Behind the scenes

My Father

gently gathered His children’s cries,

saw  all the intricacies,

temptations,  lies.

His daily maintenances,

(oh, only the sun, moon, planets;  things like that)

ruling all who live,

judgements come for some,

for others mercies live.

Knit the patterns of all who are alive,

weave in the children’s answers,

right seasons/ perfect time.

Answered prayer

Dark despondency

enveloped me,

Begged Him with my cry.

I know my tears

throughout the years,

reached above the sky.

Part of me,

had given up-

weight of all my fear.

Felt a block,

a dull shock,

was He even near?

When the answer came,

hope a flame,

lit my broken heart.

Perfect answer came,

in the timeframe

God decided from the start.







Thought I swept the corners of my

little room;

thought everything looked so


clean and glossy in the lamplight.

He knocked to come in,

the sunlight came with Him

casting streams of brilliant light

in the shadows,

flooding my home where

my eye squinted with a grimace,

took  all the dirt in.


piano player

Pin prick precision,

coupled with instinctual


vigorous passion,



hand over hand,

feet pump the pedal;

then fingertips

smash, race

across yellowed

(once ivory)


for good measure,

hit a minor key, so

songs make us weep.


Wears cigar-scented authority;

smoke a cape on the back,

tendrils of the vapors cling

to his torso.

Direct hooded bright eyes

can coerce solid lump of air to rise in your throat,

frozen in shackles of fear.


We are thankful for the time we have,

thankful for the rights we claim;

Thankful for the distant past,

thankful for the future claim.

Thankful for our food and clothes,

Thank you for the life assigned,

Thank you for the wind that blows,

thank you for the path we climbed.

Thank you for the force you showed,

shoulder to the burdens ours,

thank you for your life, so bold;

unflinching love earned its scars.


Cynicism-the antipoet



my fist beat on my chest-

(insert image here and

here and here),

think rhyming is my best.

Bizarre metaphor

right here-

break  sentence

into comic sans;

Wait!   Can’t find a way to use that

font;  scattered, half-formed plans.

Summing up a poet’s mind, seems to lack

the structure,

oh my ideas!  Where’d they go,

I think they have a puncture.





You woke me up this morning,

streaming sunlight i could see;

I didn’t think to speak to you-

Even after my coffee.

Went right into my daily grind,

full schedule in my head;

remembered my devotion-time,

decided to wait for bed.

My day was rushed and stressful,

full of impatience, anger too-

when it was halfway done,

started to miss you.

Before the day continued,

carved out some time to stop.

The house can live a few more minutes,

so can broom and mop.

As I read and spoke to you, a balm poured

on my soul,

was a little ashamed, and a little tired,

you made my mind whole.