Derrière dimples
Bold gray hair
Occasionally pimples
Elegant emerald stare
Competent and confident
Comfortable in own skin
Knowing to accept compliments
With wise yet humble grin
Bringing the best in every way
No fear in the aging process
Even you walk with delightful sway
Work of art you are in progress
Hope to know my years of gold
As wonderful and filling like you
A unique and courageous soul
Pleasure to know one as humble and true
On Pimple Pond
Pocked, our dreams spurt from cabin walls.
Woolen cover and cotton pillow catch
pin point boils from day breaking, like pitted glass.
White pebbled path meanders the hill’s cheek,
wet from being squeezed by nights cold hard hands,
to where set-tables will not wait our scrubs,
pastes and pleas for clarity like hot egg whites.
Yawns pop-jaws hinged under waxy ears.
We pass the lake and spit the dregs of sleep
onto her smooth glassine mask.
At the mess ladybugs rest, on pickle-surfaced leaves,
decline to fly. We arrive for breakfast.
One hundred-twenty faces come to bond
And maybe find a friend on pimple pond.
Working mysteries of religion
High in arrogance slow in content
They are never satiable in religious
Practices all sticking to be strong
Clergy of gloom and hue in wickedness
Shifting and breaking homes with their
Acts of abracadabra seeing vision of
Visions in vision less places
Diverting and deviating the hearts of
Many
Pity less religious practicer in
Miserable works filled with schools
Of thoughts stoic and fairy tales
Of religion
Bamboozled followers with rhetorical
Questions
We hope in the second coming to
Differentiate the true sheep from
The hawks at work
False clergy's of today claiming to
Hear from the above but can not
Hear hear the flying birds
They have left injury of honey and
Agony among families
They are apostles whose mission
Is doomladen like magic spirits of
Fallen Babylon
Although they have no record in the
Second coming
'.Jesus does not pop his pimples.'
Jesus doesn't pop His pimples,
how could He if there was no mirror.
Could divinity find error,
in His own infections?
NO!
Jesus can destroy,
that which causes harm.
No matter the nails through His palm,
He loves them all.
So...
If you hear hanging, crashing, shooting, popping, dying
find rest knowing Jesus is still.
It is but the sound of
lost discimples losing their fill.
t.
Goose Pimples Did Appear
On me many goose pimples did appear
Knowing my Savior was close and near;
Again, I had been born;
Every day and early morn;
After all my sins forever would disappear.
Jim Horn
See Some Goose Pimples
See some goose pimples
That are up and down each arm
I am thrilled to death.
How I sometimes feel writing
a poem of mine.
Jim Horn
The mirror stands cracked,
Neglected at the corner,
The broken glass wearing a coat,
Of a fine film of dust.
She no longer dares…
To look, nor does she care.
Her face, heart shaped,
Her eyes, bright and brown
Her skin a light shade of chocolate,
Her hands gently as if afraid, run down her face,
As if in fear they will hurt her skin.
Her face is rough,
Like the plains in the barren quarry,
Gingerly she touches each part,
The tears fall no more,
It’s part of her this skin
That strives to bring her loads of pain.
She walks the streets head held high,
She no longer cowers,
She stands straight and tall
Her heart threatens to tremble
As her peers point and giggle,
She can hear their words,
Shooting daggers into her heart,
“Look at her, look at her skin! Can’t she do something,
Aaargh some people! I just lost my appetite nkt”
A sad smile curls her lips,
She no longer pouts,
She knows she has done her best
The medicines, the creams, the ointments
Washed with peroxide but no, no change
Her skin remains stubborn
So she munches on, smiling to herself
She had a choice to live happy or in misery
She choose to happiness even the way she is.
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