there were carnival lights behind your eyes
and I remember the wonder inside as I begged to ride on the ferris wheel
we were my ferris wheel
we were ups and downs,
we were half me trying to pass off my fear reflex as entertainment
it is unhealthy to sacrifice health for entertainment
my superimposed smiles have dimmed to but a mirrored grin.
Graceful Death - Short Form Poetry
i’m learning to view death through the lenses of redemptive Grace,
a God-moment where heaven leans in so closely,
sobered by our mourning what was,
all the while carrying solace and anticipation in the knowing
the moment pointing their gaze to the One who was, the One who is, and is to come —
in everything dead eventually creating space for new life;
each instance a tiny prophetic act of resurrection,
of birthing beauty from pain,
a revealing of the Divine's true nature.
yes, ashes to ashes and dust to dust,
but the in-betweens that make this truth more cyclical than linear are what inspire my hope and confidence.
in them i find promise
in them I find permission to question, to voice my fears — knowing,
that like winter into spring,
as the God-breath into the inanimate clay,
like the King who embraced death and whose last breath was not the last word,
that death will always lend itself to life
here I anchor my hope and confidence in Her goodness
lifting my hallelujah to the God of the redeemed.
Anxiety - Short Form Poetry
Im carrying more then I should.
Im scared of who we’re becoming and the bombs dropping too close to home.
I don’t want us to be afraid of ourselves,
but we are keeping the gates locked from the people we need to save.
The snow melts a lot quicker now, never sticks for long.
The sunlight feels uneasy on my skin.
I don’t pick up the phone because im terrified
the voice on the other line will tell me someone else I know is lost.
The more people you love, the more people you lose.
Im too terrified of what’s happening in the world
to worry about what career im going to dump in the remainder of life I have left.
How does anyone sit still anymore,
how can any of us breathe?
I’m carrying too much,
please,
let me sleep.
Jigsaw - Short Form Poetry
It is on afternoons like this one
That I feel like a jigsaw puzzle,
Tampered with by a toddler at the very moment,
When it appeared that my pieces were forming a cohesive picture.
My pieces, now strewn across the floor,
Flung to the farthest recesses of the room by her chubby arms - Just out of my eye’s reach, and my mind’s perception.
On afternoons like this one,
I try to make sense of what is left on my nightstand.
I push aside the razors and pills that promise happiness but lie,
Preparing with my remaining pieces to play seek and hide, and beginning, to Fill in the spaces between them.
Minister Neal
I was in North Carolina, at a interdenominational weekend retreat run entirely by volunteers, when I heard it for the first time in ages.
It was barely audible above the shouting of children --
the squeals and laughter bubbling from the volleyball courts into the cafeteria windows. But it was there:
the rhythm of heavy boots bringing back the sound of laughter following a shrill whistle piercing through the air like lightning.
This is what learning sounds like. I remember.
I remember when I was eight years old,
the children’s pastor and leader of Junior Church was Minister Neal.
He was a goofy, stern man the size of a boulder, and he thudded like a tank through the hallways of our church.
Once, when I needed to get his attention
I got close enough to tap him on the shoulder
I tapped hard to try and see whether he had any soft at all.
I thought he was made of rock.
We begged to be sent to his Junior church: the banners hanging like a jungle
above our heads, reminding us that we could be anything
the sound of our children’s pastor’s laughter. Adults needed appointments,
but we did not. And even once when he was in grown-up meeting,
all it took was a gentle knock on the door, a peek around the corner,
and he was off calling, "Sorry. We’ll have to reschedule.
I have to see someone else about a very important matter.
It’s about a treat. It’s about a new ABC bible verse. It’s about a finished book of the bible — one book further than last time?!”
He visited every Sunday school classroom, knew every student by name.
He spoke to us like we were scholars. Artists. Scientists. Athletes.
Musicians. And we were
My world was the size of a crayon box,
and it took every color to draw him.
My world was the size of his Junior Church room. It was a tall as I could stretch my fingers, thinking, “Please!”
Let me be the one to respond to Minister Neal.
Let me be the one to show him what I know.
Books of the Bible.
Matthew. Mark. Luke. John.
Acts.
Romans. 1 Cor. 2 Cor. Galatians.
Look how much I know.
He brought us guests and movies, clowns and candy, swords and a praise team and a petting zoo.
They set up the cages in the parking lot for our Hallelujah Festival
While we were still tucked up in the junior church room, unaware.
Rabbits and guinea pigs poked out their noses, but Minister Neal came to rest in front of the lamb cage.
He and the lamb considered each other for a long time. He asked if he was tame enough to go inside. The trainers laughed and told him he was plenty tame, but he didn’t know how to go up stairs. So he led him to the front of the fellowship hall. And when the doors slid open on the first floor, there stood Minister Neal in his polo shirt and slacks, with a huge grin and a lamb on a leash.
He plodded from child to child, and we stared, cheered, laughed, and shouted. We called to him, this group of city kids, the youngest asking “Minister Neal, what is that? Where did it come from?" He made us wonder. He made us question. He made us proud of what we had learned.
Books of the Bible.
Matthew. Mark. Luke. John.
Acts.
Romans. 1 Cor. 2 Cor. Galatians.
Look how much I’ve learned.
He taught us to share.
He taught us to listen when someone else is speaking.
And then, he let us go.
We were dandelion seeds released to the wind, he asked for no return.
We are saplings now with gentle hands.
The fashionista girl with bright cheeks and messy hairpins and big plans now leads Black Girls Rock in Kennesaw.
The boy with the glasses with the strong sense of justice and morality is now studying economic inequality at Georgetown.
The one who always carried her calculus book is now an computer engineer graduating from Xavier.
And me, the boy who spent four days a week in Ben Hill’s youth ministry is now a youth pastor at Bethel Atlanta. He let us fly.
So I find myself at the front of my youth group.
My middle schoolers run up to me and ask me so many questions
I pray for patience. For wisdom. To find a way to tame all the peculiar animals of this world,
to coax them enough to brave the trip from their cages to the front of the fellowship hall,
to see the doors slide open to my youth’s gaping mouths.
All the wild wonder.
They worry about everything.
They worry about what others think.
They worry about their grades.
They talk over one another until I cannot hear them.
I tell them, "Listen. Listen to one another like you know
you are scholars. Artists. Scientists. Athletes. Musicians.
Like you know you will be the ones to shape this world. Show me how many colors you know how to draw with.
Show me how proud you are of what you have learned.
And I promise I will do the same."
Minister Neal, Abridged from Sarah Kay's Mrs. Ribiero
Ethereal Dreams - Short Form Poetry
These are ethereal dreams,
The sugar glass shatters into a million fragments that crash over me.
The sound's left me breathless,
Oh was this reckless, but oh it is sweet.
Self-Therapy on a Ledge - Short Form Poetry
breathe.in, then out. slowly now.
know that this is but a moment, and as all moments do, it will pass.
look. its already passing.
soon it will be but another part of your past and you,
you will still be here. still be here, okay?
I know there are days when you feel like you are on a train thats soon to derail
and you can't imagine jumping from the tracks but you're not sure if you're afraid
or just not quite brave enough.
give yourself permission to be either, or both.
Selah Lyrics
When the waves crash high, when the winds blow angrily
When the storms surround me, I will look to you
When the bones are dry, you breathe new life, I see valleys rise with one word from you
And I long to move your heart with my song,
In confidence where you are is where I long to remain
And I long to move your heart with my song,
Take courage that where you are is where my fears fade
You are my Hope, on the horizon
When my voice it trembles and my faith is shaken.
You are my answer, You are my reason to just hold on
All that is chaos, is peace in your presence.
You whisper, "Be still in the midst of this madness."
And at your wisdom, I'm breathlessly awed, filled with gladness,
For You're so good to me.
Selah, I have gazed upon the splendor of the heavens,
All Your glory, my mouth is filled with praise.
How You amaze me, its more than what you've done,
Its who You've been... its who You'll be.
You are good and You are holy,
Your Kingdom come in power, glory
You are justice, You are mercy,
Yours is honor, worthy King.
You are good and You are holy,
Your Kingdom come in power, glory
You are steadfast, never leaving,
You have been my faithful friend
Star Student - Short Form Poetry
Do not allow this mask of calm to deceive you.
It is easy to believe what you see on the surface.
Look deeper than the surface.
My head is submerged under the water.
I am very much overwhelmed by all of this.
I do not yet know how to ask for help.
Do not mistake my silence for tranquility.
You cannot hear wars fought worlds away.
I know I may seem far away.
It is because my nights are spent in the trenches.
I am at war with my thoughts.
I am at war with myself.
Do not always take me as I appear.
Stars are not small or gentle as they’d appear.
Stars are violently dying and burning, creating new worlds.
They are not here to be pretty.
They only look pretty from a distance.
My process has not been pretty.
Come close with your telescope - see this is not pretty.
I am learning I do not have to be either.
I have learned too much from them.