Disquietude

Truth and my omnipotent God made flesh remain the same.
My soul is disquieted for where in this life can The proclamation
Be heard?
The Body is dispersed, set upon with discrepancies and too much The things
Of this world which slash and tear the garment of holiness.
My help comes from the Lord! Yet I am constantly crushed and pulled
Into the pit, overcome with outside forces dwelling in High Places.
Yet, I call upon my God! Surely in these days His voice is constrained,
Quieted and my ears filter only disgust.
There is salvation and peace in my Lord, the God of heaven and earth!

Open my ears Oh Lord! Send once again the promised Helper! Oh, gentle,
Most overcoming Spirit of Truth! Silence all others, rescue me from voices
Of ungodliness and lies!
Pastor and calm my soul for it longs for your Word, the one and only Truth.

 

 

 

 

 

October’s Ominous Occurances

Falling into fictitious fantasy…

Sometimes hitting raked leaves…

Or knocking all breathable air away…

Finding hallucination funny

Or ghastly as mind bends

Along with body, bloody, terror.

Fearing to name the horror

Or look into its face

After all it’s

                   đź”±   October ⚰️                  
 

Blinding Grace

Line by line

 

Time,

passes, encompassing the soul

in exuberant joy.

Changing  life in fits and starts.

 

Turning, sweeping, leveling

like Autum wind,

Melding  new and old

into One.

 

Creating a blinding image,

more beautiful and rare

than eyes like mine deserve.

 

God,

in His infinite glory and faithfulness,

Pours out Grace upon Grace

Leaving me face down

in Wonder and Praise.

 

Straights and Creeks

May you tender the shelf…
Let your lines be straight…
on reef/marsh-life and death flow in sync.
To: RSD, III

img_2767

A lunar pull apart.

Born of self-same shelf.

Dig deep, Ye Pictorial Builders,

Ye Leatherneck Drivers!

One, young living coral.

Another, ancient decayed pluff.

May you tender the shelf.

Let your lines be straight.

Above the orb on reef and marsh

Life and death flow in sync.

   *

Dedicated to

RSD III

Photographer: Tanya Ackerman

Edit Screen

A conglomeration of black facts

in the light

a fragmented line of virile verse

 

Something Happened and Nothing Happened

Come you Huddled Masses

You Impoverished

And Homeless

 Nationless

Peoples.

Come All

To the

Lady of Liberty

Work, Live, Speak and Worship

In Freedom.

______

Something Happened.

Bang! You’re Black!

Bang! You’re Gay!

Bang! You’re Illegal!

Bang! You’re Muslim!

Bang! You’re Christian!

Bang! You’re White!

Bang! Because you are different!

______

In the Wake

The Huddled Masses

The Impoverished

The Homeless

 Nationless

Peoples

Wait.

_____

Nothing Happened

To Stop It.

“Latitude 27o N X 82o W”

Anxiously

searching hues

green

blue

fuchsia,

inching  down.

Fiercely

lush

abundance,

smooth

prickly

steamy.

Gracefully

hidden

tiny spongy tokens

rooting running things

in earth’s sweet dankness

toward its Destiny

Peacefully

in its own

Eden

He is With Us

via He is With Us

He is With Us

He is with us on our journeys. He is there when we are home. He sits with us at our table. He knows about funerals and weddings and commencements and hospitals and jails and unemployment and labor and laughter and rest and tears. He knows because He is with us – He comes to us again and again – until we can say, It’s You! It’s You! …Bob Benson

Proud River

via Proud River

Proud River

via Proud River

Proud River

bitsofmyselfcom. A scribbling penner with mysterious thoughts...

Roll on in your majestic soulful grandeur,

Fill and spill your uncounted tributaries,

your hidden slews overhung with moss,

adventures awaiting among ancient slave banks,

tangled and brambled hunting holes once habitats.

Mystically drawing those who know the lay of the land.

 Roll on with your deep dark secrets of stately Colonial Plantation

life on high ground, sprawling green lawns, spotting white-washed

slave cabins but stone for rice mills and steps pounded down into the hill.

 Men lost in your depths-women and children left alone, Those

well to do and having nothing, forever conflicted at your beautiful danger. 

Roll on our grand river, heritage and hermitage to generations

Proud tribal canoe pass, Crown’s explorers’ gateway, Kings Grant

planters ship way, Many Waters spillway down from Yawhanna,

Pee Dee, up Wachesaw way, the Black, bottomless its said.

Merging in currents rushing deep, thunderous, strong and good

ever towards the bay into…

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Breaking the Alabaster Box

via Breaking the Alabaster Box

Breaking the Alabaster Box

The breaking of the alabaster box and the anointing of the Lord filled the house with the odor, with the sweetest odor. Everyone could smell it. Whenever you meet someone who has really suffered; been limited, gone through things for the Lord, willing to be imprisoned by the Lord, just being satisfied with Him and nothing else, immediately you scent the fragrance. There is a savor of the Lord. Something has been crushed, something has been broken, and there is a resulting odor of sweetness. …Watchman Nee