Garbage Maker

Broken wagon, bumping along.

Syrupy servant, slave to the throng.

Apple core, garbage maker.

Slide down the chute, sweet as paper.

Eleven angels, swept away.

Sunny anthem, better day.

Eggshell happy, loud triumphant.

Nothing sacred, nothing wanted.

Up the downspout, close the question,

Get’r done. Put on headset.

Leave a jury, make a note.

Rally flurry, dig a moat.


Walking on Water

Walking on water

Is possible

If you are God,

But Jesus said

We would do

Even greater things,

With the power

Of the Holy Spirit.

It’s hard

To believe that, though,

When I get so caught up

In my own limitations.

Sometimes I wonder

If God can really use me.

But God used the apostles,

And they were

A ragtag group

If there ever was one.

But I am not a preacher,

Or a healer,

Or a teacher.

What can God

Do with me?

A Trampled Path

Looking through a glass darkly,

I see the plank in my own eye.

Loving with weakening arms,

I cannot carry the weight I once did.

But I do my part, if only that

Which leads me down a trampled path

In a clearing, in my athletic shoes.

Safe in my mind, with reckless abandon,

I drive my car down the street.

Obstacles escape my path.

I am new to this world.

Why not?

It’s worth a try.

Roaming Again

Knots unraveling.

The smoothness of the ocean breeze.

Tight spots on the freeway,

Close calls on my merry way.

Pricks to my legs as I pass through brush,


The sun bathes my head.

I am clean now, ha ha.

Realms of wisdom

Bubble up from around my feet.

My church cries out,

There is an answer!

My arms wrap around

Your writhing body,

Caught in the act.

Questions, always.

Interrogate me,

And I’ll tell you no lies.


Walking through a cornfield,

Aiming randomly

At my way out.

Swimming in a creek,

Lost in the current,

Not knowing which way is up.

Look inside myself,

To see the way.

Love is calling me,

God is speaking my name.

Twist and turn,

Through weeds and withered limbs,

Wildflowers and grass.

There is an answer.

Just keep breathing,

Keep looking,

Keep going.

Getting Back Up

Feeling like falling,

So, I get back up.

Who’s to know my story?

Who’s to give a care?

I am only one,

But together we are mighty.

Space fills my chest.

Breathing in sunshine.

Such a funny carnival ride.

Come to see

My retro Ford Model T.

See my hands,

How they have grown wrinkled.

My skin is pale.

My heart is sore.

My head is empty.

Can you see the ending?

Such a proper pitiful state.

Such a hungry boy,

Waiting to be Christened.

So many years of falling down,


Then getting back up.

So many sad endings,

Only to prepare for another beginning.

Too soon to tell now,

But I expect there is still hope.