Courting

Swing with Me

It’s evening, on our farm
just before the sun sets
You’re in a sundress and
I wrap you in my arms

Come here, sit next to me
Our house is facing West
but I can barely look away
from your angelic face

I remember Psalm 117
Praise the Lord, extol him
for great is His love toward us
Faithfulness of the Lord endures

A summer breeze, as we swing
pushes us like the Holy Spirit
I give thanks for the day
of our fateful meeting

White is now painted pink
the sky dims, the porch creaks
I wonder if it’s all a dream
but Heaven brought you to me

Smile

Let me see that smile again
Find the joy inside and dial it in
I saw the writing on the wall
It said you were always the plan

Scroll

Crackling flames like settling houses
Creaking bones, old tones telling
a story reminiscent
of present experience

Croaking frogs like tumbling logs
Chaos absorbed into the order of things
Delayed
then resurfacing beautifully

A ghost planted in my soul
An isle lily white, untouched
Quiet as hairs standing still
Ink and quill to rolled up scrolls

Rectangle Man

I am rectangle man, flat as a pan
Just yellow enough along the sides
to offset the white front (or behind?)

You are my light and illuminate me
bringing depth to the space I inhabit
I can’t see you; I’m just a senseless fool

Scriptured

Why are you there, wild cherry,
so far from the birds and bees
you visited so often?

I guess you’ve forgotten

Sailor

Take me all the way down
to the deep dark bottom
of the sea

Circular Woman

You’re circular woman, a hole in my heart
You enter one door and exit another
I’m not sure why you even bother

Though I am the darkness that repels you
using cubes to contain what essence remains
Know that I aim to please, not to wall you off

Vernal Equinox

Whitened silver satin lead
graphite pencil outlined head
and body of the Madonna
against the blackest shadow, death

Diamond tipped eyes and lips
galleried flower scents
Bottle up, but sell it not
Best stored in our forgotten vaults

Pinks and creams though poisoned from
milk of the principals
Hatted with a single feather
female Peter Pan in leather

Tip to tip with angel wings
that flap and sail upon the breeze
and glide into the rising sun
on blues that gasp like cobalt glass

_{Support my work}