victors

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his harem and the hell of it
writing our hearts out
we
playing nice, polite, naïve
negligent, thus failing
sorrow shrouds our intrinsic prettiness
our intellect

O, Ego
His-n-Hers

God gave me this house
yellow, yes — at first glance
diffuse your gaze, step back and see
sentience walks these halls
juicy details of pain, love
striving, ceasing
success and victory

go or stay, either way
none of it’s yours to peruse

Asking

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What do you do with the gifts I give you
The blue flags and the cardinal view? 
Do you heal, whilst you love
Do you leave legacy?
Do you fly
Do you let Me guide you?

What do you do with the Fall Equinox
The waned moon and the amber days too?
Do you stir, undeterred
Do you walk with purpose?
Do you rise
Do you see My True Hue?

I have a loved one who introduced me to Jesus when I was 19. Where would I be without that fact, I shudder to think. If you know and love and have faith in the God of the Bible, the Creator of the Universe, I’m asking…please pray for the person God put in my path all those years ago.

I often do a prayer-filled writing meditation where I sit down and without a goal, simply watch and listen to what God literally sets in front of me. Today it was all of these things:

•lavender from my garden

•my son’s school notebook and science book

•the blue prayer flags in my window

•a cardinal landing in the tree inches in front of my face

•golden tall grasses around the edge of my yard

And then, God asked me to ask all of us this: What do you *do*with it all?

Urged

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Prison guard, freedom writer
Daring me, “Escape.”
Air mask at altitude
E•ter•nal•ly late

You talked of Boardwalk wood
Dirty scoundrel’s lies
I walked a catwalk strut
Good•bye•ing your eyes

Felt Like Nebraska

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Never could fathom the ’70’s
What 60’s Kids admired
Left this old soul bewildered
These eyes always seemed to need the sun
Mediocre music, odd politics
Old Paint horsepower commanded by screaming chickens
Oh, the Pacers that couldn’t keep up
But for that tripartite campout for peace
Those white-washed years are yours
Such conspiracy — felt like Nebraska

Bring me King Elvis
King of Cool — or Dean, if you please
War heroes at the helm
Courage in the courts
Damn right, Topeka — you’re wrong
Steel with Crowns
Jets
Chieftains
Bench seats so we can stay close on cold nights
California Dreaming, it seems…my zodiac sign

the outcome

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maybe he’ll choose me

and not spend his paycheck at the bar Friday night

maybe he’ll choose me

and hold my hand in front of his friends

maybe he’ll choose me

and be more proud of my strong, strong intellect and kind, kind heart than my long, long legs and rockstar beauty that fades

maybe he’ll choose me

and listen — finally — to the daggers flying from his lips into my soul

maybe he’ll choose me

and withhold his wandering eyes from these fleeting days that we promised to us, and us alone

maybe he’ll choose me

and fight for me

when I, at last, chose me

because he didn’t choose me