Category: Poem

Itch


Itching, like I just rolled around in fiberglass insolation, I’m itching.

I don’t know what to do so I’m gripping, and grasping for something new to find something that will smooth and set my heart at ease…………………… uhhhhh

It’s not working, ignoring makes me focus more closely to things I so deeply want souring far away from my life and each time I send them off, they just come back like a moth to a damned night and I can’t STAND IT!…………………ohhhhh

Random, am I living life of joy like my tattooed arm proclaims, that quotation, “The joy of the Lord is my strength” I once felt it in my veins, screamed truth through my DNA. Stop and think… yes this phrase is true, because when I’m strongest he is near and when I’m weakest I’m over there……….. ahhhhh

I’m growing, and I see new life out there. There’s so much to be seen, so many lives to hear of God’s glory, and so many still to live fuller lives, and to admit that… it’s friends that see us through. I know I can’t do this on my own… but with friends, we’re not alone.

But friends have dragged me here and there and friends have dragged me high and low. Friendship have come and go and become closer then a brother to a strangers a year later and I cannot go through life with friends like that if I can’t know they have my back. If I can’t know they’ll come at a drop of a hat. With friends like those, I’d be stuck. 

But now a days I’ve no excuse. I have friends who won’t let me fall. Now I can not recluse when I’m feeling of no use. When I’m hurt, or dirty or feel like death, I must turn back to my friends, the young ones for vision, old ones for wisdom and both for love and encouragement. 
I can’t stay here and itch, try to ignore or think anymore without a friend to know. To lead me back to joy. So when they’re here and I am there, I can give love back, so when somebody needs a friend, I’m there and I have back up and even when I itch again, when I try to ignore the pain, they’ll be there, but even so…….. 
I’ll have there backs. Because that’s what friends are for!

Free Ride:Ride Free

Free ride, when the open road meets the open air and the result is the feeling of gliding. This feeling is flying through forests without focus on the sides, clarity only in front and shrinking reality behind. 


Ride free, when with friends and family, you talk through struggles and reality. When riding is awesome, but freedom is what we seek! When we seek what is infront, what is good and perfect and just and pure and let what falls to the side, let it fade to the shores. As life shrinks behind us, may we not forget what God has done for us, but may we recognize where He’s brought us and seek together freedom through prayer and encouragement. 

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Today, I spent my afternoon with my dear friends and family, Hunter, Andrew and Stephen. We engaged in an activity together that we all enjoy, and I can only speak for myself, but I would say we experienced freedom through it! I just love biking in general, and the fact of being in nature is always freeing for me, but also, opening up your heart to people you trust, I know, is always a good thing! 

Praise the Lord, my soul; all my inmost being, praise his holy name. -Psalms 103:1

Tumbleweed


Overturn, next place, new town.Tangled up, formed together in one ball.

The tumbleweed’s found tumbling past a young lady fumbling through her belongings, trying to come up with another quarter to finish one more load in the laundromat’s washing machine. She overturns her purse to find a single quarter. Be it luck, predestined or prayer, she found it and was thankful to be able to finish her last load before fumbling home.

Overturn, next place, new town. Broken up, Scorched by weather, rolling.

It found itself trapped beneath a farmers wagon. Not much to grow in a drought such as this. If it wasn’t for hope, he’d be drunk half to death, but he holds onto hope like he holds fast to the plow, and will hold on fast until Christ saves him, rains in or takes him. He cannot loose hope. 

Overturned, next place, new town. Broke free, blown by breeze into the city.

Now, near the end of free life, it blew into the the backyard of a boy. If only this boy knew everything he ever learned about his father was a lie, he might not have so much joy. In ignorance and innocence, he pictures his father bringing justice, a cowboy in the wilderness saving woman from distress. So he jumps on the weed, as if it was an enemy from his mothers stories and his own dreams, praying to some day see his daddy who, indeed, he didn’t know he’d never meet. Be it answered prayer or divine destiny, he’d find joy through God the father, trading his dreams for redemption.

Overturned, no new places, three towns. Six feet under, different decades, one with the ground.

Like the tumble weed, these lives ended just the same. Different places, different cultures, different days, but as each passed on, with hope still seeping from their bones, they joined in one hope. Unified on the other side, they would reach the joy found only through their only hope, Jesus Christ.

Moon

I’ve looked to the moon and I’ve tried to fully understand how it works.At times it hides it’s loom, but it has the power to bring light to the dark.

When it’s setting the mood, or accompanying the stars, it’s simply not trying at all.
Now imagine with me for a moment that the moon started to try

That it was no longer mindless, that the man there of would wake and strive. 

He would shine for goodness and hide his face from evil. 

That he would bring peace and rest to parents and children equal.

That each morning, he would bow there to the sun. 
Let us not forget that the moon is just a reflection of the sun.

The sun is the center of the solar system, 

But the moon serves earth and the sun all at once. 

When earth is filled with darkness, the moon gives a hint of what the sun has to show

Giving credit each morning to the one who gave the glow. 

Because this he knows, without light he is nothing. 

Without love, we are nothing. 

What will it take for us to serve like the moon. 
10/15

Dear Artist 

Dear artist, your expression is far more beautiful then any word, or even a thousand could express. As you create, wether it be with words, pottery, instrument or paint, you move into a place that others can enjoy and find a way to relate. Even though their minds are practical, they can escape into the art your mind and body join together to make.

Oh writers, your mind is filled with wonderful stories or essays or poetry or plays. Creations of literary art, that express how humanity was, should be or never could portray.Your diligence to detail and language is amazing, enjoying each word, and letting every one of them impact your life’s framing.

And to you, photographer, the artist of the century. The one who captures beauty in the moments many others leave unseen or strictly in their memory. Your eyes are tuned to a focus not even your camera can always capture, but if you can help it, it will not go un-captured.
And fashion enthusiasts and creators, as you mix and match, as you rip apart and reattach, as you discover or uncover, you put yourself into each inch that covers the canvas also known as your body. 
But artists of every form! Weather you enjoy the creation or stand in awe as your eyes and ears follow them, do not loose your humanity! Do not let your personality be so impacted that your heart can’t feel normalcy. I’ve seen it and felt it, and it changes your perspective if you step back and look at the path you’ve entered. 

Let your art be your expression, not your identity. If your art form was detached from you, would you be more then a corps? You see, Sometimes our art becomes our drugs that hide our insecurities, but the ironic part is, sometimes it just heightens them until all we seek is the perfect song that people will sing, the perfect picture that will get the most likes on the phone screen, read the right book that will make you forget your own pain, or wear the right thing to make people turn their heads to see. 

Let your identity be found in your laughter, your smile, your compassion and your love. Let it be found in your friendships you invest in, your joy and your hugs. 
Connect with reality, people, nature and the creator of it all and let your art be a pure expression of your life. Not the other way around. 
Artist, if we put a price tag on our art and our soul, to be sold to a buyer, which price tag would be higher? 
11/27/15