Archives For My Poetry

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Schoolyard popularity
Social media celebrities
Armchair activists ignoring reality

News feed narcotics
Narcissist neurotics
Status anxiety?

A “like” is not endorsement
Endorsement is not a comment
Silence betrays arrogance?

Fearing opinions
Impression management
Feeds perceptions

Poses vs. tags
Covering and uncovering
Wrinkles and rags

The calm update hides a post-atomic sky
Words are lost in the smoke & desolation
Blind mirrors reflect no light

 


©RL2014

‘Sin is mainly located not in political and economic structures, but in the human heart; good and evil are not political categories’ 

(J.Ratzinger, cited by O’Sullivan, J. 2006 in The President, the Pope, and The Prime Minister, p.194)

 

On Prayer

September 21, 2017 — 1 Comment

 

 

Christian. Ignite Hope.

Christian. Write.

Christian. Shine.

Christian. Unchain.

Christian. Gather.

Christian. Sever.

Christian. Bind.

Christian. Empower.

Christian. Sacrifice.

Christian. Love.

Christian. Say ”No”

Christian. Say “Yes”

Christian. Breathe.

Christian. Live.

Christian. Comment.

Christian. Eat.

Christian. Be Content.

Christian. Exercise.

Christian. Rest.

Christian. Obey.

Christian. Grow.

Christian. Go.

Christian. Listen.

Christian. Question.

Christian. Discern.

Christian. Fight.

Christian. Serve.

Christian. Repent.

Christian. Pray.

Christian. Learn.

Christian. Translate.

Christian. Interpret.

Christian. Apply.

Christian. See.

Christian. Encourage.

Christian. Challenge.

Christian. Walk.

Christian. Follow.

Christian. Seek.

Christi n . Be found.

Christian. Bless.

Christian. Hear.

Christian. Heal.

Christian. Forgive.

Christ     . Victorious.

….

 ‘The focal point of the Church’s action is the decisive activity of prayer…Because prayer is the decisive activity, prayer must take precedence…, and in no circumstances must it be suspended.’[1]

….

Christian.

Don’t forget.


References:

[1] Barth,K. 1938 Freedom Under the Word, C.D 1.2 Hendrickson Publishers 2010 p.695

{inspired by St.Patrick’s Breastplate}

Tell Me

August 29, 2017 — Leave a comment

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Ask me what I see, and I’ll show you battle scars.

Tell me what I’m not
and I’ll show you my old home, and its prison bars

Tell me how I’ve failed,
and I’ll show you my bible,
its well-worn corners, impressed with the mark of a child’s hopeful embrace,
and how, though, lost in a sea of loneliness
that child broke through the bitter dark.

Tell me to prove this
and I’ll show you healed marks,
of how they illustrate a trophy of grace;
the miracle that is this mended heart.

Tell me why I’m not enough
and I’ll tell you of teen intoxication,
of long midnight footsteps away from temptation,
and the gut wrenching sound of the devil’s bark.

Tell me how none of this ever happened,
and I’ll take you right back to the start,
then speak of father wounds,
and in minute detail, roll out the saga of abuse
and the many cruel people who joyfully played their part.

Scream at me that I’m wrong,
and I’ll have to walk away,
for I was there in that moment,
you abandoned your right to have a say.


(©RL2017)

Create in me a clean heart, O God,and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Do not cast me from your presence     or take your Holy Spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart you, God, will not despise.”

– Psalm 51:17

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The appearances of tended wounds and mended hearts,
offer little room for understanding how tender they still are.

The former dances with the latter.
Perception is distorted by this intoxicated waltz.

Complimented by self-medication
and a patient’s self-prescribed dose.
Complicated by
Its dark promise, its false solace, its temporary pulse.

But by all means salute;
stand in wonder.

Give up your “like”, your “share”, your applause
Gather the wounds, see the marks.

Be sucked in to the pit;
watch the walls fall apart,
as the veil lifts and reveals the devil behind the self-righteous mask.

Time gasps in horror.
Suspense grips the scene from right to left.
From clock to clock,
beat to beat.
From silence to infuriating,

Tick.

Tock.

Don’t be fooled.
Leap beyond the crevices created by human haste;
Cut through the noise of a fool’s embrace

For encased within both God’s command and claim,
is seared into human history and human hearts,
through living Word, and touchable scars.

The witness, not written by any movement of stars,
His “remember me!, whispered,
carried, through epochs and delivered thus far.

God breathed humanity into His name
And from the breath of angels,
their baritone awe is the same,

of wonder,
at grace,
of hooded silhouettes
and impossible handshakes.


(©RL2017)

‘Nothing is worse in times of danger than to live in a dream world. To warn a [democratic] political system of the menace hanging over it does not imply an attack against it, but is the greatest service one can render that system.’

(Jaques Ellul, Propaganda, xvi:1965)

In March I announced my idea (Author’s Note: As Things Stand) for a side project for the year. The plan was to piece together a book of poetry/prose inspired by theology. Most of which is available under the poetry tag in the menu at the top of this blog.

I’ll be working on indexing that poetry as time permits, in order to make accessing them easier. I plan to do this with my other articles as well. I’ve been piecing this blog together for just over four years now and I’m thankful that it’s been more than just a benefit to me. I don’t claim to know everything, but I aim to know what I can, and then share from that base. This approach is what I hope the build my two hundred page book of poem, prose and hand drawn surrealist art from. For now, the plan is to publish an e-format book and see how it goes from there.

Rather than pen out a large volume of work on theology right from the start, I figured a book of theo-poetry/prose was a good place to start.

The tentative title is: Inhaled Grace Ignites and the only real artwork of my own I’ve come close to being excited about, for the cover, is this one:

 

 

Moving slowly with the wind,
.  elements of thread bare rags
.  sit idle on the parched and colourless ground.

Curled up in a ball.
Like a wounded child dressed in dust.

Frayed fabric sways,
shifted by the breeze and its biting thrust;
fragments of its former self.

Silently dancing to discordance
.            bowing to abandonment and its solemn discourse.
No owner to be found.

O dry-eyed,
.                   whimpering bundle;
.                   rarely loved,
.                   emptied of life,
.                   left to lie on the cold and barren ground.

Resolved you sit,
.               begging for patience to fill every tear less cry,

Sorrow heaves like vomit
. up through whisper, heart, and broken tongue,
.     the only prayers are sighs.

O hear the beating of distant drums
From morbid light to cheerful sun.

Raise your head to see
Your shadow in the hands of the One
.       who now stands,
.       and by your side,
.       picks you up to breathe.

Picks you up to give you life;
.  Life emptied of lifelessness,
.     Like day emptied of night.


(©RL2017)

‘And behold, a leper came to him and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, if you will, you can make me clean.” And Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him, saying, “I will; be clean.” And immediately his leprosy was cleansed.’

(Matthew 8:2-3, ESV)

Image credit: Rembrandt, The Leper at Capernaum, 1657-60

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Weightless effigies collide in a disembodied world.
Time and space melt through pixelated moulds.
Ambulating artefacts plugged into wire, fiction,
and the illusion of communal hold.

Minds are plunged into formlessness.
There is no such thing as peace.
Life plugged into lifelessness,
.      where reason and faith cease.

Human blood runs through silicon veins,
.   false achievement becomes a commodity,
.            buying and selling souls chained to the game;
.   false lords, colluding with extremes,
Masters to slaves,
.            forcing the fight for existence between gambit and guillotine.

Every written opposition,
.         each noun,
.         each verb;
.         each electrified word,
.         even if eloquently sung,
.         via comments, is from the gallows, hung.

The society of strangers lined up in drab, conforming rows.
Thought, faith and true freedom, filtered out from within the flow.

But, lightening moves knighted apparitions,
.      there one second, then gone the next.
Holy attendants, heads covered in hoods.
Concealed by the night, as if concealed by soot.

Their presence whispers,
.            of what is to come,
.       as their voices hymn in the Gregorian, baritone, tongue:

“For God still lives, and so, God speaks.
The arrogance of human revolution is breached
Know, He comes,
.          the new exodus, claimed via Crucis.
The once and forever,
Prince of Peace, God’s only begotten Son.”


(©RL2017)

‘…the poor man that loveth Christ is richer than the greatest man in the world that hates Him.’

(John Bunyan, Pilgrims Progress, Faithful talking to Christian)