Archives For My Poetry

 

‘Mate! what a bloody good thing,

Jesus recruits soldiers amongst His enemies.”

What a naïve scoundrel I once was!

Unknowingly

unbalanced

Scared,

lost,

scarred.

Bloody terrified!

What a bloody good thing that

Jesus recruits soldiers amongst His enemies!

All too aware of the past,

unaware of my ego

Confidently uncertain of my confidence,

transparent, I was see through

Such

was my existence.

Damaged,

broken and fallen….

Ruined, and in turn destined to ruin

….What a bloody good thing,

Jesus recruits amongst His enemies

Ignorant,

manipulated,

blind to aggressors, unkind to the carers

Invulnerable to vulnerability…..

”Mate! what a bloody good thing,

Jesus recruits soldiers amongst His enemies!”


(©RL2013)

Inspired by:

‘Bloody Darwin’ (circa 1941, Anon).

Cornelius (Acts 10, ESV).

‘Jesus recruits soldiers amongst His foes’ (St. Bernard of Clairvaux, Military Orders, 12th Cent. In praise of the new Knighthood)

 

Knight The Wounded

June 22, 2017 — 2 Comments

Rose At Night

.

Find this level of emptiness.
Forgive my heart’s forgetfulness.

Engulf my worship of sadness.
Embrace this prayer, despite my often awkward reach.

Tear these broken words apart.
Reorder each, so that I may hear,
.             You, my adopted Father speak.

Then accept these groans as prayers without speech.
Grip grace like a vice around our fears
.              and take these shivering hands,

.               that for so many years,
.               were so often drenched in tears.
Enter our darkness, breach the brokenness,
Holy Spirit, teach.

Be the fight, deploy Your word
With one firm sound, crack the violence;
that each stand may be under Your standard.

That all focus will be brought to hear
.               the noise of battle cease.

Seize upon the ashes.
Rejoice at the sight of
minds drawn to fellowship from desolate lands;

.                hearts of substance,
.                because every broken ounce and splinter
.                has been gathered,
.                       and placed gently into Your hands.

Walk through the garden of faithlessness,
.                that Your light will pierce the dark, choices and the consequence.

Then mend the overgrown path,
.        tend to the request for forgiveness.

And as all actions of wounding significance
.        are humbly brought before Your grace.

Knight the wounded,
Raise up the contrite,

Breathe Your life into this place.


(RL2017)

‘Where the grace of God encounters us, where we are led, pulled and made to grow, there, the Bible becomes clear […] He is the redeemer of that sighing creature within us.’

– (Karl Barth, 1917. The New World In The Bible)

#inhaledgraceignites

 

.

Hear the seldom gong and its solemn tone
.       a high pitched, heart wrenching groan.

Unheard human tears, receive an audience before Divine ears.
Unhinged society’s switched off its intelligence;
Blank talking into the eyes of its own darkness.

The abussos,

.      its emptiness,

.      its quiet violent chasm.

The depth of which only God knows.

.       “Bring forth the railings, planks and rope,
.        sure up a bridge, empowered by grace.
.        and may from it spring, all manner of hope.”

Bind and pull back those who’ve just climbed down the walls in order to ascend
Warn the others and waste no time on those who still refuse to comprehend.

For once safely over this monstrous abyss,
.     only hope will carry those who did not cease to exist.

Huddle together,

.           walk quickly,

.                   pray ferociously.

For war is coming.

Those content with slavery find no excuse to resist,
.          intolerance is not tolerated by virtue of tolerance.
All hail the veiling master, the academic oppressor, and their slave traders;
Who’ve categorized the masses, tagged and sold them into subservience.

Ushered into these new wastelands,
.            convenient science feeds industrialized collectives
.            and is protected by martial law.

The only two options given,
are total submission or total war.


(©RL2017)

 

Naming a tune can sometimes take time. There are days when the name will drop instantly. Then there are other days when the quest to aptly fit a title to a song is drawn out, long and tedious.

It’s no great drama since creating music, for me, forms part of practice. This coincides with the enjoyment of using a gift and the challenge to better myself each time.

I can’t help but wonder, though, how much harder this might if I were under the thumb of finance, corporate pressure and contractual obligation.

I’ve gained a healthier respect for the professional, who, sees his or her art dissolve into the mix of polish, performance and perfectionism. Rather than seeing their art come to life, they witness it being devoured.

On the creative front, each tune takes me approximately six hours to create, mix and post it in a video.

Currently, I only use audacity, a laptop, Marshall amp, guitar and FX unit for recording, which brings with it some challenges and limitations. The drums are sequenced using Garage Band on an ipad.

Blog posts like these function in much the same way as an active art process diary does for a working artist.

The title of this tune comes from a poem I wrote in April called The Embers of Inhaled Grace. If I could improve anything in this, it’d be the drums and mix.

‘Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.’
(James 4:7. ESV)

 

 

Emancipation

May 4, 2017 — 2 Comments

.

I’m schooled by necessity,
schooling from what was thrown at me unnecessarily.

Gasping for gravity,
learning new abilities beyond any owned or taught capacity.
Here you find me, of my broken father.
Me, a father’s broken son.

Another recipient of grace and master of no one;
a child with problems and a wounded teen;
high on self-medication; alcohol and drugs.

Sooner forgotten;
.          shifted blame,
.    adults and pointed fingers,
.    children forced to make adult decisions;
.                 figure it all out and not pull any triggers.

That place,
.      outpaced by a child’s pain;
.      a teen’s hate follows sadness like a moth to a flame.

Better your story not told,
.         than your story told before those who’d rather not know.

But, through this I grow.

Discounting tears;
.   chained to fear,
.   my companions abandon safe shores,
.   the dregs of smiles and public compassion dissolving into smoke and mirrors,
.   because there’s no medallions,
.                podiums,
.                applause,
.                or Instagram-perfect winners.

Such is the deadly repetition.
The cycle of denial, excuses and self-justification.

Sore eyes become long dark sighs, swimming in bloodshot exhaustion,
weakened by arguments and my point of view’s abortion.

Painful images painted by words,
morphed by experience and the cry of useful lament.

Stillness and memories,
.                   put downs and verbal incendiaries
Kindled by petition,
.               protest prayer and the cries for justice;
.               prayed out protests petitioning the light breather;

God. The life saver.

Pathos carried from human hearts to the heart of the unseeable;
carried up, out and on quiet wings to the unseen.
The one who makes Himself knowable.

As I am, I was found.
Found as I was,
.  here so I am.

Raised as a son by The Father,
.  brought up by The Father,
.  because of The Son.

I, now a father;
.   in Jesus Christ,
.   a forgiving son.

Right here. The Gracious. The righteous;
my emancipation sealed and won.


(RL2017)

‘The only way to escape from the devil is to run away from him without giving him any notice. Just as you are, at this moment escape with your lives! Do as the prodigal son did – say, “I will arise and go to [THE] Father.” And the, like he, rise up at once and go!”

(Charles Spurgeon, Sermon Lowly Service)

Sedated Polis

May 2, 2017 — Leave a comment

.

Images swallowed
are emptied of resonance;
Voided passion.
Pay-offs and silence; twisted resistance.

Social media degradation.
The mind controlled, so-called superior,
.              “tolerance” generation.

Enablers that scream “love”;
.         and define it as a constant “yes” in affirmation.
.Manipulators against love’s reasoned “no”;
.         a “no” given with loving consideration.
Those who make sex a commodity and confuse love with infatuation.

Violent conversions;
.          legalized perversions
.     the convulsing spasms of warring factions
.           stain and fill the still preventable,
.      but encroaching eulogies for the West.

The Eastern sands move closer,
.      the warlord and his progenitors howl louder,
.      all muffled by incompetence,
.       joined in its chorus by insanity incorporated.

By misplaced compassion and
.    ignorant multi-indifference,
.                 citizens become enslaved to ‘isms, under the guise of freedom
.    human words from over-lords,
.                  throw man-over-board;
.     man and woman over-Lord.

Abandoned for agendas
Anchoring to chaos,
God and Christ jettisoned for feel-good propaganda,
.      sold out subjects left watching,
.      numbed by entertainment,
.      numbered and tagged,
.      sentenced to clinics for containment.

Swirling incantations
.           of Utopians, red flags,
.           and mass ideological indoctrination.
Such is the sedated polis.
The coming cold and its dark solstice.


(RL2017)

.

Unlike greed, lies, abuse and false claims,

.           rain falls and doesn’t stain.

Lord, through grace,

as we call upon you in repentance,

teach us to grasp tenderness;

To build upon it a reflection

.          of your love and just benevolence.

.


(RL2017)