Feathers The weight of the world is a feather in the hand of its maker. It does not burden, break, or bury the one who reigns outside of Time and Space's domain. Our behemoths are merely single barbs attached to that weightless shaft that flutters like the forest's souvenirs given to a child, fallen from the wings of a jay. In his hand our juggernauts are not threats but specimen. His palm is large enough to hold worry ad infinitum. Push the crushing fear off your chest and rest, knowing that it's but a harmless feather fluttering in your father's hand. Justin Farley
The kindle version of my chapbook, “A Voice in the Wilderness”, is currently free on Amazon through Sunday. I would truly appreciate you leaving a rating and/or review 😊 You can find it at https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08JHC5Z8N/⠀
Summertime Clementine nectar drips down the chin. Summertime angels swim through the air again. The crack of a bat under the lights. Kaleidoscope fire explodes in the night. Root beer floats, cotton candy dreams. Capture the flag on neighborhood teams. July heat brings sprinklers and hoses to cool; lounging on rafts, diving in pools. Wading in creek beds catching crawdads. Camping trips beneath the stars, just you and Dad. Carnival laughter, Ferris wheel turns. Days on the lake, nights nursing sunburns. Tan bodies gleaming in the moonlight, entangled in adolescences' sacrificial rite. All good things must come to a close. First, comes summer jobs; then, parental woes. Justin Farley
Words are a Holy Fire Words surged from the pen staining, soaking everything like spilled paint. Wood pulp thirsty in a state of mad-eyed hunger. Paper ravenous for a glorious taste, elated to gobble up and digest the things that time can't erase. Don't you know? Words are a Holy Fire, spread from the Word himself. Infused with the power of desire to transform, to turn over the world upon itself. To burn away the dead timber, embers eager to make way for the new. On its charred remains, plant shoots come bursting through. Oh, yes listen; I tell it true! Words are a Holy Fire with more power than the doers who do. For they are not forgotten by the fragility of memory but cling to time like glue. Justin Farley
My first chapbook of collected poems is available now! I hope you find encouragement in the poems but also a validation that the spiritual life is not all sunshine and rainbows. We all struggle. We all have periods of questions and/or doubt. But it is the yearning that keeps us coming back for more and allows us to experience joy.
You can purchase either on Amazon or on my own bookstore (it is cheaper and has free shipping on my store) and is available on the Kindle and in paperback.
Amazon: Kindle Paperback
Inkspiration Books (my bookstore): Paperback
Thank you for your support!
Light Wielder Crystals hang from the heavenly chandelier on the city upon the hill. Catching light and doing for the eyes what wind chimes do for the ears. A rustling. An awakening of an ancient force that remembers, that yearns with an unquenchable thirst for transcendence for totality for unity for eternity. Crystals catch the sun's light, act like mirrors with the power of those at the Pharos lighthouse, and reflect it to the ends of the earth. Never giving birth to work by its own power, only transmitting a greater light whose flame has burned indefatigable to the chagrin of the night. Again. A rustling. An awakening of an ancient force that remembers, that yearns with an unquenchable thirst for transcendence for totality for unity for eternity. I count hundreds thousands millions of crystals dangling like diamonds, gleaming beneath the sun. Dazzling like the thread of the spider's web she's spun catching the nightmares of the world like colossal dream catchers, waking up those who've fallen asleep, and giving sight to a world walking in darkness. Justin Farley
The Chair Poem about Losing a Spouse The sun woke, stretched, streamed upon an early, April mourning. Birds arrived at the feeder chirping. I watched, sipping my steaming coffee. For a minuscule moment distracted until I noticed the chair out of the corner of my eye still indented with your body's footprint. And I thought of you. Justin Farley
The Town Mouse and Country Mouse I was in love with the country, and she, in love with the city. We were in love with each other but were split by the hand of destiny. She preferred nights on the town and I, counting country stars. We woke up side-by-side each morning, yet the distance between our lives was far. For what did I know about hailing taxis? Or her, about forest pines? Though we surely knew each other's hearts, our paths were never aligned. I was alone with the country and she, alone with the city. In love but living separate lives inevitably led to tragedy. Justin Farley
See the sky like a sea rolling with crescent waves crash into the dawn of day. Aurora's tide making the darkness flee. See the puffy islands of white float like buoys in a no-wake zone emerge behind the curtains of night. See the winged fish swimming through waters with ease chasing one another in schools, excitement for life brimming. See the metal monsters - winged, roaring leviathans who lurk in the sky's deep who roams, constantly wanders. See the hungry shark with razor teeth chomp on desires of the heart. Set on selfish destruction swimming in the depths beneath. Justin Farley
An Outstretched Hand Grace waits patiently for everyone like Charon beside the River Styx. But Grace requires no coinage for sin's payment has been nixed. The sound of a boulder's rumble, louder to the soul than deafening thunder, is the receipt for the cost of transgression, paid in full. It leaves even angels still in wonder at the depth of love that bears such a brutal toll. Grace holds her breath with an outstretched hand, the pinnacle choice of life for every man. Grace's hand is still open to you. Will you take it? Justin Farley
She is the Sun She is the sun rising in the east rousing me from the heaviness of sleep. Kissing my eyelids open wide with her light. Restoring my sight when I've grown blind to beauty, inspiration once again surging through me; a vigor vital to my sanity. It is her dawn that drives the shadows into the recesses of my room. Strips the gloom from my skin like soap. The suds lathered in layers that provide a thick hide of protection from the grime of the world outside. She is the sun that drives me like a bird to sing sweet songs of melody tweeting in the morning perched happily on the wire of love content and at peace like a cooing dove basking in the rays that fall down from heaven. Keep me not in the realm of night, but pour out your bright light through the dinge and dirt of my window, so I can see out into the meadow where butterflies dance fluttering in a weightless prance through the summer air. Because you are the sun rising in the east, and summer ceases without your amber glow. You are the deliverer of my winter, the melter of my tundra's ice and snow. So rise! Rise and awake me, Dawn from this shadow-land of sleep! Flood the riverbanks of my heart, and alight the forest of night dark and deep. Justin Farley
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