Bated Breath (poetry)

Moon’s white shadow
Concealing err-
Hands run their course
Round, round, and round
With an obscure
Click. Click click click.
Noise arouses
Morning’s dim light-
Try to catch my
Bated Breath. Bated Breath.
Moon flees with night
And dreams -and stars-
Expose what’s hid
Behind the pause
Of time in sleep.
The hands still chase
Eachother there.
And when I wake
I find time in
The click, clicking
Of the new day.
Expose what’s hid-
Tucked away by
Slumber and sheet
And begin again.
Try to catch my
Bated breath. Bated breath.

Exhaling Exhaltation (old poetry)

Inhalation-
Exaltation-
Intake Spirit,
Breathe out Praise.
Inhalation-
Exaltation-
Every breath
ordained and wise.
Inhalation-
Exaltation-
A life beyond sin-
death-
coincidence.
Beyond serendipity
and the muse.
Inhaling life-
purposeful...
Exhaling exaltation
to my Sovereign God.

My alms (old poetry)

A beggar, Lord, I am
my empty cup-
downcast shadow in a faceless crowd.
You shower upon me
your gifts of mercy,
grace,
and yet-
your gift is no gesture
and you give fully what you can.
My small alms cup overflows.

I see a man.
I walk in my robes of satin,
gold,
the very finest.
For what you have provided is

overabundant.

From my cup,
One alms for him-

a gesture.
He smiles- a gesture-
for Lord, you don't understand
why I can not
give you all of my alms.

Water (old poetry)

An elemental combination,
essential constituent of all that lives.
A Mineral, in mass, divides the masses:
separating man and land.

Bestowed in blessing and wrath.
Devastated the earth
and turned to wine
is this same water.

Before me, in me, for me.
In my blood,
in my food
in the rivers, lakes, and streams.

Salt to fresh.
Baptizing flesh.
Living Water that makes all things new.
Yet revisits our cheek
when we summon the past.

Solitary, salty tear
spilling from my eye.
Equally broken and blessed;
healed and scarred.

Joy and forgiveness
pained with repentance:
becomes the river
between my breasts.

An elemental combination,
essential,
dividing my masses,
and you and I as well.

Finding God in carpet fibers (old poetry)

My God.
I have seen Him in the ocean.
in leaves.
in children.
in the sunrise.
But most recently,
I have found my God lingering in my carpet fibers.
He waits.
My God
waits for me to come and join him,
on my knees
on my face-
Breathe Him in.
Silence.
My God
needs no volume button to keep my attention.
Darkness.
My God
needs no flashy screen and bright pictures to captivate me.
My God
Speaks only good and true words.
So why do I settle for less time breathing in carpet fibers?

An Entire Symphony (old poetry)

I asked for a small bit of light,
instead you gave me a full moon.
I asked for a blanket in winter,
instead you gave me the warm sun.

I asked for a pillow to rest,
you gave me an entire night.
I asked for food and drink to live,
instead I sit at your banquet.

I asked you to write me a song,
you replied with a symphony.
I asked for truth and words of hope,
you gave a book of promises.

I asked for forgiveness, just once,
a momentary cleansing of sin.
Instead you said, "I have taken them all".

Smile (old poetry)

So, I want to get some poetry from an old blog transfered to this blog. So, some of the poetry listed as old poetry is from a blog from 1-2 years ago.

Smile

An illusory smile straining muscles reveal not so white
- pearly whites –
cohabiting with a tongue
thrashing truth and lies.
Swallowing sobs down
the welling meets in my eyes-
gravity proves only circumstantial once more.
Nails fiddle with chapped lips then run to
catch the tear they nearly missed.
Distorted black liquefies an insoluble cheek, the falsity painted on my skin
melts
and drowns
my mother's gift of freckles.