Category Archives: Poetry

Blaming Eve

Click on the cover below to purchase your copy today!

Eric Nunnally’s first book of poetry is unconventional, unashamedly lengthy, and explores a kaleidoscope of issues spanning over a decade of thought. Thematically addressing love, race, gender, social, and religious issues, Blaming Eve is bold and intense. Though there is nothing new under the sun, one cannot help but sense the freshness of tone and perspective offered within this body of work which explores still taboo issues in an authentic and intuitive manner.

For a sample of the author’s work visit his website.

[rating:4.5]

We pray for children

by Ina Hughes

We pray for children
Who put chocolate fingers everywhere,
Who like to be tickled,
Who stomp in puddles and ruin their new pants,
Who sneak Popsicles before supper,
Who erase holes in math workbooks,
Who can never find their shoes.

And we pray for those
Who stare at photographers from behind barbed wire,
Who can’t bound down the street in new sneakers,
Who never “counted potatoes,”
Who are born in places we wouldn’t be caught dead in,
Who never go to the circus,
Who live in an X-rated world.

We pray for children
Who bring us sticky kisses and fistfuls of dandelions,
Who sleep with the cat and bury goldfish,
Who hug us in a hurry and forget their lunch money,
Who squeeze toothpaste all over the sink,
Who slurp their soup.

And we pray for those
Who never get dessert,
Who have no safe blanket to drag behind them,
Who can’t find any bread to steal,
Who don’t have any rooms to clean up,
Whose pictures aren’t on anybody’s dresser,
Whose monsters are real.

We pray for children
Who spend all their allowance before Tuesday,
Who throw tantrums in the grocery store and pick at their food,
Who like ghost stories,
Who shove dirty clothes under the bed,
Who get visits from the tooth fairy,
Who don’t like to be kissed in front of the car pool,
Who squirm in church and scream on the phone,
Whose tears we sometimes laugh at and whose smiles can make us cry.

And we pray for those
Whose nightmares come in the daytime,
Who will eat anything,
Who have never seen a dentist,
Who are never spoiled by anyone,
Who go to bed hungry and cry themselves to sleep,
Who live and move, but have no being.

We pray for children
Who want to be carried
And for those who must,
For those we never give up on
And for those who never get a second chance,
For those we smother.
And for those who will grab the hand of anybody kind
enough to offer it.

We pray for children. Amen.

‘Twas The Night Before Jesus Came

written by Unknown Author

‘Twas the night before Jesus came and all through the house
Not a creature was praying, not one in the house.
Their Bibles were lain on the shelf without care
In hopes that Jesus would not come there.

The children were dressing to crawl into bed.
Not once ever kneeling or bowing a head.
And Mom in her rocker with baby on her lap
Was watching the Late Show while I took a nap.

When out of the East there arose such a clatter.
I sprang to my feet to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash!

When what to my wondering eyes should appear
But angels proclaiming that Jesus was here.
With a light like the sun sending forth a bright ray
I knew in a moment this must be THE DAY!

The light of His face made me cover my head
It was Jesus! returning just like He had said.
And though I possessed worldly wisdom and wealth,
I cried when I saw Him in spite of myself.

In the Book of Life which He held in His hand
Was written the name of every saved man.
He spoke not a word as He searched for my name;
When He said “it’s not here” my head hung in shame.

The people whose names had been written with love
He gathered to take to His Father above.
With those who were ready He rose without a sound.
While all the rest were left standing around.

I fell to my knees, but it was too late;
I had waited too long and thus sealed my fate.
I stood and I cried as they rose out of sight;
Oh, if only I had been ready tonight.

In the words of this poem the meaning is clear;
The coming of Jesus is drawing near.
There’s only one life and when comes the last call
We’ll find that the Bible was true after all!

Innocence is everything

Tell the children
Being an adult isn’t all it’s cracked up to be
Enjoy your innocence while you’ve got it
You have enough time to lose it
Once its gone, it’s gone
Live long enough and you’ll regret it
So don’t be so quick to squander it
Thinking it’s yours
It is
One of the most precious things in the world
If you don’t believe me
Look at how desperately the world tries
To buy it, corrupt it, and destroy it
It is
One of the most precious things in the world
Don’t let anyone sell you short

© 2007 Eric Nunnally

This Life

Legal tender
A pound of flesh
Selling bodies
Reaping souls
Money’s counterfeit

Buying into the game
Gambling your name
Looking out
Looking in
Who made that window pane?

Given freedom to choose
With the sky as the limit
You hesitate and look back
Needing someone to give it

It was already yours
But you did not believe it
So you hired a master
Gave him power to lease it

Shylock
Loan shark
Bank’s got the lease
Life costs too much
Too little
No peace

Stick up
Shake down
Lean on garnish or tax
Filling pockets too fat
Believe in fear
Not the facts

It’s slavery
Grave robbery
Darwin’s legacy
Even dying ain’t free

Ad – dict – ed to
A perversion of life
In a barrel or box
Going over the falls
Only safe behind locks
Where’s your telephone call
There’ll be no recess today
That is all
That is all

Feet are chained, fall in line
Labor long, labor hard
Keeping busy and dizzy
Took your eyes off of God

Something for nothing ain’t
Worth as much as it seems
You are not getting over
You’re getting in deep

You’ll come up short
Weighed down in the red
It won’t kill you straight out
But you’ll wish you were dead

Hindsight from hell
With no one to warn
Because we’ve all heard the truth
All had lessons to learn

Some fight the good fight
To be sure, they are few
The rest are stuffed in a handbag
Like bruised spoiled fruit

For those who can see
For those who can hear
Pay attention
Understand
The reason you’re here

There are signs all around
The awakened mind
Let the world fall away
And be quiet sometimes

Remember, reflect
Meditate on the Truth
You are your own Bible
The message is you

If you need some assistance getting back to the Word
Just read your Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth

© 2007 Eric Nunnally

Growth

It is quite understandable that people are drawn to the flower
Not so quickly discovering its roots
Let alone examining the seed from whence it sprang

Likewise they tackle personal issues
Oftentimes dissuaded from the chore of turning over the soil of their discontent
By the untidy prospect of getting their hands dirty

In the event that one should inherit a garden of woes
Waking from a sleepwalking state during which they neglected themselves
Only semi-conscious of their identity, purpose or context of their being
The work before them often proves too daunting to undertake
And they bitter easily
Upset by any reminder of what needs to be done

When help offers itself, it is often scorned
An indicator of an impotence the challenged reject and accept at the same time
In such cases help must come prepared to fight and lose
For only in this self sacrifice will the lost find themselves
Thus do flowers bloom more gloriously
By the quality of their fertilizer

Should the overwhelmed humble themselves
And ask for help
Help will be hard to find in the mind that does not willingly offer it
The suffering will irritate their misidentified source of salvation
The impatience they receive will only nurture a false hope
Laying a blanket of prolonged dormancy
Further retarding Spring

Let the humble and the willing meet
Yet not just the willing but the inspired
And what once resembled a wasteland
Will be transformed into a garden of abundance

God

My Mountain Spring

Copyright © 2006 Erik Stensland

Something so sweet lives in me – has been in me
And now as I live to live to give life light
It oozes out of me
Like water from rivers unseen
From banks of mighty waters
Where life’s lines ripple above, over and against its motion
I stand and I kneel somewhere amidst stately carved mountains
Purposefully uneven in its carvings
and hollowed in the meaning of each frigid ridge are tender mercies of spring water . . .
Springing from a spring unseen
Yet its springing tells the story of its origin
-And the waters spring out
-And the waters spring out
-And the waters spring out

There is a silence amidst this rocky, stately, misty scene
where I hear the makings of the universe over and over again
And there is a creek there that sings to me
The melodies I taste saturate my palate of life
Like a mother’s love
Or
Like a Mother loved

And it sings to me
-just for me
I slip in and out
I slip in and out
Wondering if the creek it is I see
Or
Is it what I see — me . . .
Me I see
Or
A Sea in the creek that sees/seas me

Nonetheless, notes ascend from this tender creek to the mountains that encamp around it
Music, I say
Amidst Rocky Mountains who knows where its waters spring from
Music
Tunes
Melodies
Sweet and tender notes playing for the soul of man
I kneel
And I stand
And I kneel again
Lord have Mercy
Lord have mercy
Mercy my Lord

Mercy
Mercy
Mercy me
It’s not a mercy seat
But a Mercy scene
And I began to sing . . .

“Jesus my rock
Jesus my mountain spring
Jesus my peace
Jesus!” my music sings
It sings
It sings
It sings
“Jesus, Jesus, Jesus
Jesus!” — I say!
It sings
Mist in the midst of a lonely creek
Encamped against great rocks
Jesus my rocky spring
My song
My note
The melody that plays in me-
-to me

-through me

“Jesus, sweet Jesus!”
I stand
I kneel
I kneel
I kneel
And Kneel again
And the waters come oozing from My Mountain Spring
And I am drenched.

Copyright © 2006 Melanie Nunnally
Photograph can be found at the site of Erik Stensland