Lost Love Love like a broken vase A Shattered Heart Some say a broken heart is like a shattered vase Fragile pieces scattered all over the place. The shattered pieces of broken glass seem to go everywhere Unlike the pieces of a broken heart that seem to pierce your soul. With faith and hope you try to mend the broken heart Unlike the vase it cannot be so easily replaced. It takes a while to mend it and then you lock it up You hide the key and wait to see if someone can be found A special person who will use the key to unlock the heart A unique person who will handle the heart with gentle hands, Who can be honest, truthful and handle it with care. My heart and I wonder is there really that kind of person out there.

If I Should Have A Daughter. If I should have a daughter…“Instead of “Mom”, she’s gonna call me “Point B.” Because that way, she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me. And I’m going to paint the solar system on the back of her hands so that she has to learn the entire universe before she can say “Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.” She’s gonna learn that this #life will hit you, hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air. There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by band-aids or poetry, so the first time she realizes that Wonder-woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried. And “Baby,” I’ll tell her “don’t keep your nose up in the air like that, I know that trick, you’re just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else, find the boy who lit the fire in the first place to see if you can change him.” But I know that she will anyway, so instead I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boots nearby, ‘cause there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix. Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks chocolate can’t fix. But that’s what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away everything if you let it. I want her to see the world through the underside of a glass bottom boat, to look through a magnifying glass at the galaxies that exist on the pin point of a human mind. Because that’s how my mom taught me. That there’ll be days like this, “There’ll be days like this my momma said” when you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises. When you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you wanna save are the ones standing on your cape. When your boots will fill with rain and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment and those are the very days you have all the more reason to say “thank you,” ‘cause there is nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline no matter how many times it’s sent away. You will put the “wind” in win some lose some, you will put the “star” in starting over and over, and no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called #life. And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting I am pretty damn naive but I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it. “Baby,” I’ll tell her “remember your mama is a worrier but your papa is a warrior and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more.” Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things and always apologize when you’ve done something wrong but don’t you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining. Your voice is small but don’t ever stop singing and when they finally hand you heartbreak, slip hatred and war under your doorstep and hand you hand-outs on street corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.

I Believe In The Scriptures. In the beginning there were words For no sky nor dirt Rocks nor birds Heaven nor earth Death nor birth Had been given the proper syllabification So nothing physical had yet entered creation But despite the lacking of material manifestation There did hang one true annunciation Words Words of God Spoken Script Speaking Scripture Holy writ The Writing Builder Building mountains out of nouns Plants and herbs from active verbs Planting nations in punctuation Preparing solar positions with prepositions Nature’s narrative rich with adjectives Man was dust and needed an additive So God added his imperative Impairing the dust of its ability to be sedative The breath of #life, a word that made dirt our relative We are born of Bible Letters formed our limbs How can I deny God’s words When they are written on my skin? In this breath of #life God breathed to begin An exhalation for the ages The inspiration of men You know the words of which I speak You’ve memorized them They are the Pentateuch Torah History Books Poets Major and Minor Prophets Synoptic Gospels Acts of the Apostles And their Epistles They are our Scriptures Those ancient divine whispers Scribed by enlightened scriptors Now Supplied to modern listeners The mouth by which the universe was founded Is the fount from which our words are grounded And this radical statement this ludicrous pronouncement Has been hounded By many who question where scripture was originally sounded For we call it Inspired Inerrant Infallible But those words aren’t found in our bibles I’m not saying these descriptions are or aren’t rightful But I want you to be mindful Of what our bible Claimed to be And what that is Is far better than what we have lobbied Or from tradition copied Or what our own doctrines embodied That scripture says that scripture is God-Breathed That means The breath that filled the nostrils of the ground The #life blown into dirt The exhaling heartbeat that made the simple renowned That is the breath that can be found In what has been written down So, I believe in the Scriptures Where God has breathed the breath of #life Where we find the vows between eternal husband and earthly wife Where martyrs and saints find comfort for their strife Where stone hearts come to be cut with a knife I believe in the Scriptures When God breathed on dirt he got man When he breathed on man he got words The words are not in the dirt, but in the breath The breath passes from man to man until they return to dirt The eternal chain of command, the passing of words Now the words are in our hands But so often they are only found behind our lips or on our eyes Within church doors in red and black lines Printed on shirts, our commitment’s disguise What we claim as truth our lives say is a lie I believe in the Scriptures The Scribal Scribbilings that refuse to stay on the page They give #life and so #life is required to be paid The words in your bibles are not meant on paper to lay But to be resurrected in your flesh as you die to them everyday I believe in the Scriptures For by them, through them, and to them I was made For they are the words of Genesis the Exodus of shame They are the breath that formed my bones, And the ones that will call me from the grave They are the ink on my flesh, the pen on my tongue They are the ones by which creation begun And through which recreation will be done They are the words of God, and we are his listeners I believe God stills speaks I believe in the Scriptures