Though born a sinner, I shall be…
A saint of God eternally.
By Faith in Christ, great Hope I see.
He is not finished yet with me.
Though trials test and pain abound,
His grace and mercies are my glee.
His arms of comfort doth surround.
He is not finished yet with me.
Though sickness deals a heavy blow
The great Physician hears my plea
He works in ways I cannot know
He is not finished yet with me.
Though loss has robbed me many times
He restores me so faithfully
I know He’s steadfast every time
He is not finished yet with me.
Though sadness comes, I never doubt
His Word is my security.
From weeping then to joys I shout
He is not finished yet with me.
Glimpses of truth revealed from time to time,
whilst useful, does not signal soul’s ascent,
having neither etched in heart God’s love chime,
nor granted bliss our unreserved consent,
onslaught of lust, unable to prevent.
Flickering awareness, a half measure,
for there are attachments we still treasure
and so at best it’s still work in progress,
as we become nonchalant to pleasure,
God’s light making ingress as we undress.
WORK IN PROGRESS
Why wait for a muse to get inspiration
When the words are there in your head
If not in the brain, perhaps in the heart
As seat of emotion and passionate drive
Where all feelings must escape to thrive
Creativity fails if reliant on concentration
Try detachment and an open mind instead
Ideas always find you, they need no chart
For that special connection one must strive
And free thinking can keep that hope alive
New ideas may emerge from recreation
Some fly away, others are heavy as lead
But capture and nurture is a good start
With no limits to depths one may dive
For old and dusty words one can revive
Short term memory loss is an aberration
And rapid recovery may work as is said
But it is like pulling all the strands apart
Yet creative success can suddenly arrive
Much better than what fate can contrive
Any finished written piece brings elation
Despite the stamina meter dial in the red
Yet celebratory drinks can taste a bit tart
Was it your own work or that of the hive
As there’s still no good rhyme in line five
I walk up to the microphone,
it’s one of those old-time microphones
that almost hides the face.
As yet my unspoken words
are pauses between mute lips.
I am a work in progress,
layers have to peel away
until I can see my true self
in any mirror.
Like all mystics I am expendable,
a surplus voice in a menagerie
of other sounds.
When you get right down to it
our survival is for love of self
an idea that comes with
multiple flawed contradictions.
What we believe in, is someone else
for it is hard to have faith in a self
that keeps changing into
former versions of its being.
I tap the huge microphone,
to test for audio fidelity,
then with a sigh
walk slowly off the stage,
as If
I had never entered.
Work In Progress
The pieces of me scattered
By my trying hand
They disappear so fast
Clinging to the last
Shred of who I am
Keeping everything inside
That shouldn't have to be
Closed an open book
Without a second look
At the words that make me, me
Can't do right by everyone
Least of all myself
In a world where nothing's free
I fight for more than me
Cost of well being and health
It's just a work in progress
Hours punched and tithed
I may still come to fail
To adjust my wind to the sail
But at least I'll say I tried
W hittling away at my imperfections,
O nly Jesus can make me whole,
R idding me of selfish inclinations,
K nowing they wreak havoc on my soul.
I am not what I should be,
N either am I what I was.
P urging me of my sinful follies, He
R eminds me of the price He paid,
O n the cruel cross of Calvary, where
G race flowed down and on me was laid.
R epentance is required to follow Jesus.
E rasing sinful thoughts must take place.
S alvation is only the beginning of this journey,
S elf must die as I seek His face.
5/9/21
Entered in Brian Strand's All Yours (5/11) contest
A lonely soul, I haunt this peopled earth;
and ever solitary, I beside
remain untreasured and ne'er knowing mirth.
Woe am I! For wherefore do I confide
in Thee, O Lord? For, alone and unloved,
I perish day and night, year after year:
for You have not willed my dearly beloved;
but, sick of my requests, turned a deaf ear.
Be that as it may, Poesy's a comfort,
a just redeemer and a savior:
whose craft provides spiritual life-support;
and sustains my poor heart like no lover.
O Lord, though I have found a new mistress;
have grace on me as a work in progress!?
She was beautiful. A cascading waterfall of intertwining braids, piercing steel blue eyes. They cut through my heart like a slash to the chest, glinting in the harsh sunlight. Her prideful smile, her daring laugh. She was beautiful, and she was lonely.
I saw her standing alone everywhere. As she gazed upon slumbering beasts in their cages, no one was by her side. As she sat in the booth, impatiently tapping her fingernails upon the table, she waited on wine for one.
I began noticing her, picking her out from the rest. She started to notice me too. Those eyes. They defined her, her defiance, her swagger. They shot a harpoon into mine, connecting us.
I was scared, though. Scared to ask her to come with me, scared to take her from her solitude. One day, though, she couldn't bring herself to even lift her head. Tears flowed down her face as rivers flow downhill. When she eventually acknowledged my presence, she silently pulled off her jacket to reveal her sleeve of bruises. She was beautiful, and she deserved better.
spectrums
of art
bring
wonder
and ecstasy
a
fleeting
inwardness...
a heightened
sense
of the infinite..
so distinct
a visual
chord
yet
out
of key,
an
idiosyncratic
act
of freedom
and chance
evolving..
into
a complete daub
upon
the canvas
of experience
A young man I used to be
As I muse beneath this poplar tree
We are dust and nothing more
Exiles from a distant shore
A fallen leaf from the tree of life
Given to excess and so easy to entice
The tree I knew no longer there
The hilltop wooded now stands bare
I will weep so no one can see
The pain that lays inside of me
Forgive me sir and if you could
Leave me to disappear into these woods
That no longer stand but in my mind
Are unaffected by the sands of time
I will no longer speak your name
Or call out to you in vain
Let me rest under this tree
Let me pretend that I am free
I need nothing but time to think
To hold a rock and let me sink
Into the waters of my mind
Away from the holy divine
I am a man and nothing more
An exile from a distant shore
Finally tears of joy swim from these tired eyes
No longer am I drowning in murky waters
Nor trapped in a crowded school of goldfish
Today I dive into fresh invigorating waters
Hoping to make a huge splash
To pay forward a path for others
Never will I forget those who kept me a float
For they are my hero's and they always fed me hope
I am the prologue to the book unread, a
Haphazard shuffle of uninteresting side notes,
Jot down during commercial breaks of Wild Kingdom,
Crumpled atop a cold congealed T.V. dinner. Some kind
Of meat in gravy shades of brown and grey.
I am the finished third chapter written
And forgotten in favor of cartoons, broken
Crayons and ice cream, left dangling
On the precipice of meaning waiting
To be relevant- at the edge of a magnificent
Forest- Magical fantastic happening two steps away.
I am the magnum opus literary
Work- from the author yet to write,
Stuffed away among old schoolwork and bad drawings and
Absent doodles, dried glitter and
Macaroni sculptures.
a double acrostic
S - Scared to death, I dreaded failures
E - Exams in high school were formidable.
L - Leery as I was, my final grades were phenomenal
F - Finishing with a B- average I stood in disbelief.
A - A little less shaky, I headed to higher academia;
C - College-life was stressful but I refused to panic.
T - Test taking became part of becoming an adult.
U - University structure was a different milieu;
A - Actually I finally got rid of the false chimera
L - Learning who I was and liking how it made me feel.
I - Independence was not the roadblock that I
Z - Zeroed in on as an unsure teenage klutz.
A - Actualization is a work in progress. My agenda
T - Takes on a different focus now; I am less of a pessimist.
I - I graduated with a new motto, a kind of alibi -
O - Occasional failure is not an opportunity to forego
N - New learning experiences because of intimidation.
written Nov. 10, 2016
From cut veins blood seeps,
Gun bangs and brains leak,
Rope hangs the pains steep,
Pills bring eternal sleep,
We're all mindless sheep,
Life's game we cannot see,
Pawn piece in game of kings,
Ruled by the mighty queen,
Fooled by the light it brings,
Deaths close I feel the sting,
Eyes closed no light is seen,
It all seems a haunting dream,
Which I cannot awake from,
I see the end here it comes,
So here I go or there I went,
My life's worth is all but spent.
~DM2~
Parents control what their kids are taught
It's not a matter of them wanting to or not
Go to school and get a job
That's how people pay bills on these blocks
Get married and have a kid
That's what everyone I knew did
While working full time
Stressing and counting every dime
Vacations on credit cards
Outfits for sports and leotards
Payments for the SUV or Chevy Malibu
Could live in a smaller house
Status would be demoted it you moved
Taco Tuesdays cause Mondays are crazy
Wed thru Fridays insane so weekends are lazy
Exercise? When I have the chance
I'll want to when I can't fit these pants
Why am I overweight and tired?
Cause I'm working overtime so I don't get fired
Cycle goes round and round
Not forever though,
In 30 years I'll retire.....?
This is a work in progress.
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