FREEDOM

All humans yearn to be free;

to manifest our unique destiny;

to be wholly who we were designed to be.

A caged bird loses its melody-

it cannot fly-

let alone sing-

with clipped wings.

What an utter shame,

a sorrowful loss

this game…we play

of a boss,

of another mere human

knowing better than us.

Why do we so easily

give our innate power away;

so often stifle what is inside us

to say?

We all lose

when we chose

captivity

over

creativity;

conformity

in lieu of

individuality.

We are encouraged to be ourselves,

to come out of our protective shells,

then

often

shunned

when a few

do not see

as we do.

Labeled sinner,

we are marked with a scarlet letter-

excommunicated

mutilated

married

raped

shot

subjugated

stoned

burned!

These, it is believed,

is how we learn

to be silent

remain quite;

stay small

do not stand tall.

What is the threat

that freedom for all

is perceived

to beget?

The shackles

bind

both ways.

What so ever you do to me,

that you do unto thee.

All humans

were meant to be

free.

No matter the costs

or how long,

Spirit will indeed

sing its songs.

 

 

 

 

 

Advent

A time spent

in deep contemplation,

in preparation

for what God

to the world

sent:

A Love Divine

came from up high

to make fully flesh

The Word;

to demonstrate

prayers are indeed heard

and prophesies fulfilled

as per His time

and perfect will.

Emmanuel-

Hallelujah,

our God dwells

among us all!

Born humbly

in the House of Bread,

He came to save,

to minister,

to transform

the thoughts

the darkness

residing, hiding

in our head,

imploring we chose-

instead-

only Love

only Light

-always

until the end

of our human days.

 

L’Artiste

Blessed unrest,

the nest

in which

The Artist

all ways

seems to

reside.

Here,

she strives

to refine

define

design

that which is

ineffable

intangible

deeply spiritual;

that which dances

mysteriously,

provocatively

in her Head

then spreads

quickly

urgently

to her

fervent

Heart;

that which is

commonly

referred to as

one’s art.

A blessing

and a curse,

this art.

No clear end,

nor definitive start.

In its birthing,

both joy and pain,

moments crystal clear,

moments utterly insane.

Riddled with

insecurity

frustration

and doubt

throughout,

The Artist

stays the course

no matter the costs.

She simply must

and trust

in something

higher;

something

beyond

her.

For, she is but

the mere vessel,

a human conduit

through which

the insistent art

grows and flows,

and then

into the world

it goes.

Where it lands,

The Artist

is not

to know.

Not her concern

to this learn.

She’s done her part,

releasing the art.

 

music (draft un)

My muse,

what I turn to when utterly confused;

that which inspires

and sets my Soul and loins afire;

a bright Light

to the long, dark night;

the champagne that

not only lightens

the pain

but also

it explains.

My Love,

I cannot do without,

shy inhibitions,

you aptly loosen;

you make the mute, shout,

and the introvert dance wildly about-

as if no one is on watch;

you fill to overflow

with glee and joy

like a cherished Christmas Day toy!

Muse,

in melody, harmony and word,

you provide rich fodder

to be heard, felt and

deeply ponder.

Through you

in you,

by you,

I feel the close presence of my Lord!

I hear His gentle voice

direct to me, He talks!

My heart is

wide open,

softly broken,

sweetly aching.

The tears inevitable flow,

the floodgates, now ajar,

torrential rain, not far.

I relent, well spent:

my Soul, ascents.

Transformed,

informed,

humbled and grateful

to-

for-

the music

only Heaven could have borne.