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.

Today 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.”

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?

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.

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

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.

Twin terrors pack heat to melt the defenseless
Who pack pen and pad unprepared for the senseless
Violence stealing their lives for jihad
Crimson ink spills in the name of a god
Who doubtful they know but still play the part
As if bloodlust could thrust from a purified heart.

Fault you fiends not, for almighty passion
But to fight holy war’s to receive but a ration
Of truth from the righteous, omniscient Judge
In the true courts of mercy even wicked are loved.

For your fervor is fueled for a judge most unkind
Who can’t pitch true love thus bewitching your mind
You reach out to pummel the poor infidel
Who no less deserves Paradise than you deserve Hell.

True love reaches out bearing arms open wide
As blood from His passion pours out from His side
Crying out to the nations the holy war’s through
You weren’t tuned to that station so your passion was skewed
What they printed offended, left your judgment suspended
Yet you missed the fine print of the Prophet upended
For His radical response to your foes at Hebdo
“Forgive them Father, they know not what they do.”

There’s a plan for me
Dramatic destiny
Of whose eyes do see
Isn’t clear to me.

Is it the Universe
The vague cosmic Nurse
Pushing me head first
Into the wayward hearse?

Is it Nirvanic force
The still and silent horse
Promising soul divorce
If I ride its course?

Is it Nothingness
The non-tactile bliss
Giving me the diss
Of justice amiss?

Are they the gods afar
The pantheon of war
Some if I do ignore
Shall strike me lame and poor?

Is it the single Maker
The celestial baker
Whose homage few the taker
Leaving a globe of fakers?

Why are these eyes so distant
Not a pair insistent
Their stories inconsistent
Who shall pursue persistent?

Is there a presence nearer
Calling the falling hearer
Dissonant voice made clearer
‘Stead some vacuous terror?

Or could ever a man
Deliver such a plan
Taking my whole life’s span
From where it first began?

Couldn’t be less than general
To fight my plan from seminal
Couldn’t be less than sage
To orchestrate the age
Couldn’t be less than seer
Forecasting all my fear
Couldn’t be less than flawless
Making just the lawless
Couldn’t be less than rabbi
Teaching my tale better than I
Couldn’t be less than priest
Fixing each fragile piece
Couldn’t be less than king
Great might to do such thing.

But would he know the loss suffered
My hurt that’s not buffered
My shame that’s not covered
My joys undiscovered?

Would he respect the rejection
My miss of perfection
My hopeless direction
My endless reflection?

Would he have eyes like me
To see what I see
To get my grief and glee
My longing to be free

From this distant plan
From this unknown clan
Whose idols span
Over all the land?

And if he did would I
Have the guts to try
To follow this great guide
And have our souls abide

As he leads me forth
Into a life of worth
Going beyond this Earth
Into eternal mirth?