And now these three remain… 1 Corinthians 13:13
Her wings are as translucent as the water she flies over
Unable to see through completely but eye-catching nevertheless
She reflects the light that blinds the predators below the surface
Each one expecting her to drop low enough to catch
Yet she drifts along the shore inspecting color after color
And no longer is she afraid of what she will discover next
I miss you most on Sundays
When the sun doesn’t stop smiling
I think about that afternoon haze
And the way we spend our time talking
With no cares in the world
Except for not wanting the sun to set
You were mine and I was your girl
Those are the days I’ll never forget
So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God. -1 Corinthians 10:31
I am your living canvas in which you outline your plans.
Will you adorn me?
Will you dip me just enough into the ink?
Will you merge my casing with the perfect dye?
Will you carve out straight lines for me to follow?
Will you give me the strength to handle the fill?
Will you highlight my faith with a dazzling, heavy-duty blonde?
Will you tint my hope with an everlasting, resilient navy?
Will you paint my love with a deep, lasting blush?
Will you forgive me for this outward display?
Will you tattoo your art on my heart eternally?
I saw you
Yellowing my day out of its blackness.
A single bud to a single green stem,
Nourishing my soil with your striped seeds.
Releasing your fruits into wings,
Watching them flee with your rations,
Yet lacking your own necessities.
Unsheltered from the future freeze
Eventually wilting, leaving your stem undressed,
Gone forever, remembered never the less.
But still I saw you.
I wrote this poem about a year after my grandfather or as I called him, my Popi, died. I was organizing some my photographs and came across the one pictured above. I took it a few days after he had passed, the day my family and I arrived at his house. That flower was growing randomly beside his front steps and I was inspired to write a poem about it. This one is for you Popi and I think you know exactly what it means.
But the man who has doubts is condemned if he eats, because his eating is not from faith; and everything that does not come from faith is sin. – Romans 14:23
He wears sleeves
To warm chills of abstracted motifs
To cool the warmth of picturesque memoirs
His graffiti is synesthetic
Illusions of appetizing anecdotes
Silhouettes of fragrant fairy tales
His typography is aesthetic
Caricatures of gritty gossip
Shadows of silent sagas
I’m a voyeur of his decorations
My prejudiced perspective is absorbed in aspiration
I trace the lines and devour the iconography
His delicious artwork entices me with each sting of his needle
The ache animates my need of markings
My life without your canvas is an allegory of nothingness
Render me of your palette
Please permanent me with your stains
My Faith, My Hope, My Love 