Depleted

Blockbuster letters depleted
On Crown Valley Parkway
Its a new day for dvds
and cds and tv’s on display
Another day for play show
and tell and repeat the
delete button to fascinate
the senses to push past
fences of imagination, their
is no limit, there are only
heroes falling off buildings
and moving time to save
the ones afraid, there are
those who are lost who
don’t want to be found
those in an office that
don’t want to work,
Letters of entertainment
depleted off Crown Valley
We will walk through to
understand what might
do the trick, make us
tick and ask for more
but should it be that
living in those faded
letters are better,
safer, happier?
I keep driving
I keep diving
I keep trying
I end up dying
And asking to
Be satisfied

 

Hoops

Jumping through hoops
Eating Fruit Loops
Straining and draining
The fakeness and numbness
Of the seamtress that knits
Together the quilt that covers
Me greatly and slighlty sweet
Are the persavative cereals
Lining the shelves of Orange
County’s bounty, how it would
Be Me to want more than a
Simple bowl of satisfaction
Not Esau’s reaction to the
Promise of the Son, this
Is what I want to become,
to stop jumping through
Hoops, to sit still and
Inherit more than just
A bowl of Fruit Loops

 

Hail And Reign

In light of a ton of rain hitting the OC…this is my reflection

Its never hailed before
The rain and the smore
Smoke stained out from
beach lit firepits and
divits in cheeks from
smiling at the thunderstorm
For the Orange norm
has been broken
and shaken have we
become by the slightest
drop of water on our
dry lives,
waiting for the rain
waiting for the reign
waiting for the hail
To pass, waving
persecutors don’t
Hail the King yet
it drops from the
sky, its spilts
the earth, He
offers rebirth
And awakening
From the slumber
and new lumber
for a roof lopped
Off, let in Reign
Let it Hail

 

Whiteout

Whiteout

Let go of your headphones
Turn down overtones
Hindering your senses
Tear down the fences
And death sentences
On repeat, we all feel
The heat from memories
We cannot change, bleep
Out the sound of red
Blinking digits and
Hinges of past doors
And boarded up floors
With sticky glue to cover
Up the ocean view, speak
Lower to the voices that
Hover face the judge
And plead guilty, climb
Into Him filthy and dirty
And sturdy He will guide
You and keep you from
All that keeps us trapped
In a box and bleeped out
On a tv deck, memories
We want to get rid of
Of He is the whiteout

 

Sunday

Sunday

Sunday night potato
Chip reunion first
Sunday communion
Pass the Eucharist
I give my best on
Sunday for I can’t
Take back it back
All those e-twelves
And shelves of
Memories since
Before birth it
Has been chosen
That worship
Would be the
Remedy for the
Dead man in me
To rise from the
Dead, Sunday instead
Is not just a day where
We lay our arguments
Done or may new ones
To abound and abundantly
Franticly ask for mercy for
He is not angry with we
Who sit in the pulpit
He has not fit with us
Just our offerings
And idols he will
Not require, the
Potato chips after
Church do not
Fill me up with
What I really need
In Him I succeed

 

Bottled Up

Bottled Up

Bottled up soda
Fizz I understand
The raging Red Bull
That is full of dull
Moments and fragments
Of survival moments
Of mundane disdain,
It spills on the floor
Just as I am spilling
All over the place
The mop heads replaced
To trace my bloody tracks
My heart in cardiac arrest
Bursting and rising surviving
To say the least, the fizz, the
Foam, the home I know not
Where the wear and tear of
A life spread out on a dirty
Floor, for He is the only
One capable of cleaning
Up the human mess,
The bottle he shakes
For its our lives at stake

 

I Slide

I Slide

I slide the rent check

Under the door

I pray for grace

To turn and

Handle as He

Does to He,

Burn for Me

Open the door

For Me, I am

Standing and waiting

I slide my reasons for

Leaving under the door

I slide my plane tickets

And parking fines and

Wind chimes I hear you

Singing over me on

The other side of

The door

I slide my questions for

Existence under the door

I realize that you are

Not an angry tenant

A selfish debt collector

Nor a man who holds

A gavel over me,

Rather your hand is

Is a door opened wide

For me

I slide my fears under

The door, I slide my

Tears on past journal

Entries, you smile

Full of mercies and

Without hesitation

You knock down

The door you let

Me fall into your

Arms

I slide and skin

My knees, you

Are there when

I am in need

 

An Awakening

Michael Jackson’s collarboration
The world’s celebrity adoration
Britney Murphy’s obituary
Everyone famous in
An asylum santuary
Tiger woods widdels
His way to the Master’s
Of what he cannot seem
To control, smashed glass
And a crass audience to
Impress Michael Scott’s
Workless ethic that has
Me wathcing pathetic
Characters searching
For redemption yet
History has taught me
That He should taunt
We who think we are
Large when he should
Cut out all the ropes
And let us fall, Ben
Iver said it best
Keep all your tickets
Let him pay the fines
It is not my lines
Nor my chimes
In the wind
I am His best friend
And these characters
In the world they are
In need of what I
Only know the power
To go low and pray
For an awakening

 

Beyone Me, Beyond Kansas City

If what I am chasing after is beyond
Me then I want to see what no man
Is unable to see, the realm past
The transient and the rampart
Into His heart, if showing up
Late is just showing up at
All then He is gracious when
The ropes break I simply just
Fall, if what I want is beyond
Me than safety is not what
We need, fearing Him is
So uneasy yet it haunts
Me that one day He will
Come Down and shake
Us with what we cannot
See, it is beyond me to
Try to explain, It is
Beyond Me to control
The crowds of dire
Needs, It is beyond
Kansas City where
This this is going,
It is beyond Me
To change what
I cannot change,
The power to break
What cannot be unbroken
This has been spoken
And will forever
Be just the token

 

Memorbilia

 Memorabilia

February Starbucks

At 70 degrees in

The OC breeze

I heard a sneeze

And cough and

Rough around the

Edges kids on ledges

Sharing their hearts

I saw the history

Of their story, cell

Phone plans and

Clothe stands of

Purchased memorabilia

I saw Motorola phone

Plans and later to own each

Other in each stormy

Weather season even

In 70 degree breezing

And sneezing from His

Presence it turned to tears

Filling the couch I trembled

Out loud at the crowd of

Witnesses begging for

More souls to join them

I felt like a thousand knives

Overwhelming a piece of

Flesh, the mess of

Weeping on the floor,

The weakness of my

Leadership on the

Reflection of these

Kids and where they

Have lived and loved

Forever is written over

Them