God a la poetry

I really hate to do this…but in light of a blog I just spent half an hour or more typing and accidentally deleted, here is this blog with a few of the poems I have written. These poems (in no particular order) I feel were inspired by my search for God, and my longing to feel him closer. I guess there is more of a theme lately of replacing my old self and old lusts of this world with His love, remembering His promise to me and trusting my salvation and His direction. But it’s interesting to see where I’ve come from, I guess.

There really is no better excuse for posting all these other than showing you all one more way I like to let Jesus permeate my life and letting you get to know me more through *cough* poetry, I guess. I’m a novice, and my goal is to remain modest. I have no idea how to write poetry. I just do it, whether it sounds like some coffee house poetry reading (complete with snapping fingers) or the lyrics to a Beatles song or a kid’s church hymn. Whatever. All I know is after 3 years of on-a-whim poetry, the ones that Jesus inspired are much better than those from failed relationships, etc.

I figure Jesus is happy that I am the wandering sheep that constantly needs Him to shepherd me to His pasture. Need is good…I love that He is the parent that never minds that you’re full grown and still crying to Him for help and inefficient on your own, no matter how much you emulate Billy Graham.

I’d like to think these poems are additional way of praying. My greatest hope is that maybe these would inspire you all to have a tinker at poetry to see if you’re a poet (for Christ) and don’t know it.

Without further ado, a page full of poems. Critique for fun if you wish. I’ll start with the most recent, written last week, but after that, there is no particular order:

ROTTEN FRUIT

Seedless fruits fed to me

Filled with the nectar of emptiness and temporary as a

Twitch.

All the while the street vendor shouts, “Fresh fruit!”

So I pass his hoarse voice

And the street market hustlers

And I run to the well

To drink the water of promise.

I feel like happy free falling.

SIMPLE

Damsel in distress befits the name of the costume that I wear

Fighting for you madly, calling out, the wind whipping my hair

Feeling love as desperation, epiphanies and moments of despair

Without knowing that a stone unturned will ease my mind and show me you are there.

FIRE

How is it I can live this way

Ignoring you from day to day

Other things can fill me up

But only your water can fill my cup

I can’t conceive a greater good

But reading You, I know I should

My feeble mind can barely see

The wonders that you offer me

No need to fear

No need to cry

Or shed a tear

The day I die

No need to strive

To know I’m heard

But be alive

And speak your Word

What is this light that longs to shine?

In fact, can I even call it mine?

It is a fire that burns up doubt

Not even Satan can put it out.

Have I the strength to poke the ember

And stir up what I can remember

Or is the fire gone from the flu

And I cannot remember you?

Lord, use your match to ignite the flame

Don’t let it die or stay the same

But let it burn a million colors

Let it shine for all the others

May it more than singe the edge of doubt

May it burn forever, never run out

And while it’s burning, let it warm a friend

Making me a disciple, and spreading the trend.

HOSANNA

I bandage my hurt with the shallow amenities of my surroundings,

The meaningless comfort that they apply to the wound.

A God-shaped hole in my heart

Whose pain cannot be assuaged

By filling it in with worldly wisdom

That in the end amounts to nothing

Because it depends on the strength of man

Instead of his frailty.

Whipped by the master’s cat-o-nine-tails

That inflicts slashes of fear and strips my confidence

With every blow,

I drag my foot and hunch my back

Toiling like a slave on the plantation

Of empty feelings and lonely thoughts.

The sun of persecution beats upon my scar-checkered back

As I wail a deep-throated hymn of woe with those to whom I am chained.

Hosanna! Hosanna! Lawdy, lawdy, I’m a comin’!

Free me from these toils to which I am enslaved;

You are my Emancipation Proclamation.

MI CREADOR

Mi creador, mi salvación

Sólo tú puedes llevarme al cielo

Me ofreces tu amor, y con ninguna excepción

Me quieres aunque soy pecadora.

Posible es que no puede entenderlo

Porque no soy capaz.

El amor de la santa trinidad

Es mejor que todos los amores del mundo.

NUMBNESS NEEDS A CURE

Unaware this savior speak;
He comes to me when I am weak
So close, but why so unreal?
Beating heart I cannot feel.

Need to feel a touch, but Doubt

Tells me that I am left without

Blinders shade from every side
With leather covers truth they hide.

Long to sip the cup of grace
Leaving self to see His face
Taking outside thoughts away
Speaking to me plain as day.

Revelation beyond reach
For feeble mind’s now impaired speech
Spitting back nonsensically
The words He speaks with love to me.

Softly now the guitar bays
Gently soothing as it plays
Renders me to call Him near
And frailty demands a tear.

ROSES

Wet auburn tresses brush her cheeks

As she grudgingly pulls them out of her face

And steps in from the relentless rain.

She passes a bouquet of flowers in the hall

Perched upon the stained mahogany table

Roses of a sweet, entrancing odor

“To you, my love, for being you

I find you flawless.

Love, your One and only.”

She passes this table every night

Whisking by the invisible roses

Whose smell remains stagnant in her nose

And goes to check her messages.

One call.

“Hi, it’s Mom. Just wanted to check on you

And by the way, I’m praying for you.”

She checks her e-mail.

“Act now and receive two months free of…”

Deleted.

A look in the mirror

Hrm, that wasn’t there last week.

My eyes look tired.

The wind howls in the drafty windows

As the rain plays Mozart on the stoned walkway.

The rose petals sigh in grief

Day by day, wilting.

Will she finally see the blood red hue

Before the last petal falls?

LETTING GO

Why is it I can’t let go?

I cannot let your beauty show

You reach to me and ask my heart

But somehow I won’t do my part.

With every command, a blessing is certain

So why have I made this such a burden?

Maybe I doubt your promise, your will

That fear lies deep within me still.

So take my selfish contol today

Show me you know a better way

I don’t really know where to begin

Except to ask you to forgive my sin.

Take my thoughts away from my looks,

Show me when to put down the books,

Show me how to enjoy my life

As the bride of Christ, His eternal wife.

Let my faith grow a million fold

So my heart will shine for you like gold.

Use it, if you wish, for my family’s sake,

To show them the difference in my life you make.

But most of all, heavenly father above

Show me your deep, undying love.

Jesus, it’s you I need to feel;

Come fill me up — your love is real.

PRISON

I am waiting in perturbed contemplation

Begging my head to clear its clutter

So you can come in.

You knock, but the din inside the grey walls

Prevents me from hearing the tap

Of your knuckles against the cold metal door.

Everything I want to know is outside that reinforced steel

But for some reason the door is wedged shut

And I grapple with the door handle but cannot open it.

The cat-eyed guard with pale, lifeless skin guards the door

Locking me in

Interrogating me

Brainwashing me.

“Why do you want out of this room?

There’s nothing out there, all lies!”

He plays “bad cop” and I cower into a corner.

You stand outside, waiting to pay my bail

And yet I am too weak to steal the guard’s gun

And shoot the lock open.

The prison inside my mind is tougher than Alcatraz

And the warden controls it with a cruel, evil heart

And iron fist.

Please set me free from this maximum-security hell

And let my heart rejoice with all the innocents and the pardoned.

Only you can break down this cell wall.

My sentence is still up for bail;

Don’t let me die on death row.

READY TO BLOSSOM

A delicate flower blooms beneath mossy forest brush

In a forest canopied by thick, towering trees.

She opens slowly, day by day

Revealing the flushes of a sunset’s rainbow

In her soft, silky petals.

She is saught after by a gardener

Listening to the call of his heart

And scouring the forest for her rare beauty

Hoping to find her and place her in his garden to admire her.

But before the gardener finds his treasure

He will search high and low, in the midnight hour

Through brush, moss, needle and leaf

Until uncovering this “diamond in the ruff”

Among the flora and fauna.

Devoted to his cause, he will search for her

Until the sun’s radiant love

Caresses the tips of his beauty’s petals

And coaxes her to open up and grow past the brush

He remains faithful and patient

Knowing that the unique beauty he seeks

Will blossom soon.

A LEVY BROKEN

Mud cakes crackle like broken glass

Beneath the humble workboots of face-masked soldiers

A wall decorated with pictures of Grandma

And scattered church pamphlets

Stand testimony to the hearts

Of unfortunate strangers.

Black spots of my lung’s worst enemy

Litter the walls like the coat of a dalmatian

And mark the premises like symptoms of a plague.

These walls sigh from the pressure

Of misfortune’s bathwater

Soaked in the wrath of preventable disaster

And weeping stories of destruction and despair.

A wedding ring

A prom dress

A plaque for 31 years of marriage

An entire wardrobe, furniture set, supply of food

All shuffled around in nature’s blender

Left to sit at the bottom of the glass

When the toxic drink is sucked out by time

And only the residue remains.

Jesus has marked His next destination;

He leaves signs of hope for his crying children:

A Bible weathered by mold but still legible

A church standing strong and tall

While surrounding houses lean toward it.

His face, His words mark the pages of keepsakes

And linger in the minds of willing servants

Who come down here to live his teachings.

This sorrow that lasts through the night

Brings joy in the morning to His beloved,

Joy in the hearts of His children

And his t-shirted crusaders

Who tear down the tears of yesterday

And throw out the molded sheet rock of anger

To make room for the Carpenter to build it anew.

I stand in awe at each new doorstep

And, geared up, grab a shovel.