Creative Writing

Writing in the dust

I stumble across writing in the dust,

And in my foolishness I wish it was a message from You.

You know my heart, and know my sin

Of looking for a sign in emptiness,

So I am humbled, but still wish most of all

That You’d speak to me, and tell me

That You are near.

You inscribed on stone and people strayed,

You traced words in the dust, and drove men away.

I want to be engraved on your palms,

For us to walk by each other’s side,

Bound more than a body to soul.


I’ve been reminded

If you’ve seen me, you’ve seen it:

What pushes my eyebrows together;

What clutches at my heart and mind.

If you’ve heard me, you’ve heard it:

What looks like silence or empty sound, but is words turned inward,

And I unknowingly wish ill for myself.

I know God, and I’d never think to extinguish this –

Yet, I forget vigilance, and the dark swallows my light, since it cannot have me.

If you’ve known me, you’ve known it,

And if you’ve felt me, you’ve felt it,

And now, I see it, hear it, know it, and feel it –

Please, remind me of goodness and of pastimes

In a form that I can revel in –

That I’ll preserve with present

And future joy.


Bird’s eye

I rest on laurels that crown my head

And a key’s strung round my neck.

Any turf round here is fake or dead

And contentment is feigned at best.

I think that, in this time and place

A bird’s eye view would be embraced

As a welcome look beyond this space

Clouded with smoke and mirrors.

Favorites Poetry

Still Life

A son who looks nothing like his father

Gets nothing he ought to.

Coldness is all he knows from his keepers,

Yet he adores them.

Retreat, dream,

Take the wide path, and then the narrow –

Come forth as a spring of words and verse;

Craft from a turbulent past

A still life.


The Rest of Time

In an orchard, apples are ripening, making their thin branches to bend in selfless burden. The harvest is here- no hours remain for pruning or grafting.

The breeze rustles the paths of the gardeners who have only to gather the bounty that withstood an eternal year of toil. Meanwhile, fallen, rotten, and soured fruits were lost to the wasps and worms.

Delirious with sweetness that now makes itself fully known, feasters gaze at the stars in peace. There is no thief left to come steal, none who still thirst for blood. The rains and snow are now gentle and whispering, and the winds only tousle with the intention of delight, murmuring mysteries to keen observers.

Here is a city that never sleeps for the reason that there is no need – the streets are illuminated always, the ramblers and galavanters guileless and trustworthy. The flowers in proportionately-peopled parks are lovingly tended, and propagated to any wanting patch of barren soil.

Both the boisterous and reserved have no wants, other than to be in one another’s company, and speak of God and his various gifts, and how they are bestowed upon every soul, in a continuing call to creation.

Wholly good is the holy time that has finally come nigh!

No thing is twisted, confused, nor obscured –

In sorrow’s stead comes the final word.

Favorites Poetry

Infamous Pair

Fear and despair,

What an infamous pair;

They seem to go along splendidly.

However often we learn it’s no good way to think,

Tending to yearn or inclining to shrink,

There’s no end in sight to sorrow or fright –

They just keep on going, try as we might.

And yet, there’s some awful tenderness there,

In the world of terror, the land of despair;

To be embraced readily and by the hand led

To a place where it feels no other feet tread.

The haziness welcome, the mourning, relief

From a place sharply clear, impatient with grief.

Wake me if this happens to all be a dream:

This enticing warmth and care of a scheme.

This miry pit (strangely) doesn’t feel cold at all –

My comfort, made catalyst to its rightful downfall.

Favorites Poetry

Good Versus Right

I feel that my skin is being pulled every which way

As I tiptoe with a cradled matter around people I live with.

I pray that the different wisdoms in my life

Don’t collide, divide and leave me severed from head to toe.

That’s how Saint Corona perished, torn between two palms –

Red bursting forth instantaneous, a horrendously awe-worthy aerial display

Between two equally springy trees; she was not unevenly split.

Favorites Poetry


The mirror shudders as violently

As that cardinal flings itself at our window;

Within, a stranger soul shrieks silently –

Which am I, Cain or Abel?

I cannot tell whether my feet touch the ground

Or if they fall right through;

I cannot process any or all sound;

I cannot tell what’s true.

Rosy whites of puddles for eyes –

Tender, inflamed, and oozing ego –

I grope to choke the murmuring mantra of lies;

But with what’s tangible

It’s been emulsified.

Holographic gazes glare through my skull –

I couldn’t feel worse naked;

To this body it’s not knowing who it is

That makes it entirely humiliated.

Favorites Poetry


I skip along the stretch of beach and step upon a stone,

I pick it up, skip it on the tousled waters –

I’m most together when I’m alone.

Turning over weathered clam shell fragments,

Never know what I’ll find –

Maybe someday I’ll find a treasure

And be worthy to call it all mine.

Deep periwinkle, royal purple –

Whatever be the hue,

It’s not the amount, but the intensity

That lends its value.

Quality over quantity –

I think that’s my favorite rule;

Evaluating wampum

Is not a job for any fool.