Many Colors and Hues

Deep and throbbing,
desire and aspiration pull hard
like malamutes in downy snow,
dragging my aim forward
and my resolve further
and my will shouts GEE!  HAW!

I have one brush,
but many colors,
many shades
(and hues).
To mark out,
to inscribe and convey
some tenor and melody
and picture with one brush.

Inner riots come under orders,
bevel together in harmony,
and find floral voice through my brush,
and I find my tongue and
speak rainbows, prisms,
and ever always of
the Grand Banquet and celebration…
here the rainbow swirls
out, and back,
and delivers on its Promise.


Her Mercy Womb

All the relentless blows,
the pains, the wounds.
All the mummy-wrap wadded and
shoved roughshod down my throat
and through my heart…
The searing letdowns,
the cold denials of
heaving and wrenching begging.
Burdens allowed to pile up,
build up, bury me
in desperation and despair.
And silences…towering,
looming, lurking, leering,
mocking, unlistening…
All of these things
were horror to me…
But to Mama,
they were the womb that She wove
to carry me full,
carry me careful,
pregnant with me,
Her Daughter,
Her Offspring of Grace