be chosen or
chosen to lose.


DEDICATED TO:

You—Why Me
To Roger Armstrong: A good friend and brother in the Navy

You lift me up
when I'm feeling down.
You give me a smile
when I'm wearing a frown.
You let me know
that Love's still around.

You always remind me
that I'm not all that smart.
When I want to stop
you make me start.
You write the songs
that go deep in my heart.

The Love that you give
I can't understand;
For someone like me
I can't comprehend.
We're always together
forever—Amen.



If I Never See You Again
(memories toward the future)
for Kingdom Ministries

"Iron sharpens iron"
Grandma's love is everywhere
restless nights; sleeping days
another knock on the door
in the middle of the night
don't forget the chess game craze
broccoli
I cannot live with that person
first or second shift
through the strife and gossip and discontent
I see Jesus in you
why did some turn and go?
the years have come and went
Chuck
"Crap or get off the pot!"
"I LOVE YOU, JESUS!!!"
broken strings and prophesying
"The devil is a bone-breath."
One, Two or Three
broken hearts and poetry writing
The Purge of '85
it Never Gets Cold
with the Razor Strap Waltz
Mylon, David, Danny, Lenny
depression, submission
rebellion, commitment
Bro. Stair, Bro. Den, Bro. Bruce, Bro. Ely
Love Lines
Best hamburger in town
sidewalks are cold
more work, more pain
how many radio shows?
need to pack groceries
more tears, more gain
the garage
hymns for a hangover
button, button, who's got the buttons
dead horses at family meetings
Friday night to Tuesday night
Givhan's State Park
Alex's is where the gates are meeting
The Time Machine
is picking your nose a sin?
Last Days in America
CO does not stand for commanding officer
speaking in tongues
I Timothy 3:16; I John 5:7; Colossians 2:9; etc.
Just one last verse.

"That's right, bubba. That's right."



Honeysuckle Morning
A poem for Grandma Gatrelle

The morning mist
          rests upon the treetops,
                    its tender dew
          left clinging to each blade of grass.
Already the sparrows and field mice
          are gathered about the lawn
          seeking an early meal.
And the honeysuckle
          that blankets the background
                    shares its fragrance
          with them that love the new day;
the day the Lord has given.



The Canary (July 17, 1988)
A poem for Vinnie Pascalino

I feel alone
          and confused...
                    going from one massive head-trip
to another.
Where is the love? Oh, where is the love?

          Once upon a noonday dreary,
                    while I wondered weak and weary,
          What to my wondering eyes should appear…
          But a canary!

          He certainly wasn't much to look at.
                    His dull feathers reflected
                              my melancholy mood.
          But when he burst into song
                    the Light shone in his eyes…
                              and we laughed.

          So I took him
                    and put him
                              in a cage.
          (But canaries should be free;
                    they don't belong in a cage
                              (or a box for that matter).)

          Then one night when the moon was bright,
                    the canary
                              flew away.

I'm glad the canary was here.
          I'll miss the canary.
I hope the Light
          stays in his eyes…

and maybe the song
          will burst elsewhere.

Where is the love? Oh, where is the love?

God is love.

Where two or more are gathered in my name.

Sharp Truth

I've come to the conclusion

that my happy delusions

are more of a fatality

than the pain of reality.

"For the word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart."

Hebrews 4:12, KJV