Addicted to Grace

It is not so much,
that I am addicted to grace,
But that grace is addicted to me,

And no matter the prison,
or the depth of the trap.
I am never not free.

It is love that will not let me go,
When I have rejected it,
It is hope that exists,
Within the shell of despair,
however low it is that I sit.

And spit,
my broken teeth out into the dust,
But not so broken as I,
Not so broken as trust,

Still It is that the deepest depths of despair,
Are not quite deep enough,
To stop his grace from going further,
Or to exhaust the resource of his limitless love,


When the wayward son had spent all he had taken,
And now longed to steal food from the swine,
The Father was stood out waiting,
And watching all the time,

The returning son expected punishment,
He expected to be demoted and bought low,
And even whether he would be allowed to stay,
He thought it would be touch and go,

I am no, longer worthy, he'd say,
To even be called your son,
And Dad you cant begin to imagine,
Some of the things I have done,
Take me as you servant,
Stripped of status and let me serve,
And I can only begin to tell you dad,
It's no more than I deserve,

And when the prodigal finally returned,
Stinking of pigs and drinking and whores
The father threw his arms around him instead
Threw a party and threw open the doors

He threw caution and reproach to the wind,
Threw a party and said  'it's all yours',
So don't slink over there in the corner,
Don't cower on all fours,
This love is for you,
This love, you know, is all yours,


It is not so much,
that I am addicted to grace,
But that grace has it's hold on me,

And no matter the prison,
or the depth of the trap.
I am never not free.

It is love that will not let me go,
When I have rejected it,
It is hope that exists,
Within the shell of despair,
however low it is that I sit.

And spit,
my broken teeth out into the dust,
But not so broken as I,
Not so broken as trust,

Still It is that the deepest depths of despair,
Are not quite deep enough,
To stop his grace from going further,
Or to exhaust the resource of his limitless love,
For God so loved the world,
That he gave his only Son,
That whosever believes in his name,
if they simply come,
Shall not perish, but live forever,
Never to be undone.

He paid the price,
the sacrifice,
So our debts are paid,
His perfect love,
Scares off our fears,
So we need never be afraid.

You may not be addicted to grace,
But grace is addicted to you,
It's love that'll never leave you,
Transforming you through and through.

You see we cannot outsin his grace,
We cannot outgive his love,
We cannot overestimate his patience,
His sufficient Love is always enough,

The answer is in the son,
The answer is in the son,
The son, Jesus is the one,

And it's not so much
That I'm addicted to grace,
Although I suppose that I am,
because when my best is not enough,
And I have done all that I can,
I need just a little bit more,
I have to have a little bit more,
There's always enough,
Love to go round,
to pick me up
And knock me back to the floor,
Jesus
I'm yours,
Now,
And evermore.

The Locust Years

The cracked, baked and scorched earth,
Speaks nothing of the hope of birth,
The hard ground,
The unbroken soil,
The charred remains,
Of last years toil,

The locust thief, who came and went,
Left nothing behind when he was spent,
And nothing burst into flame,
And took what was left after the locust came,

And what was left for us?
Devastation,
And mistrust,

And we surveyed the loss,
No accident of nature,
Did this,
To us,

This is his voice to us,
How threatening at first,
How dangerous,

We thought,

There is now nothing left to revive,
Nothing here has been left alive,

But,

Beneath the solid cake of earth,
Remained,
A seed,
Or root,
To birth,

We thought the fire had finished us,
But germinating within the crust,
Burried beyond all natural sight,
A sprout reaches out,
For a chink of light,
A remnant of what was planted remains,
Lies in waiting for the sound of rain,

A hope when hope was gone,
A way in the wasteland,
Where there once was none,

The latter rains they came,
And soaked the earth,
Once scorched by sun and flame,
Refreshed the soil once again,
Washed consciences and soothed the pain,

The latter rains;
They came,
And came,
They cleansed the ground,
Of bitter blame,
And blessed the earth,
Once again,

Now green shoots appear,
All across the earth,
The roots of hope and re-rebirth,
The open pastures are springing up,
The bread is baking,
The wine flowing over the cup,
And now the memory of all the lack,
Is gone,
And is,
Not coming back,

The Locust years are past,
And gone behind,
restored to us,
And restored to mind,

We have been faithless,
We have been blind,
But now we see,
And know he's kind,
(Slow to anger and quickly kind),

We return tyo him with all our hearts,
We can begin, we can restart,
Don't tear our clothes,
But break our hearts,
Into pieces,
Into parts,
He will rebuild.
We will be filled,

And wake
from dreamless sleep,
To dream the waking,
Dreams that keep,
The arresting visions of,
The Father's love,
Dealing wondrously with us,
As it is poured out upon all flesh,
Poured out,
and lavished,
On us,
Afresh.

"And If we ask,
He will come,
Send his rain,
On everyone".

Tambourine (Unheard Words)

If I've lost my sense of north,
And the singing words,
Just won't spring forth,
When what's sung,
Had come unsprung,
I'll beat my tambourine,
Still beat my tambourine,
Unheard words for love unseen,
I'll beat my tambourine,


If my hopes have all flown south,
And my weakest praise,
Can't crawl to mouth,
Words dragged back in,
Dragged back by doubt,
I'll beat my tambourine,
Still beat my tambourine,
Unheard words for love unseen,
I'll beat my tambourine,


If I'm drowning in the waves,
Losing sight of the one who saves me,
And I'm reaching for the hand?
That I let go when I looked down,
I'll beat my tambourine,
Still beat my tambourine,
A heart submerged, periscope face serene,
I'll beat my tambourine,


When I can't sing the words because of sin,
Can't casually promise everything,
My heart won't lose
What it could not win,
So I'll beat my tambourine,
Still beat my tambourine,
Unheard words for love unseen,
I'll beat my tambourine,


When words have let me down,
And melody is a slipping crown,
I'll keep the rhythm from going down,
It'll go full circle,
It'll come back round if I....
Beat my tambourine,
Still beat my tambourine,
Keeping faith by keeping beat,
I'll beat my tambourine,
Unforced rhythms of grace and hope,
I'll beat my tambourine,


I'll keep the beat 'till I'm not kept out,
I'll lock it in and lock out doubt,
Each palm slap,
Is a prophetic shout,
I'll beat my tambourine,
I'll beat my tambourine,
Unheard words for a love unseen,
I'll beat my tambourine.

See King Him

In the beginning,
The word was light,
Beyond the darkness,
beyond sight,
And that light
was the light
of the life of men,
And we best behold it
and start living then,
In all it's fullness
He is life,
Why is it then,
We feel such strife?

He came to his own,
But we beheld him, not,
And turned away,
and turned it off,
the voice that said,
we should seek him,
but we turned our hands,
to shallow things,
that did not hold
the depth of love
that could not fill,
The volume of,

All his fullness,

But in all we do,
we're seeking him,
though we know it not,
Beneath our skin,
The yearning that comes,
when we cannot sleep,
The restlessness in
the deepest deep,
as our souls call out
to him,
To save his sheep,
We are lost,
but cannot reach,
home's safety.
and can not even call out 'save me',

When we cant find answers,
and even when we have already found it,
When we cant separate out the Love
From the religion that surrounds it

We are seeking truth,
we are seeking hope,
We are seeking life,
We are seeking love,

We are seeking him,

at the heart of it,
when deeds are done,
when all our battles ,
are lost or won,

we have been seeking him,

seeking him,

See King Him

King Jesus,

I want to see the king
soon and very soon,
I want to see the king,
Heart; prepare him room,
I want to see the king,
High and lifted up,
I want to see the child,
Born to be lifted up,

I want to see the king,
Soon and very soon,
I want to see the king
I wanna sing his tune,


The wisest of men,
Will be seeking still
Seeking for what,
The world cannot fill,
And bringing their gifts,
They worshipped him there,
The King in baby-grows,
The Son and Heir,

To see the light,
The light of life,
the full life of everything,
We should stop seeking him,
and instead,
We should see him King,

See him at the centre,
ruling everything,
see him working for the good,
of those that do love him,
see him ruling still,
through every situation,
kingdoms rise and kingdoms fall,
Nations fighting nation,
See him holding power,
when all about seems lost,
see him counting hours,
see him thawing history's frost,

until
one day,

We all shall see him king,
every one,
on bended knees,
with confessing tongues,

When the King is on the throne,
His loyal subjects,
Will feel at home,


Soon and very soon,
We are going to see the king,
Soon and very soon,
We are going to see the King,
Soon and very soon,
We are going to see the king,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah
 We are going to see the king,

So See him king.

There is nothing alive in the Living room

No there is nothing alive in the living room,
No one living or dead,
The Cat is a Zombie and the goldfish a ghost,
And the family are locked in their heads.

Ok, they're kind of alive in the living room,
But for the purpose of this poem, let's pretend,
That alive means some semblance of coherent connection,
To meaning and people and friends,

We need a new name for the living room,
Like the Lounge of the living dead,
With nameless headstones, made out of our phones,
The cemetery of things left unsaid,

Lets assume for the purpose of poetry,
That this kind of silence is absence of life,
Lets assume that the Dad is counted as dead,
If he wont even look at his wife,

Lets assume that the sisters aren't breathing,
Unless they look up from their screens
Let's assume from their skin and pallid complexions,
That they might as well be turning green,

Lets assume that the worst has now happened,
Now that we don't talk any more,
We've blocked out all the moans, with candied headphones,
Just to make certain,(for sure),

They've been scrolling for hours on facebook and Insta,
But nothing of interest lay there,
Except, maybe, their plastic wife,
With her perfect life,
And 500 likes of her hair,

Let us imagine the mechanical action,
Of fingers dragging down on the screens,
Are the nails scratching at  glass coffin lids,
Of a people buried in memes.

(Does the end justify all the memes?)

Let us assume for the sake of these verses,
That the utter absence of talk,
Is taken as a lack,
Of breath coming back,
And an incapacity to get up and walk,

Let's imagine the blue light that rests on their faces,
Is the cold light of heaven above,
Let us imagine they are being summoned,
To give account for their absence of love,

Let us presume from this lack of communication,
They've already passed into the great beyond,
Perhaps Dante's inferno, (the ninth circle of hell),
Called the internet, of which they're so fond.

Now there's four people in the living room,
Four people and two family pets,
They used to talk,
And go out for walks,
Lets just hope that no one forgets...

How...

And why.

I know an old woman who swallowed a lie,

Perhaps she'll die,

Inside.

I know a few more people who are swallowing lies,

I wonder why?

No there's nothing left alive in the living room,
No one living or dead,
The blue lights flicker over lifeless faces,
And everything left unsaid,

Like Sorry,
Like I love you.
Like forgive me,

what tears are for

You say,
For love we have so much,
The language of a tender touch
For anger we have words
And voices that are heard,
For fear we have screams,
For hope we have our dreams.
For these we make impressions,
In realms of clear expression,

But when in silence it falls apart,
And there are no words, it seems,
No pleading for lost dreams,

Somethings are just beyond repair,
And that's what tears are for.

The Fine Rain

The fine rain,
Forms big drops,
Comes trickle falling,
From tall tree tops,

Assembled and collected,
By leaves on Boughs,
Poured on my head below,

As I shelter now,

I may as well face the rain.

I am taken back, on that school trip ,
To that forest place again,
When with twenty other boys, stood beneath Chestnut
Whilst the drizzle wains,

 

Water cascading,
down my neck and my nose,
Whilst it was dry outside,
And nobody knows,
But under the shelter,
It flows like a hose,

Dispensing water collected twenty minutes ago,

Perhaps this shelter has served it's purpose,
It's delayed the rain,
But still it dispersed this,

And maybe I should have faced the rain.

 

The honest to God,
Bone chilling,
Sense numbing,
Soul stirring rain.