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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 2017

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Book Reviews Article Posts Culture Wars Bible Commentary Public Domain Poetry & Prophesy Event Horizon
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