A Spiritual Valley

Sunday morning Gospel

At a southern Baptist church

Praising with the choir

Listening to the Word of God


Where grudges are forgiven

And friendships re-united

We sinners find forgiveness,

Family, and a home


But here I sit

Alone at home

I couldn't be roused

To my own Father's house


I can hear the church bells in the distance

Calling white-washed tombs to repentance

Calling broken souls to be renewed

Calling crushed hopes to stand firm


Yet, here I sit

Looking out the window alone

Listening to their tolling

Refusing to be more

Than an armchair theologian


If my “deeds” are just words

Then they are not worth talking of

If I didn't speak to my Father today

Then why do I expect answers


If we are “the Body”

Why are we so apathetic

So CONSUMED by our own lives

That our faith wastes away


And as these thoughts come to me

I make myself more comfortable

Still refusing to be any more

Then an armchair theologian.

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To My Wife

I would say I miss you

But you no longer care

You left long before your body

And left me alone with yourself


I'm always thinking of you

Everyone says you aren't worth it

Maybe they're right...

But I thought you were


I wish we could be “us” again

But do I truly miss you

Or simply the relationship we had?

I guess I'll never know


You've kept me at a distance

So far I'd never reach you

Now I suppose I've finally decided

To stop trying

Haiku and Hokku




Winter breathes coldly

A rose on new-fallen snow

Beauty in nature


White carpet without

Inside, the dog sleeps soundly

Dreaming of Spring days


Rain upon the window

Soothing, sweetly singing soft

As I write about it




Family stay near

Life's storms draw close together

What calm drives apart


Special together

As I concentrate on work

She watches TV


Fearing the future

She wraps her arms around me

And holds me tightly




Alluring water-front

Holding magnificent crafts

Warships now at peace


Men of foul language

Cargo brought ashore today

The smell of the sea


Moonlight on the waves

Horns of vessels passing by

A lonely gull cries


Tales and Fables
They say that love is an action
Not a feeling
Then why did I feel that way
Like spiraling down Charybdis 
To the sound of your siren song
Your haunting melody embraced my mind
Teasing me, clutching my heart
Until I could do no more than listen
The pain in your voice evident
The struggle against your very nature
How I wish that I could have saved you
That I had borne you far away
But you knew my thoughts
You sensed my intentions
And saved me instead 
From the surf of your tsunami
So now I sit alone on the sand
And perhaps my greatest torture 
Is standing on the shore of your pain 
And crying out to the oceans that separate us 
To receive nothing but silence in return.


Light and Dark

Sometimes I hear the ghosts of my past

Often they whisper in my ear

Just out of consciousness

Barely audible, but present


Memories of those gone by

Now immortal in my mind

Forever they'll exist in me

Or at least as long as I live


For we are scars on the membrane of time

Carving our existence deep into it's flesh

Dying to gain immortality

Our existence tantamount to the memories of others



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Hills Drive



There’s serenity to being alone when you write,
Being guided by the inspirational light,
A muse to follow and pursue,
To find the words that describe what alludes.


This paper is my canvas,
These words are my paints,
A hyperbole manifesting,
Always the hardest of times,
Always the greatest of rewards.


What we paint lasts forever,
And for that we assume our words
change those around us,
The same way they change ourselves.


We believe they feel our thoughts,
Understand our message,
See the stroke we intended,
Without making a unique interpretation.


And yet again we find truth
that they see what they need,
Not what we wrote, not what we saw,
They understood what they want,
And there is one less lonely thought.


So, while the serenity comes when you are alone,
Don’t forget that paints can be seen in different tones,
And while a painful memory is your bleeding scar,
The light they use to read is coming from a different heart.

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3 Haiku



Dreams they are walking
Spawns more kills more these old streets
8th avenue blues


2 Library


We're closed for today
Bring another day to read
"Tomorrow", I said


3 Windows


Light's getting in through
Questioning eyes they peep out
"I'm old", says the house

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Tales and Fables

The heart within me turned to stone

Like a wolf pack's lonesome cries

Darkness woven in my bones

But starlight fading in my eyes

I hear the whispers in the trees

A wisp's song fluttering on the breeze

But ne'er will I go home again

Ne'er will I go


I heard the call of maiden fair

But swore again I'd go not there

My lonesome crying in the night

Has formed me as a sullen wight

Oh cursed fairy! How could you lead

A child to such an awful deed

For ne'er can I return again

Ne'er to return


Alone at last, my will is done

Now, forever this must be

Before my mind be overrun

To hurt no more, my final plea

My past is lost, the future nigh

My story dead on sands of time

To home I must return again

Again I must turn home

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The gift of life has many stages you see,
First the conception where we came to be
Then comes the birth where in the world we enter
Growing up falls then into the center

The fourth stage is growing old, it can be a long haul
Death is the finale, the end of it all
To some it is welcome, they're just ready to go
Tired of illnesses and feeling so low

For the loved ones it is hard, in fact it's the worst
Wondering why, to God they cursed
Not realizing that it may be for the best,
That the one they love is out of pain and finally at rest

Some deaths are untimely and that is a fact
A full life to live they may have lacked
But everything is done for a reason, don't fear
God must have needed them more than us here

Rather than grieving and feeling so sad,
We could celebrate the life that they had
Just remember to pray and to take God's hand
Because everything from the beginning has all been planned.

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