Jesus came to town that day
Crowds about him blocked my way
But tumult there in Jericho
Did not lay my ambition low
And though I be a little short
A tree to which I could resort
Might afford an only view
Of him who offered something new
So, higher, higher up the tree
To seize an opportunity
And then, amazing everyone
He came to me, alas, undone
Despised by all for what I am
Yet, still a child of Abraham
“Come down,” he said and knew my name
That day that altered everything
A visit from the changeless One
Who changes all to gain a son
A day that I will long recall
When I gave some and got back all.


–Weylan Deaver


The Sound Is Heard

The falling forest tree unheard,
The question asked if there is sound,
With no one near but bear and bird,
When limbs and trunk crash to the ground.

Can birds and creatures of the wild
Not hear the life that moves the wood?
Why then such questions of the child? —
And more — who hears all things is God.


Below the Surface

The layers below the surface of the sea
Are like the hidden levels found in me:
Except for squalls, a calm and happy face;
The unseen floor a quiet and settled space;
Between, run troubled waters, ebb and flow,
Upheavals, fast descents, to and fro
Suspended flotsam in the currents caught—
My middle filled with agitated thought.



Card of credit at the ready
Easy chair and light down low
Just the thought has got me heady
Captivated by the glow
From the tablet on my lap
Pulls me in like tractor beam
O, the buttons I will tap
While, sits melting, my ice cream
Reading customer reviews
All eight hundred and eleven
There’s no time for headline news
Here in cyber-shopper heaven
I could work and save up money
Take a trip to the Bahamas
But my eyes can’t handle sunny
And I do best in pajamas
You can call me unproductive
Yet I’ve got it all in gear
There’s this freakishly seductive
Siren song inside my ear
It says “customers also bought”
I’m a moth drawn to the flame
There’s no way to not get caught
And the website is to blame
So, half past late and still I stare
With bleary eyes and mind in lull
Did I even comb my hair
At least the shopping cart is full.


–Weylan Deaver


Mistake was early made
And I had it all to lose
Not near enough afraid
When it fell on me to choose.

From dust and the Divine
Brought to life, I picked the grave
With freedom that was mine
To become the devil’s slave.

Could I but start once more
And be known for nobler mien
Before the portrait tore
Or was felt the serpent sting!

Here is no rehearsal
In guilt there is no glory
Sin has no reversal
My story is your story.


–Weylan Deaver

Give Me Texas

Bring me that sun-dipped horizon,
The sad song of the lone coyote,
Rolling plains with bison,
Where waving prairie grass floats.
Let the softness of a western wind
Carry me to mesas rising.
With every heartbeat I send
My dreams on eagles flying.
Let me stand upon a hill
And drink in the deep blue sky.
Listen to the mockingbird trill,
Finding freedom nothing can buy.
Give me a stallion with spirit,
A truck to chase the road,
A ranch with mountains near it,
And a rifle to lock and load.
The roads to Fort Worth and Austin
Are trails I long have blazed.
The Pecos I have stood in
Where the dust-blown skeet tree sways.
Give me the armadillo
Scouting for his meal.
I’m off to Amarillo
For a cowboy’s heart to steal.
Give me the whole of the western world,
Summed up in cowboy glory,
Within one state of cattle-herded
Horn-toad, rodeo stories.
This is where I want to be,
In the rugged beauty of the West.
America is great, but give me Texas,
The home that I love best.


–Lacey Deaver


He holds the beating heart within his hands,
In sterile gloves, the pulse of human life;
Lies still the body, reposed in dreamless sleep,
Exposed before the Surgeon clothed in white;
A mind in darkness — work performed in light,
In whispers — none believes that life is cheap:
Expert knowledge guides the cut of the knife —
Under his care, life’s depth and length expands.