heaven is not on earth. ......(not yet.)? some feel still...

believe what you may…. there is no heaven in an unknown place ….a heaven that you profess …none has ever seen ….nor been …..

the earth is the place Lord ….God so kindly made… if you can't create… nor equate it with a heaven ….why steps of altars you pace …

the Lord hath given you a chance ….to dwell just once …
make earth heaven or hell ….tis up to us ….

and
you too… who preach beyond those….
then unearthed skies ….

The valley grew silent; amid darkened soil
Just under the surface complete turmoil
pushing aside waste of times gone by
a blade shaped leaf for you and I

The green sword darkened, piercing the day
it feared not to spoil the coal dust decay
to show the world how wrong they had been
It sent a perfect stem through shards of green

A growth so strong with buds more than three
A reminder of you, and your white purity
For us to see, then for us to show
This flower so pure for us grow

A kindergartener sang a song
about Jesus for a talent show.
The audience buzzed with
a loud agreement
of how simply adorable
the girl sounded and looked
as she spouted her words
about how Jesus loved her
and our bodies are weak
but Jesus is strong.

A flash of panic
A muffled scream
I wake up sweating
But it’s just a dream
I press my hands over my eyes
Put my hand to my mouth
To smother my cries
For just a few minutes I was back in that place
And I heard those words
And I saw that face
The night is quiet
But for the beat of my heart
I think I hear splintering
As its crumbles apart
New friends a new school
I try not to dwell
But my subconscious is cruel
Brings me back to the hell
I close my eyes
It takes me away

With quill in hand I fell to sleep
and drifted into a new land
where boogums,quarks and memories creep
with past and future both at hand.

I chased a snark down a worm hole
for light years to a distant world
and saw strange ruins, age untold
where helicopter bird wings twirled.

Amid the ruins beings crept
painting poems upon thin air
where it seemed the sad words wept
mourning a past no longer there.

Wanted to write a poem about respect
but having trouble controlling my mind
the poem turned political

No, can't do that, the words that come to mind
unacceptable, afraid I will find out MIBS are real
Oh, what the hell

WAKE UP AMERICA, WHERE IS YOUR BACKBONE
ENOUGH IS ENOUGH
CAN'T YOU HEAR THE SOUNDS OF DRUMS ON THE WIND

a half hinged
off plumb
ever-jamming
two handed yanker

and she still manages
a slam
on the way
out

nails smell of layered shellac
hiding the ridges of housewives hands

leg wax smeared and whipped off
hairless corpora 's attractive to man

eyebrows threaded, cream applied
prevents reddened skin looking wan

YSL perfume, five dollars from China
B.O. hidden as only it can

bikini line hairless in operating theatre
Exposed post op to the bedpan

Why bother waxing pre surgical knife
Better to save it for holiday tan

Wien your breasts are double D
Totally enhanced, you may need a fan

Needle man in horny hay stacks is
perhaps some sap pained patron
with less than one will to live melting
slow on skillet scorch dance floors.

Alone among modern men of short cock dreams
in his mocked respect of women's worth.
Yet presently no earth grown flower sees high hopes.
He lacks that, come smell my honor fragrance.

stretch stained
I awake
crisp wretched
smoke
and the television
muffled booming
crawl beneath my door
and stand up

press down the
corners where they
folded
and float to my
window for a look

the brick wall windowed
building three doors
across snow crested
chimneys and
steaming vents

like an island
I watch with one
eye open
one ear exposed