All Of My Life

All of my life I've been looking for something

Something, somewhere, some place, someone

Something to cling to, somewhere to run to

Some one to love me/live for, some place where I belong

In all of the places, and people I've looked to,

There was something lacking, something wrong

As good or bad as they may have been

They're not the thing longed for, for so long

In the bottom of the bottle, or at the top of the mountain,

Whether I tasted ashes or I tasted air

I listened to voices, in the noise and the stillness

I scoured horizons but it wasn't there,

Down in the valleys I ran with the rivers

I followed the flow of any given stream

I climbed to the source and I swam to the ocean

But it wasn't in any of them, the elusive theme

The theme weaving through each subtle story,

The nuance to the waking dream

The truth behind the myth of satisfaction

The rock of the reality that lies beneath what seems

It's like I've been looking, all my life, for clues,

Behind polite lies and platitudes

The longitude and latitudes, the location of longing

Lay all along to lead to you,

And I'm here in this desert, this deserted wasteland

And I'm so thirsty and I'm still thirsting for more of you

Nothing can quench, No one can extinguish,

Nothing but you Lord, Nothing else will do

I've drank from the wells of the loves of others

Like draughts and gulps of sand they left me dry,

Dying, deserted and gasping for water

I've come Lord to acknowledge, Only you can satisfy

O God, I say, you are my God;

I'm earnestly, fervently searching and looking for you.

My soul thirsts for you; in a parched place with no water

my whole being aches and longs for you too

More than the deer pants for streams of water

So God, for you my weary soul yearns and pants, it's true

Even beneath my consciousness, in the mess and mayhem,

It asks when, oh God, can I meet with you?

When can I meet with you Lord,

When can I go, when can I slip away?

But come away with me my love,

Come away, come away, come away is what I hear you say,

When can I meet with you Lord,

When can I go, when can I slip away?

But come away with me my love,

Come away, come away, come away, I hear you say,

Yes God, I say, you are my God;

I'm earnestly, fervently searching and looking for you.

My soul thirsts for you; in a parched place with no water

My whole being aches and longs for you too

And you alone and only you,

Only you, My God will do

So lets forsake the fractured, cracked and broken cisterns

The ones we dug that cannot hold

And return to the ancient, source of living water

Unblock and dig again the wells of old,

In that day we will say “So here I am in the place of worship

Drinking in your strength and glory,

Your eternal love is better than finite life itself

And your endless mercy stretches out before me,

Oh God you are my God

Earnestly I seek you

(Inspired by Psalm 63, Psalm 42, Jeremiah 2)

An Equal and Opposite Reaction

In the stillness
He moves

In the silence
He speaks

In the resting
He stirs something

In the fighting
He lays down

In the storm
He is still

In the troubles
He says little or nothing,

And in all the rest
Somehow
It works




M Joseph Burt  19.06.2006 (Revised 21/11/2019)

Painted Play

I want to paint not write
I want to convey darkness and light
Colour for the soul caught in night
Images not words/paint not write

I want to be Da Vinci not Lawrence or Keates
I want to be Angelo, not stare at my feet
I want to be Van Gough (with ears complete)
I want to stare at the sun, not hide under sheets

I want to be skilful, catch each detail
Or convey an essence like a scream or a wail
I want to create texture, like a visual brail
I want to be expressive, not an emotional snail

I don't want to be Byron or Dostoyevsky
I want to be a painter, No you cant object, see!




M Joseph Burt (18.06.2006)

The Cruelest Thing

You can survive
Endure
The abuse
Until I promise to stop.

You can live with the pain
In time count it mundane
Until I promise to stop.

You can take
The metaphorical punches
Write off my offensive defensives
Until I promise to stop.

But That is just too much
The dried grass
That broke
The dromedary's spine,

If you know what to expect
You can accommodate
My myriads of faults

But,
If I stop
Where are you?

And I know it is your demon ghost haunting you
With the bed-sheet of deferral
That makes your heart vomit

With hope

Comes possibility of disappointment
And that
Is too much
Worse than the abuse itself

Hope is the cruellest thing.




M Joseph Burt  (18.06.2006)

Echoes

I was there in the garden of Gethsamne
As he wrestled
While they slept
The evening chill, unnoticed
As the blood drop sweats

In essence I was born that night
Concieved as he conceded
The cup of suffering remains
Though the Son of God pleaded

And I was there when the angels came
And ministered to the lamb
And in a sense, I think I knew
Though I never knew the man

Its echoes they reach me still
Down through history
That I was there in essence
That this was done for me

I cannot read of Christ
Or how he hung upon the tree
Without the thought
That I was there
Or that you paid for me

As my sins were the nails
That clawed through flesh to wood
And held you there
Held you for bad and good

Held you there
Like a man hanging from a cliff
By a cotton thread
Oh

Any moment you could have come down
And blackened out the sun
And justly let your kingdom come
And have blown us all to Kingdom come

But that too is an echo
And I will be there
On the terrible day
On the great and terrible day




M Joseph Burt (14.06.2006)

If Hittler Had used A Cross

The offense of grace
If he had uttered
God forgive me
Before the bullet passed through
The troubled grey matter
That passed through a troubled world
Passing as his brain

Diminished responsibility
Would he
Like the thief
Be with Jesus this day
In paradise?

And could we, the faithful
Embrace a blood bought Fuhrer?
As the lion lies with the lambs
And do we really believe
That grace is that amazing?
That it doesn't diminish his justice?

And they still celebrate Buddha
Beneath a swastika
In Korea





M Joseph Burt (14/06/06)

Hold My Beer

Hold my beer, hold my beer,
Hold your cheer for another year,
I've got no beer, No booze; no fear,
There'll be no beer if you come round here

I feel fine, I feel fine,
I can live without the vine
I can have my wine at another time,
In the Kingdom I'll get wine that's mine

It's in the bin, It's in the bin
Its in the trash with the scotch and gin
This temples got another Spirit in
It's a Holy one that's got no sin,

It's the Holy Ghost, the Holy Ghost,
I'll raise my glass, make another toast
To compare the two, well he's got the most,
So I'll take joy in the Holy Ghost

I don't care, I don't care,
I don't care If he comes round here,
I've got no booze, no fear, no beer,
So I don't care if he comes round here,

Hold my beer, hold my beer,
I'm only stuck down here for a few more years,
I'm looking forward to the Heavenly cheers
So hold my beer for a few more years

The Dark Red Tree

Those trees
What are they?
I don't know
I just know that there is one in a churchyard back home,
That overlooks your grave,

Those trees will always make me think of you
And I know
that you loved them too
In the moonlight
They are astounding
Silver leafed
Aglow
Standing out in darkness

In daytime they are mournful
Mournful amongst the greens
Almost black
Almost extinguished
Absorbing most light

I delight

To remember you that way,
Often melancholy
Often gay
And I know you would be pleased I used
That word, that way.
Harkening to a better day
When innocence was protected
As well it could be in cultured thought

Oh God, you loved your art
And I treasure you
In a way no other will

Lie still
In the moonlight
My love

"I'll come to you by moonlight
Though hell should bar my way"





M Joseph Burt 02/02/06 (Revisions 14/11/19)

Trajectories

You have to watch those trajectories
Your heart is out by only a few degrees
But with time you'll find you're lost by galaxies
It's better now to get on your knees
And mind your hearts trajectories

Mums Lost Poem

Of all the things I wrote,
There was that poem Mum,
That poem of my last time with you,
You know, that poem, Mum,

Of all the things I had to go and lose,
It was that poem, Mum,
The one when I remembered how it felt,
Got it?
Yeah, that poem, Mum!

The one where I said that it was the worst day of my life,
You know, that poem, Mum,
But I'd give all I possess to relive it once,
Yeah, that poem, Mum,

With Springsteen and incontinence and hymns,
All hymns were read, not sung,
You know that poem, Mum?
'till I sing it with you in the kingdom,
Yeah Mum, that's the one,

Of all the poems to go and lose,
That was the special one,
Oh that poem , Mum,
Wouldn't mean shit to anyone else,
But now I have a new one, Mum,

A poem to remember a poem by,
A poem to remember my last few hours with you Mum,




M Joseph Burt 02/06/06

Something From Thomas Hardy

I want to be,
Something from Thomas Hardy,
Summer fling,
Flung maybe,
The setting,
Without the tragedy,


Wear a cheese cloth smock,
Sucking a straw of barley,
Pitching into the haycock,
A young peasant Kinski,
A Bathsheba-style beauty clocks,
me swigging cider, thirstily,
From rustic earthenware pots,

To see as he sees,
Nothing but pleasant agriculture,
And find it disturbingly progressive,
And long for better days gone by,

When all was wild,
Free of style,
Natures child,

And maybe if we are lucky,
My grandchildren will long for my times,
As a time when England was,
A green and pseudo-pleasant paradise,
Instead of a post-apocalyptic,
Nuclear wasted series of barren ex-industrial islands,

I wish I was at that sheep dip with thee,
Miss Everdene,
With all ever green,
Bur without the poverty,



M Joseph 02/06/06

The May Queen

Of all I have seen,
She holds the scene,
Sure and serene,
Still as a dragonfly,
Whose wings defy vision to hold her there,
The effortless grace of a swan,
Floating it seems,
Whose feet move swiftly below her, unseen,

The May queen,
Truth and desire,
Between spring and summer,
Ice and fire,
On the cusp yet determinedly placed,
She is the may queen,
She holds the tension,
Tenuous, tenacious, tentative,
She feeds spring into summer,
She slows springs departure,

And she may,
For it is she,

Is Doubt The Hill?

Is doubt the hill,
That faith must climb,
Is fear the reason?
Love; The rhyme?

Is hate the sea,
That love must swim?
(Accept the body,
Regard the limb),

Is lust the storm,
Purity endures?
Unscathed the soul,
Resists the lure)

Is pride the pill,
Humility must swallow?
(But still can show,
Its face tomorrow)

Is sin the war,
The soul survives?
(Scarred and bloodied,
Barely alive)

Is death the end,
We all must face?
(The finish line,
The completed race)

Is the son the one,
My darkness must meet?
(The hours power,
He will defeat)

What doesn't kill you,
Makes you stronger,
Just hold on,
A little longer,

When perseverance',
Work is done,
You'll be mature,
So 'go on my son!'

The Familiar Alien

We gawp in childlike wonder,
At the adults we've become,
Trying to rescue form the fire,
The memory that will tell us what we knew,
And rake from its ashes,
What remains and belongs to the now,

The bones we knew,
Submerged,
Beneath the flesh,
The bones we can now see have emerged,
From flesh that has now retracted,
The same but not the same,
The familiar alien,
The alien familiar,

I was thin then,
And you were not,
I am not now,
And you are more so,
Like we swapped torso,

Like I swapped friendship for curiosity,

And we recede once more from view
Like carp,
Into memory's murkier waters.




M Joseph Burt, 2006
(For Kim)

Ethan and Freedom

My son be free,
Little Beefy,
Be free and happy,
And hug as many trees,
As mummy can see,
And write it in a story,
And bring it home to me,

My son be free,
Little Ethy,
Don't eat your peas,
Don't forget to say please,
Do it with ease,
And run in the breeze,
While you munch on some cheese,
and write it in a story,
And read it to me,

My son be free,
Little binky,
Go travel the world,
Meet lots of girls,
Let them play with your curls,
Dance then, and twirl,
And write it down in a story,
And bring it home to me,

My son be free,
Little monkey,
Don't listen to me,
You are lovely, I'm just your Daddy,
And I want you to be,
Be happy,
But,
Write it in a story,
And read it to me,
Or don't,
No pressure,
I wont measure,
Just be free,
Be free,
Be free.



M Joseph Burt 09/04/2006

Noahs Ark

Though her hull is smitten,
Wave beaten, sea sodden,
Though her decks are windswept,
Rain pelted, well trodden,
Though her portals show cascades of judgement,
An oceanic turmoil,
A fearful dread sea,

All inside shall be,
Saved,

Though the ark herself takes the wrath of The lord,
Her Christ-like walls,
Take all he affords,

And though at times it seems,
She has sprung a leak,
And The boards on her deck and hull alike creak,
It is she who takes the pain and bears it on her prow,
And all inside are saved,

All inside are safe,
In their appointed place,
Little Noah,
And all the others,
While they are warm,
The Ark rides the storm,
And her pregnant hold gives birth on to dry land,
Two (or more) feet in the sand,
all inside shall be saved,

So send out your olive dove,
and watch the horizon my love,
For soon you will hear the flutter of white wings,
And hold the branch that it brings,
To the Ark,
And all inside who are saved.


Matthew J. Burt 24/01/06

This poem came as prophecy, (or rather this prophecy came as poetry) in relation to my then wife's pregnancy with our son who was to be called Noah. It was born from the words that came to me "All inside shall be saved". The prior pregnancy had ended in a miscarriage and she had had a lot of bleeding with our firstborn son too and it was happening again with Noah. It came as a word to me that Noah (we knew his name before he arrived) was safe in the Ark, as we are safe in Christ. I wrote it down in secret and showed her as testimony after his birth some 4 months later, but after this point my confidence wasn't shaken. I just knew he would be fine.

Get On Your Knees (And Fight Like A Man)

Q

Get on your knees and fight like a man,
Fall on your face or you'll fall where you stand,
To gain victory; surrender; hold up your hands,
Satan cant grasp humility, he wont understand,

He won't see it coming, he won't dodge the blow,
Because when you have nothing, when you're bowed low,
He's got nothing to take, he's got nothing to throw,
He's got no target to hit and nowhere to go,

When you're surrendered, and it's all in Gods hands,
He'll give you the ground, he'll give you the land,
Wherever you tread, the dry ground where you stand,
Becomes a place of pools, in place of the sand,

Why fight to hold on, when you let go to win?
Gather the soldiers, get rid of the sin,
Get rid of what hinders and the pride deep within,
Unsheathe your swords, It's time to press in,

You've taken my best years, You've assaulted my kin,
You've laid me lower than I've ever been,
You've stolen my hope, You've tainted everything,
A sword now for Gideon, a sword for my King,

Our weapons aren't carnal, we don't fight flesh and blood
Were pulling down strongholds through the power of God
And every argument or pretension that sets itself up,
Against the knowledge of God, we bring it under the blood,

The Blood of Jesus, The blood of the lamb,
I overcome you in the name of I am that I am,
And the word of my testimony and the sword in my hand,
And the shoes of the Gospel of grace, in which I now stand,

And the blood soaked, battle worn bullet proof vest,
That protects my heart with Jesus righteousness,
And the shield of faith I've held since my youth,
All held together with the belt of God's truth,

Spiritual postures for earthly realities,
Spiritual weapons to fight all of these,
Demons and voices and all enemies,
I'll fight like a man, and get on my knees