Poetry & Prophesy:
My poetry is the closest thing to my life; nearly as close as my art. I began writing
(and painting) when I was ten years old. When, at the age of 19, I rededicated my life
to Jesus Christ, I was still very naive about aesthetic values and I feared that
my earlier work was possibly "inspired" by the devil. Consequently, I destroyed my
artwork (except that owned by relatives) and all of my earlier poetry and theatrical
works.
What ever is herein dated to the sixties and seventies is stuff that I had previously
memorized. They are recorded from memory, but they are exactly as they were written at
the time. There was much, however, that was lost completely to me, and now that I have a
more enlightened approach to my art, I regret that loss. I do remember titles and themes
for some of those works, which often mimicked the poetry of Robert Frost. I wrote, for
instance, several plays in iambic pentameter, including "Summer: A Country Philosophy",
and "A Masque of Beauty" styled after Frost.
I have come to a place in my life where I see everything as having a historical and
developmental value to say the least, and even more so, an ability to interpret and
reinterpret our lives for those who come after us. As a result, our artistic endeavors,
however juvenile, however vulgar, however unbecoming, are a window into our souls that help
our predecessors understand what we were trying to express throughout the circle of our lives.
Our work and art becomes an interpreter of our lives, whether past or future. It will all burn
in the Great Judgment. But while we remain, why should it not also retain its life for those
who seek to understand us? For instance, I wish I had access to more information about my
parents and grand-parents, but they are all gone now, and they have left nothing behind for
me to decipher them from but my early and fragile memories.
There remains one more thing that must be said. Some may wish that some of the things I say
in my poetry would remain personal, never shared, or maybe even put to the match as had been
my early work. It is too personal, or exposes too much, or names names. Or even worse, it
rehearses my inordinate feelings about life or other people that should be avoided at all
cost. Love and Hate and Fear and Death. Hopelessness and even lust. Those things were
destroyed once! albeit adolescent ruminations that they were. And as I have already stated,
they will be destroyed again in the Great Conflagration of Eternity before we enter, after
many tears into the Joy of the LORD. But for now those "Pieces of April" and winds of March
allow a perspective that tempers our "Mornings in May" and chill in January (when a Three
Dog Night is most necessary -wink!).
Because poetry (and its second cousin prophesy) is the lamp of the soul and the discerner
of the heart it becomes in essence the dramatis personae of its author to those who want
to understand him. It is the playbill of the soul, and unwittingly, we are all actors on
the stage of life, and cosmogenic artists in the web of history. Without apology I submit
my poetic voice, even when it exhibits the darkest parts of my soul or the most disturbing
or beatific moments in my relationships with those I love, have loved, or love still.
Here is my life and my heart. God is my judge. I will not burn or censor it again until,
happily, I can throw it on the heap at His glorious discretion. Then, I pray, only the
"gold, silver and precious jewels" that I do not yet discern will remain and the dross and
chaff will be consumed.
Click any of the links below to read our review.
From 2021
Up
It Means That Much
Goldfish
The String Diver
From 2020
Daylight Again
Mandy Makes No Attempt
The Prisoner Song
Oh My Ra
The Phone Call
Shineless
Lizzy's Thanksgiving Prayer
A Gender Ditty
Covenant
From 2019
The Viking Song
The Godfather's Admonition
Night Before Friday
Million
The Ring
Hopscotch Bacon
Gracie
From 2018
The Ring
The Flight of the Pig
On the Appointment of BK
Peppers
From 2017
I Cannot Forget
The Sulphur Diet
Rain Haikus
The Death of a Seabird We Could Have Saved
Tap
The Hopeful Cure
The Love of Heaven
From 2016
Etymologies
Rosie Night
A Love Story
Enough
To Low
Constance Came
Tomorrow
Instated
Tummy
The Moth
Carrotectomy
The Interlopers
The Epistle of Joy
I Dream of Her
My Bad Dream
From 2015
Cat Wars
Internettum Ad Hominem
Working into the Night
The Fear of the Lord Prophecy
From 2014
A Flower
To My Gracie
Uncertain Passing by the Day
Laying the Axe to the Tree
Pies and Vodka
Walking the Yard
Shoreline
Orange Bags on a Table
Wooden Ships
Carbonn Sleeps
The Fisher King
My Mis-givings
From 2013
Poplar Rain
Dawn Dream
Hangman
Daylight Through My Basement Windows
Rachel
Basement Thoughts
From 2012
010612 Prophesy for the American Church
Wisdom Prayer
Jerusalem
A Pretty Little Ditty
From 2011
A Dirge Against False Prophets
Memorial Day Prophesy, May 29, 2011
Iris Lies Among the Weeds
Lily's Little Brother
Still
Wellspring Prayer
The Span
Winter Nights
Fall Song
Cold Dogs
From Earlier Years
February Blue
A Black and White Print
I Will, I Say
Offering
Upon the Observation of Another Micro-Pedestrian
A Dust Speck
Bethel Again
Contributaries
Interracial Approvalism
Logos
Looking for Lea
Passing By
Outer Space
Passing
Snowdown
The Leaf
The Mouse
The Oceans Above
The Out-Resurrection
To Demetrius
An Untitled Poem to My Love
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