Lent, Day 3: “To Really Know Him”

To know God, to really know Him
To feel his pulse inside my chest
To delight in what he delights
To detest what he detests

To know God, to really know Him
To understand who He really is
To befriend that which is holy
To love His people like He loves His

Why, then, am I comfortable
Simply knowing about Him?

Oh, to know God, to really know Him…


My Father’s Back

My father’s back was an untrue friend
Hunched and lonely
Bowing to its master money; no, not looking over me
That way, not this, did it bend
Scars from the father and the sun I saw there only
The road calls this hunch back to the road opposite me

I can see it now, tinged with a glint of sun
Hot with wear
I know a eulogy should pour out of me
But I’m at a loss for words but one:
Why? It must have been hard for him to care
Despite the wreckage of fatherhood, I see

My own back is curved
Sore to touch
Its frame is sold as is, no returns
But my love does not know what she doesn’t deserve
I don’t turn on her much
We take our shoes off and let the sun burn

Now, come into the light you crooked back
Gnarled and mean
Let Him who heals stitch your frame
A hard hit on the bottom may mend the cracks
Freedom or confinement – there is no in between
You’re hunched and lonely, but you can change your name

Lent, Day 2: “Anointing”

Anointing to protect: shepherds, with care, would rub slick oil on their flock
So ticks wouldn’t burrow in the sheep’s ears,
Causing death

Anointing to honor: Mary, enamored with her Lord, stole to her storeroom
Repurposed her ointment for Jesus’ feet,
Showing respect

Anointing to save: Jesus, love manifest, seals God’s promise
And sends His Spirit as a guarantee,
Displaying mercy

The Computer Age

We have arrived at the computer age
When bodies don’t care about the world
But only its images – lights and sounds.
Neon has died. LED shocked her. And,
I struggle with this as I am in between
Generations. I am not obsessed with or
Unwilling to indulge the sultry screen
Who tempts an entire generation to
Disengage and die, eyes bloodshot.
Shaking in the night. Afraid to look away
For fear of missing out. Of not knowing
Where we are or where we’re going.
We have arrived at the computer age
When the world resides in our pockets
Like misplaced hearts. Though we aren’t
Heartless. Only lost and addicted to the
High and mighty love of devices. Vices
Vying for our sight and our whole minds,
Rotting and writhing until they’re wires in
Pools of cream and synapses, electric
And starved, connected only
By weak arcs of interest, fueled by mediocrity
And buzzing. Our necks ache and creak,
Cracking as we make eye contact.
We have arrived at the computer age
When conversations are only whispers
If they exist at all. They are overpowered
By the bass, the treble, the blasts, and
The timbre of metal ringing and yelling over us.
Feedback is our conflict. Static, our boredom.
Binary bleatings from a species so advanced
And stupid that a broken circuit causes chaos.
A dead battery means death of the soul and
There is no way to revitalize and revive.
We only wait, dead in the gutter, overloaded.

A Robot Enters Into Self-Awareness


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I’m here…

In That Promise

In that promise
I found Amy
Mine a distant heart caught in a jar
And she, tenderly poked holes in the lid
Kept it safe and showed her cousins
“Isn’t it lovely – just look!”

Because of that promise
I met my captors
Dirty fingers caressing in the night
Turning my heart hard and my body used
Amy held me, cleaned under my nails
“You and I are forgiven.”

Poor bird

A bird
On a wire
What a beautiful sight
But wait…what is this?
Some smoke rising from its claws
Oh no! It’s shorting out! What the-
And just like that – like fireworks – explosion
A beautiful? sight in the sky. Poor bird.