Monday Poem: “Song of youth regained”

Song of youth regained

The child within was released again tonight
By a somewhat recognizable sound.
The familiar melody paved way to
Unfettered memory free that once was bound,
Unleashed the beast
Releasing sheets of heat
And light from yonder moon.
Light and laughter grew
And sang along in tune to beats
Of unsheathed imagination,
Offering subtle indications
Of beauty untold and unearthed gold.
The child then grew.
That child is you.
Don’t send them to their room.

Monday Poem- “Communist Paint Sniffers”

Communist paint sniffers

Through my black mirror
The doll-faced little zombies
Sang words of adoration
In drugged, monotone grunts and groans of death.
The pasty brittle faces giving hazy little praises
To the God who permitted debt,
Sickness and pestilence.
But their little is big through my black mirror.
They have no home, no gifts, or hope that I can see
As they stand and sing and smile and freeze.
They have no black mirror, no food or drink
Or clothes, family or time to think.
These tiny little zombies smile
As they pray to a God who seems to take a while!
But He gave them what they have (this Lord of hosts),
Not much but they have more than most.
I look into my black mirror and don’t like these kids I see,
Should I help them be set up? Could God actually use me?
But I need to be distracted
And my mirror has apps for that,
so I click away
I guess I’m the zombie now.

Monday poem- “With fury poured out”

With fury poured out

They say the jury is out
But as His fury pours out
God disagrees…

Nature crafts
With fury poured out,
I sit inside and wait for the weather.
Aggressively beautiful
This rain does more
Than any genius in his lab or
Other type of work.
The rain stops and I go outside,
I breathe in the air
And newness holds me there.
My senses are engaged,
My patience has been paid
And I now hold onto
This priceless precious wage-
The air I share with now,
Too valuable to gauge.

The jury is out
Is what we get told
But with fury poured out
The verdict is gold.

Monday Poem- ‘Winston (or “Feast for a noble beast”)’

Winston (or “Feast for a noble beast”)

We gave a lost cat meat and more to steal
(Some milk, some love, more than a meal),
More than a once off affair.
We gave it a moment
But it decided we own it,
Now it will not leave our bloody stair.

O to speak kitten!
To know its feline thoughts,
To know this lost but noble beast,
This thing that we have caught
(And can never ever lose
Even if we wanted to),
To help it find its home.

The company I keep today
Is easiest to like,
For the unconditional
Situational
Dilemma is that this lost cat knows
How a moment goes
And that our affection grows,
I think it’s found its home.

Monday Poem- “Still Comfort”

Still Comfort

Still comfort
Can plague a restless norm,
Undesired
From the day the child was born.
Harmful times
And familiar minds
Have wasted repetitions signs.
As a drunken monk
Normality is disturbed
When encountering grace for the first time:
A world messed up then given back to God.

If only for a moment
Wasting becomes waiting on Him,
Waiting for His realness
And for this child to catch up,
Then wasting is still comfort
And not a waste at all.

Monday Poem- “Jungle Man”

Jungle Man

In the jungle
One day I met a man
Who had obviously been there more than I
He informed me
That looks are deceiving
That he had woken up that morning for a walk
So I asked him
How he came to walk here
He took a wrong turn in the desert where he slept

My jungle friend
How I would love to help
But I too am stranded in this twisted wild place
My jungle friend
He helped me see myself
As I looked into his empty twisted wild face

There is no substitute for time alone in silence
No substitute for the rivers
Flowing with rhythm (controlled but free)
There is no substitute for the peace of violence
No substitute for this refining time with me

In the city
One day I met a man
Who looked rather like the man I met before
I informed him
Of my jungle dreaming
And of the ugly twisted face that I’d just saw
He asked me for a light
And he asked me for a fight
So I said that I don’t smoke
and that I’m not the fighting sort of bloke
While he looked at me with beady eyes
With greedy eyes
And needy cries
So he looked at me with beady eyes
And then he saw himself

A broken man
Unavailable for more
Incapable of war
But unstable like before
Not like the jungle man I saw
Not like the me I am before the dawn

Monday Poem – “Alive to dead to having life”

Alive to dead to having life

I shivered
Then quivered
Then ummmed and ahhhed,
I couldn’t find a way to start,
I didn’t have the words to say
But like a child asked something anyway-
“How do I remember this moment?
Lord, how do I own it?
Good sir, I want to know it-
How do I make life a friend, not an opponent?”

He replied
“My little child-
Death to pride,
Death to lies,
And death to self!
This moment’s ripples will be felt
Through all the generations-
Beyond all imagination
But you have to die first (death to self).
This moment’s offspring will be plentiful
But first you have to die.
You see,
A child must die to silly things
And rise to the changes happening,
Then a bachelor dies on his wedding night,
To become a husband to his wife.
Then as a husband put himself away
And serve his queen both night and day.
Each and every sacrifice
Is a rite of passage ordained by Christ.
And that is how to love your life
To give up your ‘needs’, your ‘wants’ and ‘rights’”

I wanted to cry,
My Lord said I had to die?
I wanted to argue, crow and fight
But of course I could see my Lord was right
And besides, He had died the first death for me
When His naked Son lay on that tree.
He has obliterated my debt,
He has died that first death.
He has taken me into Him, now I am blessed!
He has laid my arguments to rest.
And may they rest in pieces on the floor,
May this moment last forever more.
From boy to man to child,
From alive to dead to having life.
From the lowest lows to highest heights.
From dying to self to living for Christ.