Out of my broken jar I spill
I slosh, I puddle, stain
Those near me holy pity
chirp nodding glaring shame

Across the isle
the sisters see
a simple vessel
passed to me

Catching fall
collecting these
sacred slippings
preciously

The girls there
on the other side
we differ candidly
but those from my roots
say a prayer and
walk away from me

original poem

Glow-in-the-Dark Stars

Glow-in-the-Dark Stars
In my jewelry box
Wasted usefulness
Like so many thoughts…
One single plastic star
In the middle of my ceiling
Would give at least some point of reference
As I begin my scheming
In the dark, dark quiet
Between contemplation and sleep.

amazing engine

can you believe it. There is actually a thing already on the planet that is capable of
running on organic materials
refines it's own fuel
runs with perfect efficiency
produces no harmful emissions
has an average operating life of 70 plus years
needs no wires
no electricity
no micro chips
can repair its self
can make copies of its self with totally unique characteristics

no other engine, computer, machine or device has the combined abilities to even compare to its smallest part

it is life

every living thing, including the smallest gnat has more intricate and dumbfounding displays of wonder and mystery than the greatest of human inventions.

human inventions are all products of this thing--LIFE

we are not so smart if we keep in mind that something utterly incomprehensible, our Creator, is infinately above the designs of men and we will never ever find a human feat that will compete with the awesome miracle of even bacteria

we are not accidents

someone really big and smart designed us.

Athiests, are you really that gullible to believe that we were unintentional?

Stay-at-Home

When my child is grown and far away
and I miss my son so near
will I gladly relish the money I made
or shed a regretful tear?

dog fight

So, I think about the lie that is world is preaching about how to find "happiness". It preaches that loosing weight, getting a successful career, being famous, or getting rich for will make me feel "happy". All this outward reaching only leaves me with discontent because it abandons the real center of what will give us joy. The peace of God is only attainable through turning towards the fire within ( the seed of the Holy Spirit which is present in all believers) and feeding it. My friend Adrian Almanza once shared with me an idea that helps me visualize this truth...

Inside everyone who loves Jesus are two dogs and they fight. One is a white dog ( the spirit of God) and the a black dog (our flesh, sin, and worldliness). They fight over our mind, will and emotions. Which dog is winning in our lives? Is the Spirit of God defeating our carnality? If not perhaps we should look at the dogs. Often our "spirit" dog is emaciated, starving, and too weak to stand--in fact it appears to be dead. The vultures are circling. Looking at the "flesh"dog. We notice that he is large, muscles bulging, full of power and tenacity...

Why are the dogs inside of us such ill matched opponents? The question is:

Which one are we feeding?

All the TV trash, all the idle gossip and slander, the refusal to pray or read the bible, the yuk we consume feeds the flesh and starves the spirit. Are we setting our minds on what is pure and holy? Or are we exposing ourselves to what is detestable. Oil and water do not mix. One will be displaced.

Who will win the dog fight?

more poetry

Conspiracy

This morning my rooster
Interrupted my undersea
rollercoaster ride with the seven dwarfs
So I rolled over and smacked it's plastic head.
Nine minutes later
“squawk! squawk! squawk!”
So, I smacked him again.
“squawk!”
slap!
“squawk!”
smack!

Finally fed up, I left for work...

But, that obnoxious devil
Sent a telegraph via high-line
To all the other chickens
And they conspired to get me fired!
Wouldn’t you know it?
My boss’s little chicken,
That mean little beast
Was waiting on my boss’s desk
With a big fat lie on her face.




My Own Space

Tucked up and away
From the noisy rumble
The daily roll and tumble
My twilight treetop bungalow
Each night I wearily go
To sleep in a little girl's bed
To rest my spinning head
No ears to hear me laughing
No eyes to see me dancing
Above the grind and measly place
To gaze upon a paper face
Peaceful planet far away
In His palm I gently sway
And, rest for yet another day.

“Rock-a-bye, daughter
In the treetop
When the wind blows
Your world will be rocked
When your back breaks
And your tears start to fall
I will come running
And handle it all.”



My Blue America

With a humble pen
And repentant paper,
I write of America,
Home of the Takers.

Comfortable
In my small town grind,
So deaf to the Truth
And injustice behind

My blue America.

Home of the proud
Land of the Free,
But compromise binds us
With materialism and greed.

Two million people
In prison this year,
The sacrifice of family
In pursuit of career,

Free sorcery,
deceit! And much more!
Apathy, immorality,
I wonder what’s in store

For my blue America.

I’ve been raised
To love this land.
Our fathers came here
In the master’s hand.

But under the umbrella
Of patriotism and glory
We accept what we are given
And let hell write the story

Right here in my blue America.

Stop complaining,
And start restraining
The spirit of despair






Stop media quoting,
And start Bible voting,
In favor of love
And hope and care

Aren’t we just as guilty
As members of the jury?
We allow it to happen,
And then sit back and worry.

Here in my
Battle scarred,
Spiritually starved,
God forsaken,
Bigotry shaken,
Baby killing,
Blood spilling,
Self indulgent,
Black and
Blue America.

Wipe out?

I went to the Word, Spirit, Power Conference last night at Beltway. Wow, I was touched twice by the Holy Spirit. I still feel the "bubbles" in side of me. I am very glad I went. My mind is different today.