The Potter's Son

The Potter's son is a little tall,
his hands are big and his hair is as red as fall.

He works all day,
and he reads through the night.

He bakes the bricks and mixes the clay;
he forms the pots in every which way.

He is nice and friendly to all he meets,
but he is lonely and quiet before he sleeps.

His mind is quick with laughs and wit,
his heart is big with love to show.

He never means harm, yens to see,
the smile on your face and eyes filled with glee.

He is the Potter's son and works so hard.
He never complains and He writes like the Bard.

So give him a wave and smile and see,
that the Potter's son is more than the eye perceives.

Fly or Fight

Fly or Fight
You will choose tonight

Bow or Plow
There is no foul

Wrestle with God
or give blows to men

Embrace the evil
or battle the sin

One makes whole
the other breaks apart

A new name to gain
it begins with a start

One step.

Fly or Fight

NO Kata

No beauty abounds;
all remains are sand and pain.

No laughs, no cries, no sounds;
chaos silents, no soul is sane.

Fear and rage strapped with Hades hounds;
no outlet, no way, only lame.

Once a jewel honored, crowned;
now red marked of foul fame.

Helping hands grab, grip havoc ground;
only option, only hope, time remains.

Together bound - This is no game.

Lightheaded

Lightheaded and afloat;
The sea swells, we're in the boat.

Surf pounds and calls drown;
This is a smile- not a frown.

Adventure pulls and challenge drags
Off to it carrying a banner, a flag.

Rhythms beat, taps from feet, muscles constricted, solid meat;

Peoples surrounded- hopes aloft, kisses soft.
They await the return. They await the news.
Their hero travels and faces the fears of the masses.

A promise given- a date set;
He leaves only with his mate, his friend.

Together we are gone.
Together we are one.

Fight is what we will do for the long;
And conquer the false is our song.

Be not timid they say;
Be strong and powerful today.

The deed will be done and the answer will come.
Ride high the waves return with the tide.

This story is not for all but for the some;
The heroes will finish this pride.

Fear not.
The adventure awaits.
We are off.
They are off;
Lightheaded and afloat.

Tired Eyes

Tired eyes peer at the blank page. The time has come to realize that movement is in passion. Passion is in the heart. The heart is hungry and beats for not one. One does not mean two. Two means more than nothing. Nothing is vividly absent when surrounded by those who see the future. Futures will come, but the present is here and only here. Be not worried for the future or fearful of the past. Worries add not a second, not a minute, and not a day. One must not just play in the day but work for the night. Rest easy.

Tired eyes peer at the blank page only to see the future at hand.

Love can do all...

Love can do all but raise the dead.
-Emily Dickinson


I become sad when I read these words. Maybe she wrote them to comfort her heart or to warn of false security. I read them as a hurt I cannot fully express. To lose love in death is painful. I have not fully experienced this because the only love I have lost is that of an unborn baby. This does not mean that I have not known death; just that death has not touched home so close. So when I read this, I fear not my death but the passing of my loved ones.

I am reminded of one love that has put life in death and brought loved back form the grave. He has the power as the ancient texts describe to bring a friend from death after three days burial. He has the power to raise himself after three days. He has the power to break the curse of death and sin over those who chose Him. He can and has raised the dead. He is has promised to do so for us, the ones who believe. Why would He do this incredible thing? For love. For love of the Father for the love of Creation, and for the love of you and me.

So there is hope in Dickinson's words. There is hope in Him. Truly, love can do all.

Crooked Souls

I try to wrap my mind around the following line:

We are crooked souls trying to stay up straight.

I am. I am the crooked soul.
I am. I am the fool who is in control.

I am. I am he the others see on a pedestal.
I am. I am the who others refer to the fall.

I am. I am forgiven.
I am. I am blessed.

I am. Not because I am but because of I AM.

He is. He is faithful when we are weak.
He is. He is bright when we are bleak.

He is. He is the one who came to set this crooked soul straight.
He is. He is love. He is love so much that He leaves me the fate.

Bees

Do bees see the colors of the flowers as the sun dips beneath the trees?

Taste and See

I like pans and fans and summer tans.

I like toons and spoons and singing loons.

I like pens and tins and plastic bins.

There are so many things that I like;
And lots of things as colorful as Mike & Ike's.

I like bees and knees and lemon trees.

I like boots and toots and big galootes.

I like bait and dates and being late.

To not like things is oh so boring;
So give a smile and let people sing.

BE

Be...

Nice and kind,
and walk a straight line.

A friend and not a foe,
because we all need to let go.

Happy and fun,
and play in the sun.

True and tall,
because all liars are small.

Strong and meak,
And always help the weak.

Honest with yourself,
because you'll only fool you and no one else.

Finally,

Be original and free,
because He has made you, don't you see?

Much love and peace.
Just Be. Be you for no one else will be you.

Fear of...

I fear not the chains of bondage,
nor the monster-master of self.

I fear not the required duty,
nor the worldly wealth.

I fear neither life nor death.
I fear nothing of the wicked's breath.

For I fear the freedom He gives;
I fear the power in these bones, this flesh.

For in the power is darkness and light;
There is no weakness only might.

My fear is my ability,
My ability- it is my fight,
My fight- it is my home;
My home- it is my right.

This freedom, bright and clear, is my fear,
For I have choices - I have affect.

In freedom- I have the power to arise and fly;
In freedom- I have the power to stumble and fall.

It is my freedom. It is freedom given- not taken.
For I am accountable.

You also,
You also have this freedom.
What will you do?

Erin

Thanks for sharing;
now I'm stare'n.

In this mirror at my face;
you brought me here to this place.

Lives unequal- not the same;
Today together- all is plain.

Similar life choices
have brought parallel forces.

Yesterday strangers, alone, afraid;
Today amigos, together, strongly made.

Back to back fighting the flow;
We'll be here, you & me, till the end of the show.

Thoughts in Words

I have always treated poetry like fine foods and pastry. It can be absolutely delicious and fun. However, like the fine foods, too much in one sitting can ruin the flavor and cause indigestion. Small portions are the best. And slow digestion is better for the body and soul. To lose the meaning of it all is not what words are for. Too much Jazz and the ears become bland. A quickly read novel is a quickly forgotten story. Viewing all of Picasso in one day will make the connoisseur blurs the color of them all.

It is true for poetry as well as other modes. The words of poets are the little chocolates at valentines, some bitter and some sweet but all divine. They are better devoured in small portions and saved for many days.

Enjoy the works of Cummings, Frost, Collins and others. But be forewarned!

For full effect, take small bites, chew thirty times, swallow small bits, and rest after eating.

Enjoy,

Alan