mistaken idenity…

every since
high school
you’ve
counted
too much
on
angels
when things
were
bad
you’d quietly pray
that
your angel
would
take the pain
away
it never did
but
you continued
to pray
and when
as
one might expect
the
pain
gave way
to
joy
you credited
your
angel
ignoring
what you
and
your friends
had done
to clear away
the
darkness
perhaps
the light of joy
blinds us
to
the real angels
in our lives
the ones
without wings
that by no standard
could be confused
with some
angelic form
but
that are
none the less
performing miracles
that change
the path
of
our future

 

from a mighty fortress…

tell me
what time
will
the angels
of god
descend
from behind
the walls of jericho
and
save this world
from
mankind
taking up
into their arms
a child
of
god
a child
to be given
new life
when
will they arrive
and shall that be
the time
when
the saints
join in song
filling the air
like a thousand
black birds
whirling
above the sadness
we’ve known
for all
too long
when
oh
when
will the angels
arrive
making
the earth
truly
alive

Poem Inspired by Spritual Standards Quinta: Markus Burger (Piano) & Jan Von Klewitz (Saxophone)

Background Music:  A Mighty Fortress is Our God

i didn’t know that…

i didn't know that

aunt bea
and
i
were
sitting
watching
the night sky
i said
look
there’s
a shooting star
aunt bea
said
that’s no shooting star
it’s
a skid mark
from an angel
roller blading
across heaven
making a fast stop
to drop-off
a blessing

not again…

photographic decoupage cwmartin 2011

consider
that every time
you take a step
or
wander off
into the dark corners
of your existence
an angel
that relative
who always
called your mom
before you arrived home
and 
could formulate
a reasonable excuse
resulting in
an all too
appropriate punishment
for those missteps
to
the full delight
of
said relative
perhaps
that same relative
is
hovering
over your head
right now
taking notes
you know
sort of  a
heavenly
assignment

changing of the guard…

he tiptoed
into her room
staring at the angel
that had slept
all through the night
night after night
a smile almost
painted on her lips
he knelt down
and kissed her cheek
then crept to bed
almost
on cue
as he
closed his eyes
the child began to cry
his wife gave a sign
as the cries began
to resemble a banshee
on an irish moor
for it was
her week
to rock the cradle
and
his
to sleep

night travels…

rain
on that old tin roof
would lull me to sleep
i had no fears
wrapped in grandma’s quilt
warmer than
a lover’s embrace
traveling between dreams
with an angel
as my guide
and smiles
as my only currency

fateful night…

by   Toni L. A. Cross
       Charles W. Martin

so smooth, so white
so still and pale
a survivor’s will
yet hauntingly frail
 
recalling now
that fateful night
doors forced open
brought a dreadful sight
 
cool dark breeze
swept right in
accompanied by
that desert djinn
 
no words were spoken
just a devilish grin
was on the face
of this evil djinn
 
innocent eyes caught
in his decaying gaze
hell was fully wrought
in that dreadful blaze
 
from man to beast
so went this ghoulish flame
twas my soul he sought
in his deadly game
 
I saw my path
just one way out
I risked his wrath
fought through my doubt
 
fell to my knees
and began to pray
an angel lord
please send my way
 
only in my dreams
could it be
I am saved by a child
a guileless babe of three

 

Toni L. A. Cross and I have entered into a duel poetry challenge and this is the resulting poem.  Duel Poetry:  a prearranged poetry writing challenge  between two people to evolve a new poem where each writer must respond to the other writer’s lines  (4 -5 ) until both parties agree that the poem is complete.

abdulrahman’s revelations…

This poem is based upon a post from my friend Mirella ( http://mirellamccracken.wordpress.com/).

 

he lie
on the floor
a caged fallen angel
his crime
quite simply
refusal to deny hope
but that was cause enough
for the smoke of unreason
to rise from the depths of the earth
and they were as locusts upon him
grinding away at his soul
beating his dreams from his backside
breaking the legs of his resistance
leaving him as  a prayer rug on the floor
to be tread upon
as if humanity’s grand mosque
were not also a place of prayer
so
no longer
do they have the seal of god
in their forehead
it has long been removed
so in their last days
the locusts shall come
with the scorpion’s sting
they will be tormented
but not killed
they will not find death
but they
shall
seek it
but death
shall flee from them
and they
shall know
his pain