Stone & Timber

Stone and timber
Tree and bolder
They age much slower.
One by one with a chip, tap and chisel
From the field they make their way.
Whispers of what the maker has planed.

Stone on stone, assembled to hold a fire
Fitted timbers, limits for the snow and wind. Continue reading

East – West

As I lay here in the dark of the night,
searching for sleep that I never find.
Hours now tic by, looking just like the last one flying on by.
Cascading waves of tumbled thoughts,
compete for the right to seize my mind.

Friends of the East, friends of the West
Troubled concerns take away the best. Continue reading

For those who wait…

..SO… I haven’t written in a while. Done a lot of reading, re-editing and putting in hours at where I work. The mind has been a bit fuzzy with the ongoing routine of it all to put together something of value.
..Thought about another poem, but the only thing that comes to mind is snow. And I doubt anyone wants to read ANOTHER poem about little white fluffy flakes. Thought about history, the prophetic in America and a few other subjects.
..Been considering one on the subject of food, mostly all the stuff I have been learning about the real science behind Carnivore eating. But most of that is too new to me personally, to do a decent write-up on would require footnotes, links and better thinking from a person who is often tired after work. So I will keep learning and wait to write it.

Creativity is low in the world of the daily grind.

..So, I would just like to vent for a moment in this update. And say I yearn for the next thing beyond the daily cycles of life. I tire of the ongoing reports of “what is coming,” of the great course correction in the world, church and financial markets. As cold as it may sound, I just simply just want to have it happen, so that this event is over. It’s like holding your breath forever, over the ongoing march of good and bad reports.
..I hear things from several places, on several subjects. And like Bilbo said in the Fellowship of the Ring, “I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.”
..I keep feeling (and so does my wife) that all of this will be fine. It will settle out in the end, the things spoken in the silence of dreams and visions from the Lord’s heart will regardless of my understand still take place.
..But still, I am not still, but restless for the change. For things I have not seen and old promises maybe held to close. Everything waits, frozen on a screen like a pause button from an old VCR remote.
..And talking and reading of the words of a few others, I know we are not alone in this.

What are you waiting for?


Elegance of Snow


The Elegance of Snow.

In the elegance that often arrives with delicateness.
The powderly white accumulates in inches before my eyes.
Shall it be one or two today or maybe even four inches from the sky.

Christal cold, bright but not old.
The canvas is laid anew without a track to be found.

For the foolishness few are tested, that I have seen.
Like a woman with her dress, flipped a bit to high over her head.
Car and rider are flipped on it’s side.
To be seen ungracefully skidding by before all the eyes.

While truck and plow shows just how,
parking lot land-locked glaciers are smashed together.
Gray and grimy cousins,
Of there northern graceful brethren.

O the show has started, gather around y’all from far and wide.
For in this simple ring we have slips and falls,
back flips and somersaults.

Not to be outdone by bruise hips and aching backs.
With crumpled fenders from big truck racks.




The settling cold of winters approach,
turns the chapter of yet another season. 

With little bits of drifting white, 
Along the Wyoming road. 

The color of the land has been kidnaped away, 
flake by flake like a school kids eraser.

Bite of cold awakens the morning face,
As the ears and nose quickly chill.

Scrape the ice, bust it free so that you can see.
Stomp the snow from the shoes, to keep it all clean.

Gee, another day of snowy white under the deep blue sky.
What a contrast of colors, what a contrast of temperatures.

Gray and muted are but few.

And then the heat returns like a old friend for a day, maybe three.
And the brown fall colors of the fall prairie fields return for all to see.

The Planter’s Feet

The warmth of the soil on a planters feet.
Between the toes, a perfect fit for my feet.

Hidden under the layers protected from the summer sun
For if they were above, I would need to run.

“From the soil, you have been made.
Spirit, soil, and water, a perfect fit for my hands to make.
A perfect fit, to tend that which you have been made from.”

Look! Up from the seed it comes, I guard it from things that crawl, bite and fly.
Some is for us, some is for beasts of the barn.
Some is put away to bless the seasons beyond.

“From the soil, I have made you.
With my Spirit, soil, and water, I design you for greater days.
Unseen are the things the crawl, bite and fly.
Some of you attend to me, some attend the barn
And some I hide away for those not yet born.”

Another World

Another World.

The thread bare plans of Earthly kings rise and fall like an unending sea.
Brewing, festering in the hands of a turbulent lot.

For there hands can not defile what the Lord has made clean.
Seeking no good they crave spilled blood.

But little does it matter to the Lord with the Tapestry of His hand.

Colored bright with the lives and light of his redeemed
He weaves them tight in His Tapestry to be seen. Continue reading

Change my World

Where is Holiness?


Why is it so rare in your children’s house?

Have they not seen the growing dark?

The blood on the road?


Must we always walk about with Logs in our eyes.

Logs make a poor substitute eye glasses.

For they are meant for houses.


I have seen the folly of the big names.

And the carelessness of the smaller few.

If we point at them, we risk smacking them with Logs of our own eye.


But we can not remain silent.

With fallen logs, Heaven must now direct our eyes.


Perhaps the days of Lindisfarne must be renewed.

Islands of Holiness, a refuge to be renewed.


For the lost, hurt and lonely travelers of this old cold sea.

With a kiss of Holiness, setting apart the church to be renewed.

Could Iona have been so bad?


Sending out its emissaries with the power to change a world.

Into the Pathetic and Back.

Note: I know some will take this word in a negative context. But as a good friend recently reminded me concerning ruffling the feathers of the prophetic, “ truth comforts the afflicted and afflicts the comfortable.” RF.

Like all things that grow, the childlike prophetic of the ’80s
Has become a bit taller, seeking its elder friends.
Dreams and visions filled this child’s head
As it proclaimed, “I’m a big kid now.”

To the grin of the elders, who watched its awkwardness grow. Continue reading