Rowdy Solomon Poems

I don't deal with most

Because of the hand I was dealt
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I woke up on the wrong
Side of the bed this morning
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My darling angel

Oh, how I long for the
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Soft Jazz bands played on the radio
While I played with strings of her hair
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Intoxication is by the only means I do so
I honestly cannot tolerate you sober
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Hello sir. How are you? If you are reading this letter
You've reached under your pillow or your wide is a confessor
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Dear Lord, I kneel to you now with a bowed head and a humble pen. I first must give thanks to you for my ability to lay pen to paper, for it is you who gives these divine words power. Yea, you have given me a mighty task to create lyrical miracles, but you have also assigned me my own styles and genres. I pray for an open heart with patience and discernment covering every letter that passes through. Do not allow me to be anxious for any posting of my work for people to perceive and marvel my pieces. I ask for a steady hand to paint pictures never seen before in dialogue. I ask for a sound mind to withstand any negativity that may try to nullify my notions. Let the wisdom that I write be worn on the backs of t-shirts and hung in bathrooms and jazz clubs. Let my creativity be discussed over cups of coffee and book reviews. Contrarily, do not allow me to become boastful in my own diction making popularity an addiction...

Grant me the gift of giving you glory in my stanzas. Shine light on my pen and direct me to where you wish my writing should go. Let the ink flow as the precious fountain that is free to all as a healing stream up at Calvary's Mountain. Let ruptured souls find peace in my rhythms. Alas, do not let me sway from the path you have set for me deterring others from their paths just the same as they read my work. Let me yield not to temptation to use my gift for evil, but rather deliver others from it. Let the tears I shed on the page be evaporated and rain down showers of blessings to readers. Give my hand the unremitting strength to never let go of my pen and write in and out of season. Let me put my life in my words, laying down my life on paper as your Son laid down his for me.
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There is an empty space within me..

A black hole it feels like
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Her voice... Oh Her voice...
In choosing God made an excellent choice
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I have been called ugly many a day
I thought that was my new name until the day
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