Why Does Dust Dance in Heavenly Light?

Oh, did those feet in ancient time
Leave footprints in the sand,
Or were the beaches seared to glass
Beneath their Maker’s hand?

Did the holy and the worldly clash
With every footstep trod?
Did rocks dare lift their jagged heads
And bruise the heel of God?

Did mosquitoes change their diet,
Nearby babies scream and wail,
Briars scratch and ivy itch Him,
Clouds pour down swift buckets of hail?

Was it we alone who nailed Him
Stripped and beaten to the cross,
Or did all the natural world assail Him–
Stake a claim in His life’s loss?

Word it through the grapevine

Like all good writers I’m a drinker;
Unlike the best ones I’m no drunk.
I might write thoughts, but I’m no thinker,
For every poet is a purebred punk.

Creator’s Cathedral

These wooden beams like hallowed pillars rise
Upholding platforms primed with painted praise;
Sweet clay aromas mark the potter’s prize
And incense wafts from every glossy glaze.

Each eye beholds small molded offering,
Real sacrifice from heart and hand and mind–
This barn has been a place where scoffers sing,
A sanctuary for the art-inclined.