beasts made out of pieces of clay
my God is an artist
the reason he makes these beasts is to play
with the clay when it hardens

angels feel no danger in the throes
my God is so fearless
don't try to look his almighty in the toes
when his steps are so careless

I.
In the beginning
God was,
And the blackbird
Was not.

II.
And Adam called it a blackbird;
And that was the name thereof.

mosquito
made by
God
con spirito,
buzzzinging
by my
ear
(while birds are singing),
God
made u
& i

As true as the Trinity
And Christ's divinity,
And as heavy as gravity,
My total depravity
Is undeniable.
But God created me justifiable,—
Me, who's more of a Don Knotts
Than an Isaac Watts.

As I breathed in deep fresh air,
its sharpness a timely kick to my lungs,
I uttered words of praise to God –
these words were unfeigned honest feelings.
Instantly a smothering weariness slackened its grip, faith and nature the sure-fire tonic to fragments of a bruised soul.
Overhead, Terns coasted: side to side like a pendulum.
Swirling unseen, the wind stroked my exposed skin
as the springy grass began to waltz between my uncovered toes –
the sunlit reflections on a glassy brook
unveiling a gaiety
etched on my widening smile.
Crisp water in cupped palms slapped against my butter-soft cheeks
that flushed a plump-wine-red
(full of fruitful vigour),
and satisfied the thirst for assurance – invariably found within the Lord.

Of all the moms that grace my life,
     Mom, you're the mom that's best of all.
I thank You, God, for my awesome mom,
     The bestest mom since mankind's fall.

Innumerable . . . stars are
countless joys so immeasurably far
laughter . . . shimmering silently
or lamenting twinkling tears

mysterious messengers fluoresce
what wonders are wrought . . . so wordless
in spiral formulae undiscovered
inscribed by ancient seers

a murmuring quiescence pulsates
to a childlike sorrowful  plea
eternity pauses to listen
to a prayer . . . from Gethsemane


wh gv Mar.16.2007

On sixth day:
you made us after your likeness,
to go on to be fruitful and multiply,
The Images of worth;
of a great love's flamed fuel,
You paid for it all, for the weight of my sin.

Jesus held it all.

In the abundance of life,
Like a piece of art;
your love an ornament in my eyes.
You saw me as herald and royal,
even when I didn’t feel as much.

Bare of my heart; guiltless of my shame,
naked, being vulnerable into your love.
I have no cares of this world to sustain me,
I've been left empty by it,
though on it's rocky grounds; the righteous
aren't shaken.

The God of my all; in the little that I have,
The words of Salvation; in the promises you've made,
The light of my path; on the days that I walk,
The song of protection; in life’s destructive chorus,
The echo of light; for the brightest of days.

On shaky ground; His foundations are my steady,
In empty days; He’s the fullest to my mornings,
To what do I owe to be given such love?

Nothing! Of what good works can give,
But rather the praise and adoration I have for him.
Nothing! Of what seems impossible,
Will be too impossible for Him.
Nothing! Of what the enemy plans,
Can stand against in the wayside of Him.
Nothing! Of my constant worries,
Will stop the love of the Lord our King.

Nothing! Is impossible,
for nothing is as great as Him.

The Holy Bible, th'historie of man,
     And God and man, and God as man on earth;
     The true account of how the world began;
The treasure mapp that leades to love and mirth;
The looking glasse wherein is seene the faire
     Image of God, and all mans ugly sinnes;
     The written word of God for ev'ry heir
Of saving grace who runnes the race and winnes;
The booke of lyfe writ in my Saviours bloud,
     Dictated by the Spirits whisper'd breath;
     The foil for ev'ry curse; the cure for death;
The greatest booke about the greatest good;
     The pasture for the sheepe; the sheepefold rod;
     Manna from heav'n; the ladder up to God.