A Psalm

The Lord is my Prodder
I want way more than I need.
E pushes me down to lie in the mud.
E drags me beside still waters and dunks my head.
E drags me down the paths of righteousness griping and complaining for E’s sake.
I cower and whimper as I walk near death.
I remember with fear the evil I have done.
Eu prod me with your pointy stick.


Celebration of Garbage (corrected)

I sing and celebrate garbage,
the rejected, the refugee,
The “wretched refuse yearning to breathe free.”
I lift up in the Light those treated like trash,
Those living in the junk yards of history.

Out of blackened wood from a bombed out church,
A black Southern artist made a mobile that took my breath away

Axis Becalmed

And what is history but
Stones by boys on fathers’ 
Ponds, beyond the lily pads
Where sit the frogs of conscious
Evolution . . .

So wars evolve of themselves!
While fathers get lost in their
Competition, vengeance and 
Fictional futures of old 
Realities . . . 

Father God, for your sake, Please!
Awaken Sophia’s Heart’s

At Siegen

At Siegen, a single Panzer halts Allied ammo convoy for 30 minutes

Speak English, soldier boy,
she said, your German is atrocious.
I want no compliments from you.
Some American shot my brother;
I haven’t heard from him for months.

I waved you over here
because I want an American son
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