January embers

I see you in my dreams, the ones of day and bright

I smile in my sleep

When nights are gilded with your light.

Your eyes are vast oceans

Deep slumbering old pines

My home is within that forest,

those trees-

Among my evergreens.



I will try to make my feelings clear
But there’s a whirling dervish of worry in here
My anger expands to protect my soul
Caged by my ribs, it shivers and glows

How dare you. How dare you
Memories are not trash
You expect to be treated like family
But you 


deserve that. 

The Lady Who Would Be

I saw a figure walking toward me 
Wreathed in colorful perfume
Her eyes were lit with shifting flame
That cured my illest, darkest gloom. 

I perceived a future passed
Which featured me most prominent;
My worth was not a shifting dance
And I freely sang Your song again. 

The woman wreathed in scents was I,
As should be in another time. 
Lit instead from deep within,
Her flames not earthly but Divine. 

She laughed as freely as I sigh,
And firelight flickered from her eyes.
From deep within I felt a cry;
Longing for the me which died. 

So came I to a place of smoke;
Unearthly, holy-fire-caused;
And took a knee to search about,
For someone who would hear my cause. 

To my side there came a presence
Overwhelming, warm as love itself
I wept for perfection which instead
Of condemnation longed to help. 

So returned I to a future renewed
The true path was re-affirmed
I sought out He who breathes the stars
Who heals with Fire our earthly burns. 

By grace I became the lady in color
Whose confidence did abound;
Wreathed in the love of my beautiful savior,
My drifting soul had been found. 

The Eye of the Poem

So many words to capture this feeling;

This dark slumbering now brightened 

So many thoughts that spiral around

A cyclone of rushing, which inside is silent. 
Breathe in clarity for the first time in decades

Enjoy the oxygen’s dizzying rush

Leave behind bitterness, anger, frustration

Welcome home your recovering Trust. 

Perfect love casts out fear

Terror initiates
Calls me in so sickly-sweet.
“You can’t afford to turn away,”
It hisses, haunting me.
Ignore the light, ignore the day.

Nothing is real except the fear
It burns inside
An acid in my heart
Too late, I took the poison
It’s curled up, hissing.
Drifting smoke bleeds
From my nose
Can Love stop the ache inside?

The bones around your heart are cinders
Embers that will never die
Unless the Enemy’s taunts are lies…

Not writer

I’m a little bit dark
And occasionally broken
I am whirled and tossed
And sometimes hopeless.

You must understand all that I am
What I am not is weak;
Vulnerable I am hesitant to be
Though I understand its intimacy.

Eventually I will break in two
I will crumble to dust in your embrace
I may cry and words will come at no use
In this place, in the dark, I will hide my face.

Without words, in a torment of emotion and silence
And gritty cries and thickened voices

I am not writer; I am nothing
I am the silence I once spoke artistically of
I will not know how to restore my state of being
When the current of myself has slackened to stone
I will trust you;
And we will turn to God alone.