This was written at a very difficult and low time when I couldn’t seem to get a grip on life. The title stems from wondering- if I were to put this on Facebook as my status how many ‘likes’ would I get? After all you’re meant to be happy all the time, aren’t you? No, you don’t have to be happy all the time and wear a smiling mask only BE YOURSELF. As I conclude the poem I realise afresh that the only ‘help that helps’ is the power from on high, The Lord Jesus. Psalm 121:1&2- ‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.’
Crying without tears, screaming without sound, paining without scars.
Conversely concerned not with healing rather, worthiness.
Sorry for selfish sits so badly.
Too busy to stop, to see, to sigh with results.
Vision obscurred not by blurred salt clarity
Only fuzzy-minded blank, misfiring synapses.
Tired, so tied, so tiresome;
Wearying numb pervading each inch like seeping grey spreading up and
Prayer’s sigh-arrow fired at the throne
Immediately retracted, replaced, rehashed with tendons bend and bow.
Energyless crumpled submission, supplication’s suffering.
No earthly tool can reach inside. Know how? No how.
This world’s never credentials complete.
Sky help fall into me burning away, lighting anew, reviving the core.
This is Lot’s story and so often our own. This poem was inspired by an image I had of myself as Lot walking through Sodom. In a world whose ideas and systems are in direct opposition to that of followers of The Way, we find ourselves strangers and oft subjects of scrutiny. Lot was a righteous man in an unrighteousness city who stood out because he refused to act like everyone else. To stand is often all we need do. ‘Wherefore take unto you the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand’ Ephesians 6:13. Genesis 19:1-17, 2 Peter 2:6-9.
Once more into Sodom’s breach dear friend.
Once more a trader in market Babylon.
Navigating through, looking out from holy parapet.
Seeking opportunity for glimmers,
a dissatisfied looking.
Compassion and hatred intertwined without schism.
looked at, studied unknowing;
‘Why can’t I get a grip on Him?
Mad or bad?’
This is your lot:
Vexed and disturbed by attempted assimilation.
Subject to hour upon hour of dark light
and false heat’s bulb exposure;
filth’s tan evident.
Weary worn down needing the
divine slice, divine solace.
Foreign stream, arrow implanted
pulled, snapped, Hated.
I was at a time in my life when a big decision was before me but I found myself weakened in my mind and feeling somewhat helpless. I met with an apostle who advised and strengthened me greatly to once again be set on the right course. Two days later I had a vision of a weakling veering off a straight path and then suddenly a huge, very muscular, animal-like man shoulder barging him back onto the road- amazing.
Thank God for Wayne Thomas. Proverbs 4:25; Matthew 7:14; Jude 1:23.
Moment by moment;
Increment on increment;
Veering away away
Unknowing but knowing,
Weak, wind swept, affected soul.
The unfortunate: good but weak.
Inherent vulnerability exposed.
Evil’s poison planted to
Pacify and maim.
From nowhere, somewhere;
Heaving, snorting, snarling,
Muscles built into muscle,
Rippling mountains vein and strain,
Labouring, charging, bustling.
Aggression’s person with
Stature and might;
Different and deadly;
Smashing across into the
unwitting, wind blown helpless.
Set once more onto narrow,
God became a man, shed all His blood and died to save us from ourselves and the power of Death and Hell. This is the story of His blood. ‘Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends’ John 15:13.
Before anything was.
A beautiful king’s sacrifice for his unworthies. Willingly lies himself on eternal court’s marble allowing the must deed.
Endurance reward: the joy ahead.
Droplets for me.
guided towards the knowing unworthy. Bursting with beauty,
with glorious majesty,
Full of glory.
Precious flow given, poured gently. Smashing, liquidating
darkest pain, darkest night,
darks evil schemes
obliterated by smooth, lovely droplet.
atomic impact on the yet inexistent,
Innocence sliding, gently meandering, slowly.
Droplet of astounding importance. Down, slipping over matted hair obstacles and over cracked knuckle mountains onto smooth, broken nails gathering, gathering…
Away from master, from lovely, out from broken.
Caught in heavens chief vial ready to be sprinkle-applied, brush stroked over the doorway of my life.
Droplets for me.
A poem about how so many things in life promise so much and look so attractive but they are pain and emptiness cunningly disguised. Furthermore, they actually TAKE life.
Rom 6:23, Prov 12:28, Eph 6:13-14.
I drank at the well of the world and got a sore belly.
To the left and to the right, comforts?
your fancy; indulge, be free, let yourself go, let your guard down, enjoy says your name.
She calls, she sells, she insists,
Smooth, mesmerising with fingers beckoning gently world-ward.
Where do I turn when I need something? Need succouring?
Turn aside, turn away, turn down?
The attraction, the drawing,
Turning your head? Turn in…to what?
Scarlet beauty veiling
scales, scares, sores stench.
Black as sin, evil’s visage.
Sin’s person paying wages printed with death, covered in pain, covered in
draw away, draw down,
pull away, pull down,
TAKE TAKE TAKE.
Market stalls you, stalls of vanity,
TAKE leave of your senses,
Written about the amazing internal life of prayer enjoyed when walking with The Lord Jesus and His complete understanding and desire to help. It also talks about how that tender fellowship can be so damaged by sin. 1 Kings 19:12, Romans 6:23, Hebrews 3:13, Revelation 3:20.
Night writing small as a whisper, quiet as point one.
Torrent emotion bottled like a stoic, ready to be unfurled, let loose, marking forever papers journal.
One cries in unison. One sees. One yearns and communicates in depth whispers. Violently desiring new, earnestly looking for ears pricked, waiting for bulbs. Let rivers be reality, rivets be our forgotten pain blown away and smashed by a whisper.
Senses stifled. The grand opening weekend of ‘idiot’ featuring familiar flickering on your very own man made, bloody canvas screen. Who’s voice? What voice? What whispering journal? Pain with no pain.
As easy as 123 getting to posture floor as hard as point zero. Bend, bend, bend for victory fighting knees and sinewy attitude. Can you hear your whispering journey?! Yes and no.
Flicker of thunder, of whirlwind, of fire? Aha!! Tears of nights inside out from one whisper. The smile dropping joy filled balloons. Open the whisperers journal. Journey into valiant, noble, loveful whispers once again. One way victory, one way road, one Way.