Posts Categorized: poetry

Not Cotton Candy Faith

This isn’t fairground faith,
Setting up temporary attractions to entertain,
This is a battleground.

This is a crawl-on-your-belly-through-muck kind of faith.
Faith like this knows the pain of barbs and mourns the consequences
of not hitting the mark.

Faith
in Jesus Christ doesn’t melt in your mouth
and jolt your system with a quick high. This faith knows
drought and famine and still
chooses to grit it out and hope.

Upside-Down Kingdom

My flesh stings with the stripes of suffering. Persecuted,
rejected, abandoned. What are these to me in light of eternity
with You? Your upside-down kingdom of servant king is a balm
to my heartache.

Though my flesh revolts at the dirt of humility and
my mind balks at unseen hope, I pick up my cross
and follow You night and day. Faith in You never
disappoints! Tears and songs
gurgle and bubble to the surface like a spring. You, Oh Lord,
are the source of circumstance-transforming joy.

And when my night comes, when all hope seems lost, and my flesh
bleeds to betray You. May I
cry out like Jesus. “It is finished,” and trust your resurrection power.

The Evidence of Your Love

Somewhere between presence and depression
I stopped being and started doing.
Repeated lies and nursed wounds.

I checked out of Hotel Truth and
checked into the flea-infested Motel Fear.
There was no room service. No one changed the sheets
of self-loathing and cynicism I slept in day after day. I drank the
amber whisky of my own thoughts and called the burn enlightenment.

The knock was insistent, acknowledging my existence. Disrupted my
pathetic pattern.

The knock reached into the shadows of isolation.
“Hello?”
The knock again.
I cringed as if hit. “Go away!”
I hugged the closest bottle like it would ward
off the intruder.
The knock again was gentle violence to my demons.

The barrier to my soul shattered. Painfully stripped of all dignity
I was afraid you would reject me.

You came into my filth and saw me. All of me.
You, Oh Lord, washed me, clothed me in righteousness.
Confusion doesn’t even begin to explain that moment. I was so
secure in my destruction. You were secure in my salvation. Everything
shifted. My worldview, my understanding of grace, justice, flesh. But I wanted
your presence. Wanted you to fill me with your light until I craved nothing else.

You came into my dark world and prepared a banquet. I’m invited! You’re invited! Come! Come and
see what the Lord has done for me!

Poetry Testifies to What I’ve Seen and Heard

Hero words take up swords
and slice through false beliefs with the authority
of the one sent.
Poetry is a place to find refuge. You are here
in the observations of my soul. Reminding winter of
its boundaries and cultivating plump vines for harvest
in the desert of despair.

Sustaining Word

I love the way you invite
me to touch truth. I run my
fingers over your tangible promises like
oranges ripening in an infinite orchard. A tenacious
orchard unhindered by blight, drought, fire, or suffering. Each
morning, I pluck encouragement, understanding, and endurance from
your Word. I tear into the tender flesh of submission and humility. Your
Word fills me with satisfying joy as I
squeeze out the fresh juice of  Your Spirit and drink the glory of Your creation.

 

He remembers his covenant forever, the word that he commanded, for a thousand generations…

Psalm 105:8 ESV

Resurrection Battle at the Demoniac’s Tomb

The demoniac:

Forgotten.
Dressed in rags and chains, I was not
ready to entertain kings. 

You crossed the unclean threshold of my grave,
your royal robes billowing in the sea’s warm breeze.
My heart strained to near you.
Dare I hope.

Demons:

Hopeless.
A crown, only seen by our eyes, testifies to us who you are.
Naked, we claw with rocks at vulnerable flesh, mutilating your earthly jewel.
We’ll make you unrecognizable too. Soon. Flesh out, God.

Forsaken

Forsaken

Demoniac:

I scream for
release from day and night horror. While they cried out to
remain fast.
I was a scarred lamb within, and
a roaring lion without.

Demons:

Mighty Samson would not tame we beating beasts.

Demoniac:

You, Son of God, entered my tomb and knocked
the breath out of me.
What man chained you commanded freed.
Clothed in righteousness, I now cling to you.

You are God in flesh!

You are God in flesh!

A demoniac commissioned to share the truth of your
love for mankind.

(Inspired by Mark 5)

Rest in You

So much lures me away from You—
Chores, needs, wants, the “musts” all
tell me I will never catch up to expectations.
But, like a child, I run to You in the early morning.
Share with me the story of Your love.
Let me touch the scars of my salvation in these pages.
In the stillness of Your presence, I remember my worth is found in abiding in You.

Release Tears

When tears are not released,
The soul forces its way through,
like a poorly dammed-up river.

Expression is as natural as breathing.

Allow lament to wash away the debris of hopelessness
and reveal comfort.
Allow quick squalls of anger to have their say.
Allow tears, contagious with laughter, to water
parched landscapes with joy.
Allow fear to escape in truthful torrents.

Jesus wept.

Tears erode isolation, intertwine
humans, and declare to a God who hears,
“I need you!”

If Truth is What I Make It

Muddled religious platitudes
leave me questioning existence and further
hush the echoes of truth. Hypocrites!

“God bless”ripped of its earth-quaking power
by unrepentant ministers who curse children with trauma
huddled naked under their self-righteous protection. Why would I want that?

Savior? What a laughable insult. I am god of my fate.
I am independent. A pull-yourself-up by-the-bootstraps kinda
person. Connect to god any way I choose. Or none at all.

I can stoke the flame of my passion with a flip of a channel.
Obstacle or object, I can abuse or manipulate people like pawns. Bend
them to the will of my mood.

The world is crammed with little wack-a-mole idols
popping up with flashy egos. “Look at me!” And I look.
Devoid of humility. Empty of truth. These are the ravenous monsters I sacrifice to?

Forgive and forget or take revenge are one and the same when I am god. Distilled of life-giving
obedience i forget to trace God’s instilled image in you.
To forgive and remember. Now there is the coup ‘d’ etat.

Sin, the abyss of separation from God. Sin, I once recognized and crumbled
to my knees in repentance. Sin is now bridged by
religious arrogance and social norms. “You do you.”

And in the end, when soul is spent, I ask. What is really different between Saint and sinner
if truth is what I make it?

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