Matthew 5:45


Rain falls on

The just and the unjust

On thieves and moths

And rust

On folded hands

And broken lands


Rain falls on

Overflowing cups

And the dusty dryness

In the rut

In peaceful shade

And blood soaked blade


Rain falls on

Land of milk and honey

On people who love and lack

The money

On abundant wealth

And empty shelf


Rain falls on

Over billowing ocean

And the dry desert dunes

Sandy motion

On swamp sunflower

And cactus flower


Rain falls on

Supplying what we need

In our contentment and in

Our greed

On a feral forest child

Veiled in civility for a while


Rain falls on

The just and unjust

On fertile field

And drought dust

On the raging nations

And the garden’s quiet patience


Love and Weapons


When you know you cannot hide

Behind a picket fence

Ensconced with the belief

That evil resides in past tense


You know the reason good men

Become cogs in the machine

Is because they fear the fallout

If they boldly intervened


You know it costs you everything

If you are wanting to be free,

However, it costs you nothing

Just to simply leave


You know that the lightning

Is more than just thunder

And people have names

They are not numbers


You know love casts out fear

leaving determination

To fling oneself into the arms

Of wild raging liberation.


You know love is not made

But exists as a current

Like, a bush that burns

But it cannot be burnt.


So when love is given

But is not returned

Fear is still cast out

And valor is still earned


So blow on dry bones

And let the dead men rise

Release them from where

They lie low and hide


And raise up an army

Of Heaven’s hardy children

A mighty battalion

Of little warrior pilgrims


To crash up upon

Jordan’s stormy banks

And rouse the benumbed

Silent sleeping ranks


To gather their courage

And fight with true hand

To call evil for evil

That foundation built of sand.


That they would know the truth

And it surely set them free

That to glorify the self

Is an unfounded phony glory


But to lay down one’s life

For the honor of a friend

Is the only glory

That does not have an end.


So Love is a Person

It is not a verb

It is a living breathing

Holy righteous Word


The sword of the spirit

It is the word of god

Peace is a gospel

In which feet are shod


Salvation is a helmet

And righteousness thick leather

But truth is the belt

To tie it all together


We have these precious treasures

In these jars of clay

But only when we’re broken

Can they see the light of day.


Triune Praise


Holy, Holy, Holy

The Lion is a Lamb

His gentle raging

The Warrior with carpenter hands


Holy, Holy, Holy

The woman’s writhing labor

Draining placental blood

A virgin highly favored


Holy, Holy, Holy

The rising mountains dance

The great depths roar

To song of divine romance


Holy, Holy, Holy

The nations rage

He quietly, efficiently

Sweeps the stage


Holy, Holy, Holy

The King of Glory

You are the author

Of the only true story


Holy, Holy, Holy

You are hope and peace


In famine or feast


Holy, Holy, Holy

Your will be done

Wake up sleepers

Life has begun


Holy, Holy, Holy

Come back to reign

Utterly destroy

That which cheaply entertains


Holy, Holy, Holy

The Lord of the brave

Calls us up

To soar past the grave


Holy, Holy, Holy

Jesus almighty

The bright morning star

The lion who bleeds


Holy, Holy, Holy

The healer of our dreams

Plunging them to victory

In sacrificial stream


Animus Vox


Let there be light!

It smells like Christmas tonight.


Crickets sing so soulfully

They chant away the lonely.


I’m covered with a starry tent

Living in the time I’m lent,

Weaving happy memories

Out of this autumnal breeze.


The coyote’s chorus

Is rising in the forest.


Where foxes prowl

With competing owls


And the running deer

By moon’s mirthless cheer


Stamp up the ground

Eating apples they have found.


I inhale my camping fire

And then exhale it’s bright desire.


The shadows dance

Around warm romance.


Each burning ember

Is like a dream remembered,


Warming a hope to life

Under a starry night.


I can hear my animus vox

Echoing from these river rocks.


New Moon in Scorpio


It is a cold starry night

For a drifting satellite:

She is a celestial graft

Arcing her elliptical path.


She’s a power driven star

Amongst galaxies and quasars

Sailing heavens heights:

A gravitational kite.


Now switching on the rocket drive

Her accessory boosters come alive

Aiming for that black unknown

The only reliable pathway home.


Leaving mechanical orbit-

That quiet routine circuit.

She achieves escape velocity

in parabolic trajectory.


Moving to encompass

That vast great darkness

Ever seeking solid sunlight

In a cold starry night.