atmosphere of ice and refuse.
this pressures me to think of us.
we said we were “all in.”
we talk about the black or white of Life
the Sunsets on Mars are Blue.
Sunsets on Mars are Blue
My children’s children
When Trials Come…
When hardship comes your way, will you tell yourself it’s a tool of God’s grace and a sign of his love, or will you give in to doubting his goodness? Paul Tripp
When the road seems shorter than before.
Wherever you turn there is no open door.
Your life is in convulsions like vomit on the floor.
All the paperwork of your life is yellowed and rotted.
Is the God’s grace of love or is it cruel?
Who do you worship and let rule you?
Will you head for the hills of Babylon?
Look for ways to numb your sorrow?
Will you turn to the One who made you?
Will you cry out and hang on to your pew?
Will you doubt God’s goodness in the dross?
Will you walk away or toward the cross?
Riding on the Wing of a Plane
Blackbird screaming in the top of a tree, the Sun goes passing by.
A full moon shines at the crossing in the road exposing all the lies.
Good girl hiding in the alley in the night, she’s praying no one sees.
Looking for love in the darkness, now alone, it’ll bring you to your knees.
Our children are riding on the wing of a plane, the want to try to die.
Looking for peace from pain in their lives, they’d rather crash then try.
Poor boy in hell at the top of a bridge, he’s praying he can flying.
He’s looking for love in the water down below, it wasn’t in his daddy’s eyes.
Can this bring us around or does history say we lose,?
Does the Cross mean no one goes to Hell or do we have to choose?
Hope for today and tomorrow in not gone, nor does it fall asleep.
Jesus is waiting for us to seek His face and only there will we find peace.
High Desert Winter
High desert winter.
White-out blizzard coming soon.
Laura Nyro on my stereo.
She warns me of the heartache coming on.
Wood burning stove keeps me warm.
Laura’s voice does the rest.
We got the blues and got it bad.
Wrapped in my Navaho blanket
Still shivering to my soul.
Henry Bridge (We Belong to the Day)
Sitting on the Henry Bridge watching the river run.
A little boy is skipping river rocks beneath the glitter of the Sun.
Autumn breezes gold and ruby red decorate the beaver’s dam.
A little girl hold her baby doll making sweet life plans.
We belong to the day free to be living in a symphony.
Walking of of the night no more darkness to see.
We belong to the day.
No sorrow left to see.
We belong to the day.
Observation of a Friend
She walks like a warrior, straight-backed and crown high. Yet, humble.
Her avian eyes propel with the speed of light. Yet, no guile is found in her.
Her strong and steady hands caress a heated brow or wield a sword.
She walks like a warrior. Her sword discreetly at her side.
She is wise and does not invite chaos into her life.
She equips herself with helmet and shield, both righteous and redemptive.
She walks like a warrior. She is keenly aware of the night.
She nimbly opens the lantern that guides her path.
She walks with a quiet understanding of how this goes. Yet, she delights in Hope.
And every day she wakes and walks like a warrior.
Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might. Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil. For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness…
Ephesians 6:10-12
Indigo blue velvet…
indigo blue velvet, a deeper love
blue-grey eyes, a storm at sea
white diamond stars pierce the sky
blood red heart, beating in me
midnight black, dreams stir the dark
old clock chiming for what will be
body warmth, a baby’s breath away
coral sunrise, a new day flies free
I Quit Dancing with Fear…
I quit dancing with Fear, such a vicious dance it is.
That same old dark day over and over no longer exist.
Yes, there are days when I hear Fear’s discorded melody.
Now I am mindful to Trust in the Holy One’s remedy.
So, He helps me lift a Holy song and begin His song over me.
Quickly Fear is on the run as this Coward must flee.
The Drum Keeps Pounding…
Kill or be killed.
How can a baby tell?
How can the government know your heart?
How can the abuse drum on?
Politicians poison consistently flows.
The children all die inside and out!
Kill or be killed.
Who made you this way?
Beat the drum until all is in ruin.
Drums pounding our sanity away!
The world’s words…
Photo by Pixabay
The World’s words cannot clothe themselves in peace.
All of this death has a life to each.
Millions of human lives taken cannot be a number.
A child is playing in her yard, daddy taken away by war.
Common sense is a safe boundary no more.
The road seems shorter than it was before.
Countries are convulsing insanity roars.
Letters tied in yellowed ribbon rotted to the core.
These words lack weight and I close the door.
Jill Autrey Dorman 