To all those who think /
there’s a Conspiracy:
What I say now may brink/
on pure heresy.
I’ve heard a lot/
what they have to share./
I’ll tell them what:/
I don’t really care!
I’d rather focus my time/
and attention/
on fixing myself;/
on mind, heart and soul reinvention.
For it’s best, when my changed self is unfurled,/
that I can join with God and help change my world.
Everybody tries to give us
roadmaps for our lives.
Our friends
at the bar,
our buddies
on our sports teams,
our neighbors,
family members,
schoolmates,
coworkers,
our bosses,
the garbageman,
the guy at the store.
Everyone.
They all have a good
idea
of what we should do,
shouldn’t do,
and how we should do it
or not do it,
and why.
Most of these guides
are well-meaning.
They may have some hidden agenda,
some ulterior motives,
but most of the time
they just wish
what’s best for us,
and for our happiness.
So why do we ignore
that one God who loves us
unconditionally.
He who has no ulterior motive
other
than our happiness
and well-being?
He who is big,
and because He is perfect,
and because he knows us better
than we know ourselves,
can give us
the advice and counsel
that will ultimately make us
happy
beyond measure?
Why don’t we listen
to Him?
We all get road maps.
We all get guidance.
We all get advice
from different sources.
Why not get
counsel and advice
from Someone Who
loves us perfectly
and Who only
wants our highest
and best good,
with no ulterior motives?
At His Judgement Bar,/
I don’t want to think or feel:
“Get me out of here!”
If I examine/
my life, change, and follow Him,
what does that look like?
Sitting in the pew,
I am
A clean slate;
An empty chalkboard;
A white doc;
A unformed lump of clay;
A tilled garden;
A blank canvas.
I wait to hear
What He will say;
What direction I should go;
What I will change;
What He wants me to do;
How to best obey.
I’m willing to turn
my life over;
Fill my empty,
clean,
white,
unformed,
tilled,
blank
heart and soul and mind
with His directions.
Begin.
When I get stood up/
on a date, I can always/
do open mic poems.
Some might see, smiling,/
a thumbnail moon, but I see/
a black empty hole.
I tried to type a/
gracious red dress compliment./
My jaw hit the keys.
She asks me: What will/
your verse be? Answer: It’s new./
I write it daily.