Tag Archives: Poetry


Something in you is different than something in me and suddenly

we are two trains…

one is traveling at the rate of 74 km per hour and while trying to convert that to miles to figure the approximate point in time they will reach the intersection,

the other is practically jumping its tracks because

graffiti is art too

and two lovebirds are eloping in one of her cars.

For heaven’s sake, pop the cork and sit on that chair.

Not the brown one, but the big fluffy one that I thought could be off limits the first few times. Like maybe one of those sitcom dads would appear at the top of the stairs wagging his finger to the amusement of the studio audience.

It didn’t happen.

I will curl up on the ottoman and have the audacity to paw at your knees every so often in a sort of mixed up, shaken

hopeful expectation.  Not today?

ok. Maybe tomorrow.

But for tonight that knee-high-to-a-grasshopper-red-headed-kid

is whispering

sweet somethings:

Is God real?

And God is leaning in dizzyingly close.

He wants

to hear the answer

so that

He can rejoice too…

Like that time I got excited about the oreos, mulitplied by



the regret.

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Between the ( )s.

There are a precious many things I (have) learn(ed) in this life:

1. how to fuse two metals ( ) with an oxyacetylene torch

2. at what precise setting my toaster will yield the preferred ratio of light brown to that delicious ( ) umber

3. that in order to make a child feel truly adequate they must toe the ( ) line between expectation and praise

4. making friends ( ) can be done ( ) gently and wordlessly and within three minutes

5. that there is an acrobatic balance to conveying a point to ( ) a room full of wide-eyed kindergarteners ( )

6. how to frame in a room ( ) painting an entire wall, preventing ( ) mistakes

7. at just what point he will ( ) be proud of me

8. that life is meant to be ( ) lived

1. (without creating a pool of red hot liquid)
2. (and somehow still elusive)
3. (somewhat arbitrarily created)
4. (and enemies) (on occasion)
5. (and utterly confusing) (who sometimes flourish better in the confusion, anyways)
6. (before) (and sometimes doctoring)
7. (begin to)
8. (excavated between its small curved lines and beneath the noise of the obvious rather than just)

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Digging below the clutter and
Diving beneath the noise
We are warmed by the peace of silence
And sovereignty wraps around our shoulders like an embrace


Sinking below the stirring sounds
Leaving distractions alone to serve no purpose
We surround ourselves in your presence
Our eyes delight in the simple searching of your face




How much more the tone of your voice within the context of the quiet
How much more the warmth in your eyes when there is nothing else to pull our gaze from yours.
How diminished is our self-seeking voice
And how august our words of praise
When our voice is allowed to reach your ears.




Pressing in, further still
We are rewarded, in turn, by mercy
Gently speaking worth into our being
Gently affirming our significance within your design


The hunger that was absent just moments before
Is insatiable now.
It is manifested in the way that we cannot even begin to imagine
Walking away from the fire.



How much more the touch of your hand when we crave your guidance
How much more the comfort of your arms when we can no longer hold our own weight.
How quiet are our worries and
How confident our smiles
When we are allowed to share in your significance.


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Love is a small voice.

It is not the loud thunderous shout that demands a reciprocation of sacrifice,

But a quiet

I am here.

And you are here.

Let us be here together.



A friend asked me to write on my thoughts of love. And I don’t mean the ooey gooey romantic kind. I mean Love in general. This is as far as I got. 🙂

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