- Signature: about a bird and your imagination
- Tree: about a tree and what it teaches
- Her Hand: about a father's hand and his daughter's hand
- The Greater Pain: about a woman's labor and a man's labor
- The Sailor: about enduring tests
- Mocker Take Care: Don't mock God.
- Learning: as related to a distant land
- Philosophy: a banter about the futility of philosophy
- First and Last: Something with Spiritual overtones about God's work in people
- Death's Sleep: When death sleeps, we all awaken
- Oh Sin, please die!: A look inside at sin
The wing held strong a graceful curve and matched its brother's fight. They soared! And so this pair of graceful moves did stroke their marks on blue canvassed skies, and lifted high the sparrow's song, a joyful melody of flight and freedom; to rain upon the earth below. Such beauty indeed in the airy show is but known to those whose hearts and minds, set free from want by heartfelt need, and seeing where all is seen, want to cross the starry sky, have let imagination and colored words paint the scene upon the mind, and soar! And, too, the art is carefully made, and signed in beauty upon the soul the mark of joy.
Outstretched arms in tendriled reach, a thousand fingers pointing, a stirring sound. The wind with fingers moves its hands to applaud, when the wind dances through them . . . then quiet, then sound again. I watched. It shifted, slightly, teaming with a myriad bristling palms up stretched to warmth, and life. Up stretched in glorious praise, They sang their song as they clapped, "Shshshshshshshshshshshsh". I listened. Then the dance again, so slight, a freedom so small, unmovable yet eager to move. This still vast life that dances, too, when the wind comes through. I learned. that all that lives enjoys life. Then the wind moved the leaves to sing again. I wondered why, at what the applause? I looked, Within its branches birds were there, their home In the air life's breath was cast, and seeds, too, formed The slow growth made others to live, with the wind, the earth, the home, the tree that lived alone, yet not. Its outstretched arms of color green, reached with a thousand fingers of moving sound. When the wind brushes through. When the fingers move and hands applaud, then quiet, then sound again, and more. Then, I understood, the song it sang, "shshshshshshshshshshshshshsh" as it beckoned me to be quiet and listen, So, I listened more. And then I smiled.
One day I held a hand so small so frail, so soft, so light that wonders rose, and thoughts of life so young, in this hand so new and mine, a beast did seem engulfing the framed life of youth. Her's, a gentle unknowing reach, a grasp, a trust, a hold so pure, so fresh, so true. Mine, hard, defiled, and stained, an old carved hand scarred and calloused. then . . . She smiled at me, my heart quickened and I discovered a depth, a part unknown that cried out to love, to guard, to hold Mine, to protect, to give, to touch, may my hand always guard hers.
Today she bore, in pain endured, a life into the world. Body and soul torn and twisted, reaching, grabbing, holding. Arms that strained, a face of suffering, a sad form in long travail. This woman's cries, her screams and wails, stained my soul with shrieks. Hear her wailing, rhythmic torment, a throng of agonized moans. They are thrown into the air. They are hurled into the night. They are alive. They attack you and tear into your heart. They mark you for life. With much pain will she endure childbirth. Sweat and toil, the price paid. This day he bares the load of work, makes life in the world. Yield the knee, bend the back. Sweat and toil, daily grind. Arms that strain, a face determined, a tired form in long travail In silence, by the sweat of his brow. The expected right, the silent drudge, the man works. This man who labors in silence daily, no screams, no wails, no shrieks. See his work, and work, and work. Daily, rhythmic stroke, Sweat and toil, the price to pay. Together they make life.
The cold young sailor dutifully stood, at his post amidst the storm, His brow was beat, by cold and rain, black wind that heaved his form. His orders stood, and so did he. "Steer through the waves that crash the bow!" So others below in tossing sleep, could rest, could rest, now. That others below could sleep. That others below might rest. When obeying orders, The Captain watches, the sailor endure the test.
Mockery is never a sweet embrace except to the fool who welcomes her. Take care dear one, don't risk the race! And side with the old one, the Accuser. Don't voice your impudence without care. Don't throw your scorn into the air. He hears all things, best beware. Ill fate, your words, they will ensnare. But the one who strikes, he should despair When he slaps at God's own face. He'll not be mocked; He will not spare The fool who laughs at grace. The Cross with pain bought life so rare, bought heaven, our pain no trace But not for the one whose heart is cold And mocks like the snake of old.
I found a distant land I've come to understand in this place of green and sand I want to stay and play along its paths all day If there to learn I may. A few did speak of it But still I would not sit Nor could I inherit Knowledge without limit. But in me grew a seed Was sown by guides that lead us to this land to feed made hungry by human need Its fruit an appetite A need to reach the height of knowledge that is right learned in sound and sight. This island that grows into unknown borders new with each new cove a clue its promised pleasures that drew me to new borders of knowledge true.
Philosophy, osophy, give it a flush It makes me want to puke my guts Barf it out, puke again, Philosophy damages the minds of men. Stupid, upid, philosophy is it makes me want to take a whiz think it this way, think it that just pull a thought out of your hat. Confuse, bemuse, it'll blow your mind just hear the words they sound so fine. But if you think, you think, you're wrong, you'll find you were right, all along Philosophy, osophy, zip, boom, bah It stifles the speech of many a jaw. Just give it a try, it'll hook you for sure like drugs, and booze, it is your cure 'Ologies, 'isms, 'istics, and 'oughts are useless when philosophy ties you in knots You can't think, smile, or walk a line unless philosophy guides you all the time O Crap on osophy, the scum laden mess of reasons, and why's and intellectual bless I'd like to punch philosophy's nose cuz tough it was this poem compose. Oh well, no count, philosophy wins Heads nor tails, of osophy's sins What will I say of osophy's worth Not much, except a hefty burp.
First the Call without to all and we as lessors hear or not The Wind is gentle, moves within the one who's being sought He Voices high His gentle cry a song, in beat, the Word Today to thee, is granted see to turn to what we've heard Sight, I see! in Wind and Light within me has been cast And inward comes the Threefold One And now His peace will last
Man's life, beat and breath, cannot encompass the depth of life, whose meaning is hid by death's present sleep, the sin that binds and deceives us keep. Of those, the lost, the ones who fight, and those, the called, the ones in flight, sin the sting, death the king, life to come to the one's Christ brings. The sleep now holds the lost, who walk In dream of hope and foolish thought. They wait the day of awakening, By death, execution, the great happening. They lived a dream, of hope, less God. They lived and knew His history. That day they'll see and so they'll weep, That day when no longer they sleep.
Harder than the coffin walls about my soul, Stronger than the fury of my heart felt pound that beats against them, Longer than my reach to pull me free of the pit now around me Alive its fleshly home won't die and breath won't cease to claim its life so that I may leave this place. I lie with it, stand and sit, a man controlled . . . I look within to smaller walls deeply set in strife between soul and life No way, no means to set breath free so inward I lie I do not want its company this morbid, hell-bound empty woe Oh sin, please die!