Wednesday, September 28, 2011


The poor were found in every age as humans walked the earth
From fertile plain to forest dark to death to life to birth
To desert sands to water's edge to ice fields cold and stark
Wherever we have wondered, poverty too leaves its mark

Some have no choice the part they play in this game we know as life
No silken pillows 'neath their heads, no ease, no rest, just strife
From dawn 'til dusk and back again they plod to make ends meet
No crown victorious on their heads instead thorns of defeat

Others still plot this course through decisions none too wise
From judgments deemed just too poor their problems did arise
"This is a choice they made themselves" we say none too kind
"They shouldn't have done this or that, they were perhaps just blind

"And we are right," we say to ourselves, "we have concerns of our own
We need to keep our lives in order, our things, our stuff, our home
We have to run this race we're in most each and every day
We have to do this always and we must keep the wolves at bay

"Besides, the poor aren't hurting so much (or at least, so we're told)
For in winter the houses they live are seldom all that cold
Their shelters are fine, for even in the harshest summer's heat
They can rest and cool their troubled lives, to there they can retreat"

Of course, we lie to ourselves, for once the facts are known
That poverty's skeletal path is not so far from our own
We're one crisis shy, every one of us, from paths filled with dread
Yet we choose to cast derision upon those there already instead

We claim piety for all to see and yet it's very odd
That while we choose to follow him we clearly ignore our God
And Jesus we also ignore and just as equally;
"Whatsoever you do to the least of my brothers, that you do unto me"

Remember this, and heed these words; poverty's here for all
And those who sit up oh so high have oh so far to fall
For when on the steep slopes of fate any one of us slip
If no one cares then we too fall into poverty's wicked grip

Friday, September 9, 2011


Young enough to still dream big
Old enough to desire
Hopeful and ambitious
Cautious and wise
Wanting to conquer the world
Needing to be home by ten at night
Eyes full of wonder
Heart full of hope
The world is still big
Your limitations are small
Music is sweet
Life is still sweet
You're in the cusp
Not really a child
Certainly not an adult
And the horizon is still a long way off

Friday, September 2, 2011

our digitized selves

We’re digital metaphors in the world we created
It’s a place where nothing is real or concrete
We move about here in our virtual city
With virtual shoes on our virtual feet

We own virtual stuff and knick-knacks galore
That we keep in a place neither real nor surreal
Neatly arranged and put onto shelves
Composed of electrons, which certainly are real

And once we have died what becomes of this stuff
That when we were living made our lives so complete?
It really goes nowhere, your digital estate
They simply push down the key labeled “DELETE”

kindle by candle

Kindle by candle
The world has gone dark
Another storm set in
Leaving its mark

You huddle by laptops
Now shuttered and closed
Serving as desktops
For notes you composed

All of your music
And all of your stuff
Was stored as electrons
In digital fluff

One simple surge
Was all that it took
For servers so distant
To suddenly cook

Your teeth are gnashing
You’re screaming aloud
Wondering why in God’s name
You trusted The Cloud

So it’s

Kindle by candle
You’d forgotten the rules
That fate is unkind
To digital fools