 Searching His Deepest Self Prov. 20:27 Another poet once said "The woods decay, the woods decay, and fall..." What a way of stating the obvious. Like the woods, the grass, and all other living things, our life is as the Scripture says, "But a Vapor, that appears for a moment, then vanishes away". Our mortality slaps us in the face around the holidays. We see our loved ones growing older. We see ourselves growing older. And it's not a pretty picture... And then it is. "Welcome to the human race, the glory and the sadness..." --Geoff Mann-- Read along as I contemplate my own little slice of "the glory and the sadness"...... dry autumn leaves blow brittle orange,amber brown, yellow see sky again thru bark smooth limbs and the first bald eagle returned today stood tall, proud white head shining like a crown in the morning sun perched alone blowing in the brisk breeze and in this clear moment life is so good so pure so great a gift... I desire writing prodigous chronicles of praise that set forth the awe,the wonder,the majesty of this Your vast,golden,noble creation Family Growing Old all of them are aging their faces gray and wrinkle nearly as fast as the passing of my childhood those forever days were but an instant christmas to christmas seemed eternity memories flood then slip my mind forever to the slipstream of "was" and "then" their sweat, toil, sacrifice now replaced by liesure, television, medication I feel swept in a current toward a falls madly paddling reverse as I approach their slow certain dying these thoughts haunt surreal as the eerie drone of a funeral parlor organ so much to say and I don't so much to do and I won't and I don't know why... I Must Decrease mind aschism a maelstrom of dichotomy each noble reflection and chronicle of praise squelched at once by the endless black thought catalog of violence dope porn.... that Beautiful Figure sweetly bleeding on my behalf such hope to give such Grace hold attention but a moment thought drift to cooling these plow blistered hands bury my father hoard my riches build new barns... bend by degrees to the magnetic sway of self Midwest Daydream midwestern daydream.... lakeside listening as the planes and barges motors become lazy yachts blackbird call become gulls white light lilting climb, dive, climb muddy pond wave slap like tide against salty shell sand shore... sycamores and cottonwoods sway like palm trees crawfish holes a gecko paradise then this Illinois chill and I wake Poetry I steal away to write to vent to feel something pure free unencumbered by demand or expectation some artful thing some muse some slow spiritual something that will draw me away from the gelled, frozen, tedium to remind me that God exists to help me remember I'm alive... Invisible Funeral sometimes feel hidden like an onlooker like a stealth witness at a mass funeral where no one knows they're dead... they continue to speak laugh curse smoke cigarettes oblivious to their slow certain erosion their decay their fearful judgement they philosophize plagiarize allegorize get hypnotized their dead souls attached like mold to their stiffening dwellings of dust hardening like glue on a mummys' wrap... Obscured By Clouds obscured by clouds Your beauty my black eyes filter out the Light... impenetrable the high wall of mystery the mist that surrounds all You are to me a wanderer a drifter whose mind is want to stray wide and far from home Romans 7 Again (Contemplating Lost) I hate myself my weakness you them I hate sin then I love it I hate sin then I do it I hate fear, guilt God? yes? no? sometimes? If I could tear away these shackles these addictions would I? I don't know..... Weary Woman At A Stoplight her car is black and her face is hard and weathered like a worn tire discarded by the highway and her mood seems gray like the smoke she blows out her cracked car window... her dreariness it seems a symptom of this age of glut and liesure.... Talking Heads nothing real this fluff these smiles these plastic pleasantries.... these cottony soft demeanors a cloak for the barbs the filth the knife so terrified of truth that we generate images as quickly as we change the channels No Silence there must be sound noise distraction within the silence terrifying lurk ghost thoughts of future,past guilt,death, God... troubled mind craving to be numbed by the 24 Hour conspiracy of information..... For Interesting Christian Poetry Go To The Link Below...  |