The Grand Artisan

God, the ultimate Artist.
The supreme Scientist.
The intimate presence within,
and throughout this existence.
Regenesis … poetry in motion.
Is she masculine?
Or is he feminine?
Is the answer
beyond our understanding?
Is this life
but an artistic documentary?
Seen through all the agony
and the ecstasy …
the triumph and the tragedy?
Have we truly
been given a free hand
by the Artisan Grand?

Or are we rats in a laboratory?
Are we but particles
within the part and parcel
of subatomic intricacy?
Just mere quarks
traversing the dark?
An infinitesimal part
of a dimension mechanical?
Speaking relativity,
where is the power and the glory?
A perpetual quantum
crunching the numbers
in some mindless continuum.
Is that the universal story?

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Just One Drop

JUST ONE DROP

Just one drop
that falls not
That never fails
in erasing all fault

A death
that brings life
One for all
In the serenity
of a friendly voice
I hear the call
Always a choice
to steer your vessel
on a heavenly course
Words of wisdom
the truth to tell
One drop of love
that doesn’t fall
and never fails

Just one drop
of grace divine
suspended . . .
in the fullness of time
No silent witness
to a world of crime
A door is wide open
as the Word
has been spoken
throughout the expanse
of infinite space
One drop of hope
for this human race

Just one drop …
more than enough

Words & Artwork:
~ David B. Redpath © 2018-19

Empathogenesis

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Bursting forth
from the Hotel Eden,
a thunderous explosion.
The trembling earth
cracked wide open
as from the fiery breath
of a vengeful dragon.
Smoke swirling around
the all consuming flames
like hot tongues of venom.
Shattered glass descending
as vicious rain
over everything broken.
The dead and the dying
a shrine to destruction.
Upon the bloodied lips
of dazed confusion
a burning question …
“How could a loving God
allow this to happen?”

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No Exits ~ Exist On

NO EXITS ~ EXIST ON

In the car park
of a stark oblivion
best to leave
your engine running
Don’t plug the spark
Don’t phone it home
all on your own
in the brooding dark
If you’ve got the app
of a beating heart
with an overflowing cup
don’t text it to the exit
like some Brexit
lost in transit
with Boris in the forest
So therefore go forth
and Sexit up …
if you really must

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The Doors of Deception

Six long weeks
roaming the dry crust
of a sun burnt wilderness.
Nothing but rocks and red dust.
The hot desert winds
that flay the skin
… now murmuring,
with words broken
of souls lost and forsaken.
Best I finally surrender
upon this alien terrain
the haunted trauma
of a time I’ve tried in vain
. . . to never remember.

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Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie

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Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie
(edited) ~ by Bob Dylan

When yer head gets twisted
and yer mind grows numb
When you think you’re too old,
too young, too smart or too dumb
When yer laggin’ behind
an’ losin’ yer pace
In a slow-motion crawl
of life’s busy race
No matter what yer doing
if you start givin’ up
If the wine don’t come
to the top of yer cup
If the wind’s got you sideways
with one hand holdin’ on
And the other starts slipping
and the feeling is gone
And yer train engine fire
needs a new spark to catch it
And the wood’s easy findin’
but yer lazy to fetch it
And yer sidewalk starts curlin’
and the street gets too long
And you start walkin’ backwards
though you know its wrong
And lonesome comes up
as down goes the day
And tomorrow’s mornin’
seems so far away

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