NO NAP

Dedicated to my friend Sam Slusser.. THIS IS FOR YOU SAM!! If you are not Sam, do not expect this to make any sense, you wouldn't understand...

No Nap

In the dark alley way of good and plenty
I walked slow like coal on the railway.
I opened wide to the white and purple sky
AND- No nap, Oh Snap! No nap...

Candy crane droppings on my parade,
hand stuck in the gutter, but I can't complain
cause it could be hailing kidney stones,
but instead I GOT MONEY IN THE RED ZONE!
No Nap, WHAT? No Nap
OHH SNAP YO...
NO NAP-

The over-arching clash of things

There is a lot going on in this poem, and I was unable to create a title I was satisfied with. However, it is kind of fun to hear what other people think, so please make title suggestions!


I fall asleep, a ladle into seas,
the heavy ‘tween dreams the steam
inspiring my delusions.

And all the building, twisted towers
mounting to gifts of the world’s elite:
recognition, wealth, and death.

But dreams are not but devastations
of all these worldly aspirations,
distracting my spirit from home.

So I’ve restated my claim to
amputate my Self from the mainland
reign, and to balance so unreasonably

on the vein of one leaf
at the highest tree’s peak, and risk
falling for flight.

Another Gorgeous Day

Isn't This The World We Live In?

Aren’t the evils and demons in the world like
flies: in the sweating sun, near the still pond,
and algae stained air smell buzzing?

And isn’t the God who loves the world like
Wind: exercising His sovereignty just breathing,
cleaning the air with every whoosh He wills?

Beauty

Can words even describe this weather? I know that weather.com is not doing it justice. Some days just transcend the abilities of the weathermen, the same way abstractions, such as beauty, cannot quite be captured by the poets. Well, the weathermen still attempt to talk weather, and apparently the poets still attempt to describe beauty.

Beauty

The twilight air seduced
my skin tight spirit, as my cares
befuddled at the red-orange red nectar
of my first ripe sunset.
I couldn’t help but whisper awe:
That’s my favorite color,
as the sky’s paramount beauty
prances my heart’s pant.

SPRINT

I was reborn a sprinter. Out of the gates running, I did not anticipate the first bend, and I smashed into the side pretty bad. I shook myself back up, and kept sprinting. I did not anticipate the bumps, roots, holes, and other obstacles. In full sprint, I took my eyes off the road and went thud into walls, face planted dirt, and taxed my body physically, spiritually, emotionally, and I kept sprinting. I did not really go the training wheels route, decked out with helmet, knee pads, and wrist guards. I chose the crotch-rocket blazing down the highway at 130 mph (never bothered learning whether or not the thing had breaks). I forgot to watch where I was going sometimes, but I never forgot where I was headed: all out toward Jesus.

So, you see, my lifestyle is dangerous, reckless, and quite painful really. Most certainly foolishness by many standards… I’m fine by that. No doubt when I crash, it is no fender bender— but I’m relying on God-strength, so why slow down?

By God’s great grace, I am still spiritually alive and fervent for Christ! Somehow, He has even improved my style of sprinting. It’s not that it’s safer; I’m still a blind man running in many ways. The difference is that very occasionally I’ll be listening enough to hear God whisper, there’s a hole, jump…Now! I still have to jump, and I never really see the hole. In fact, I only ever really see holes once I’ve already fallen into them. But perhaps that’s why I am able to listen now. And maybe, that’s why I’m willing to listen a bit harder. Because it is true, those crashes are brutal. It is no matter though, they are not slowing down my sprint. I will just listen really hard, and keep on keepin’ on. I am sprinting home!

Remember crucifying Christ?

A year ago I cried. I did not just cry, I wept, and I helplessly wailed for hours. I could not cope with the unfathomable amount of pain and suffering in the world (I will not list them, you will not have to look hard to discover there are too many). For about a week I was depressed. The tragedy of my state wasn't that I doubted in Jesus. I believed in my salvation, but too many people didn't have it, and their suffering seemed in vain. They did not know Jesus, and no matter what effort I put forth, I could not save the world. Then something happened. In my misery I saw Jesus, and He was crying too. He was suffering, bearing the pain caused by every sin. I remembered that I too was a sinner, and that I contributed to the suffering of Jesus. I was just another sinner standing in the crowd mocking Him up on the cross—and yet, He still loved me, He still saved me.


I Scorned

My soul hides in my wincing guts
from the hourglass of the heartbeat.
My eyes taunt His defeated droop
like the caw of a black crow.
My wrists tingle at the—
tedious teething of my abuse
leading Him to the cross.
Hail the King of the Jews, I said,
and I spit on Him.

The Son mourns
weeping willows into the ground,
and bleeds the soaking bank into form,
and offers refuge.
And the torrent of tormenting death drains,
deaf to the cry of God’s plea.

In His forsaken thirst
He breathed His last.

Claret

Hey guys. So this poem is rather deep. I hope it provokes some thought. I realize that it's not quite a feel good poem, but somehow, in this broken world, it is.

Claret

The words I wish I had spoken, and the glassy
bay I frequently create in hindsight
will never be. I cannot replace
what is true: the slack-tide of my spirit
siphoning into stagnant pools
somewhere—more like everywhere.

The salivation
of Bleakness drips down on everything, smearing
from memory the vibrancy of life. My tears,
the blood of my soul, hit the ground uncaught.
They die, pearls thrown to pigs, or perhaps
just pigs thrown into the sea.

Who’s throwing anyways? Looks like Jesus
or demons again. Someone who called me Legion
or Peter or both. Imagine what he felt: holy blood,
clogging up those worldly veins.
It’s a wonder that the love of a father
or God would place such a pure spirit in wretch’s skin.
We sealed it alright—nailed him to our death.

Homesick

Sometimes I get homesick.

I cannot forget that I am a stranger, an alien in this world. Even Christian relationships cannot measure up to how things should be. We have so many expectations for each other in our brokenness. We box people in with our preconceptions, and we have set limits on the grace we are willing to give. Why do we trap ourselves and each other? Have we forgotten our first Love? Think of Christ, the one worthy example. He had grace enough to forgive the sins of the world. How can we hold anything against each other? Where is the overflow of the spirit, the unconditional—UNCONDITIONAL Love? That is, Love that does not take into account circumstance or situation or person, Love that cannot count faults or shortcomings or failures. It is Love that is literally OUT OF THIS WORLD. It’s the Love of the Kingdom of God. We need to do away with all our expectations for this world, and for the things in this world. Nothing here can satisfy us. Everything here will fall short.

Our citizenship is in heaven! We DO NOT have an enduring city here, but we are looking for the city that is to come! Every time disappointment hits us, we need to remember that we are strangers. We need to strive for the love that is out of this world. Worldly love’s got nothing on that Kingdom love. Don’t let our spirits droop because we sometimes feel homesick. Let us rejoice and overflow, because our home is that good!

Starving Sin to Death! Now THAT'S What I'm Talking About!

Christ Starved Sin to Death

I force the sleep to sit down,
it’s always begging me— and I’m tired
of listening to my body.
The sun will be up soon
anyways; my mind is quite far from rest
these days.

The contradiction of rage hides
inside of my temple: the sin caving in on the Spirit’s
full sprint. But my flesh has me trapped,
it laughs at my poverty: my limp,
passive will, and the bondage of my uncertainty. Flesh,
you might reap from my shortcomings now—
but don’t forget

how Jesus Christ starved you out.
Jesus Christ starved you out—And somehow,
Jesus Christ is carving you out
of me.

And that’s for eternity.

James Harper! This is your first challenge: here are your lyrics (sorry, not really a worship styled song)

(Any Title suggestions?)

I walked into my house
and the couches were empty,
leather recliners left back
next to a stale cup of coffee.
My dinner table wasn’t full,
and the food was more than plenty.
I washed a few noodles down the drain.

Maybe they’ll travel through the pipes
and leak out onto the street.
Maybe someone will eat there
with my waste at their feet.
And maybe I need not worry
about the world—broken down around me.

Oh Lord, I see it now.
Won’t you change me somehow?
Help me find that someone
and serve them in my house.
I’ll give them my favorite seat
on your recliner leather couch.
I’ll prepare them a feast
instead of my neglected leftovers.

And if even one noodle remains—
help me bring home more of the poor.