Jason Tied Up [Poem-a-Day: 24]

[written t0 the homeless soul I met on Thanksgiving that is still breaking my heart]

Jason tied up
from his head
to his toes
in all the lost knowledge
his lost mind can hold.
It’s garbled and jumbled,
out in a mutter and slurr.
Some dark mysticism
at work here I’m sure.

Oh Jason alone
lost in all of these tombs,
not wanting to scare,
but cannot not share.
Can’t shake off this moment,
of four listening ears,
gauging and weighing
if your sayings are clear.

Jason, be free.
Come out into the light.
It’s stronger I promise,
than all the darkness inside.
You haunt and you’re haunted
by all you’ve seen with your eyes.
So look up to Jesus,
please, there’s still time.

A Poem in the Night [Poem-a-Day: 19]

A poem in the night
like a whisper on the wind
revealing the thoughts of the
innermost man.

Wake in the morning
to find those sentiments passed,
still the poem keeps on whispering,
“Look what we’ve found.”

Autumn Leaves [Poem-a-Day: 13]

Autumn Leaves [Poem-a-Day: 13]

Autumn leaves fall to the ground,
blanketing the earth in
soft yellow kisses,
like butterfly wings
or big flower petals.
What passed unnoticed in summer months
now catches my eye,
flaunts all its color,
and lays silently as
its last majestic finale.
Don’t wait too long to incline your ear;
their songs fade quickly,
masked by soft crunches.
But as you listen you may hear
that sweet final hallelujah:
“In death, my love, I loved you best.”

Election Day Prayer [Poem-a-Day: 8]

God, heal our land,
the land of our souls.
Remind us evermore,
of our Eternal Home.

Midnight Haikus [Poem-a-Day: 7]

I like poetry
But not when I feel sickly
My brain hurts now too

Is this a cop out?
That is very possible
Or I am lazy

But I did research
How to create a haiku
Counting my fingers

Laying in the dark
Counting to five and seven
While I moan in pain

Sufficiently
Today’s poem goal is fulfilled
Still I keep typing

Rhythm and math is
A fun combination for
Pushing away stress

Maybe this poem goal
Not a burden anymore
It is now a joy

Your Father’s World [Poem-a-Day: 6]

Your Father’s World [Poem-a-Day: 6]

[Written to my friend’s brand new babes the day her labor began.]

Welcome to your Father’s World, little ones.
When you grow up you might have a hard time believing that,
that this hard world,
could come from a good Dad.
Maybe He’s not so good after all.

But oh, my dears,
look underneath.
You’re mom will teach you how
Oh, she loves Him so.
Look behind the veil,
look past the mud to see
the reflection,
the dim reflection
of a world of Light.
A world where there is no night,
No monsters in your closet,
or monsters in your mind.
Where your good, good Father
sits at the end of your bed
and sings over you
the whole night through.

He’s begun already,
did you not know?
Since He first knitted you
pure and perfect,
beautiful too.
He’s been singing over you
since your first restless night,
since your first entrance to this
cold, cold world.

He sings for joy,
He sings for life,
He sings because, Love,
He’s by your side.
And though you can’t see yet,
and you can’t hear,
He sings out pure,
and He sings out still.

As you grow up,
and as you play,
may you hear the music
on the wind someday.
May it catch your ear,
May it turn your eyes.
Oh then, be surprised
My love, my dears,
you’ll see Him standing
by your side.
You’ll see Him then,
as clear as day,
and see He’s never gone away.

Then join our song,
the one we sing.
We sing with Him,
the song He put
in the ancient stones.
The blood of the Son
has imbued your bones.

And you will see
with your very eyes,
beneath the shade
and shadow dark,
here you live,
and with Him abide,
here in your Father’s world.

An Autumn’s Saturday [Poem-a-Day: 5]

An Autumn’s Saturday [Poem-a-Day: 5]

My eyes are heavy — blinking, sinking

must keep seeing.

My head is pounding — pulsing, throbbing

must keep ‘wake.

Must dig for inspiration,

must mine for rhymes and stanzas,

and for goodness sakes,

fix those typos–

Or dont.

After all, it’s almost done,

The day is almost gone.

Spent well, lived richly

biked far, laughed loudly

played games, and loved softly.

An Autumn’s Saturday.

What would be sabbath day,

Now calls for sabbath rest.