there is a fracture
where the bones won’t properly knit

bandaids and tourniquets have their place
crutches and canes have their uses
but for breaks, the bones must first be set
or they will join askew
and the pain will remain

the worst of it is
that each fragment of bone
blames another fragment for the break
and they refuse to be set
and they refuse to heal
and they refuse to be whole
for they think that the pain
of being set
would be worse
than the pain
of remaining fractured

there is a fracture
where the bones won’t properly knit
and the ache is intense


a few rambling thoughts on racism and how it fractures a nation. My nation. Your nation too. It’s easy to heap blame or to say “suck it up…those hurts were in the past”, but without understanding…without compassion…without reconciliation, the pain will remain, the pain will worsen, and the pain will cripple.


Dotted Line

A border is a crossing/division/barrier
a dotted line on a map that says
this side/that side
a dotted line that says
mine/should be mine
a dotted line on a map that gives
an excuse for hate
a dotted line that says


“Border” is the theme of the day over at dVerse

Psalm for Times of Peace

You are quiet
Your voice I hear not
And in silence I suffer
Longing to hear you once again

O why do you keep your lips pressed closed
When I am drowning in the quiet
And a word from you would be
Breath in my lungs to sustain me?

It is not so much your reticence that
Has doomed me to suffer this disquieting quiet
But my own foolishness
For when you have spoken I have not been keen to listen
Release me from this hostile peace
And I will open my ears to hear


a free verse sonnet for dVerse


I cannot fathom the idea of sinlessness –
my life is permeated with sin
Thoughts go astray that I do not rein in
I take actions that I shouldn’t
(and don’t take actions that I should)

Even the good that I do is
too often sullied by a
desire for praise
or a sense of self-righteousness

I am like a land
blanketed in thick smog
for the last thousand years
where no eye has seen
the blue of the sky
nor can they imagine it

so how can I fathom
that the one who was sinless
would wear as a cloak
all my filth
so that I
can truly be clean?

my heart cannot hold
the amount of thanksgiving
that is owed to my Saviour
for his gift
his unimaginable gift
his indescribable gift
his unfathomable sacrifice

for what kind of sense does it make
for the whole to be shattered
to mend the fragmented?
and yet somehow
that’s exactly what happened!

The Challenge of Art

as a poet I’ve discovered
that the beauty an artist intends
is never quite transferred
from mind to completed project
Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony
in all its glory is merely a glimmer
of what was in his mind.
Van Gogh’s Starry Night
while stunning
cannot compare
to the splendour
of the loops and swirls
that he saw in his mind
before he picked up his brush
and I so often
strive for words
that will stun the reader
with their beauty
but must finely settle
for something
so much less
even this poem
does not really say
what I wish it to.



you, like me, know the name
of the one who is causing you
the most grief, the one
who is fragmenting your soul

I, like you, hope that my name
is not the one thought of
by too many people when they think
of who is fragmenting them

but that is the way of it
isn’t it?
that we would be willing
to cast another aside
but would not, ourselves,
be thus cast?

for what use
is a clay jar
after it has been
hurled against stone?


for dVerse OLN

Ten Thoughts On Sin


a small stone
does not merely impact
the water where it strikes
but creates ripples
felt for
a great distance around

you can stab
and slash
more deeply
with actions
than with knives

I once bought some strawberries
and noticed that there was mold on one
I decided to deal with it later, but
before long they were all ruined

Your garden may seem pristine
but don’t drop your guard
or it will soon be
over-run with weeds

looking tasty
does not prevent a poison
from being a poison

I wondered:
would the bear trap be sprung
if I stepped on it.
It was.

a man made a statue of himself
so that everyone would see
how great he was
soon the pigeons came
and covered the statue in filth
and then what everyone saw
was much closer to the truth

the room looks empty
when the lights are on
but only because
the rats are hiding

a hornet seems small
until it stings

There is only One
who can wash me clean
but first I must admit
that I am not


sharing with NaPoWriMo