Painting the desert, sun-setting the tone
Starving backstage, morning-stars are jaded
The moonshine murmur still shivers alone

Curved slice of sliver, shear breath shadows stone
Suspending twilight shiny and shaded
Painting the desert, sun-setting the tone

Carving solace into silver in June
On horizons’ glow from forgotten gold
The moonshine’s’ shilling delivers alone

Gleaming duels of knights, pierce deathly silence
Steel tines of starlight, clashing swords they hold
Painting the desert, sun-setting the tone

Dimples aware, sparkle sand on the dune
Winking at comets, after tails are told
The moon-sand whispers, sift rivers alone

Sharpness they hone, filing skills onto stone
Starlight dazzles, its own space created
Painting the desert, sun-setting the tone
From owls’ talon, moonlight shimmers alone

I look. As I look, I see. In about five seconds I see, but then I realise what I have seen.
We are like clouds in the sky!
So what did I see?
Layer and layer of cloud line the sunsetting sky.
Layer after layer, each with a different shade of a yellow and orange tint nesting on its surface.
I see beauty, then I realise as each cloud sits there, each one beautiful in itself, I realise it is waiting. Not wanting, not forcing anything around, but waiting. Why Wait? What does the cloud know?
I consider the clouds after the sun has retreated and gone to bed when there is no colour, its still waits. The cloud knows, it knows that if it waits it will see all of the colours the sun has to offer. Each shade of yellow and orange, and red and pink, every shade of every colour!

Awake upon rising sun
Amidst warming breeze,
Gone are winter’s icy hands
Puddles beneath the trees

Buds burst anew in bathing rays
Flowers stretch colorful arrays,
Birds lilting melodies
Announces this new day

Death in winter’s slumber,
Life spawns in springs renew,
Cycles end, begin again
We are old, but new

Hail the Vernal Equinox
On this first day of spring,
Seasons change
The spirit soars,
Life begins again

All about me people scurry,
neither here nor there, just in a hurry;
and to what end they know not.
Sadly, all the beauty forgot,
for they lust only power
and an ivory tower
without thought to what tyranny will beget.
No, not God— but man created it!

Wait! And look around!
It’s amazing what can be found.
So, set your thoughts aside
and for awhile with me abide.
Let your minds be not contrary
for I have planned a beautiful itinerary
through a world you will not soon forget,
exceeded by none— for only God created it!

Good! I can see you are curious!
Remember now, the sea mysterious?
Yes, full of wonder and mystery
from the beginning of history.
Oh, the sigh of the sea as it whispers and beckons,
painted moonlit silver as the Indian suns.
Behold the sea calm without angry fit—
For only God created it!

Remember the flowers— soft and fragrant?
There, the wild ones growing vagrant,
along with roses— soft and fair.
And lilacs— their scented perfume in the air.
Oh, so many to try and name them all,
but such a pretty picture to draw.
To behold their beauty for hours you could sit—
For only God created it!

Look about and see the meadows and trees,
homes for little creatures, birds and bees.
The meadows, so soft and fresh,
our beautiful earth they do caress.
And the trees, so majestic and tall,
standing strong through it all.
Oh, yes a soft part of you can be touched—
For only God constructively constructs!

Look, now, at the animals tiny and soft,
but for fear of you— they stand aloft.
See the kitten— eyes sparkling amidst soft fur?
Reach with gentle hand and it will purr.
And, the little puppy with wagging tail?
Love it! And you he will never fail.
Yes, in obedience they all look to Him—
For only God created them!

And, now, we find the most beautiful thing God gives,
from faith and love made to live—
A tiny little cherub worth more than gold,
but it is only loaned we are told.
Yes, taken from your combined mold,
a tiny baby to cherish and hold.
Oh, the miracle of it!
And only God created it!

But, then, we were given a greater gift of life,
of love and mercy, the Christ child, a strength in strife.
This most precious gift, allowed to die, to rise again!
Yes, all this that there would be salvation for you and I!
Oh! The King among men, the perfect one—
One who loves, walked this earth, a job well done;
the man whom we have only to ask to receive—
if only we believe!

And now we come round the bend
to our journey’s end.
Your world seemed only an ugly place,
your life only strife and a frown upon your face.
you have looked only at destitution,
blamed our constitution;
and, sometimes even blamed God for it.
No, not God— but man created it!

So, now I hope you can see
that within our world another be:
One world without a name,
full of people seeking fame.
The other, called earth, a beauty to behold,
given of God’s love— not sold!
And, man made his own hell!
While God created beauty— I’m here to tell!

I have not a care in the world, as the world for I
free as a bird, locked in a cage
I see the sun, but am afraid
I look back to my bleak black hole
home, all I know
ashamed I sit and write, continuing on this loosing fight
I count the days as they pass, just wishing
wishing for my last
onward in time I go
without reason, likely so

She sat amongst the cobwebs, harbouring visions of flailing fist.
Bestowed to her by her lover and friend that once was.
Fate it seems, was worthy to keep her here.
Abasement was this woman's life, she mocked herself as
she swooned in pitiful cries, cared not.
Aching limbs and broken bones bound her.
Movement restricted by languid thought and feeling.
Silence once was the night, with baited breath, He arrived.

Fires still burning in tear soaked eyes as first was delivered.
Distended her soft face to pulp, beyond recognition.
Teeth bore down drew blood, pulsating heart bled with her.
Foot with leather protruded into vision, white light waved over her soul.
Hisses of whip cracked,
whimpering lips, stinging tail.
Suffering death would be welcomed.

A movement from within her belly stirred.
Innocence raised from her soul,
Tiny foot and smaller hand pounded,
A life she must care for but her own.

Wedding Poems