Poetry: It all points up.

It All Points Up. I know I am not a very good poet, but If I were to ever be so lucky as to publish my poetry in a collection or have an untimely death and have it all collected and published for me, It All Points Up, would no doubt be the name of the book.

Something I am discovering about my writing, is that like life, not everything is stamped with the name of God on it. You have to search for His presence, especially within the really tough stuff. I like writing like that. I like life that. God doesn’t give us a bunch of answers, he makes himself the answer, makes himself the entire the entire picture we are looking at and asks us to search for him in everything. We spend our lives musing over the small little details of the painting, putting our little noses up to it, crossing our eyes, trying to see if there is a hidden illusion in the image, some magic, but it is not until we pull back and look at the whole picture that we finally see God. In the  sunset in the corner, the violent brushstrokes of the crucifixion, the cold blue colors of a silent night, and the varying spectrum of a rainbow. This is what I hope to accomplish in writing: poems, short stories, songs, novels, I want to write all the colors of God. I want it all to point up.




Falls yellow leaves fell from the trees

Down onto the green, green grass.

Changing old into gold.


And it was the trees true reason

For shifting the season,

To cover and color with what is dead


Leaves now fallen, free from the tree,

Turn our world a luminous metal, genteel.

So all can know, new grass, new tree.


And so it is for the same purpose—this tree,

Remake and polish me.

Melt all things down into precious stone.


Love to late


I waited for love but It never came.

I hoped for peace but there was only pain.

“I will tarry and wait” I proclaimed.

Come to my rescue, don’t be late.

If you wait to long I may turn away.

And what was once love may turn to hate

“Come, please come” this I prayed.

Please deliver,

Be not love to late.


Love Is Music (without usual formatting)


Love is…


cacophony and CHAOS!




Love is…

not Beautiful music

It is


patient and kind and difficult

and demanding and… BUT


Love is…

Beautiful music

good notes bad notes wrong notes



beating together, off-beat, DiSSonAnt

AMPLIFIED and harmonic


sta cca – to

cacophony during crescendo

Beautiful Music


Personal Reflection


That’s not who I am.

I never forget—

Every time I remember him.


It all comes back

and stares me in the face.

But I am crooked and cracked,

the image of hate,

my gag reflex to grace.

And of course I would choose to purge freedom,

I prefer my pity

and my disgrace.


All I eat are lies,

I am empty inside, no truth within

I’m just skin.

I’m just bone.

I’m dying.

I’m alone.


I hold my guilt in a vice, afraid to release.

It would be new life

if I believed you could redeem.


But redeem you can.

You do.

You have!

It is seeing not believing

that is driving me mad.

So look at myself I must

and cast out the lies of

shame and disgust.

lay them at the cross.


Instead choose to trust.


Lord be my cure!


So I go to the mirror

and there you are.

Reminding me you are with me,

and never too far.

You keep your hand on my shoulder—

and I see your scars.


Every time I remember Him.

I never forget—

That’s not who I am.


I welcome your Feedback!


One response to “Poetry: It all points up.

  • Virginia Tomes

    Hello—-It is good to hear from you. I loved your introduction of purpose—-worthy and clear. I pray that when you look in the mirror you see a handsome man–living life–stretching and learning–doing what is necessary and KNOWING that God does not see shame or disgust—He sees Paul—loved and cherished by many–most of all God. Blessings, Gramma

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