promise me this

when cold begins to crawl

and limbs begin to tremble

eyes close to sleep

and August becomes December

you will in eternal rest

wake from your joyous magnification

slip silently in return

and whisper so sweetly

as you did when we denied your lament

and promised with eloquent grace

to come back and deliver a glimpse

so the tattered edges of my soul

no longer in denial would fain

get a little rest



i live here

i live here

not because you were leaving

and not because you’re gone

i live here

in a place where freedom


and doesn’t cost

time and wasted energy

i live here

because you took a part of me when you left

and i can’t find it

Forever Doesn’t Exist

No matter what changes we make in our lives and in our word I know real love never dies. I only want you to know how many times a night I wake thinking of you and how many nights I have not slept at all. There are times I will admit to sitting and crying, because I know the attention would make you proud.

Unfeeling heart why did you have to go? To take a leave of absence was the greatest blow. From a world where easy was not the breath I drew, uncaring for such people, rejection was the arrow you drew.

Waves of drowning engulf my fragile heart. Night time is the bitter lie we tell ourselves in sleep. Here the only visit from you often brings me to my knees. Crouched in insecurity and waves of needless pain, I wonder if you ever actions have truly been your gain.

For lost within the forest edge and cradled by the wind, cruelly you sit and take a sip and grin. How I wish I’d taught you that to read and write is wrong, nor fixing broken pieces makes not a whole again. Lest the cracks defy the fractals of light, you can still see within. For within your new reality will lie the sleeping past. And linger amid those broke pieces, simple shards of glass.

Be not whole, but seek to find a fondness for your core. There in lies the manifest place where thunderstorms where the earth shakes free and bids my soul goodbye. You are not small and though you cast the love for me away. I know one thing my darling girl, I have more love than one heart can hold.

So keep saying I don’t matter, and keep telling of your tales. I am not who you told the trees. As you stride to sail against the wind formidable power draws you back. As you lose track of who you are remember, the light within the cracks. I’ll get back up on my feeble way to show you one last time. Is better to be somebody than somebody’s.

Forever does not exist.

Sunday Sermon on Monday

She said she believed something good would happen to me today. Bible in hand, every word drifting to the peninsula of my mind. The TV rattled on as I closed my eyes and said, “Please,” to a God I wasn’t sure I deserved. But, believing is easier than thinking. My skin goes cold, thinking, I wish I didn’t have to think today.  Why does it feel like she’s stealing Jesus away on Monday with a reckless sword wielded while I am trying to pray. 

She says I am deeply loved while I feel no touch. There’s no sensation at all. No  words to reveal the emptiness in a world where religious begging brings fortune and fame, while many have nothing at all. We are to sit in awe and wonder of something grander than ourselves, weak with faith. Who is she talking to if not me. “I’m waiting on you God, I need you to say something. Anything on any other day than Sunday.” I whisper opening my eyes.

There is darkness in the light.

“Say something Lord.” I’m giving up on you. With knowledge faulty and unreliable, I reach out my hand. Her voice raises an aplause. Ignorance is not my choice. I will believe the Sermon of Sunday and know that hell exists in a loneliness wrought with power and choice and “Amen,”. Her preamble to fame. Amen, there are lessons learned in every end. If I play it safe I may not stray too far. Sell me your Sermon on CD for another Monday.






A ray of light strums a chord, here but for a little while.

Unspoken words a moment in time spanning days into months and then years.

We walk directional to habit and conventional to spirt.

Without mode operate seeking the depth of the soul.

Carelessly whispering motionless in flight.

You walked away where newness meets a flaming dawn.

There to the abyss of forever gone.

Flicker, Flutter, Flash

I have published a colorful picture book for children with the help of my dad, David W. Noblett. Without his brilliant illustrations the vision of a meaningful and rich story would have never come to be. Flicker, Flutter, Flash is not only a journey of a little boy into the wonder of summer. It is a story about the environment and the need to preserve even the tiniest creature. Please take a look.


Today I would like to stop time. In this moment, which might be my last, but, isn’t I want to suspend time. Today for some time uncalculated I want to walk. I want to walk and dwell on all the things I’ve left undone. Those things put off for a tomorrow that doesn’t come, but might. Before the days is done I will race for the finish line without stumbling. I will complete a good day, but I may not win. It will be alright.  The heavy breaths of despair will be no more when I loosen the reins of time and carry on. My voice will be a weapon and in the tomorrow that has yet to reflect self back to me I will not quit. I will stand still in time and for moment draw a breath. Time doesn’t know we can’t accept the movement toward a horizon we can’t see. in this moment everything is alright. This day will come to an end.