Go, tell it on the mountain
A secret they don’t know’s about them
Once a whisper became a shout then—
Shackles cracked, lifeblood flowed like a fountain.

Any man anywhere any time
Same fate same share of the crime
Same cell same hell man’s confined
Any pardon for this firing line?

One only sent forth with the keys
One solely meant earth for reprieves
One lonely blip birth barely seen
Yet skies quake and chains shake again.

What’s this, the keymaster’s now bound?
Scandalous, for what guilt has been found?
Nonetheless, the due debt’s come around
Slain scapegoat now the jail’s crumbled down.

Go, tell it on the mountain
Truth laid waste just in case you were doubtin’
Drop the chains no more stains run without them
See you’re His then ad bliss infinitum.


There once lived a dad who went crazy.
He took 12,000 pics of his baby.
Worried he’d miss a moment
Missed a vital component
Of actually enjoying her maybe.

Another dad had twenty kids
Thought twenty-one could be better instead
So he obsessed for years
‘Til his kids were his peers
Now just one gran would do before dead.

Some dads agonized over names
Like boy one who should’ve been James
Boy two needs new initials
Boy three’s isn’t real special
With boy four we’ll perfect the game

Some dads freaked to miss an event
Leaving kids’ fragile minds with a dent
The dads muttered and moped
Hung their heads like a dope
To the kid it simply came and went.

All these dads so concerned for no reason
Often fearing the change of the season
Can we mutter “Enough”
To ridiculous stuff
Be at odds with what makes us uneven?

The Traveler’s Prize

The delighted man set off, poised to claim his honor.
For he had lifted his country, leading his people from squalor.
He paced with glee, sang joyfully, his triumph gained with valor.

The path was smooth and straight, no labor in his stroll.
Sheltered by the shady breeze, endless steps would take no toll.
No cares surrounded, thus he gaily bounded, and made way down the quiet knoll.

There a man sat, head down and looking glum.
Our traveler gazed upon him, inquired what had become.
The man was quite lost, now full of exhaust, in need of an ear and a chum.

“Go south for a mile, turn left at the farm.
Stay straight for a while, ’til you come ‘pon the barn.
Cut straight through the wood, and in two minutes you should, reach the village for which you now yearn.”

This cheered the man, he got up and made way.
The traveler beamed at relieving dismay.
He cherished his words, claimed his self-made reward, and merrily moseyed away.

As he did he stepped over a quiver.
‘Twas left by the chum that went thither.
Little notice he paid it, left it where the chum laid it, no concern for no arrows within her.

And so he skipped gaily for hours.
Happening ‘pon a vast field of gold flowers.
There a man with his steed, in a quandary indeed, for a broken machine left him dour.

“I still have an acre to mow.
Yet the ardor has crippled my tow.
I know not what to do, for my tool is wrecked, too, and I haven’t the time to be slow.”

The traveler peered hard at the steel.
And stepped forward with intention to deal.
Measured strength and astutely, notched the pieces resolutely, and beheld the fixed tow rig with zeal.

The farmer expressed his deep thanks.
For the traveler had displaced the angst.
So he kept right along, down the path with a song, assured he’d ascended the ranks.

As he did so he bypassed the field.
Largely charred laid its smoldering yield.
Yet so he skipped on, not happening to dawn, was the thought of what source scorched the deal.

So he hummed with unflappable spirit,
Til he came ‘pon a hill with men near it.
Bedraggled they seemed, so bewildered this team, that he asked ’bout their fate, lest he bear it.

“Nomadic are we in this region.
Displaced from our homes for a season.
Now have no land to work, and our enemy lurks, pray he not buffet us like a legion.”

The kind traveler considered the tale.
Not content to let sadness prevail.
So his map he produced, offered land for their use, so they’d prosper ‘pon trekking the trail.

The men moved along with new hope,
For the traveler had thrown them a rope,
He ascended the mount, while proceeding to count, these fine deeds and gay feelings he evoked.

And he paced ‘pon a ground most indented,
From some sort of tracks that imprinted,
But he gave it no measure, just ahead lay the treasure, no trough could now leave his sights tinted.

Alas he reached his journey’s end, a cave upon a mount
Prepped to meet a new friend, and receive a blessed fount
Yet quickly met, the creature that, he’d rather do without.

A scaly terror sauntered forward, and gazed with fearsomeness
The joyful traveler cowered back, his countenance now depressed
Then felt he ought, to relay his thought, to briefly relieve his distress.

“I’ve come this way, for I was due, a gift for my good deeds.
And on the way, helped man some more, supplied his very need.
Shall not these acts, of filling lack, warrant a prize, indeed?”

As he spoke the monster moved ever closer still.
And sneered at every utterance the traveler chose to spill.
He flicked his tongue, with words he hung, the secret to unveil.

“Good you may have done for man, enough to claim the prize.
In fact you have received it, your reward was in disguise.
Now see your error, behold the terror, you’re deceived by your own eyes.”

“So rapt in self-contentment you were blind to see the signs,
Arrowless packs, a crop ransacked, death’s footprints left behind.
Man’s woe I’ve laid, his sun I shade, spawn chaos ‘pon his mind.”

“But you, I may devour, or perhaps more awful yet,
Complete the curse upon your body that your soul had long beget.
Become like me, observe men flee, your face they’ll ne’r forget.”

The traveler contorted about
Felt a jolt of his inside to out
All his skin became scales, sharp claws replaced nails, now his body made beastly throughout.

As he lay there the other went ‘way
Saying nothing to make fears allay
But abandoned the post, disappeared like a ghost, leaving traveler alone in the gray.

So he made the dark cave his abode
From his perch he watched as men strode
‘Til they came to his dwelling, with vanity swelling, and suffered the prize he bestowed.


Stumbling through an unlit hall the world gropes for the room.

Lacking wit and wherewithal we cope within the gloom.

Where be that gleam, that spark, that flash, that slightly cracking door?

Just in our dreams, in dark, we crash, not lightly, ‘pon the floor.

Alas ephemeral flicker stirs an upbeat of the heart.

Gasp, no time to dicker, back on our feet we start.

Make way to welcomed glimmer, ’til right within our reach.

Nay stay a fading shimmer, ’tis night within us each.

Flecks of phantom luminescence display and move and look legit.

Checks for the genuine essence, yet they all prove counterfeit.

Can no one true step out from death, to enlighten our dark way?

Past someones all bereft of breath, have heightened our dismay.

Suddenly the hall’s ablaze with blinding lumination.

Surely all are fazed by this resounding revelation.

For who breaks forth, none other than the maker of the light.

The source of luminosity, purveyor of the bright.

The world moves on and gropes around for some new visionaries.

Through darkness all our hopes abound in one true Luminary.


This is a reflection on John 1:9. “There was the true Light, which, coming into the world, enlightens every man.” Merry Christmas.


Few activities are more corrosive to humanity than speaking ill of others. Our nation is witnessing this on a grand stage with the presidential race, but we see it on more personal levels among our own relationships. Most of us face the temptation every day. And on this Good Friday, we’re reminded of how lies, reviling and mockery led to the destruction of an innocent man, who instead of using his last words to defend himself against those who cursed him, prayed they’d be forgiven.


Sitting round the table
Captivated by the fable
Getting wrapped up in the cycle
Of the not-so-subtle libel

Speaking of her like she’s junk
Speaking of him as a punk
Aspersions firing with a bang
To compose the vile harangue

Assaulting every possible neighbor
Lacking any taste of favor
Bitterness the favorite flavor
Something kind o how I savor

Those not present lack defense
From incessant negligence
Of the words that cause despair
Leaving me with bleeding ear

How I wish for something pure
To cause such great allure
That it would captivate and cure
Ballooning egos with a skewer

Send us tumbling down to earth
Where we remember from our birth
Wickedness lives in us each
And we all must strive to reach
For the pinnacle achieved
For perfection unreceived
Away from devils who adversely
Convince us we’re too good for mercy.

Her Voice, Silenced

FullSizeRender-2Today marks the 43rd anniversary of the Roe v. Wade decision, which legalized abortion in our country. Since the decision, more than 57 million abortions have been performed in the United States, roughly 30 million of which were females.


A girl’s error, a mother’s choice
The quickest fix silenced the voice.

That could’ve spoken life to men
That could’ve lifted a best friend
That could’ve brought a war to end
That could’ve caused a heart to mend.

That could’ve taught a child to to read
That could’ve blessed a soul in need
That could’ve inspired some great deed
That could’ve led a girl to lead.

Life’s chance was squelched for freedom’s sake
Mid-dream she stayed, ne’er to awake
Her form was split by choice’s quake
Perfect design turned deadly mistake.

O mother, nature weeps for you
No doubt you had the power
Yet now you know the weakness
Of your seedling in that hour.

For she was made for greatness
Hope for women she could alter
But now we mourn and pray with you
Our world has one less daughter.


Psalm 139: 13-16-“For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.”

The Picture

I’ve painted you a picture
A mural complicated
Of a vast and odd adventure
Hopeful it’s appreciated.

Before I show you I admit
The trepidation lingers
To release the canvas I’ll submit
From my reluctant fingers.

For it’s a mess of strokes
From hideous to sublime
The scattered imagery evokes
Bittersweetness every time.

It started as a modest work
Of varicolored nature
Brilliant tints bereft of murk
Splashed with joy upon the paper.

Once I knew though what commenced
I could not halt the session
The shades grew ever more intense
Now the art was what I questioned.

A complicated scene had dawned
Success and failure vacillated
Countless days and months passed on
As the grand work was created.

At times I labored for perfection
Alas a mottled mess ensued
Often I lacked a clear direction
Yet the richest tones imbued.

You know I had lovely intentions
For each portion of the piece
But got lost deep in dimensions
And lo, the artful flow did cease.

But then some spark would catalyze
An exquisite contribution
To help the portions synthesize
Giving this piece absolution.

Most recently and prior retire
The quality’s progressed
Sweet strokes may pass the test of fire
Covering what once transgressed.

Surely opaque blots, a myriad
Nearly mar the whole
Yet just enough fine hues I had
To morph those blots to gold.

I know the time has come
The creation is complete
Is there a spot within your home
You’d consider it to meet?

At last the canvas I reveal
Oh please won’t you elate?
I painted it in zeal
For you, my question cannot wait…

Is it beautiful?

The Low Place

Embarking on a great ascent to meet you in the high place
Hopeful I could snatch lightning and catch a glimpse of your face
Toiling ’til my feet were panged and hands were sore and calloused
I scaled the rocks expecting I’d behold that holy chalice
Once upon the pinnacle I braced for tastes of glory
Took my scents and offerings out to the promontory
Peered around for quite a while yet felt no presence there
Conscious of my solitude I started to despair

Suddenly the earth beneath began to crack and crumble
The cliff gave way so my descent became a frightful tumble
Careening down the jagged slope absorbing painful blows
And more disjointed I became the farther I was thrown
Bracing for the final thrust to send me to my end
I tucked up tight with all my might, hoped fate would spare me then
‘Til finally I came to rest abruptly ‘pon the ground
Paralyzed and somber I still found no presence ’round.

So I lay a crumpled mess prostrate upon the earth
The hurt so deep I couldn’t cry, but languished in my dearth.
Scents of blood and filthiness were all I had to give
Tasting nothing but despair ’twas bitter now to live.
Immobile I reached out with my broken, feeble spirit
Pleads for mercy beckoned, how I hoped that you would hear it
Suddenly you’re lying there, I feel your full embrace
In awe after a great descent, you met me in the low place.

Dead Men

Twenty-two eyes focus most intently
My appearance they think has come incidentally
For though they’ve seen all by the heavily lit way
They stumble through fog that obscures the ray.

Nascent transparency soon to find them
Without my lamplight they’re all just blind men.

Twenty-two ears attuned to my speech
Yet don’t hear the words I’ve aimed to teach
Shouts of cacophony drown out the whispers
Missed all through the day now they seek in the vespers.

Obstructive wax hasn’t quite left them
‘Til my fingers expunge they’re all just deaf men.

Eleven men’s mouths agape at the table
Digesting the story they fear is a fable
Food fills their bellies although they are empty
Complain of their lack yet the baskets hold plenty

Approaching full purge of leaven that’s harmed them
Without my fresh bread they’re all just starved men.

Eleven hearts pound a surprised rush of blood
The room stilled by the specter and filled by the flood
Yet the muscles within these chests are arrested
New quickening to come to revive what’s congested

Soon cast the curse of the foul fiend who bled them
Receive my exhale or you’ll remain dead men.

*A reflection on John 20: 19-22

Fifty Shames of Grey #FSOG

Violence you mask as fetish
Narcissistic deeds you relish
Masculine force how you embellish
Horny heresy leaves you devilish
Sacred act you twist to hellish

Make her think your way is good
Trick her to think she’s understood
Then you creep under her hood
Don’t mind to spill a bit of blood
And make her wallow in your mud

Convince her that it’s kind of fun
‘Til her self is all but stunned
‘Til you leave her all undone
‘Til you cleave her soul with shun
Wither this flower in your Sun

Haunt her dreams all for your pleasure
Vault her screams like they’re your treasure
Daunt her beams under your pressure
Flaunt your schemes all for good measure
Taunt your victim ‘fore you hedge her

Dominate the doe with rage
Eve’s corruption you engage
No kind boundaries on your page
Run sweetness quickly off the stage
Hearts you rent from your rampage

Hatred you pose as passion
Discard females like a fashion
They need caress instead you bash them
Abuse them good before you trash them
Fake the bonds and then you cash them

You rape with their consent
Leave them full of harsh resent
Strangle them with discontent
Mangle them with punishment
Take them on your vile descent

Empty sex with love displaced
Slap a daughter in her face
Put a sister in her place
Drag them in your fall from grace
Crush their heart with brute embrace

Defile that precious creature
Treat her like she’s just a feature
Find the crack and then you breach her
Stain her soul and then you bleach her
Degradation’s all you teach her

Cast your shadow on the splendor
Give her pain when she needs tender
Nefarious services you render
Ship her life off like a vendor
Make her a game and so you end her.