walking

Walking isn't just a life skill
It's a form of art
Very beautiful art
And who knew that I've been running all my life
Running from walking
at this pace of life
a pace set by the Creator and His creation
Not by frantic insecurity that begs to grab and trap and go ahead of
time

still be this way

who knew it would take this long
who knew that we would both still be this way
who knew that life takes longer when you live it out
instead of just dream about it

pocket

this poem, i wrote and pressed "publish" before i even read it over. so who knows if it even makes sense. i just really felt like writing something spontaneously out of the expression of this present moment. don't even know what it really means. so, there, you have it... A.

i've found a pocket that belongs to me
sewn with a loose string
barely visible is that string
but you can feel it in the spaces where silence falls
and asks for an answer to belong to me in deeper measure

'come to me'
pocket,
won't you come to me?
why the distance, why the mute melody
that only parts of me can recognize
amidst the clutter of my everyday life?

if you were here right now with me
i would put my hand in yours
and dig deep
and stay there
hand in pocket
my hand in yours

humans and God

a rough unedited response to our wayward, crooked relational decisions with the Higher Hand that holds us

so many people
breaking up with God
because He is a lover
very few ever understand
yet very few
(if any)
can live without Him
a lover who allows the question
to far outlive the earthen vessel
and the answer remains too veiled for discovery
to the easily-distracted so
drawn to neon lights and siren sounds
that shout out their shallow remedy
to an ancient, unbound riddle
between a lover and His beloved
a riddle, that can't seem to be silenced
by those clean-cut affairs of ease
the ones eloquently spoken of

a rusty lil poem for a young man

for a friend in faraway places...

(note: i found this while cleaning out my computer... written last year back on May 5th 2006. a lot can change over time... and although this poem is about a boy from a 'former season' of my life, i am left with memories of a time that grew me, and wisdom that i was able to garner from it all, and through it all, i have a richer and softer and much wiser heart... just a reminder to me of how the Lord is a redemptive God, never-ending in His battle to redeem our hearts from the fall...)


young man
panting for light
longing for a glimpse of sunshine
from years gone by
from a time long before disaster struck.

let's bring him back
to the land of holy playfulness
where the spirit danced upon the innocence
of childhood, of simplicity, of believing, just because.

young man
starving for the attention of a Higher kind,
seeking just to know, just to know,
that the Root loves the branch
and that this fruit will feed his soul, will feed his soul
forever.

young man
looking forward yet facing backward
stuck with repeating melodies -
haunting notes that lend itself to
music he should never have heard
but he's got that hopeful feeling
sensing Something's here, Someone's here
reaching down to him, into him,
to place the dream of light and fruit and a song
and nourishing the need.
yes, nourishing the need
forever.

Procrastination, i speak to you by name

Procrastination likes to call my name
And I am answering him NOW
no more waiting for my reply
my choice leaves no room but to ignore his creepy undertones
that beckon me into a bed of lethargy
that never sees the horizon rise to meet me
that never sees me rising towards the horizon

i have spoken to the day
let me take hold of all that is on my plate
and let me wipe that plate clean
lick every little droplet of moisture
with my thirsty life
and bring it on, life! bring it on!
for i just do it now
cos my mind is focused on the goal ahead
and nothing will sway me from the distant horizon
that keeps getting closer with each passing day
with each passing hour
with each passing moment
i cease the day!

a damn poem

you're damn right i'm worth it
and yes i said damn just now

why do i

why do i do
the work for others
why do i give out
more than i get back
do i not value or believe
another's valiant pursuit
of me
yes, of me?

oh silly kid songs

oh silly kid songs that lie to us
telling us that sticks and stones can break our bones
but words can never hurt us
whoever loaded those guns
must have been a mannequin
incapable of experience...
our words have power
our Creator said it was so
through a word, the world came to be
through a word, a heart can come alive
through a word, a spirit can die
through a word, you can direct a nation
through a word, you can destroy a destiny
through a word
through a w o r d . . .

drop your daggers...

we call ourselves lovers of christ
and yet hate our fellow man
we take our s(words)
and turn 'em to daggers
stabbing and jabbing
and killing one another
long before death arrives
what was meant for good
what was meant to bring life
now destroys and tears apart
til our bleeding hearts
are left lying by the wayside
unaware of the cheers and jeers from the dark side
that laugh in victory
as they see our own bloody massacre -
a civil war of the spirit
with kindred spirits who lost their way
in a web of pain and deceit
aiming at our allies
because our s(words) became daggers
of attack. . .

Free heart

My heart has been released
From the grips of death that ensnared me.
Hope has room to soar again,
for He has set my heart free
My heart is free indeed.
I can love
and be loved
for He has redeemed my ruins and cleansed my soul
Light has come to my darkness
declaring me free
Free, indeed.