Tonight I Cry
At night my lonesome spirit’s cries
pierce silence like no chord,
and tonight in all the silences
I yearn to hear my Lord.
SING to me, Sweet Symphony,
who's sound elicits souls
from swamps flown with sorrow
down the loathsome path to Sheol.
Don’t refuse me, abhorred
by my likeness close to death,
but douse my insufficiency
with life instilling breath.
I long aloud, that I might fight,
with Spirit, shield and sword.
Equip me Lord, so I can stand.
Have in me-- your blood poured.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
More Incoherent Thoughts.
Analyze every moment of your day. Every thought and every action, and put it before the Living God. Be judged for each and every moment. You will quickly find that you can be your own judge. You saw him alone again today, wasting, fading away. You saw her crushed by worldly glares, but all you did was stare. You see them hiding everywhere, yet what action shows you care? Do you think God sipped wine with the drunkards? Do you think God ate food with the gluttons? Do you think God touched the dirty, stained, unwanted faces?
So go. Go and be Love. Embody it in every moment, every thought, and every action. You did not have the power to do this on your own, but the Spirit has given you this power. So do not make excuses about what you are incapable of, for we already know these things are true. But what is the Spirit of God incapable of? This is the same Spirit that lives in you. So go and live and love and give. Don’t not live a lie, and blame your own inefficiencies for spiritual work that did not get done.
So go. Go and be Love. Embody it in every moment, every thought, and every action. You did not have the power to do this on your own, but the Spirit has given you this power. So do not make excuses about what you are incapable of, for we already know these things are true. But what is the Spirit of God incapable of? This is the same Spirit that lives in you. So go and live and love and give. Don’t not live a lie, and blame your own inefficiencies for spiritual work that did not get done.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
My favorite poems for your viewing pleasure
Procrastination
Sandpaper lenses scrape my trying eyes
with each clasp of lashes.
As my brain opens to yawn, concealed ideas escape
my skull’s dividing bars, segregating me from completion’s
peace. Instead I settle atop
a mound of heaping fails, like an aged fly
on a pile of dung. I’m hardly phased by Dr. Clock’s powerful hand
threatening to color my demise.
Pessimism’s toxins eventually pervade,
causing a lurid note to my lethargic heart.
My body emits a drone, sullen stare.
I tentatively screen the luminescent white board
that blurs with sulking, silenced
air passing through the emptiness engrained
in my pestilent frame.
And such is the product of procrastination.
Larceny
Oh dancing, you steal my heart away.
With such romantic sway in lacing,
And touch so intent on loosing,
oh the ecstasy of dancing
steals my long-wrought heart away.
Night Sky’s Drama
Across the whitecaps of the ocean floor,
emerging from the lamp lit shade of night,
far beyond the sound of shore waves roar,
I watch the pouring out of blood’s moonlight
At first the horrid red can hardly glow,
but patiently the budding circle climbs.
Slow, the ember rises close below
Stars who silently await the time.
Instead, with height, illumination comes
The saving moonlight settles high above
The stars who once were fearful now become
Adornment for his ardent light of love
In awe I see creation’s majesty
Enthralled by One who gave his Son for me.
Glasses
Faded smoked frames encompass
two round-edged, barren glass panes
linked by the narrow bridge arching
over the emptiness that ensues between.
At either end of the bridge’s lean,
elevated roads surround the symmetrical lakes
like a black tire hugs fine silver rims.
The paths converge at the bulging, hinged armpit,
that protrudes from the outside of either edge.
At last the tracks make a final climb, inclining
slowly forward until achieving the peak,
and suddenly tapering off into the same solitude
that lies under the bridge, and beneath the lakes.
Mexican roses
My stomach of thorns churned, hustled and blew.
I flew high, lava rupture, propelled to the moon.
And out came a sun burning through smoggy fumes.
Oh the scent of Mexican roses in bloom.
Sandpaper lenses scrape my trying eyes
with each clasp of lashes.
As my brain opens to yawn, concealed ideas escape
my skull’s dividing bars, segregating me from completion’s
peace. Instead I settle atop
a mound of heaping fails, like an aged fly
on a pile of dung. I’m hardly phased by Dr. Clock’s powerful hand
threatening to color my demise.
Pessimism’s toxins eventually pervade,
causing a lurid note to my lethargic heart.
My body emits a drone, sullen stare.
I tentatively screen the luminescent white board
that blurs with sulking, silenced
air passing through the emptiness engrained
in my pestilent frame.
And such is the product of procrastination.
Larceny
Oh dancing, you steal my heart away.
With such romantic sway in lacing,
And touch so intent on loosing,
oh the ecstasy of dancing
steals my long-wrought heart away.
Night Sky’s Drama
Across the whitecaps of the ocean floor,
emerging from the lamp lit shade of night,
far beyond the sound of shore waves roar,
I watch the pouring out of blood’s moonlight
At first the horrid red can hardly glow,
but patiently the budding circle climbs.
Slow, the ember rises close below
Stars who silently await the time.
Instead, with height, illumination comes
The saving moonlight settles high above
The stars who once were fearful now become
Adornment for his ardent light of love
In awe I see creation’s majesty
Enthralled by One who gave his Son for me.
Glasses
Faded smoked frames encompass
two round-edged, barren glass panes
linked by the narrow bridge arching
over the emptiness that ensues between.
At either end of the bridge’s lean,
elevated roads surround the symmetrical lakes
like a black tire hugs fine silver rims.
The paths converge at the bulging, hinged armpit,
that protrudes from the outside of either edge.
At last the tracks make a final climb, inclining
slowly forward until achieving the peak,
and suddenly tapering off into the same solitude
that lies under the bridge, and beneath the lakes.
Mexican roses
My stomach of thorns churned, hustled and blew.
I flew high, lava rupture, propelled to the moon.
And out came a sun burning through smoggy fumes.
Oh the scent of Mexican roses in bloom.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Busy
I am enjoying the sanity that business (that's a busy business) brings to my life. Less time to think about myself and more time to act on the truths God has revealed to me, praise be to Him. Wellness fair tomorrow, babysitting tomorrow, speaking tomorrow night about changing for Jesus, a couple classes tomorrow, and if I'm lucky maybe a chance to grab a meal. Yes, yes, this is about as good as it gets.
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