Not For Everyone

There is a path here ancient and old;
That many have tread on days ago.

And here I sit on a cold, mossy rock;
Deciding my way, my future, my plot.

I have followed some and others will follow me;
Choosing a lead whose end I cannot see.

Some have chosen the wide, flat road;
While other are brave, a trail to forge.

Now is the time for me to decide;
Which way is right, which way I abide.

For now I sit to think and to dream;
My next step will guide, give, and bring.

The Fog Brings Light

The cloud is thick.

I can barely see the valley floor;
I cannot see the cliff's giant door.

My feet are on the ground;
My head is in the mist.

My body is half erased.

It whips through me like a ghost;
A ghost fleeing the dawn of light.

I shiver and shake not putting up a fight;
A man in the mist not breathing right.

Vapor passed between me and the tree.

I sit and I see;
The past rapidly eating the future to be.

Alone, I am faced with this one fact;
I am surrounded, not by what I see;
but what I sense this time and place is to be.

To You

LaMar,

You and everything around you was created not for some Being's enjoyment, like an Ant Farm, but you are here to enjoy creation and to enjoy the One who creates. You may not know it now, but you can feel it inside. Seek, Knock, and Ask.


Answers will come. I promise.

It Rained Three Days Straight, So I Stayed Home, Inside, To Enjoy A Poem

Pitter-Patter, Pitter-Patter
Clickety-Clack, Clickety-Clack

Rain is pouring down like little, fat paratrooper men, wet.
Letters are hitting paper like a hammer on nails, set.

The gift of rain is life growing.
The gift of word is life knowing.

Pitter-Patter, Pitter-Patter
Clickety-Clack, Clickety-Clack

With the Bang of a Gun

The world turns its ear, with the bang of a gun;
A boy fell slain on the hot black pavement;
A mother cries out and a babe was scream'n.

The world turns its ear, with the bang of a gun;
The child was young and barefooted;
With long baggy shorts and bare-chested.

The world turns its ear, with the bang of a gun;
Carrying an old wooden bat and a tapped up ball;
He was going to enjoy the June day, play ball.

The world turns its ear, with the bang of a gun;
He never had a chance nor did he even have time to care;
He was going to be third base at the cardboard square.

The world turns its ear, with the bang of a gun;
The news made him famous and the anchor shed no tear;
The police had a lead, some tire tread on the street.

The world turns its ear, with the bang of a gun;
The funeral was packed, all the neighborhood shared;
Even the shooter, barely a teen, was there, nobody knew nobody cared.

The world turns its ear, with the bang of a gun;
The body was buried and the lead went cold;
The news got old and the world turned its ear.

The world turns its ear, with the bang of a gun;
One knows violence is everywhere from Chicago to Paris and to the Congo;
Yet one little child in no longer more, quickly forgotten, how cold our hearts grow.

Everyone is precious even death row;
And life is hard this we know;
So give a hand and help a brother, mother, sinner, and winner.

We are all here together for better, for worse;
A smile goes far much more than verse;
The world turns its ear not with the bang of a gun;
But with a helpful word.