ISAIAH POEMS: Each of these poems is inspired by a verse from Isaiah.

“The mighty man will become tinder and his work a spark;
Both will burn together,
With no one to quench the fire.” Isaiah 1:31

Fire races up a tree tall
Making a matchstick
Man.

A spark starts in the wayward heart
An ember hidden at the root
Appears dormant
Seems safely extinguished
But a tender breeze
Tainted with perfume breathes life into a
Raging wildfire
Ravaging the topography of the soul.

All I have made is at once consumed
Although often revealed through man’s many years.
In a moment the world I was growing
The plans I was planting
The dreams I was watering
The people I was weeding and pulling out
Were eaten,
Dug up,
Dried out,
Poisoned.
Destroyed.
All my labor was vanity.
All I created was consumed.

All a man creates comes to nothing
Without one to quench the unruly passions of the soul.
Plant your own garden and watch it wither.
Tend the great cedars of your God
And you will be sheltered beneath these great limbs.
Fire will not destroy the man who trusts in God.
In His garden you will be restored
And sustained.


“Their land is full of idols;
They bow down to the work of their hands,
To what their fingers have made.” Isaiah 2:8

I have made a man.
I have made a man great.
In my own eyes.
Made myself great.

“Where did you come from, man?
Did you form yourself from the dust gathered beneath your feet?
Were you a spark between your father and mother?”

I have made a woman.
I have made a woman strong.
In my own eyes.
Made myself to rule over man.

“Where did you come from, woman?
Were you taken out of man to master him?
Were you created to begin a battle with your soul’s mate?

I have made a world.
I have made world with me at its center.
A world that revolves around man and woman.
We have made ourselves great.

“Where are you going in all your greatness, man? Woman?
Have you made a way to escape inevitable death?
Where are you going, man?
To what end is your greatness, woman?

No, I have made a man.
I have made a woman.
I have made a world for them to live in.
I am greatness alone.
I am the only way to escape death.
I am the only way to live.
I am.


“Stop trusting in man,
Who has but a breath in his nostrils.
Of what account is he?” Isaiah 2:22
Who do I trust in?
What will last?
Of what is worth?
Tomorrow I might die.
Why do I go on living like I won’t?
Death is all around me.
The stench is not sweet in my nostrils.
No one breathes in deeply as they pass a trash heap on the sidewalk,
So why do we breathe in the perfume of the prostitute of our heart?
Why do we revel in our carnal revelry?
“Eat and drink for tomorrow you die.”
If this is true, then why do we feast all the more upon our own flesh?
Are we carnivores of our own soul?
Feeding upon our own destruction.
Passive-aggressive masochists that we all are.
Self-mutilating.
Self-destructing.
Poisoning our bodies.
Putting to death the mind.
Self-prescribed doctors
Medicating the moment
Writing fake prescriptions
For the body
But forsaking the soul.
Stop trusting in man.
Stop trusting in self.
Stop trusting in what you think you know.
Tomorrow you might die, you say.
But what if you are already dead?
Your death began the day you were born.
(You began dying the day you were born)
“Apart from Me you have no life.”
Your life a movie.
Tomorrow may be the conclusion.
The discovery that you’ve been dead all along.
So eat and drink today if you want to live.
Eat of Me: The true bread of life
And let My living water kiss your parched soul’s lips.
Eat and drink of me to truly live.
Trust not yourself, but the truth I AM.
I Am the truth that gives life to this dying man’s soul.
Come.
Eat.
And drink.
For you I have already died.


“The look on their faces testifies against them;
They parade their sin like Sodom;
They do not hide it.” Isaiah 3:9
She stands on the street corner.
You hide your sin behind a wall
But the Lord, he sees it all.

They are poor and need a shower
But you clean your body
But not your soul.

He makes him money on the misfortune of others
You withhold your fortune from the one who makes you.

Sin becomes standard fare
In a country that has forsaken God.
A God who is fair.
A God who is just.
A God who will judge us
for the truth we have created.
For manufactured methodology that we’ve invented to avoid accountability
To a higher power
A license for our own leisure.
A license for our own lust.
A license for our own legacy in life.
Sin becomes standard fare
In a country that has forsaken God.

Life on the Fringe

I took titles from the Philly Fringe Fest Catalogue and have written poems with the titles as my starting point. These were actually three separate poems which ended up flowing into one another- they are now meant to be read as one long work.
*I am also working on getting an audio clip of this poem on the page, too*

Welcome to Discordia
Just keep moving
Fall in line. Don’t look
Long upon eyes
You pass. A smile
Misconstrued by
Men out of mind.
Welcome to Discordia.
Darkness lying just
Below the surface, just
Above. Predator lust lapses intended love.
Stench overwhelms
Sweet. Welcome to Discordia.
Welcome to your street.
A land real for those
Lost within. A land still
Surreal to me found
Without.
Stripped of safety
Yet unable
To discern darkness
From dirt.
Alone with thoughts
Among all You alone.
What to say?
What to do?
Welcome to Discordia
Walk inside.
Walk on out.
Welcome to Discordia.
You’re
Halfway Home.
Have to roam
A little longer
Linger here
Walk a street
Hope to meet
You
Near The Annihilation Point
Might be tomorrow.
Ready to depart
For a reality new?
Body a refuse,
Mind made up,
A question mark acrostic.
Soul not a matter ceasing to exist
Soul continues in brokenness.
A taste of the Next came in this now.
Eyes polluted by all your lies
Of love
Of labour
Of living the now
Of getting and
Giving and who and
Of how.
Now
You will see
There is no truth in ceasing to exist.
You will continue although you may wish
To turn off the tv,
To just go to bed.
To wake up tomorrow,
A dream in your head.
But you’re now a prisoner for
Life and in death.
Forever a prisoner,
Forever a mess.
A stench on the street
A heart completely crushed,
Beaten breathless,
A constant murder of the soul.
Where am I?
How did I get here?
I think you know.
Game show over.
Reality exposed.
The illusion was your happiness,
Your self-promoted soul.
Your denial.
Your rejection of the truth
You refuse to know
You rely on your self,
On the world YOU have created
YOU are in control.
YOU are the god,
the keeper of YOUR soul.
Self-determined truth
Seemingly not so bad.
If only…
You had birthed yourself into this world you think you know
If only…
You could stop the trigger from being pulled.
Rescue yourself.
Write your own ending just like the fiction you’ve already composed.
“In the beginning…
Happenstance and time creates everything we know.”
If only…
you were the author of the soul
You’d plead your innocence to the god you have created,
And keep on living
By the rules you write.
If only…
Then you might not be the next in line.
Annihilation point defined.
But the truth has already been determined.
Extortionist exposed.
The book has been written
Truth has been determined
The book has been written
Truth has been determined
The annihiliation point is now near.
The trigger will be pulled and you won’t be here.
Won’t be here in body
But will exist in soul.
Whether good or bad
You will soon know.
Annihilation point near.

Soul continuum
Soul continuum
Soul continuum
Soul continuum.
Fear.

What makes us so alive?

Caution

A yellow caution tape leaf floats 17 stories high.

Warning- life is dangerous out here.

You’re not safe just because you think you are closer to heaven

Further away from the dark streets below

Were you the One raised up above the earth?

Were you the One descending to the darkest street?

The towers you build will one day crumble.

But my city is the city of light

There is no safe place apart from Me.

Come live here with me.

Let caution be driven by the wind

Outside your window

17 stories high.