Tag: poetry

Wrapping Presents with Eyelids

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Wrapping Presents with Eyelids

Whether it’s a box, or a ball
Something big, or something small,
Efficiency and creativity mesh
Inside a small square-inch of flesh.

There’s no need to cut paper in straight lines or fold neatly
When eyelids redefine completely
How easy it is to wrap a gift,
And they simply unwrap with a lift.

There’s no need for excess tape or
Any expensive paper.
It’s really not too spendy
To be this eco friendly.

We should call it going green
Or brown, or blue, I mean
Whatever’s the color or their eyes
When they open their surprise.

You can even double wrap with hands,
If the person understands
That anticipation lingers
When they don’t peak through their fingers.

But Be wary of those views and peek-a-boos
That seek to lose
The surprise that lies
Opposite their eyes.

Vacancy Signs

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Vacancy Signs

A couple thousand years a go
There was a pregnant woman, nine months along.
She carried the savior of the world and so
Joseph thought it would be wrong

To stay in a barn all night.
He tried every Inn in sight
In hopes that he might
Find something a little more “right”

Than out in the barn hitting the hay.
Where the animals lay.
But truth is it was fitting the way

Jesus entered the world that night
‘Cause what a horrible sight
It would be if I had to see
Little inn scenes every year
With glowing neon lines
Of vacancy signs.

…But I suppose we should wear those
As we’re staring, preparing the manger scenes
Lining up kings and things.
We should have big old letters across our hearts
Reading “Vacancy” to say that He
Can come in now.

To say, I’ve cleared you a place
My heart now has a space
That you can take and make your own.
Pardon the mess.  I’ve been living alone.

Avoiding Ice-prints

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Avoiding Ice-prints

My footsteps are guided by the fact that I’ll shovel the snow
And I’ll be the one who will have to go
Outside to clear away
The snow today.

So after walking down to get a picture of falling snowy whites
On my house with lights,
I pause and take a look
At the steps I took.

Then take the same path back to the warm inside
Having at least tried
To avoid populating ice-prints
On the driveway since
I’ll be the one that will have to go
And shovel the ice-prints off with the snow.

Post Office Line

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Post Office Line

One week ‘till Christmas and I might miss this
Conversation with The Divine
Since I’m standing in line
Busily waiting in a blank stare not talking.
Standing in line not walking,
Simply suspended
Where footprints ended.

But I should start those conversations with God
Start making it feel less odd
By leaving two footprints in the sand
And saying a prayer while I stand
Waiting for a gift to be mailed,
A gift that wasn’t nailed.

Sometimes I make typos (Video)

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Stay tuned (subscribed) to this blog.  I’ll be posting another poetry video by the end of the week.

Sum thyme’s I’m ache Thai pose

Sum thyme’s I’m ache Thai pose
Butt eyes up hose
Hats apart off fusing
Come pewter’s. Whirl oozing

Are ebb ill it he two ought toe
Core hector weed rat her
Ma sheen’s um owe no
how herds chews too gat her

let hers inn us pacific hoarder,
Witch his beater. En dime,
air head squid gills a porter
whose know shaving thyme

Whiff hit snot hunter limed inn read
They’re snow since inn re reed ding
Too Czechs peeling four miss leading
Thinks eye mite half’s ed.

Now CLICK HERE for the easy to read version of this poem

Sometimes We Run From Writing

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Sometimes We Run From Writing

Sometimes we’re caught in a daze,
Looking on in a glaze
At blog stats for days we
Put off writing.  We’re lazy.

Sometimes we grab a pen,
Have to write right then,
Go to town writing down
Things ‘till who knows when.

Sometimes I find the TV
And crutch myself to see
That I’m watching another
Show like any other.

Sometimes I go to twitter
And get literally bitter
At what others are doing
Instead of pursuing

My own writing,
Busy fighting
With my muse.
I constantly confuse

Another’s success with what I should do.
Rather than writing these words that you
Are now reading, I flee from the muse,
Instead of choosing words to use.

Parental Superpower: Ability to Find Joy

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Parental Superpower: Ability to Find Joy

He pronounced the word “Joy” with an African accent,
One word spoken clearly through crying attack sent
From my kid to my ear
As I tried to clear out to the cry room,
The vocal tomb of unwanted crying
Receiving looks from those denying
They’d lost their reason to sit there.
So I walked further back to where
I could sway and shhh my child who fell off the kneeler,
Wiping her tears away to reveal her
Still-crying eyes that were calming from being scared.
I tasted salt on my lips and prepared
To go back out to the pew…
In a minute or two.
My daughter was ready but I was held on
To the joy of the moment before it was gone.

Parental Superpowers: Restarting the Earth’s Rotation

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Parental Superpowers: Restarting the Earth’s Rotation

I know that it’s my children’s fault
When the world comes to a screeching halt
At an untimely 3 A M.
They’re screaming wakes the unconscious head
So I go to find them in their bed
Missing the most important thing for them.

Their stuffed dog’s missing, or their baby doll,
Or their blankets folded wrongly so the bawl
About anything until I say
Don’t worry it’ll be okay
And replace that most important thing
With the assurance that I bring.

I breathe-in moments like this for what their worth
Then close the door, having restarted the earth.

God’s Choice

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God’s Choice

Jesus was hanging out upside down and wet
Long before the blood and sweat
Went splintering through eternity
In hopes that we would learn to see
The value of a person through this choice,
To start the savior’s life without a voice.