Turn, Turn

Maybe there are times
We should distract ourselves,
To refract or dispel
The troubles that shine

On our diminished souls.

And perhaps, in due course,
We nestle into today’s sorrow
Knowing the day may end tomorrow
With sudden rejoicing, weeping remorse,

Or starting anew.


The Windsong

Winter advances in age
Skeletal fingers in frozen decay
Touch me; All the rage
Of the summer sun melts away.

I stand in the silence of clarity.
I see you, in the beauty and the biting cold,
Breathing through the disparity
Of seasons turned, and youth turned old.

Wispy exhales of hope and yearning
Mourning moments that have not been
Snowdrifts of lost nostalgia churning,
Swirled and stilled by a disquiet wind.

I miss you
Twinkling in the warmth of joy and proximity.
I exist in these moments, undone and overdue,
Mingled from conception to infinity

And I am Yours
Whatever I have been, I am still.
Weathered storms, lonely roads and crowded wars,
But I feel you here in the hushed chill,

And I love you still.


Even if
The brightness of the sun
Slips beneath my horizon view,
If the tremulous touch of darkness
Scatters my assertions askew,
Though the earth never cease its spin,
You cannot be moved.

Even if
The blackest sorrow finds me
Doubts, like earthquakes, shake me,
Cracking along my fault lines,
If grief herself breaks me
I am never beyond the reach or repair
Of Your immovable hands.

Even so,
As I struggle with what’s in me,
The sin that strips the world bare,
Leaving brokenness, our destruction,
The inky depths of our despair-
Through the dark night of the soul
I strain to see, to believe You still care.

Even so,
You, the God who cannot be moved,
Are moved for me.
The God who weeps,
The God who bleeds,
The God who strives,
The God who sings
Is moved to sing over me.

Least of These

I close my eyes
She appears again, in the haze
Of spent years and separate ways
And tears bent to earth.
Her moment torn open,
But she no longer remains
In the flowing wounds, the stains-
Her broken fragments of being.

I close my eyes,
And they’re ever kneeling
In like condition: healing,
A foreign concept- a mythical beast.
Love, a foreign language,
A muscle rarely-used,
A notion much-abused
And deeply mistrusted.

I close my eyes,
And open my heart in prayer.
You brought me here from there,
And I was too blind to remember the route,
But I remember You,
And the day I learned love was tangible,
Solid, substantial,
And I could receive it,

And I could give.

Here and There

Surveying the broken bits
Of former glory
Remnants of Your story
Before, behind,
Sometimes we find
New roads to lay, new avenues to pave ahead
Your church,
But sometimes the work is to
Rebuild again
What once has been
The best we can do.

Building the walls,
Repairing the gate,
The mud and nail and wood and stone,
After life, while it’s late,
But maybe no one should build alone.

Yet the work spreads out in all directions,
And the workers are so few
Perhaps it’s harder to view
Broken down things
Than move on to what is new.


These nights, these dreams
Pull poetry
Kicking and screaming
From some instinctual,
Guttural place inside of me
Wherein I must hide
All the wonder and dread
Once interpreting the world
Spread out before my eyes
Of flesh.

I treat it as a child’s toy,
Faded, torn, missing pieces,
Carried past the age of reason
A thumb in the mouth,
Plumbing the depths,
And four fingers cemented around
Some leg of its being.
If I leave it wherever I go,
I come home to find it
Laying just so in my bed.

I Saw You

How do I write these words?
To say I’ve loved you all the years-
I’d given up here
On verse, on expression,
On believing my words could make an impression
On the once malleable rock of souls
The intractable solidity
Of human goals and ambition-
Such a dirty word to my cognition.

So we are what we are-
We will be what we will be-
And I withdrew the poetic parts of me
From the temple of the obscene.
I found a different dream,
A broken altar on which
To break my bones,
To spill my blood, my sweat, my years,
Something tangible for which
To live, to die, to fight, or resign:
A wall on which to stand
Taunting to be shot down
By all those who secretly snipe me now.

I grew tired of mankind,
My brotherhood,
The endless repetition
Of proclaiming with bold assertion
Misunderstood lies,
And self-justification wrapped in judgmental demands,
Proclaiming to understand,
But not seeing a soul,
I grew tired of the whole of mankind,
And somehow more willing to die for the parts,
Willing to say goodbye.

What audacity to say I’ve loved you.
We knew each other such a brief intersection,
Who could say any deep connection exists
Beyond wishes and fantasy-
The archetypes of my mentality
Painted over the frailties of your humanity
Who can say any reality thrives in the insanity of absences and adherences?
And Love must be reality,
Else it is a horror.

Yet I’ve loved you,
For whatever you’ve become,
However you began,
What small moments changed the sway of your rhythm,
By even a half-measure,
Your victories and failures,
Unseen and adored
Known the less, loved the more
Your villainous possibilities,
Or your greatest potential,
Pale in comparison
To the space we occupied
At the same time.

Some spark of time that never faded,
Some ember falling into ash,
But burning evermore.
And by the flickering light,
I saw you.
I saw you cared; I saw you hid.
I saw all you never did,
But would one day.
I gave my heart to you unrestrained,
But locked the rest away,
Because I loved you too much
To risk your days.

I never caught a spark, a token,
A look, a word, a hope
To assume you saw me too.
I never would have presumed,
But I saw you
And it burns alive forevermore.

So ready to fall upon my altar,
So ready to break my back
But I fell asleep, sick again last night,
And you arrived.
Another dream of you,
Through the years they follow me,
You showed me shattered things
Don’t always feel-
Compressed, contained, and cold
They wait
In a frozen state to process
All the stimuli they experience-

I awake- did I wait
For another dream?
Are there things still yet to feel?
To experience? To process? To pen?
Shall I open another cistern of soul-
Care for the whole, invest in the parts?
Shall I start to feel and try again?
And if I do, will you find me
In dream again so
Once more
I might see you.