The Hands of Jesus

There’s a painting upon a wall,
Of my Lord, Jesus Christ,
Etched in paints and colors,
Depicting a man of light.
To each the painting means something a little different,
To some a foe a myth,
But to the Christian a Savior and friend.

To many they see his eyes,
Warmed by the love the painter tries to show,
While others they notice his blood,
Horrified by the gruesome death and gore.
Yet others notice his skin,
How it’s not historically correct,
But when I see this painting of Jesus,
I can’t help but to be drawn to his hands. Continue reading


Stars & Whales

The heavens declare the glory of God,
    and the sky above proclaims his handiwork (Psalms 19:1).

“But ask the beasts, and they will teach you;
    the birds of the heavens, and they will tell you;
 or the bushes of the earth, and they will teach you;
    and the fish of the sea will declare to you.
 Who among all these does not know
    that the hand of the LORD has done this?
 In his hand is the life of every living thing
    and the breath of all mankind” (Job 12:7-10).

Continue reading

A Psalm of Thankfulness


O GOD, You are my God.
How long has it been,
since I’ve said, “Thank You?”
How many blessings have You given,
that I have yet to be grateful?

Your well knows no limits,
my cup overflows.
You bless beyond contentment.
In the midst of evil,
You are still good.
Though there is pain,
bullets, and brokenness,
I can take heart in the God of goodness.
Though sometimes You seem far,
You are always so close.
Though I am imperfect,
You make me whole.
Your mercy saves me
from the presence of Your holiness.

Your love and mercy knows no bounds.
Your Spirit’s warm like a blanket,
a gentle breeze that cools,
a blazing fire that warms.
Your Son, the Ultimate Gift,
a Lamb, a Lion, a mirror to gaze into.
You a Father who loves His children,
forgiving, accepting, yet just.

Thank You, O LORD,
for Your salvation,
for Your love, Your joy, Your hope and grace,
Your Spirit and Your Son.
Thank You for Your blessings,
numerous like rain.
And thank You, God my God,
for fathering me.

Thank You, O GOD,
For all that You do,
have done,
and are going to do.
Thank You, O Father
for You just being You.

Like Tyger Stripes, it can’t be Stopped


Tyger Tyger, burning bright,

It’s hard to believe, that this little cub in the photo above, could one day grow into a cat like this one in the photo below:

sumatran-tiger-male-portrait-webA cute, petite kitten–into a majestic, beautiful cat–yet dangerous and frightening all the same. Of course, those of whom have raised kittens and cats probably already know this concept.

Things change. Believe it or not, today is not the same as yesterday. Boys become different as they transform into men. Girls are not the same as women. Tadpoles have the potential to grow legs as caterpillars have the chance to gain wings. Continue reading

Week of Midterm

I feels, then sees it
crawling on my arm.
Swipes it, then ends its
wandering, crawling days.
Smashed tis it,
Its yellow goo and legs
on my leafs of tree entrails;
I huffs & swipes it again.
No eulogy, no stone to honor,
Only concrete to be smashed underfoot,
Smooshed again I suppose.

So easily smashed the pest,
Back to my books,
When thoughts thinks in my brains.
So easily smashed the pest,
By tests and books.
Shivers my spine
as I mentally sees myself betweens
an index and thumb,
Feelings of weight crunches my back.

My back, my back, o’ my back!
How the weights grow heavier and heavier.
My head, my head, o’ my head!
How the aches splinter and splunter.
My insanity, my insanity, o’ my insanity!
How it slips & slips through my fingers.

Pressure crushes or makes diamonds,
Or smashes pesky bugs like me.
Piling, piling, piling,
My books becoming my bane and grave–
the key to the asylum waiting for me.
My . . .

“Stark!” shouts Friend.
“Wakes up, you’ll be late for test. . . .
Why, o’ why do I sees tears within your eyes?”

“For a bug I killed,” I replies. “And I’ll be next,
if I fails, fails, and fails again before
Friday ransoms me.”
“Then you better study, o’ Stark,” warns Friend.
“Instead of wasting time writing poesy,
of dead things withal six legs.”

I huffs. “You’re right I suppose.
Best ends this poesy now


Summer to School

1e5d3154d94c47f30d5ac0591494f7c1Change, change,
Life is full of change,
Not pennies and dimes,
Though it has thoughs too,
Change, you know,
When you become a different you.

Tadpoles to frogs,
Worms to monarchs,
Frogs to food.
Babies to adults,
Then it’s man to dust,
When your gut decides that it’s time to bust.

Each year different than the last,
Each year speeding way, way too fast.

Summer comes and summer goes,
Then comes fall,
And spring then springs in before you know.

Eggs in the morning,
Birds at night.
Babes at noon,
Before canes and aches,
Which appear too soon.
The creeks and sun,
Replaced by tests and bells which,
rung-rung-rung. Continue reading