Self love (poem)

Turn your eyes inward
And see the glory of what you are
See the rise and fall of your chest
The pulse in your neck
Perhaps linger at the swell of your breast

See the roundness of your belly and know that you are fed
Place your palm over your left Peck
And know that you aren’t dead

Admire the peculiarity of your swollen sex, the curve of your right hip
See the toes poking out from under your duvet
Now trace your gaze upon the blue veins in your wrist

Feel the thunder when you speak
And taste the words as they spill from your lips
Smell the perfumes of the morning
When the sun crests the trees cedar tips

Living your life through the eyes of others
Will never slake your thirst
Know that you are living, breathing, thriving!
And have been since your birth

Shake your mane of hair
Stretch your fingers towards the sky
Taste the bread, the grapes, and sweet thinks
Drink the water, the wine, and the rye

Live,  even when in peril, live even when in doubt
Don’t waste another day
Own your own glory, beauty, and passion
Love yourself with clarity
And you’ll live another day!

Beware The Saints (Ten Thousand Angels)

Today, we observe Good Friday
This day, set aside, to observe the anniversary of the murder of Jesus.
Some believe he was the son of God, others, a prophet. And some believe he was just a historical figure.
But think about Jesus in the context of today. A man who challenged the status quo. A man who stood up for the marginalized. The outcast. Who stood up against the religious and said, ‘All ye who are without sin, cast the first stone.’ Who spoke the truth, and shamed the devil.
Pilot- found no fault in him.
Yet when Pilate gave Jesus over to the mob- to the religious to those whom Jesus had challenged the most because he symbolized change- they called for his crucifixion.
And as he was brutalized, as he was whipped, as he was made to carry his own cross, as they drove spikes into his forearms and into his legs, as they put a crown of thorns on his head, and a spear through his side, they mocked him.
Christ embodied, compassion, empathy, benevolence, forbearance, mercy….he embodied all that was good about man.
So, not only did they kill the son of God, they symbolically killed any worth that they may have had.
Over the next three days, churches will be filled with those who go to observe this moment in time. And I know that when they leave their houses of worship, they should be jarred into the reality of where this country at the moment. This great society that proclaims it’s belief in an invisible God, whose name tumbles from their mouths without a second thought. These same people, who allow the poor to languish, the naked to freeze, the sick to die, and the hungry to go unfed. Who, through their own self righteousness, would allow the outcast to remain an outcast. And who would allow to rise to power someone like Ted Cruz or Donald Trump- the very antithesis of who Christ was and what he stood for.
See, it wasn’t the sinners that killed Christ. It was the saints. It was the righteous, the saved of the saved.
It’s a tragic irony.
The Bible says that Heaven observed the death of their beloved. That angels were camped out around the cross. And personally, I believe if God gave the order for them to go and get his son, saying, “No. He doesn’t deserve this,” they would have gleefully, and justifiably, destroyed the world in the process.
My mother used to sing a song in church, and the second verse said this:
T’was not for crimes that he had done
that placed him on that tree
but the love for a dying sin cursed world
and they power to set it free
and as they blood came streaming down that cross
the debt for sin was paid
Oh praise his Precious Holy name
for What Jesus did that day
“Ten thousand angels all hovered ’round.
they could have come and taken him down
removed those nails, with loving care.
But it wasn’t the nails, that held him there. “
Thank God, it wasn’t the nails
nor the irony of who put them there
that held them there.

The tapestry (poem)

The tapestry is old
Pulled apart slowly over time
Bleached by the light of day
And dust has settled upon its face

It was once beautiful and refined
With rich colours woven throughout
The envy and pleasure of those who gazed upon it
And now its ignored
Passed by

It waits to be restored, recaptured, and loved
It hangs there, day after day hoping to catch the eye of a passerby
But the gaze that falls upon it is fleeting
a spark of interest, a glimmer, an acknowledgement and then gone as
Life gets busy

And like that tapestry. Love will hang there
Until it doesn’t
Until it can no longer hold itself suspended
The props that held it aged too, frayed, and let go

And the passerby might notice something different
A spot clean where the art used to hang
And find in a moment of despair that all that remains is crumpled and destroyed

And he may pull it out from behind the furniture
Hold it gently in his hands
And feel a sadness for the beauty, the love, that used to be
A reminiscent glory and a bitter anger for mismanaged time

And he’ll gather the ruins of what remains
And while on his knees
He’ll bid it a sad adieu
And like the tapestry
The love he once treasured so much, will lay limp and wasted and gone
A sad day indeed

The day love dies in his arms

Ghosts (poem)

As clouds gather on the horizon
And lightning flashes across the black anvil clouds
They come again, the storm watchers

I can see them
Right outside my periphery
A glimpse of Shadow in the flash
A pair of eyes
Here a moment, and then gone

only to return in greater numbers

Another face
Another and another

Charged by the electricity in the air
They push closer to the veil
Disturbed from their sleep by the frosted hearts of man
Slaves, master, courtesan
Man, woman, child
Their mouths gape in silent words

They’ve come to witness the storm
As drums of mankind’s discontent beat like rolls of thunder
And they’ll be there as the bow breaks and the cradle falls
As the clouds burst forth and man pours out his anger
to greet the surprised to their new realities

I can see them
Oh my God I can see them

They stand in blood soaked garments
Whip marks fresh still upon their backs
Nooses tied limp at their shoulders

A man with numbers tattooed on his arms
Frowns deep as caverns
Still as the grave
Watching, waiting, with eyes accusing, disappointed and hard as stone

I can see them
In life they were separate by station
Ranked from best to least
But death makes us all equal
And shoulder to shoulder the march out of the dark

Oh, my soul I can still see them

Oh sweet Jesus here they are

And they’re not happy