Wednesday, December 09, 2009


Do you know what it is like to be

Hung? (Sung)

Do you know what it is like to be

Hung? (Sung)

No I’m not talking about that popular definition of

Hung. (Sung)

Like a bird in the air suspended in mid flight


A multicolored rainbow of feathers in flight


Seven stars, in alignment


The rising of the sea to meet the moon


The red skinned branches of the Sequoia

Hung (Sung)

The oily olive of the Serengeti trees


The peak of a pyramid, an opulent brief reprieve


Yes we all have ideas of what it is like to be


Even here among these yonder popular trees we know what it means to be


Scarlet goodbye letters amongst bitter battered leaves


In the right place, but in the wrong skin


Wrong skin, and right men and you can be


Judge, Trial but no Jury
Hung (Sung)

Still, I don’t think you really understand what it is to be


I mean, when friends become removed like a coat from the hanger

When the lips of the beloved are colder than the stranger


When everything in you says run, but still, you face the danger

Hung (Sung)

When your love is counted in the seconds it takes

When the seconds it takes become without time


As they drug you through the cities whipped and scarred
While those you’d given everything refused to look you in the eye


Oh I don’t really think you know what it is to be

Hung (Sung)

Mangled sentences, sparsely separated


Speech cut off mid---


A wine drenched rag hitting the skin like sizzles

Hung (Sung)

A nail in the hand, a nail in the foot


Who do you think you are, anyway, to say that the Lord redeems? they yell.


Hoisted, lifted up with only a white loin cloth

Praying because this is not a walk that you want, but you choose to walk


For your mighty acts, crowned with thorns

For your loving words fed a fist


For your holy nature clothed in dust


Gave your blood, we spat on you

Sung Verse:

Pieced in the side!

For the sins of a world so cold

They shun the love they needed to survive

Oh Holy, Holy, Holy

You, that Hung

Or Worthy, Worthy, Worthy

Is the Lamb that hung

Poem (Spoken)

 Prince of Peace

The Great I Am

The holy hope

Of every man

You sit upon

The Throne of Grace

That hangs above

This broken place
Clear bright sound of Angels singing echoing day and night

Hung upon a darkened cross,

Yet you are the light

Do you really understand what it means to be

Hung? (Sung)

Do you really understand how much you’re worth and for this he was


If you understood how much the Father was willing to pay to release
you from the devil’s grip,
 your mouth would be filled with so much praise you could no longer use it to speak
 And when you approached the throne of grace you’d bow your head in this scared place

It would be

Hung (Sung)


Hung (Sung)

In reverence

In Honor

In Love

Saturday, December 05, 2009

Miss Mary's Blues

Miss Mary Mack
Mack, Mack
All dressed in Black
Black Black
With Silver Buttons
Butttons, Buttons
All down her Back
Back, Back
She asked her mother
Mother, Mother
For fifteen Cents
Cents, cents
to see the Elephants
Eleplants, Elephants
Jump the Fence
Fence Fence

Miss Mary Mack
Mack Mack
All dressed in Black
Black, Black
She's on her way
Way Way
to get her man
Back Back Back
She went to town
Town Town
to buy some Shoes
Shoes Shoes
With Silver Heels
Heels, Heels
Give him the Blues
Blues Blues
She was so Fine
Fine Fine
By Innate design
Design, Design
That all the Men
Men Men
Stood in a Line
Line Line
They begged and Pleaded
Pleaded, Pleaded
For Mary's hand
Hand, Hand
Even her Sorry
Sorry Sorry
Cheating Man
Man Man
But Mary Loved
Loved Loved
Her Self enough
Nuff, Nuff
To walk away
Way, Way
With a Tuff Strut
Strutt Strut
You see she loved herself
Self Self
She is God's Best
Best Best
and she don't settle
Settle, Settle
For Nothing
Less, Less, less

Tuesday, December 01, 2009

bitter rinds


is the dried and fully fermented fatty seed

of the cacao tree

from which chocolate is made

typically with a machete

pulp and cocoa seeds

are removed

and the rind is discarded

You must always handle wrath carefully,

In order to separate the curse from the crème

But the fool

walks in the bitters

ego sticking to his feet

like chocolate

with no sugar to cull

and humble

the tart

a chocolatier refined yet without history

nor recipe;

definitely not a chocolate-maker

for these are two different things;

the quick man opens

harvested pods are opened

eating it all,

rinds and seeds and pulp

before it liquefies

he thinks to himself,

I will be first,

he picks patience

and shoves it pass his lips

never tasting it

what was once herbal medicine

he sips in a strong hot cup

that burns the tongue

but chills the ribs

when they try to warn him

that too much, of even this treasured sweet

is poison

doesn't bother to laugh at irony

of old men who have tamed the seeds all their life

their laughter light, and creamy

like time

i guess

to a dying man

a sense of

humor is always first to go?