Wednesday, June 14, 2017

The Author

The Author

An author possesses pride,
not unlike detectives or spies
uncovering inquisitive hides
with precious provided proofs.

Composed not to be glossed over
by poignant barbs, fact-less,
to divert, then erase unerring tracts
to discredit. Tactless.

Avoid these--plagiaristic spoofs;

since 'truth', in fiction and 'non',
sincere inquiring eyes to open minds
ferret to find

not on parchment

Nobel prizes
at times honorably

awarded because of diligent effort
spun as silken threads winsome
to clothe in regal principles

young to old
poor to rich

gratefully to shed
old personalities

A book to engender pride
gloriously held high by many
touches hearts revealing
life's perplexing answers

which pleasure seekers
may subconsciously decry
as fearsome commonalities

Pouring over each page

bled shed light
feeding nations
acquired wisdom;

honestly, a cure
to ignorance's cancer.

A 'bestselling' author alive,
yes preening with humble pride
expects questions to reveal
secreted reasons

not danced around
as horses called 'prancers'

measured depth

spurned as poison
drunk producing blistering lesions.

This author waits
anticipates 'whys' in valued conversations,

even rehearsed prose or rhymes
willing to spill methods, fears
confronted in time

till reached:
the perfect
publishing season.

Then the author is perched
to supply responses other's search
for international readers to inspire.

Yet, disappointed becomes
when open mic does not hum

since misinterpreted by some critics
mentally tired

confusing the meaning of what's been written
after carefully penned,
disrespectfully read.

Criticized scum
their total summation
while the author bethinks
their spouting's perform

unloving high treason

as, definitely
He's not dead

did not paid intellectuals hire
for falsehoods to spread as though keepers
of His literary fire.


majorities prefer
to play professor to other's words,
instead of consulting freely the author.

Thus, a broken trust
when not honored but thrust aside Fatherly counsel

Not inquired mature advice
but promulgated an insidious conspired dismissal
of this author hated

his trustworthy expressions
written and well-spoken


So, this Author's deferred
his judgements buried not heard
by a humanity dreading divine guidance

who stumble and swerve in gross darkness reserved
as accountability's reaping what's deserved
is considered an inconvenience
with righteousness overrated.

But, truth requires acts of godly devotion
desired. Faith coupled with adult responsibility.

Not free-will of one-self eternally to lead

since imperfect hearts driven end in death
whether fast or slow one's traveling speed.

A lack of gratitude for higher learning
leading to eternity--

A gift from a loving Author
Life-giver would be a tragedy,

agreed? To not by Divine wisdom
be taught then righteously bred

not wise

a travesty transpired
by a narcissistic humanity?

Wednesday, June 7, 2017

Our Earth Grieves

Our Soil Grieves

Our soil grieves.

If only it could weep.

Or at least regurgitate
as a geyser
hot contaminated blood which gushes rather than seeps
downs it's constricted dirt


unable to gurgle
while drowning in sorrow.

Prevented it's ability to speak.

Our soil's peaked

trampled under the soles of arrogant feet
marching to prideful beats defeating unity

soiling sandy beaches
polluting city streets with a stench rising from beneath a global sweltering heat which churns our stomachs as curdled milk.

Our soil dies after generations repeat the sins of their fathers.

As consciences delete morals.
Souls replete with vices God despised.

Stripped the land of thoughtfulness and time.

Yet, our soil will again thrive
under righteous guidance
love and nurturing

Deleted wicked weeds
choking away breath needed to revive its seeds.

Resuscitated soil will praise them--A King under his Father's Sovereignty.

For indeed they will save him from total depletion
from the greedy hearts and grabbling fingers
of insatiable

So, our soil will persist and resist
for now

but soon will flourish as if moistened by rains
and rinsed by rushing rivers

into a peaceful


Tuesday, June 6, 2017

Meltdown (Inspired by Full Fathom Five, 1947 by Jackson Pollock)

Meltdown (Inspired by Full Fathom Five, 1947 by Jackson Pollock)

not slow the burn

I've earned
it over the years
spurning no extended hands

now I've fallen
hot where I land

once precious metal to a mom
pinched sterling silver
to keep her calm

to dad a boy to shoot some hoop

I've failed them both

in mind a man who'd gain the world
to she a sore,

though when we danced...

I watched the curl of her lip
like 'I'm a locked door
to her happiness'
she wished I'd taken that navy ship
for only this she thinks I'm equipped

everywhere I step it clangs 'mistake'
my every choice they hate I'd made
yet, sure to trip if I don't remain sedated...

which path remains for me to take

since rolling eyes state "you're a fake"

since rolling eyes state "you're a fake"

since rolling eyes state "you're a fake"


not slow to burn

yes this I've earned
over the years