Letters from Iraq

This poem is dedicated to my sister, former Specialist Amethyste King and MP of the US Army who courageously and selflessly served our nation in Iraq during the war against Saddam.


Created in the image of our parents and God,
we were quite different from the beginning.
You grew, I grew.
You married your high school boyfriend straight after graduations
while I stayed single.
And then we both traveled more,
you with the military and I in Christian love and service.
You were still young when marriage number one ended
as you went into the arms of your comforter and became his wife a bit later.
Beloved sis, we traveled again.
This time with husband two from Ft. Carson, Colorado to Kuwait and Iraq.
I traveled onwards again to China.
Two lives diverged.

It's been years since that time, nearly a decade to be precise,
but our passions haven't waned, you for the military and me for Asia.
I've made it my goal for the rest of this year and the next to strengthen familial bonds.
And so, I've sat down now to acquaint myself with stories from your days in Kuwait and Iraq,
stories I know still affect you but ones I've never bothered to really learn.
I'm sorry sis. I love you. I must read on.

You've just entered Iraq, stability still in question.
Now at the airport in Baghdad. You're struck with how the people beg for MREs and would sell female soldiers
and how people love you there and even how the Iraqis are so bad off (as you put it)
that some purposefully get caught to go into EPW camps just so they can get fed, reunite with family, and be taken care of.
You say you'll do what you have to do when and if that time comes
and admit that sniper fire is near by.
The letters keep going to Mom and Dad as packages keep being sent from them and friends your way.
War and war-like strife changes you quickly in good ways and bad.
In May 2003, you begin to really open up to Mom and Dad about your dreams —
vet school, Craig's proposal, wanting to be a mom —
and your fears — not being a good parent, not knowing how to secure your first house, not making it home alive.
Honesty continues to flow as does anger and sorrow.
Later that month, the mosque lights go out as you're ambushed on patrol,
another humvee is attacked, and a double grenade carrying Iraqi woman is shot dead by your forces.
Iraq gets to you ... daily. You see a counselor,
but what really gets you through the struggles are the memories of family times past and the ones yet to be made
as you strive to make everyone proud with lots of love.
You're fighting for me sis. I love you. I must read on.

Three letters in June arrive quickly, mere days apart.
The first is filled with your and Craig's dreams for a house of your own in Colorado, a gourmet kitchen, and horses for you both.
Maybe I've just been a bit blind to it before, but this is the first letter I've seen full of such hope, such joy, such optimism.
The second letter, 3 June 2003.
The thwump of a baseball in mitts. The shared joy of the camp. The cool relief of a change in shifts.
Not a glimmer of hope but rays of it pelting me in the face this time.
It's good sis, really good!
Besides that, this letter is chock full of desire to soak up every minute you have left with family
as you project days rolling into years full of change and normal living.
You had your first CNN newsworthy assignments in the third letter.
Iraqi scientists who never arrived for the big wigs. Chauffeuring the Secretary of Defense Military Adviser around Baghdad.
You give up a Saturday with your squad to sort through the worth-its-weight-in-gold mail and
explain why teenage Craig infiltrated a Satanic cult and is jaded to Christianity.

It's mid-June now. 130 degrees and a new commander at Camp Victory.
Stupid rules. Hat on ma'am even if the weather is 150 outside and you're done for the day.
Possible United Nations take over in August. You'll hold your breath until you see it.
You vehemently enforced seat belt rules as an MP and consequently couldn't get water or use a phone.
How is that fair?
Is the divorce nearly over?
Iraqi beret and money coming your way soon!
Another letter arrives two days later. Stamped 17 June 2003.
Female Specialist Allen becomes the first to go back States-side. Don't quite get her story,
and you don't get why so many promises (especially for good changes and policies) keeping being broken.
You're so ready to be home with family and air conditioning.
If you only you could wake from this smelly, scorching, sculpting dream that is all too real.
Why didn't I know all this before? Where was I during all of these letters?
Realization hits me. Summer camp counselor at Dogwood Acres. I must read on.

It's late June now. The pictures and faces of home keep you going.
While you continue to serve in Iraq Grandma and Granddaddy Harvell celebrate 50 years of marriage.
Iraqi 5K run coming up soon for you and Craig.
Your letters continue to be brimming with love and thanks.
You call home and talk about Lance and Craig.
You admit you still care what Mom and Dad think of some choices you make like who you're marrying.
Earl's graduation on DVD is bittersweet.
You look forward to spending some time with him when you get to come home.
Awaiting magazines to peruse so that your new wardrobe reflects the side benefit of being in Iraq, maturity!
Yes, like it or not, you earned that maturity today while doing PT.
Bullets whizzing by ears. Body armor and M249. Home front defense. Fratricide.
Everyone now safe but demoralized.
This letter closes with dreams of hillbilly days at Mule Day and the National Peanut Festival.
Final letter this month. I'm impressed you were able to write nine!
You ask more questions about the family you left behind.
I'm so touched that you were so concerned about my Bell's Palsy.
We were both in the dark about it. By the first time I heard of it, I already had it.
I love how you write that even though we had our differences that you didn't like to hear of me having maladies.
Other health problems arise within our kindred.
Our grandparents get noticeably worse.
Granddaddy's weakened and losing his mind to Alzheimer's. Granmer's moved in with Little Granny and Big Daddy.
You want quality not quantity leave time ... whenever it finally comes.
You consider going to Texas or seeing Daddy get his PhD in person.
Looks like this journey is only halfway over by the stack of remaining letters. I must read on.

The letters continue into August with news that 10% of the US Senate has made a surprise visit with you as their escorts.
Also news that one of bin Laden's sons is possibly in your custody too at an EPW camp and rumors that Saddam Hussein had been spotted.
Craig picks up "The Terminator" from the airport while you scoff at the notion of shaking his hand for two minutes.
You break your PT record with a 293 and earn another patch for your Army uniform.
Some of the locals no longer are affectionate switching American gratitude with rock pelting.
You think of Blue Springs and miss family like crazy as you possibly barbecue on Independence Day.
The indefinite stay that began 9 April is now up to three months.
Craig's going to be a sergeant soon and you hopefully a specialist.
More dreams of vet school.
And yes, the divorce is all but final now.
Dad writes you next.
Craig has our parents' blessing as your husband-to-be. You have their acceptance and love and will make a good mother.
I don't know whether it's because I'm reading this post-divorce or what, but I'm pleasantly shocked at how you reach out to Daddy now in the letter.
You clearly express your love for him and even say that you've measured potential relationships with men on how they stand up against him.
I'm into another letter while you continue to shrink on the "Baghdad Fastbuster Program".
Soon your unit will be continuing that trend as as much as 20% of your people are shifted due to Stop Loss being lifted.
Ironic, isn't it?

You keep writing as mortars and guns keep going off.
Work continues to be the same --- old and boring.
Now you have to change subjects so you won't drool at reminiscent thoughts of San Marcos and The Old Ice House.
Pictures and more pictures
that congressmen take and you receive of your unit from earlier deployment days.
You just want to be home and have a normal, non-military life.
Yet, the long, hard, hot days carry on while you must dress in full uniform.
You wonder if others care more about appearances than soldier safety as some are turned away from meals because of "dirty" uniforms.
There's no one to replace you and the other Army MP's.
You, naturally, are quite irate as you long for the simple joys of childhood days like the Opossum Festival.
Finally after four months in Iraq, you get beat in to your new E-4 status, Specialist!
In other news, Spike the wild hedgehog was de-ticked by you and then ate his way to freedom during the night.
And those in the chow hall cower at you and other fellow MP's because your crew hands down wins the award for stinkiest military job!
A new letter. This one asking for help purchasing birthday gifts for Mama, Daddy, and little brother Earl turning 18.
A letter of a different kind. This one from Brigadier General Fruchtnicht thanking you for securely escorting him around Baghdad in July.

Forget about four months overseas. It's now September and you're up to five!
Pretty incredible sis! I know they've been five long, hot, lonely, miserable at times months.
So proud of you, and just now, I read in your email (a first!) that you're coming home,
after an Iraqi wheat field blazes brightly ... but you didn't start the fire.
You work hard keeping things secure and then run 20+ miles a week for PT among other exercises.
A few more emails now to all the family.
You look forward to doing things as a family again and are making it a tad bigger.
More emails exchanged with news that you'll be on a flight headed back to the US on 20 October. Right now you're emailing from Kuwait.
The journey closes with a letter from Kuwait. Craig misses you, but he's assured you'll be supported by our family.

Little sis, I'm proud of you. You sacrificed and served so bravely, so boldly for six long months.
We were both different people when these letters and emails were written, but I was a fool for waiting this long to read them.
I've been encouraged by the hope in your letters, how you kept dreams alive.
I want to grow closer to you sis. I hope that desire in your letters still burns brightly.
I want us to make it a reality one day at a time.

Creation, Fall, Redemption, & Renewal

You’ve always known me,
every single detail about me.

By your very breath you formed me Papa
just as you spoke the Andromeda into swirling existence.
And with each turn and gaseous sparkle from afar,
I am reminded that You’ve always known me, and I,
I love you, Papa.

Your beloved treasure, made for one another, no need for loneliness
because Papa, you were there ... but when sin joined in
You forced them out into a world forever changed to protect from eternal death.
Even in dark moments like this, You’ve always known me, and I,
I love you, Papa

When the pyramids were as young as Pharoah Snefru,
and your beloved people were slaves in Egypt
Until at last you gave them freedom, an Exodus way of life, a glint of shadowing Savior.
You’ve always known me, and I,
I love you, Papa.

And from hopeful glint among days long ago to God among us, Immanuel,
patiently You continue to sculpt us, refine us, renew us
Letting Your glory, Your kingdom, Your will shine radiantly upon our faces, our actions
And so, we, Your Church say, You’ve always known us, and we,
We love you, Papa.

My First Limerick

The hedgehog sat on the edge of the stoop
at the entrance of the grandiose, columned chicken coop.
     Pulled out all of his quills
     With an array of the oddest of squeals
until all of skin did nothing but droop.

Big Boy's Bait & Tackle

Down the small asphalt road just aways
    from my mama and step-dad's house
Lies the little bait and tackle shop, Big Boy's,
    which triples as roadside cafe and junior store
Quaint at first site, promptly turning my stomach
    like a ripe bucket of prawns long-lingered in the sun
My mother explains the could-be ZZ Top doppelgänger owner
    solicits and supports the local KKK
And that oft when sky goes dark and
    the final customers leave
That Big Boy's Bait & Tackle welcomes into its doors
    hate-laced prejudiced Klan members
To scheme the next attacks upon dark-skinned humanity
    My mind and heart are left appalled processing this scoop
And races to entertain thoughts of desired,
    chocolate lovers and friends still forbidden here
Alongside a multitude of reasons why I left
   The South and ecstatically adopted New York City as home
But then, my thoughts turn again
   How do I properly respond with love to this Klan leader?
For I become no different if I return hate
    with hate upon my fellow humanity
And so, I pray a prayer of blessing upon this establishment
    and smile in the brief moment I see melanin not hindering brother helping sister

How do you capture a moment?

How do you capture a moment?
With a photo — click, snap, ca-chink
Or by simply appreciating it
As I do now, peering out
My sheer pup tent window,
Golden amber hues juxtaposed
Against creamy blues and
Pale grays, the day's final rays
I take in with gratitude the slight easterly breeze,
Enjoying the divinity of it both in Creator
And feelings
The birds warble as they flit
Between the verdant oaks, pines, and magnolias
How serene and blissfully rustic
It is here beside the waters
Of Hale's Landing.

In Memory of Sunday

My love for you created tears, tears I know others shared,
     as we grieved for more joyful times with you
I had no idea I'd miss you this much beloved friend
     until you were gone forever into our Papa's arms
To some you were and are just a day of the week,
     but to me, dear friend, Sunday, you are an eternal inspiration
Your radiant smile always brightened any spot
     You entered with ease and your stylish pizazz showed us the way forward
I wasn't ready to see you go so quickly,
     and even in writing this I'm not sure I'll be able to completely process your death
But ... it's a necessary start

Sunday, thank you for being such a good friend
     You truly showed me Christ in every kind and encouraging word
You always brought such joy to my days with your zest for life
     and uplifted me with every prayer for our difficult circumstances
It's not just me that saw these qualities about you.  Others did too.
     And so, in your darkest times, we prayed for you, visited you in Texas
The aneurysm was too much to keep you here, but perhaps
     it will bring your family closer to one another as you wished, prayed, and worked for
Sunday, you are celebrated both in New York and now in Heaven
     Dance for the Father now above.  See you again assuredly one day friend.

♬ A Prayer Poem Song ♬

Draw me close to You
I'm listening
I know You're here for me
Draw me close
Move oh God

Neo Psalm II

I stand ... broken, shattered,
God wash over me, cleanse, renew, revive
I sit, trying to connect with You now
Wanting intimacy, renewal
God wash over me, cleanse, renew, revive
Connect. Speak.
Smash the boxes we've stuffed You in
or attempted to anyways
I look to others now to find praise
Encouragement around me
Determined to be real with You, soaking in both
God, a part of me doesn't know what to do,
but I will trust in You and who You are
I will be vulnerable and transparent
I will continue forward in this painful, transformative process

The Descent

I see today that I've never been good at this
My heart's too soft, both a blessing and a curse
motivating me to compassionate service
yet ripping me to shreds emotionally, illogically
For weeks, no big deal?!
It is a big deal to me if it means
being removed EVEN for good reasons from beloveds
Revolving door, massive wall out to meet me again
It is not easier this go around, not one bit!
In fact, it feels more painful
I will not let myself simply put a Band-Aid on this struggle
I choose to face this, tears still pouring down my face
I expect to cry until my face literally hurts ... again
Not what I want, but how do you stop a tsunami?
I know this is illogical, I know too I simply, honestly hurt
Yes, there are many things that could help ... BUT
they are not solutions ... merely temporary distractions
I do not wish to love less or for my heart to grow cold
but I admit I need help to put even one foot in front of the other
to traverse this lonely valley
And though I know YOU go with me,
my journey does not feel any less lonely
I think You will need to carry me for a while

Crossroads

God, sometimes you are just so mysterious!
Now is one of those times. So many options.
I feel my desperation; I ache.
I sit and wonder when will HE arrive.
What am I to do now?
You say faith is believing without seeing,
Trust, simply put.
And, I've come to a point in my life
Where I must walk, a bit blindly, onward
Knowing that You will meet my pain and wonder
With good, with hope, with strength,
With exactly what I need and many of my wants.
And so, I await your direction, your divine provision.
Perhaps I will stay in Betel or journey to Spain.
Maybe my holy path will lead to Menno House.
Is my next direction San Fran or Hell's Kitchen?
I see not, but you will lead me.
And though this is a bit painful and sad to bear,
YOU WILL LEAD ME.
For there is no other help or hope but YOU.

Reflection of Dennis

Yes, my hands are hardened and black
callused from lonely hours in the sun and the work I did in my former days
Though your eyes will not venture to even dignify my presence now
My hands remind me of the wife I now hate,
she whom I cherished and so I became a slave
I toiled laboriously to provide for our six children
Three were miscarried, the other three have grown to disown me
I try and block them from my memories
And yet, the shadow I try to deny, bears flesh
when gentle babe are present
We embrace in fatherly touch, breathing cryogenic life into memories I froze,
chose to not kill and untruthfully "deal with" later
Monk battling languages in France, foolhardy youth,
eventually I came to you in America
You became mine ... AND now ... I hate you for it
The bitter wine I drank from your cup led me
to liquor of a different taste, sweet for a time
You'll never read this, so I have no shame
in admitting that you are the last woman I will be with,
the last one I'll pour the depths of my heart into
You have stolen from me
Therefore my course is to rob humanity of my affection
I will keep it all for myself now because of spite
Perhaps I will die the bitter man that I am now soon
If that be my fate, I die fairly judged

Dream Killer

Disappointment sets in
Death of my dream
My Isaac finally killed upon the altar
Take me out of this dark pit
Give me wings to rise
Let victory be at hand

Aching For You

This lingering ache is killing me as I await you,
longing for the epic day when you'll say "I do."
I want your comforting presence now, your arms around me
The scent of your cologne permeating time and memory as I see
Your delicious smile and beautiful eyes staring back into mine.
Too many times, I've felt my name's just a tease as I await the Divine
To make my deepest dreams and hopes reality,
You and I. Our children. Affectionate family.
I cannot fathom now why this had to be the perfect plan
Not when I hurt like this, unrelenting loneliness, attributed to lack of man.
I pray for you, have prayed for you, wondering if you ache as well
Just having you in my life won't make things swell.
Our relationship will have its problems like all couples.
I pray our unconditional love and patience will let us rise above our troubles.
How I ache for you!
Longing for the epic day when you'll say "I do."

Bemused

I sit and wonder what is happening to my heart
At night you fill my dreams and thoughts
Is this a facade or are my oneiric musings reality?
You will bring elation to someone even if you aren't meant for me

Victoriosa

Darkness went forth engulfing all that entered its mouth
Tumult, despair, and destruction followed
Wrath sent down its fury, blind to all the good before it
Its belly consumed, darkness turned inward yearning to crush the lives seized within

The light raged, slashing and avenging those held captive by darkness
Lives tumbled out of the Stygian abyss
Yet hope and encouragement were still blind, an effect of the shadow,
And so their help was stigmatized and feeble

Where will our help come from wondered those formerly confined

Though darkness had atrophied its victims, they would not merely relent to death

They fought as one collective, giving help where others were weak

Until hope and encouragement were healed and joined in the epic struggle unto victory

Reflecting on Stained Glass Masquerade

You say, "Come, weary one"
but I plug my ears and silence Your voice.

You say, "I love you unto forever"
but I avert my eyes from seeing Your truth and grab hold of ethereal, biting lies.

You offer me sufficient grace and mercy anew
but I choose to drag around damning condemnation.

O stubborn, wretched heart and mind, rest in this moment,
simply abide in the truth of the eternal Father, and accept his forgiving love.

Let it be said

Behold. Here it is!
This is how I want to be remembered.
Let it be said that I am she who loved well.
Devoted to The Creator, Yeshua, and the Spirit Who Comforts
because He first loved me well unto ultimate sacrifice.
Endowed with His seed, incapable of stopping the storehouse
of compassion and grace from Him deep within from being locked inside.
Thus, obeying and loving fellow humanity well, in service and sacrifice also.
Yes, if I am to be remembered at all, let it be said
that I am she who loved well one day at a time.

The Passion Week

You borrowed a donkey's colt
for your triumphant entry and returned it
Then, you cursed the fig tree, made it wither,
because it did not bear fruit
And as you entered Jerusalem's temple,
you redirected foot traffic and household goods reinstating Your Dad's house of prayer
By trickery and intent, the scribes, elders, and chief priests came to you
their intent spiritual treason
But you saw their hearts and knew of their hypocrisy,
and so, you blasted through their questions
With parables and determined force, you showed that love was
your greatest intent and our primary eternal calling

Letter to Yumi

My dear, dear Yumi,
I know it has been a while,
but you are still my friend.
Stop in for a quick coffee a week ago, fed a tidbit of news,
and my world is as changed as your country.
Precious hours go by before I can hear and see more.
It disturbs and devastates me. Deep sorrow enters in.
Buildings shake. 9.0 earthquake.
Tsunami. Towns washed away.
Others washed up on shore as the decomposing deceased.
Whirlpool swirling for days.
Ships are dashed like the dreams of many.
How will Japan recover? Are you even alive?
I cannot account for you though I try many times.
Are you among the current 11,000 missing or 8,000 dead?
My heart is truly broken.
I don't know how much more I can watch or hear.
But even if I plug my ears and cover my eyes,
still you and the destruction will haunt me.
Soon, if not already, the radiation will drift its way here.
Already lives are being lost to nuclear exposure
just to keep Daiichi from exploding.
Even now the shamed scavengers hunt for food
for their kids and elderly parents.
Children search among the shelters for their family
resolute in returning tomorrow to continue the search.
Dear Yumi, please write back soon.
My heart cannot take wondering your fate.
My mind cannot rest. My eyes fill with tears again.
And so, I pray again for your safety,
for your country's peace,
for love and mercy to be tangibly felt in your nation.

Beauty in Transit

Crowded train this morn. Weekend track construction to blame.
My eyes journey down the car's path.
I see beautiful smiles, some hiding, barely poking out,
on the faces of the few children amidst the adult throng.
It is a lovely joyous sight, captivating.
Brown skin. Yellow skin. Mixed languages.
This is why I chose not to drive in the city years ago.
Me, alone in a car, fighting my way through
frenzied taxis and undisciplined drivers.
Or this child-like joy --- delighted recognition
and appreciation of God's face in these I see now.
There is abundant beauty in moments like these.

Pinesol Up My Nose

The mop and bucket have come out. Chunka-chinka-swish.
It's time for night jobs here.
My conversation with friends is disturbingly interrupted now
because Pinesol is up my nose.

My face wrangles all up.
My nose is atwitch. Expressions change bemusedly.
"What's the matter? What's the big deal?" ask my friends.
"I've got to go now," I tell them, "because Pinesol is up my nose."

"Whaaa?" says one friend.
"It's just Pinesol, not a big deal," says the other.
They clearly don't get it, though both are well-meaning.
See my senses are hypersensitive, so my vibrissae are disgustingly attacked by attached aroma
because Pinesol is up my nose.

Breaking Boxes' Borders

YOU were not meant to all boxed up, for your limits stretch beyond those boundaries.
By your very hands, creation's confines were established.
Sun and moon and stars. Galaxies to subatomic particles.
Your hands and mere words breathed them into existence to bring wonder and delight,
pointing us back to YOU, to fill and extend beyond.

It is a wonder that captivates, how you are so grand and yet intimate.
Let this knowledge be the death of constricting legalism.
Embracing transcendent love that sifts through like hour glass' uncapturable grains.
Moving us to endow familial ardor upon the mortals YOU cross our paths with
in devotion and recognition of mutual divine seed with sincerity.

The Shore of My Heart

The waves have rolled in upon the shore of my heart
striking with jellyfish tentacles, searing a bit of poison upon the surface
I take the poison, emotion arising, and let the ebb continue
Thought, thought, perchance mindless thought,
the waves roll on bringing the tides of indecision, hurt, forgiveness, contentment.
Come walk with me upon the shore.
Leave your criticisms and disappointments behind.
I simply want you to enjoy this walk with me free of judgment, free of sorrow.
I am not the rock for you to build your foundation upon.
Sadly, I will fail you. It is mutual. It is normal.
But if love covers a multitude of sins, why can't you see it?
Do not dam up the ocean. Let the tides of forgiveness, acceptance, and love flow.
Come walk with me upon the shore.

Throne Room

No pretense.
Your scepter extended to me.
In your throne room.
Accepted.
Beauty in stillness.
Quiet praise.
In your arms and love.
Rest.
Freedom.
Your fragrance, intoxicating.
Complete peace.
Hope.
Abiding presence.
Delight.

Harmony

Melodic beauty permeating
Above. Below. Around.
Ringing in my ears, in joy
Symphony of sounds
I take it in
I harmonize, in appreciation
Of vocal variations
And song-prayers
In tones needlessly correctly pitched
Merely joyfully offered

There's An Angel In Our Midst

There's an Angel in our midst,
not the kind with wings and white flowy robes,
but one with the most radiant smile
and a kind and generous heart.

He fills our home with laughter,
freely giving to all who are patient enough to listen,
and ample amounts of love
that would warm even the coldest of places.

He is my friend and brother,
funny how all this happened so quickly,
who tells me that I am part of the half
of women who are not troublesome.

He leaves us to return to his family for a time,
and will be missed greatly here,
before moving on with his life
to live simply in service and solitude.

Home

"I have no home," she said to me.
There I sat and pondered her thought.
What is a home? I thought
What would it be like for me to have no home?
How do we properly define "home"?
For "home" is more than a four-letter word.
Its boundaries are not limited by geographical dimensions.
Home is where we are liberated to fully be ourselves without fear
A place, perhaps THE place, to live outside of restraints imposed on us by the world.
Home is a place of rest and absolute security.
It is where we laugh, we love, we live, we give, we enjoy.

Bubble Head Girl

I'm the girl with the bubble head on,
in my own world today
Trying to silence
the cacophony raging around me
Rage! Rage! In seemingly vain attempts
to capture elusive peace
So sink me to the bottom of the ocean,
melodic surf quieting my soul
No need to rise above the water
the mermaids will take me in
Simply serenading me to bliss
with the stillness of it all surrounded by water's gentle touch

Eduardo

Mi maestro. Patient with me.
Cuando hablo muy lento, tu comprendes.
Never fixated on conjugation. Grateful.
Simply allowing me my mistakes. Mi tortuga.

I don’t want to say goodbye. Solamente hasta luego amigo.
I will miss you greatly friend.
Because of your help my Spanish has quickly improved.
Gloria a Dios.

Back to beloved Spain.
Though gone, I will remember your smile and our shared laughter.
Como cuando decir mi cabeza esta una sopa ahora explota.
I hope we meet in Sevilla again.

Take You In

I want to take you in as the air
Never thinking, only breathing

I want to feel you like my pulse
Never thinking, only living

I want to abide in your tranquil river of peace
Never thinking, only deeply content

Swimming in Mud

I feel like I'm swimming in mud now,
like you pushed me in.
You took away my choice when you pushed me,
but I'll accept this fate.
Father, up on the lake's edge,
throw me a life preserver, let your wisdom come down.
Wash the muck of unintended situations off
and let Your honest peace enter in to resolve this awkward mess

Rio Antonio

Antonio, you are a strong and humble river
pushing what needs moving forward with ease and grace

You have been vulnerable, spilling forth your water,
and when your gorged banks overflowed you brought the entombed flower blossoms to life

The bends of your river have taken you through the desert
while you learned to rest your hope on Him above and taught others how to flow likewise

You are the determined river that penetrated craggy rock
and brought your blue delight into parched sojourners

Oh river, part of you is evaporating soon, a reinvented river for us to behold
as a glorious rainbow to always remind us of your joy, warm smile, and laughter

Antonio, tu eres un humilde y fuerte rio,
moviendote y empujando facilmente y con gracia hacia adelante.

Has sido vulnerable, derramando el agua
y cuando sus bancos se desbordarón, las flores sepultaron la vida.

Las curvas que tu rio han tomado a traves del desierto,
te enseñaron a descansar en esperanza, por encima de los demas y enseñastes tambien a fluir.

Eres un rio azul poderoso, que penetras en escarpadas rocas
y el pelegrino sediento se deleita en ti.

Oh rio, parte de ti se esta evaporando rapidamente, como un rio inventado por nuestra vista,
como un arco iris glorioso, que nos da alegria y nos saca una sonrisa.


Note: Spanish translation compliments of my friend, Eduardo Manuel Arias y Baz.

Upon Hearing Ray

Well Ray, you say you gotta woman,
but I'm wondering if I can
ever find the man who wants to be
with me, who'll mean it when he says he loves me

Don't sing me some soul
just give me yours
So our rhythm and blues
will be nothing but a unified dance of life

A Prayer to Stoke Love's Dying Fire

Free and true
make my love unto you

Revive the fire that's died within
relationship renewed, let sincere passion begin

Desiring what You say is good
in total sincerity not simply because I should

Pine, yes let me pine,
until your reflection is completely mine

Music Isn't Colored

Music isn't colored
though it colors the world.

There's blue jazz
and the blues.

Red taiko drums forcefully struck
with tan sticks.

Porcelain white face masks donned,
sparse notes ring out during Noh.

"Black, black everywhere" conjectures only the ignorant
when death metal and rap play.

Is green the color of bodhrán and penny whistle
and céilidh and jig?

And white is not the lone color
of square dancing and contradance.

No, music isn't colored
though it colors the world.

Ode to Simoné Van Der Berg

Simoné, we've only just begun to know one another
But I must already tell you that you ... simply ... inspire me

You, who took care of her grandma when no one else would or could for love
You, though a child, actively assuming an adult's role as provider and source of security

Somehow, some way you found the School of Hope, your saving redemption
And so, you've seized your chance to erase the past, to jettison gangs and young motherhood

Now you arise as a captivating phoenix displaying a beautiful new story for others to follow
With family who've become friends, a playful spirit, and a destiny filled with hopeful service

You are fun and brave. We met because you dreamed and dared enough to step onto another bird
And fly here --- with your glorious kinky hair, creamy mocha skin, and eyes that bid me enter into your soul

Your path from Jo'burg to the City That Never Sleeps has given you new chapters
Transformed, your doubts buried in their concrete graves, by ordinary New Yorkers walking the streets daily

Now you stand blissfully tall walking in complete even in solitude
You are free, filled with hope, living out of the box, setting others free from their invisible barriers

You return soon to South Africa knowing life will never be the same
You will make sure to encourage your younger brother and sister to graduate from school

Simoné, you will, you are making a difference determined to inspire
And so, at your watch, there will be no more poverty and kids will finish school to live hopeful lives

On My Walk Home

big breeze blows biting bitterly
coldly caressing chilled cheeks

Jim's Ode

"He'd have kittens!" he said,
with not the slightest look of dread.
Desk moved, office a ruckus.
Party ready to begin!
Approaching living with spunky vibrancy.

Untitled

In the darkness the shadow appeared
calling to her, a most comforting, yet despised siren
She wrestled in the night, reminding herself of what had come before
trying to silence the siren’s pleas
And in the struggle, the lion appeared, roaring ready to devour
He was cunning, an old foe, who knew her well,
though one, more ancient, knew her better
The lion closed his mouth, for now, knowing he could lead her
the trivial trinket dangled before her, alluring, just enough
The soft, velvety paws, began to walk, drawing her from the spring
She followed him along the ridge and journeyed down, down
Each step drew her closer, yet more distant, to intended destination
The surf lapped upon the shores, wave after wave
beckoning like the deceptively gentle undertones of the lion
Purrs muddled with ebbing current, the serenading Bacchic pipes arousing
Inhibitions gone exchanged for pleasure and fantasy,
she plunged into the salty waters and drank deeply
She swam until the tide made her weary and return to the shore
There she lay, finally comatose, upon her grainy bed
The lion opened his mouth once more delighted at his fallen prey
Unable to stir or speak, the effects of the salt water, she could only but watch
He encircled, relishing her scent, sniffing with glee, taking his time to consume
Fantasy turned horror, mute, convicted and paralyzed
She could do nothing except await his impending, flesh-piercing, lacerations
Overwhelmed with desire, he leapt upon her as silent screams echoed forth
Butcher savagely, the lion thought, and yet with each vicious bite
blood and salt water surged forth from her mouth and wounds rendering healing
The lion ate without remorse consumed with hateful desire and gorged himself
Invisible before him, a new woman lay, revived and free from her saline death
Though he was deaf to her words, she thanked him for liberating her
appreciative of unintended pedagogy and renewal, returning to the spring

Seesaw

Elusive seesaw. Why can I not find you?
Have you been hidden in the sandbox?
Why stay encircled by the Ring Around the Rosies?
I have enjoyed this game of Hide-and-Go-Seek too long.
Do you not make yourself visible because you think me too old for the playground?
My childhood has not passed.
And so, I sit, and await you on the swings.

Dawn Breaks Anew

Dawn broke over the field,
Light piercing the blades of grass,
Like shards etched out of the ice
As graceful skater weaves seamlessly to and fro.
The cold seeped into him until he was numb
To all but his pain and the relentless lies.
He awoke.
Another day to drink his wounds away,
To forget the hateful shouts of
"I wish you were dead."
"You are the son I don't have any more.
Get out of my life!"

He ached for his pain to leave him.
Yet, it followed him, his inseparable shadow,
Wielding taunt after taunt
Until he believed the lies and they became truth.
Loser. That's all I am, he thought.
A bum for life, my wretched destiny.
And so, he took his dole and drank it away
Until hands shook without ceasing until inebriation.
Friends parted. Deception became daily reality.

"God, if you are real, why don't you help me?"
"Why AREN'T you helping me?"
"You must not be real then!"
Agony. Mental torture. Sorrow. Loss.
He consumed his fulvous pints in vicious cycle.
Stellas next. Then gum. All counterfeits to hide the shame.
Surrounded by humanity but constantly ignored.
Loneliness and falsehoods his best mates.

Nine years later. Copious love, grace, and hope gently sown.
A transformed man with a grateful heart.
Atheist turned Christian.
Cheeky but tender with those who live as he once did.
Brilliant. Renewed. Comical. Patient with distinction.
Beloved son.
A father some day soon
Writing new futures bright with ambition and purpose.
Radiating smile both now and then
Revealing the light deeply placed within.

Neo Psalm

Oh Lord, I cry out to you
My spirit calls out to you
like the cascades of the rushing waterfall
Pain spills forth
Struggling thoughts
Words evaporating from my mind
Indescribable Elusive
Journeying forward, not aimlessly,
but with the path before me only in darkness
Light penetrating Aid coming forth
This will not be the last time
This is only the next time
Fighting to see truth
and not believe lies

Epitaph

26. Started selling at 11.
Heroin, your partner at 13.
False ecstasy in your nostrils.
Fleeting, just as your stay here,
leaving me in tears, shattered.
Light returning in your eyes,
a mere flame for you to snuff out.
Crumpled dreams. Hopes destroyed.
Your Medusa calls you forth.
Snow outside. More expected.
Still you go. To Camden?
To your familiar war zone?
To brokenness and abuse.
Here lies healing and
a different future. Dead.

Eternia (AKA Silk)

Dropping dope beats
She hits hard like the floor
Killin' em on the stage
In heels, with class,
Not promoting sexuality
But going strong
All night long

Christ in her heart
Eternity placed inside her
Before she was Annie or E
Humbly she bows
Her heart before Him
Knows her vices and confesses
Longing to be filled not spiritually dehydrated

A different kind of missionary
Placed in the hip hop crowd
Reaching where others won't go
Globe trotting for Him
Grace, provision, miracles
In Australia, Canada, and Austria too
He is with her as she goes

My sister, my friend
With me through my struggles, my ish
Listening ear, loving eyes
No fear, only peace
As iron sharpens irons
Growing stronger together in 2011
Arm in arm