Look Up Psalm 19

How often I forget.

Eyes, razor-like, look on,

Gaze along the horizon,

While stars spindle down

Into my soul like a midnight

Dream, scraping the chill

Off my bones, off my bones.


A local poet named the dark-

Wide-skyscape beautiful; love.

I’m still looking around at

The fading shadows of

Deep evening and shallow morning.

The moon glow lifts my eyes

Off the ground, off the ground.


My cricked neck wearies,

So I settle in the low,

Lay in the dimple of the

Long grasses; their back and

Forth in the breeze frame

The heavens declarations

Off the heights, off the heights.


Caught in a crevasse,

In the lows between

Two rogues.

Who directs these,

And how am I here?


This ocean cannot be

Fathomed as the

Heavens cannot

Be crossed.

To whom do I belong?


The temptation is to jump.

Man overboard, Man

Over bored.

Whether Jesus lays asleep

In the hold,


Or walks on the water’s

Lips, arms out,

Out of the pseudo safety

Of a lifeboat.

Is there any question now?

Ambiguous Intention

I was going to be grateful,

I really was.

I breathed into a new day,

And got distracted

By the bacon and its applause,

By the smell wending to my

Nose while the eggs cuddled

In its campfire grease.

Then I looked away

At the bird perched across

The field under the strands

Of pinkish, blueish, grayish

Morning light,

And I wondered how the grackle

Got so lucky to sit and be.

I got jealous of its ability

To defy gravity,

While I drank a bit of coffee.

Gratitude will just have to wait,

While I sit with my feet

Over the register under my desk–

The furnace kicked on…

I’ll be thankful later.

Look Both Ways, But By All Means, Look.

No parent wants their child

to play in traffic.

This parent didn’t know

so many children are the traffic.

Women and children

jammed in a highway of hell.


The wheels of hollow men merge,

spinning faster in banal queues.

Oppressor and oppressed

become shells, abandoned cars.

No body wins.


It is a thoroughfare of despair

as booths collect their tolls

for a way that leads to death.

Sex in a six lane slab

stalled and overheated.


Victims lay on their horns

which only whimper

while men keep

checking under the hood.



Oh my God,

what have we done?

When did humans

become traffic?


Last night I attended the above event. But I was broken once again over our humanity. At one point the hope in this seemingly hopeless pang was broadcast and historic names were dropped…Moses, Abraham Lincoln, William Wilberforce, Martin Luther King. All were men of prayer and placed their hope in God. As people of faith we can put dents in this. Let us continue to hope in God and become vehicles of hope for the oppressed. Thank you Lindsey for passion that grew into compassion that grew into action. My prayer is that it is highly contagious.

These are the last four lines of T.S.Elloit’s The Hollow Men

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

To which I say…It doesn’t have to end this way.
“The Spirit of the Lord God is upon Me, because the Lord has anointed Me to preach good tidings to the poor; he has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound; to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all who mourn, to console those who mourn in Zion, to give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.” Isaiah 61:1-3a