I died the night my son became,
Come his cry,
And my promises wept;

     For the whiskey bottle’d pass,
     And now over one empty seat.

I died the night my son became,
Come his grin,
And a mother now exhausted;

     Held was her hand, held was his,
     Before the brothers who now hold spades.

I’d earn life the night my son became,
Come his whimper,
And our eternity now in wait;

     Such neon! Were the hours, so howl,
     Would and could –

          Minus I and newest day we’d become.

God stood
On the edge of uncertainty,
On the brink of creativity, ready
To step off and risk his reputation
On a venture that would be his signature dish.
A world stuffed full of flavours,
A realm ripe with potential
For life, for growth,
...For relationships.
But like all relationships, not without risk.
And so, with a smile of anticipation,
He took a deep breath...
And the rest is history.

You see,
Though unseen, soon
The infection of heaven's rebellion
Snaked it's way in through the gate,
Made friends and prompted a short debate
So subtle that man was tempted to partake
Of an apple that caused trust to crumble
So humankind would from then on struggle
And toil to survive outside that paradise lost
Til Christ stepped up and paid the cost
Of the curse we deserve...

But as a foretaste
Of that greatest sacrifice
God was pleased to accept
Flame grilled substitutes,
Instituting a family repast
With crisp, pleasing aromas
Of juices that provisionally provided
Undeserved forgiveness
And tasted of promise
That the Lord will provide
For a new world
With his own lifeblood.

And Isaac went out to meditate in the field at the eventide:
and he lifted up his eyes, and saw, and, behold …
GENESIS 24:63*

You remember, oh Isaac, the face of the bride

From the Genesis foothills of dreaming’s beginning

Arriving with dusk as the sunset was bringing

The camel-bells music, the end of the ride?

The nomadic return of a hope that had died

Like a riverbed flooding and suddenly greening

A promise fulfilled, flowing into the evening

The song and the rhythm of life undenied…

I remember the landscapes, the names, the dark faces

A golden Havilah of biblical places

the handclapping chants overcoding a mystery.

Timeless recurrence; eternity imminent

Israelite graves I beheld on that continent;

Songs of Rebecca: the morning of history.

There are no words
to describe what You were
what there wasn't
what You had
For words were Your first creation
sounds into a void at once brought into being
thoughts of neverending force
shot forth
in the absence of gravity
never to be taken back

artist's hands press her solidly
to a brilliant kaleidoscope of elegant golden bones and glittering skin;
strong palms resting with easy power
on the pliant wilderness of her hips,
heavenly flesh blossoming recklessly
into lush riots
of honeysuckle and savage roses.

from a little girl's shy smile he coaxes
the untamed laughter and rapturous moans of a grown woman's
wild pomegranate mouth;
licks tears of wondering ecstasy from widening, curious eyes,
pulls from her hips the feral undulations that, unchecked,
could unravel a tyrant's paradise.

he offers knowledge,
a sticky, illicit fruit into which she sinks
her
pretty white teeth.

deep crimson juice flows in starry rivulets  
from softly parted lips to heaving ribs,
traverses gently a milky expanse
of breath and taut muscles,

halting to illuminate suddenly
a glowing womb,
freshly radiant with new life.

In the beginning, there was  Genesis (Life),
placing an emphasis
on expressing just what is stressing us
We keep testing ourselves and what's surrounding us
We're always hurting ourselves, shadows are doubting us

But sunny days exist to remind us
the road less traveled keeps our fears far behind us
We seek a glimpse of the hope we're taught to wish upon,
the secret fault in our stars, the ones we're wishing on

Truth is protruding a menacing declaration
Living life bottom’s up 'cause we're searching for inspiration
Matter over the mind, alcohol over manners
Obsessive, manic depressive,
we're always dropping the hammer

We feel the happiness, the hate, and the heartbreak
the undeserving hurt and the fears that raise our heart rate
the fond memories and the catchy melodies,
the lasting friendships and irreplaceable family...

...and then with Life comes  Death,
we see it everyday - the sick and hungry losing health
We make do with the bitter taste of joy,
that sweet scent of sorrow,
functioning in a manner
that distances our tomorrow

Bury the ones that we've lost,
the hands of time are clapping
Standing ovation to loss?
We question what just happened....

...and after death comes  Enlightenment (Synthesis),
We're taking sage advice
from the ones who brought us into this

You give a man a fish?
He's fed and on his way,
but if you teach a man to fish,
you feed him everyday

Rip off a piece of that canvas,
paint to your heart's content,
and trust that we'll understand this
and give you our consent

Very capable of manifesting a journey
so write to the beat of your rhythm
but please, not in a hurry

Just close your eyes and dream,
and listen to the stream
Tune yourself to the infinite
and find your inner theme.