drawn from the ocean
in a backwards flight
as if God grabbed a remote
and swiftly pressed rewind
i’m drawn in the air
and i’m drawn into the sky
nesting in a white-grey cloud
pillowed and divine
along with a thousand other drops
who furl around; condense
bound together by nature’s pull
and varied circumstance
those drops nested by the sand
they’ll stay pressed in the depths
of cake-like mud and rainbow fish
opposing omnipresence
I. when you tasted like honey
This World
come flood or fire,
earthquake, avalanche or tornado,
civilization moves on
some may pause
in silent respect
but our mantra remains:
‘go over, under, around,
go through.
all must move, or be moved.
our plans, wishes, ideas
must
go though.’
busy, busy
work and play
busy, busy
find this day
busy, busy
this world moves on.
grey sky
grey sky
gold fields
stark, lonely outlines
of trees huddled for warmth
silent stillness
joyful calls
tearful laments
evening falls
daybreak comes
shrill beep
busy hum
vehicles creep
sun is high
children's sighs
wrappers rustle
time tells lies
day begins to end
noise gently subsides
homeward the weary masses go
peace again abides
evening gives a much needed rest
time again will stand the test
silent stillness
evening falls
Hidden in the shadows
Of a forest
Beneath the undergrowth
Is a wild path
Whispers of the trees
Guide the way
Songs of the Birds
Just ahead, but never in sight
Shaped by your thoughts
Never still, but moving
Follow the path of your dreams
Canto VII. God is Dead
It is finished, He gave up His soul,
The wrath of God has taken its toll.
The darkness, risen dead, and earthquake,
The curtain torn – for this, who would not shake?
If it ended there, what more could be said?
The Son of God was weak and stayed dead.
Sin was not conquered; the disciples had fled.
Those He helped had all been misled.
God was not powerful; they laid Him in a tomb –
Might it have been better if He’d just stayed in the womb?
The Light has failed,
His glory has paled.
I would love any comments/advice!!
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Rhyming Lines
My mind is filled
With rhyming lines
The rhythm beats
Always just off time
The pen dances
Across paper white
The word’s cliché
The sentence’s trite
I cannot keep back
These jumbled words
My heart would die
So they soar like birds
My emotions show
I don’t go into hiding
When I have a pen
It’s how I do my crying
The Still Voice of A Poet
The quiet little poet
Sits in a corner all alone
Pen and paper, worth more than gold
The folding chair is her throne.
Poetry whispers very softly
It takes the ear of one who cares,
To hear the tiny voice
And see the thoughts it bears
The voice of a poet
Is still, that is true
But it can still effect you
Just see what it may do!
One last supper they ate together
The disciples not knowing the storm He would weather.
He washes their feet, and warns they’ll fall away,
Though every one claims he shall stay.
He takes the bread, His broken frame
Shattered to claim the Savior-name.
Take; eat, in remembrance of Him
This must be done to save from sin.
His blood of the covenant is in the cup
Poured out His soul to death, soon after they sup,
Spilled for the covenant and forgiveness of sins,
Shedding blood greater than animal skins.