The Writer’s Digest is hosting its annual Poem a Day (PAD) Chapbook Challenge. Day Twenty-two’s prompt is “a bird poem.” 

When I think of birds, I think of Luke 12:24 which reads, “Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds!” This verse served as inspiration.

You may listen to me read the poem via the player below.

I worry for what the future will bring:
The clothes that I’ll wear, the food I’ll eat,
Whether there’ll be vict’ry or defeat,
Or hunger in longing, death, then nothing.

At night in my bed I toss and turn,
Wrestle with rest and contentment,
Burdened by hurt, replaying resentment
And reddened by shame, regret’s flushing burn.

‘Consider the ravens,’ Jesus said.
‘They neither sow nor strain to reap
They don’t build barns to store and keep
Grain, nor do they fret for their bread.’

Yet they are busy to get what they eat;
They spend their day looking on the ground;
They scratch for their food, dine on what’s found,
Then roost in a tree, tuck heads, and sleep

So, work hard as they to find what He gives
Be the bird who considers, feeds, and lives.
© Randall Edwards 2020


The Writer’s Digest is hosting its annual Poem a Day (PAD) Chapbook Challenge. Day Fifteen’s prompt is “a meaning poem.”

You may listen to me read the poem via the player below.

What could he mean, 
What’s the purpose of saying
“He who has no money,
Come, buy and eat”?

What hope is there for those who
Have no money — are poor?
And what of those who are lame
And who cannot come
But must lie on a mat, can’t 
Get off the floor?
Or even if carried by friends,
What if they can’t get in the door?
What hope of coming
Let alone running
For Salvation?

Its meaning breaks in me.
I, who have no capacity
To respond or come.
It shows and reveals,
The Mercy which comes to me
Becomes the All by which I see
The feast he offers he gives.
Its cost, though priceless, is
Paid by Him.
And feeding upon
The bread of his life,
The wine of his blood and sacrifice
Is the meaning I need
That he gave himself
And with himself feeds
© Randall Edwards 2020

Numbers that Count

The Writer’s Digest is hosting its annual Poem a Day (PAD) Chapbook Challenge. Day Twelve’s prompt is “a number poem.” Saturday is World Diabetes Day. A child’s T1D diagnosis is punch of reality into solar plexus of parenting. T1D begins a ubiquitous counting into one’s life.

This is an adaptation of a homily I gave on Christmas Eve which is found in my book of Christmas stories titled, The Night is O’er.

 the number of days it takes for what I believe
 To be true, to be confirmed.
 minutes from when my wife
 picked our daughter up at school till
 she called from the doctor’s office with the results of 
 tests which confirmed the diagnosis that our youngest,
 1 of 3 
 lovely children had what 
 other children in the U.S. would be diagnosed with on that day.

 miles or 
 minutes from our house to the Baptist Hospital's 
 Emergency Room. It is
 floors up Ardmore Tower to room 
 at Brenner Children's Hospital where we will stay for the next

 On the evening of the 
 day I am nervous, as I prepare to administer my daughter's
 injection -- her 
 full day of injections for the rest of her days, 
 and she is nervous.
 She is nervous because in her mind 
 it still counts as a shot. 
 I am nervous because I count it the same, 
 and this is my 
 time giving 

Are You In?

The Writer’s Digest is hosting its annual Poem a Day (PAD) Chapbook Challenge. Day Five’s prompt is “ruin.” What came out was a bit of a spoken word piece about ruin through lens of the prophet Isaiah, I think.

You may listen to me read the poem via the player below.

Where do I begin to address the wreck
And dreck of the damage and breaking,
The lies…Oh, the damned lies and the faking,
False propositions
Which validate ev’ry prediliction
And each little preference you want.

You do whatever you want
And cannot begin to understand what i want—
What is right and just
To be light and to love so much
That you must do what I love for
The love you’ve seen,
The love with which you been

Unless there’s a change,
Unless you reign in the rage
And the wicked sucker punches
By which you dis one another
All that you see will be ruin
It will all come down and soon!

What will it be?
When will you see
That the glory which I bring,
The new day dawn of beauty
Is so much better than what the
Mob or Elite or Rich or
The Entitled Establishment
Who live to get their share now
Whatever the costs
In shouts and the din
Of riot and anger, rebellion and sin.

For I will rise.
And in you, my light will shine
And bless the wreak and death
Of the tomb of this ruin.

Do you want to see the day
When every tear is counted,
And each as it falls is wiped away
By Love and Light
When eternal day dispels the night?
Do you want a way through
Into the True of Right and Life?

The first step is down
You must kneel to be crowned.
Only those who are sinners
Become saints.
The only question yet,
Is whether you will come
Whether you will step down and in
So, what about it?

© Randall Edwards 2020.

Giving Up On Myself

The Writer’s Digest is hosting its annual Poem a Day (PAD) Chapbook Challenge. Day Four’s prompt is “(blank) myself.” By that they prompt asks you to consider how one things about one’s self, what one does to one’s self, etc…. Here’s how I took it.

You may listen to me read the poem via the player below.

I talk to Myself: 
A committee of three
Comprised of I, Myself, and Me.
I moves the motion which I second Myself;
We leave the discussion to Me.
Hearing no objection,
We All call the question.
The vote? None against.
In favor? Three.

I talk to Myself:
My Committee of Three
We replay regret, the betrayal of trust;
Myself and I are so glad we have Me
Because “trusting” is just “tr..ting” without “us.”

And that’s how I came
To make every decision
To do all the stupid I’ve done.
Again and again I do the same
Expecting a different outcome.

My best thinking 
Is what got Me here:
Full of anger, regret, shame, and fear,
Till things got so bad
That I lost all I had,
Lost everyone whom I counted dear.

I fired The Committee,
Got new friends that hour
Where I found I was least qualified
To stay in the position
Of Commissar of addictions;
I Gave “Me” to a Higher Power.

Again, my best thinking
Is what drove Me here,
Not some fancy Cadillac.
I’ve come to listen, not tell but to hear
How giving up on Myself sets Me free from the past.

Thank you for your welcome, for your gracious greeting.
My name is Randy.
One day.
First meeting.

© Randall Edwards 2020.