Poetry is in the eye of the beholder.  Have a blast with the material and then share it with others for the mutual benefit of society.   

Tender,
Like little calves,
Sucking,
On their mother’s breast.

Like pine trees,
After a winter rain:
Wet,
Full of dew.

Like a pretty girl,
Visiting Santa Claus for the first time,
Holding her Daddy’s hand.

Such love,
Is so sweet:
I love that love.
 

The wheels are turning.
The wheels are turning.
The wheels are turning,
And it brings me back to you.

The wheels are turning.
The wheels are turning.
The wheels are turning,

And it brings us back to you.

The wheels are turning.
The wheels are turning.
The wheels are turning,

And it brings us all to you.
And we love it. We love it.  We love it.
It brings us back to you.
And we love it,
We love it.
It brings us back to you.
The wheels are turning.
The wheels are turning.
The wheels are turning,
And it brings us all to you.
 

Thirty-One
 

It is a new day.
A new way.
Anew flavor.
A plan of living.
And you will never let me down.
As sure, as you wear a crown.

I hope to forget that in all my days.
Thank you for the remembrance,
Of my weakness,
And  your faithfulness.

The old preacher,
Sitting in his easy chair,
Remembering the days of his life.

The tractor accident at the Bible College,
Where his hand and forearm were lost.
The bed in the hospital room,
Where he awoke to understand the hand of God.
His wife whom he shared his good and sad,

He remembered the salvation of many,
And the losses of a generation.
He was glad he lived in peace;
And kissed all he met these days,
In a humble loving, adoration.

I knew that old man,
He treated me like a grandfather.
He saw the future I had
And wished me nothing other.

He lived with pain and sorrow,
And grieved in prayer for children.
He will celebrate great victories,
And march with others on to heaven.

I will see the old preacher,
Leaping and singing and praising God,
In Glory.
And we will Embrace God.
And we’ll finally know what it is to Live
Kissing all our family,
A spectrum,
Without Shame.
Healed.
Truly.
 

I am rapidly approaching thirty years old.
I, again, here the Good News, the Truth.
Like the singer from U2 sings,
“Wake up dead man,”
I feel like I am beginning to awake again.
The mountain of rubble pressed on me,
Is beginning to loosen, loosen...more,
Not so that I can be free,
But to be a former Bastard slave,
Turning into a son.
A son.
I have to get up, right now,
I have a urinating feeling,
But, I’m still a son, son,
Not a Bastard, son--
But a son, a son.
Son.

I approached the Dead Man,or,
Rather, he approached me,
And put out his hand.
I grabbed his hand, as in an act,
Of friendship.
His hand was strong and he looked,
Deep in my eyes.
He spoke and said, “Wake up,
Wake up.”

I began to open my eyes and see,
What I am, I am, I am.
You see, I pulled the trigger,
After calling him a Motherfucker.
Then running, and shooting, and running,
And shooting and laughing, and yelling,
“Motherfucker, Motherfucker, Motherfucker.”
You see, I plugged him 36 times in the face, and hands,
Arms, legs, abdomen, yet, he was wounded for my,
Iniquties: because I was really the Motherfucker.

I shot his fucking head off and watched the blood flow.
Then I took a knife and stabbed, and stabbed, and
Stabbed--Tearing his shirt and clothes to shreds.
I yelled more, “Motherfucker, Motherfucker, Motherfucker
Why have you done this to me?”
His eyes, though in excruciating pain--
Managed me.

I went home and left the Dead Man for the dogs.
Worms Meat.  I will soon be worms meat.
A diet of worms.
Only alcohol and speed can numb me.
Me.

As I am resting, looking for any kind of sleep,
Any kind of sleep,
Any kind,
The Motherfucker, the Dead Man.
Aah!

He grabbed my shoulder,
His face was scarred and hardly recognizable,
From when I acted in my shameful, demented,
Fashion.
He grabbed me by the hand,
Looked at me in eyes,
And I started convulsing wildly,
And choking.
Vomit rised out of my lungs,
As tears violently purged from my being.
“Be gone from my son, son!”

I felt release.
My pants were wetted and the shit flowed,
Like a green oozing putty.
Then the voice again said,
“Be gone from my son, son,
My only son in whom I am well pleased.”
I felt release again.

The thing tried to remain in me as a familiar friend,
“When I was a child, I learned from my daddy that,
I was a fornicator, you know, a pervert who steals women from their husbands,
While I call my own, “a slut with her shit for a son.
What a fat piece of dung, for a son.
Bastard is too good for a son.

I’ll send in the military for assistance on how I can kick the shit out of my son,  I am his dad,
I have the right,
To emasculate him and make him play dolls with,
The girls, because he is a piece of shit,
And can never be the embezzling son of a proper,
Southern [so-called] Gentleman that I am.
Because you know that all woman are bitches,
Who ditch their men,

That was what my father always taught me.
He said that money could only buy happiness,
And curses on others could only bring the good life,
From our holy father, on Sundays, in our nice suits and dresses,
Praying to my friend, God.
He needs me because I am rich and I don’t need my,
'Basteed’ grandchildren.
I’ll send in the military for assistance on how I can kick the shit out of my son.
 I am his dad--I have the right.”

Even with the familiar fiend,
I say-- “how can I share this filth with anyone?”
It must be shared so that all may become free!
I had the feeling that a cloud break was forming and I’m “Going to the sun,” like the U2 song says.
Do not weep, my lady.
The children of the latter ladder, will live.
No more sorrows will exist.
The children of the Goddamned will be redeemed,
And finally come to the place of peace.
They will be Goddamned no more.

But as I look deeper and see that I am a man with unclean lips and a broken heart that longs for libations and opiations, while realizing that those,
Curses, only bring me nearer to the brink of death,
And separation from the only one, not thing,
That ever cared for me, like Jesus.

And now I do not remember whether,
It was my own destructive nature, or the jack-man,
That helped me to hate myself,
And fall short from being,
Proud,
Like how the Dead man loves me.

For my words are like many drunk nights,
Though drink was far from my lips,
The pain of never measuring up,
Opiated and destroyed my hope.
I still believe...but, little in myself.
To love or not love myself,
As I feel bereft of hope,
Though I still hope.
I really do believe,
Though I lost my hope.
My hope.

It is important to understand that a prayer,
With shaking fits of laughter, and Barking and,
Whinnying like a horse--I do love and accept..
But the deep damage in my soul,
That causes every part of my make-up to be questioned and,
Harassed:
Requires deep tenderness, and true authority.
That is why the Dead man has had to walk up to me and say,
“Be gone, Be gone from my son, son,
My only son--whom I know.”

My friend, I love you,
So deep that you do not,
Even understand.  That is why I will let
You pray for me, and I desire that your prayers,
(Especially, when you are praying in your closet for me.)
Will encourage me from the Chaos all about.
 

Thirty-Four

I believe in the laughing revival.
Some day I will laugh in great joy.
In my heart--that time is not here.
That time is for another day,
When no longer I sweat out,
The stinking days of a hot summer,
Where coffee stains the hot, wet, air.
And no more will I smell the despair,
In the little raped girl,
Who sits in a public bar,
Waiting for her boyfriend,
To finish the pool game.
She wants a little house with a white picket,
Fence...why can’t we ever learn that,
Only Jesus is the gate to that perfect world.
This little girl I saw while walking with,
A dear friend, seemed disappointed and lost.
If I cried, I did cry on the inside.
I want to drink the fourth cup on that day.
On that coming day.
Until that day, I am only destined to mourn for the,
Loss that I see.
Yes, I will experience great days of happiness.
Like on my wedding day, and the first birthday of,
My dear child.
However,  I still mourn as every day leads to death...
That is the only road to life and the end of decaying,
Teeth.
Teeth.

And now to a brighter subject.
The light of all lights,
Causes the darkness to flee away.
The children who were in the dark have now been,
Exposed to the light.
Will anyone catch them before either the sun goes,
Down, down, or the children--exposed,
Run back in to the dark ways.

Yes, you can feel good!
The toucan has lost his head.
The tire blew out on the way to debt.
The pidgeon was slit for healing.
The fit was decompressed after it was,
Too late.
Too late.

The release never came,
The lemonade tasted sour.
Life comes to us.
Every morning.
Take your breath..
Thank your God.
Thank your God.
 
  

That face!

It’s funny when you feel deep love for someone,
How a similar face that is seen in the crowd,
Will bring all the feelings,
Fears, love, torment,
Like flying on a cloud.
I want to know who that person is that I see leading the seminar.
What does she like, think, or dream.
Absent prescence causes sensations of longing.
I think goodbye and drive on.

The Wedding Angel

The little town of Smithville--in the Appalachian Mountains,
Of West Virginia--received a miracle on Christmas Day.
One never thought the challenged community,
Would ever see New Hope again:
Just dirty snow covering,
The once busy streets.
Silence filled the morning of the sweet birth day.
Many slept with no dreams.

The young couple came into a solitary Baptist Church,
Hoping the clergyman would make an exception and,
Marry them.
The old parson heard their tale and
Proceeded to complete the paperwork.
While writing, he thought about their story.

Two 18 year old children:
They promised last Christmas they would marry in a year.
Both parents had been killed in car crashes.
The boy lost his job as the town factory closed down.
The girl was unable to pay the mortgage on the family farm,
Lost the farm.
The boy worked in the coal mines until October,
His lungs started hurting.
A city worker with a ladder accidentally hit the girl.
She lost her three front teeth.
No dental.

The boy and girl live in a little one-room trailer with no heat.
They are not sure if they will last the winter.
They have tried to commit to each other.
They should receive the sacraments of marriage.
The minister completed the papers
And motioned for them to come to him.
He asked God for a miracle.
One that would change their lives and provide compassion and assurance.
That man asked for sickness to become well,
And mourning, sadness to end.

The old man closed his heart and knew,
There were no miracles.
He had them wash their hands and faces
For preparation.
He wished that he had fine clothes for them,
As they needed more than what was available.
A new coat was given and an old woman’s dress.
The wedding was set to begin.

The preacher cranked up the record,
A melancholy song played about lovers and friends.
He talked about the traditions of marriage, family and commitment.
Far above from this scene,
A messenger was released to bring a message.
The air was sweet as the Presence that descended upon the town.
Mothers and Fathers woke up and knew something special,
Was about to begin.

The mayor was approached and told that a great,
Wedding was in progress.
He called the key members of the community,
“Hurry and bring gifts and celebrations for the young blessed couple!”
The kitchens brought meals and the bakeries brought cakes.
Within an hour the town had mobilized to,
Provide celebration and safety for the Boy and Girl.
A wealthy realtor gave a house.
Mr. Dentist offered new teeth.
A hospital would provide healing and health for the children.

The angel walked into the midst of the holy church.
He told the Reverend his desires were answered,
Then the message was given to the young couple:
“The favor of God has come and rested upon you both.
Soon your hopes will be realized,
And your shame will be lifted from your hearts forever.
You will have a start.
You will give thanks for all the restoration.
Never forget the joy of Today, as the world celebrates your love,

Your beautiful love.
You will receive many gifts today.
Give to others and it shall be given to you.
Answer the door knocks from others and,
They will be answered when you knock.
Help others to seek, and you will be led as you seek.
Give love away and it will never leave you both.
Kiss your community and job everyday,
Let all bitter things flow away into a small river."

The Angel disappeared.
The Couple realized they were adorned,
With finer clothes than money could buy.
The Rector was dressed in clothes lined with pure gold.
He noticed the all the repairs had been made,
In the formerly broken down church.
The boy and girl jumped in excitement as they saw,
The church  decorated with the finest decorations.
The mayor led the townspeople into the little church.
He exclaimed, “Congratulations on your wedding day!
We have forgotten that we love you both.
A danger for us all has now passed.
May you forgive us as we honor you.
We all can live, love, and give as a community,
As God ordains the rest of our lives.”

The Bride, The Groom, celebrated with all the people,
As the gifts were shared,
Everyone noticed that a new fruitful day was borne for the children,
And the whole town.
One wonders what miracles abound,
We close our eyes to celebrate,
When the party is all around us.
We need to live, love, breathe, kiss sweet lips, forever.

The redhead gave her self to her husband.
The husband knew her.
The husband gave the woman a son.
The redhead could have aborted the son.
She didn’t.

The uncle of the redhead drank,
Alcohol until nothing was left.
This uncle died on the street.
The redhead loved her son.

The light rescued the maiden from the darkness.
The light rescued the son from the darkness.
The light ate darkness and until it was consumed.

My gay friend whom I truly love,
I rescue you from the darkness:will you come,
And live with me in the light?
Come out of the cold and sit beside me near the fireplace.
I truly do love you.
I remember when the boys beat you and mocked you.
I remember the salty tears upon your lips.
I kissed those lips and made them warm.
I made your heart warm.
Come sit beside me.
I’ll take you in my arms and be your mother.
I will embrace you in my arms and kiss you like the Father you never had.
When you close your eyes in death, I will take you home.
And now every day I will recognize you,
Give you favor in the day of today.
Always.
 

Thirty-Eight
 
New Socks

I keep falling in love with  the wrong woman.

I realized today that I keep falling in love with the wrong woman.
I truly believe that with God, anything is possible;
Yet, I fall in love with the wrong woman over and over again.

God in Heaven has protected me as I could have been destroyed.
All I wanted was their love,
I would have been satisfied to lose my dreams,
And follow their ambitions for me.
I just wanted a nice picket fence.
Now those women who rejected me:
They have shown me the Light.

You see, God allowed me to go through the past,
That I could really choose the way I would want to go.
See,  when I was a little boy I sang a song,
“Is there anything I could do for you [God]?”

During these years God knew that I did not,
Have a clue about life, love and truth.
God protected me.

I could have married a sweet minister’s daughter.
Would she love me and respect me if I,
Painted a naked Adam and Eve in front of our children?
Would she still think I was the nice minister if I said,
“Love God, follow the right way,
Hate sin because it Fucks you up really bad.”

I fell in love with an upper class woman.
She was svelte in her figure,
Had a Father who worked for National Geographic.
We could talk well together as friends.
She probably would not understand,
My desire to serve God or help the unfortunate.
Would the champagne that we both drank make us both hate each other?
She, the shallow: myself, the holy,
Or are the roles really reversed?

I could not find a friend here in this country, so I
Searched the world.
I fell in love with a missionary,
She did not think I was worthy.
I fell in love with a minister...
It was too late.
I fell in love with someone who tried to change me.... Because she cared.
For a few months, I became severely sick to my stomach.
I fell in love with the One,
It was not the time.

Yes, women have fallen in love with me and I have said, “No.”
I have felt that it was the right thing to do.
One person from that time on for years brought her boyfriends,
To my house to show them off.

You may ask,”Where is Jesus in all of  this?”
He has protected me from myself.
Now that I am older,
My tree has, perhaps, grown a little stronger to bear additional fruit.

I still feel pain from my last love.
I wanted to be with her and her with me as much as I wanted to live.
Matter of fact, I have been trying to slowly kill myself off since my demise.

I don't kill myself with poison, or razor blades.  I am more cautious, and evil.
I kill myself slowly with selfless acts of service, and over-prayer.  I eat healthy portions of meat and drinks sodas and tea.
I work long hours in  the name of some goal.
The goal being integrity, or is it really pity.
I want to do fine; however,
I look for recognition.
I should know that I am valuable and loveable.

I over worry and over stress.
I spend too much money and I enjoy that.
I get angry because I have created myself to physically look like a monster,
And then get angry when others mock me as the  Fat One.
Some women look at me at disgust,
Like I look at an African-American male.

I kill myself by writing poetry and sending it out to friends.
I not only get to work through my issues of death,
But I share them with others.
I do this so that, someday, we may all be alive,
In the perennial sunshine of God.

And then I paint little childish pictures,
I long to return to a time where love was real,
And childhood meant something other  than drugs, babies,  and shootings.
I cry  in my paintings and share them with others,
For death, or for Life?

I think the painting is much more aesthetic and beautiful,
Than me paying money to some MSW,
To get  healed of the crap that comes from MSW’s.
Painting to me, is a much better way to kill myself.
A wasted life is better than wasted time with a MSW.

I feel my mother is proud of me for my growth in God.
I think she is happy with the direction that I am taking in this life.
I think my grandfather is proud that I am learning to work hard.
My grandmother is proud of me for living.
I don't know her that well to perceive what she would admire in an individual.
Maybe she is from the side of the family that is more open to failures.
I don’t know.

My sister is proud of me for me, and for trying to be strong.
I think she feels that I do not need to be too strong.

When you are alone,do not be afraid.
If you are not married,
Do not rush too fast.
A worse fate awaits the person, who is married,
Because they chose out of their needs,
The marriage is either dissolved, or a rotten one.

Sex is full for a short time in a shinny sham of a marriage or relationship.
God wants your sexual relationships to be full for a lifetime.
Keep your head clear,
And allow God to steer you to a person,
You will love you for the rest of your life.
That person will be special, as they will say,
“I know this person well, they have a lot of faults that are minor,
Agitating, but basically, they are not violent and out of control
I choose to love that person for the rest of my life.”

A wandering fool/soldier is what I used to be.
He adopted me and forced my father out of the picture.
What a fucking asshole.
He told me all about the Marine Corps and how to fight.
However, when the truth was out--He was not there.

He left in blinding fury.
Now ten years later, I miss him.
The only Father that I ever knew,
I miss him.
I don't miss him.

I try to be a better Father.
I hope my children will not guess how lonely and dysfunctional I am.
I still miss him.
Yes, I still miss him.
I don't miss him.

The angst in my soul is just a bunch of words.
Today, the Fuck is muck less empty.
I am becoming De facto, De Foiled.
Maybe a non-threatening way to say it...
I am becoming more tranquil and accepting of my course.

The ugly is going away.
It is time for a new day.
I need to love my children and take care of them.
This is the plan.

Let us try it!
 

I am grieving for a new generation.
I am grieving for all that are lost.
I am grieving for my friends who become,
Farther from the cross.
Under the crimson flag we all hate each other.
We try to show just how valuable we are,
And when the end is near and few actions are required:
Then we go right back to black and gold.

Let the renowned group of people rest in simple care.
Why can’t we try to all get along,
Instead of splitting hairs.
I love the babies from all streets.
Every child gets a chance.
The colors of a tapestry, lead ones
to a greater romance.
Why do we call each other names, or think we are just
for one place.
The structure of the coming day,
needs to be more than bitter fruit.

Let us endear ourselves to one another.
We want to take a bullet for our brother.
Let us endear ourselves to our mother, and
Realize every mother is our brother.
The men are missing from our homefronts.
In jails, they are soldiers (POW's) who never went to  war.
They are imprisoned like cats and dogs ready for slaughter.
In the name God, we are justified.
Justified.

Cannot we look for a better situation.
Cannot the men stand in the streets together, and
Change the city.
What would happen, if we stopped,
Fighting the lost and banded together to
Fight the greater evil under heaven?

At the cost of our own glory.
A little light smiled from above us.
It shone all over the times.
 

Let’s just spin.
Just spin, spin,
Float free in the air and,
Spin, Spin, Spin,
And we sing a new song.
We sing a new song.

Spin, spin, spin, spin, spin, spin, spin,
Spin.
Dance a new dance.
Sing a new song, spin, spin, spin, spin,
Feel the rubber on your feet.

Spin.
 

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