An Opus

We sat on a green
Leather couch
Our hands creeping closer
And closer
Our hearts beating faster
And faster
Our pulse racing like horses

And somewhere in Holland
Someone was writing
an opus but I don't
Think either of us were
Listening.

If I'd (and am)

If you were a be, I'd be a with you
If you were a present, I'd be a tense
If you were a future, I'd be a dreamer

If you were a muse, I'd be amused
If you were money, I'd save you
If you were mine, I'd be yours

(and am)

New Poem

Dark-dark and overcast gloomy. The runway, slick-gray.
No doves, just single little birds hopping around the roof around the hangers or
on the ground hoping to find a crumb for surely there are no worms here.

And then the plane takes off, propellers humming, gaining altitude
Elevation made manifest in the small of my back against the faux leather airline seat
Over the rooftops and grounded airplanes, over the noises of earth

And then came the silence. Nothing but white. Bright-bright white.
Seeming never-ending, un-answering silent bright.
No evidence of earth or heaven, just the always of this vacuum
Jet rocketing through the heart of this blinding time-space

Will we clear this white doom? How far away is heaven?
How near is earth below? When will be break this great white unknown?
Like little children I asked these questions to myself under the murmur and hum of the aircraft and the fat man seated beside me already asleep, unknowing-uncaring

And then, noiseless and shattering, the bright blue of upper heavens.
Like a clear summer day with no storms in sight.
The dark and gloomy out of reach, the sunshine-heavens in clear-view.
The white unknown forgotten-forgiven.

For it separates these two realities. The bright and the glum. The dark and the light
The joy of the ascension trumping the fear of unsight. The cloud-breaking bringing the climax.

But the earth, with its calamity and suffering just below these wings. For I am still in this atmosphere. Still in this hemisphere. Still un-escaping. The children still crying, the mothers still wailing. The souls cry beneath me, and I sit
On these clouds like an escape-god-man.

Then, as soon as it started: The Descent. Back down from the upper-blue into the middle-white. Finally back into the overcast underneath. The concrete and blacktop
And rooftops and ballfields.

All of it asking a question, a singular question. Nail biting, brow sweating.
What is my answer.
The souls of earth demanding an answer of my temporary escape, my cloud-sitting.

Yes! God is Good! (Meager mouth mumble underbreath)
Yes! With confidence building.

Back to the birds upon landing. They weren't as high as me yet so much more free.

The Eldest Star

This one doesn't fit perfectly into this project but I thought it would be worth sharing.
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I light up the heavenlies like a burning jewel
The galaxies bow their heads beneath me like the old and elderly
My brightness, My beauty. I speak with the Songs of Eternity
I remain alone-unapproached, unwanting, un-needing

Time is my brother, space is my sister, we were birthed together before the others
I hold the suns in submission, the planets and their moons are mine to spin

The light from my gaze is blinding. To come near me is to be possessed by me.
My song is heard far beyond the star-scape, louder than the others and far greater
The sun is my great-great grandchild, small in stature and weak in fire
He cannot lift his head beneath my weight, I speak to him in curses and death-hate

No! I am the Mighty One! Fury blazing beautiful fires!
Power of writhing light, star-bursts of beauty against the black-empty

Fire rising high-high into the outermost spaces
Millions of miles into the cold-beauty of the black-scape around me
Who can comprehend my power, my fury, my age!
I have birthed galaxies and seen them come to their frightful-end

You there! Looking at me with your haughty eyes like you can own me, like you can wish upon me! You a tiny speck on a tiny speck with your tiny-father-sun

Watch me blaze, my greens and reds and blues will astound your feeble being
Feel the fires burst from my belly, scorching the night sky far above your crumbling cities
I am the Isolation, none come near me whom I do not pull
The light of my youth will scorch your flesh-faces and melt your works of iron and gold

Flesh will not withstand me. You and your philosophies, grasping at what you do not know
It burns hate inside me to see you worship and I will descend upon, falling with a death-blow

I want to singe your lying tongues and prettied hair
I want to burn your trespassing feet
I want to blind your stupid eyes and melt your stubborn ears
You who do not notice my power - I will descend upon your children

My fires will claim them, they will crush under the weight of my fire-light
My gravity will pull them up, crack their ribs and mangle their bony child-frames

My falling will destroy you. This is the new epoch. When I descend the others will mourn
Their star-songs will be silenced by the movement of the Mighty One. I will devour you in my blazing Mouth. I will devour you with my burning teeth and churn you in my brimstone-belly
I will spit you forth in bursts of flame and sulfur, glory to Myself as I tumble-down wrath


but Starlight, growing-tower of flame and color, expanding ever to the outer-heavens,
succumbed to the always-fate of those created, giving glory to the One-Not-Created


You too will burn out you haughty Star, worship the King and bring forth your beauty

The Good King

War is coming and with it the sound of battle-blood hungry wolves
A pack of leather, iron and wounds
They scream towards their goal. fangs and weapons
Scratch and claw, onward brutal reckoning

Creation! Fallen-creation! It is their war cry.
Earth is dark. Sea is lost. Sky is a black heart with a stone for a sun
Moon is an axe to carve their thirsty path
To take what's rightfully theirs. The princes and kings and children have sinned.

A warrior prince stands ready to embrace their fury
A death trance coming like a wave to meet him
Bronze skin breathes in the dirt and dust of the onslaught
Storm is coming. boats on shore. banging the war drums.

He is alone against them. They will overtake him and devour him along with all the rest
Their footprints bring wrath, their swords, dull and heavy, will bring bruises before blood
It is theirs, he is abandoned to them, left alone to feel their teeth and torment

He makes a move towards His judgment, towards their fists and whips
His footprints are pools of light on the dark dirt
Around His feet young-springtime blossoms echos of the beginning
The first blow spills warm blood from his princely veins

Blood like oceans, muddying the lifeless dust around his beaten body
The earth opens its blackened mouth and claims him
The First Judgment gathers around to spit and stomp and jeer.
The King has fallen, judged according to the fallen ones
The sins of the people speared upon the head of their King.

The black-judgment, the Iron Army, the snarled teeth and black moons
They too have been abandoned to the demon-prince
The earth has claimed the King and the ever-darkness shows no kindness
Not even unto its own. for death is death is death

But spring blossoms endured even as the King lay bloodied-dead in the belly of the earth
Their tender green tendrils lifting Him off the death slab stone
His body pushed up through the earth like a tree in a dream
A great light of Being and Knowing shining forth through the cracked ground

So great His light that it scorches their skin, leaves them begging for water
So bright is the light that their eyes burn like coals, their shrieks are unending
They are judged not by their sins but by the great-glory of the King resurrected

In kindness His arms unfolding as branches, bigger than all that ever was, all that ever will be
Hair growing like leaves to shade and protect those underneath, to silence the shrieks
Fruit, the sweetest ever tasted, ever known, brought forth by the warrior prince King
Offering shade and abundance to the wolves that once devoured Him

From His side pours forth oil forever, anointing them with always-redemption

Tempest

You are a tempest
A force of nature
And yet I hold you
In my arms

And you are a petal
A gentle creature

What a woman you are
What a man I've become

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I love the idea that at any given moment we can be raging forces or gentle creatures. I especially enjoy how the contrast shapes each of us individually. I think that trust and patience with each other is key to growing and shaping us.

A Short Synopsis

For some reason I felt inspired to re-post (with couple of tweaks) this section from a previous blog. I think you could call this a synopsis of sorts.

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In Every Moment
God is present in every moment, in every joy, in every sorrow, in every outcast, in every success. He's there (here). So much so that he came in the flesh and lived with us (read John, which, by the way, is very poetic), dwelt with us, or, as The Message puts it, "moved into the neighborhood".

God is Love
When we are frail and broken, God encourages and lifts up our head. When we are bold and reckless, God is consistent. When we are outcasts and misfits, God accepts us. When we are too busy, God is steadfast and still. When we are dull and lack vision, God shines and inspires. God is Love. He is the model. In fact, marriage (one of my favorite "neighborhoods") is actually a prophetic metaphor of God and the church.

Marriage is the Model
Of all the models God could have used to describe His role for the Church He named a bride and became the bridegroom. He used marriage. This might explain why scripture explains that when our marriage is off-kilter or when there is a lack of love between a husband and wife our prayer lives will suffer or, in other words, our communication and intimacy with our creator will suffer. If you want to be loved you have to love. If you desire respect and intimacy you have to give respect and be intimate.

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Original posting "An Old Steadfast, Non-Glamorous Greatness" can be read here