Splayed

I see your moment now,
From an angle,
From a vantage I'd never expected,
Penned as it was,
Pinned as you were,

Like an insect in museum,
In a glass box,
The glass box,
With the  dark glass of scripture,
Translated from flesh to word,
to convey to me,
What my heart cannot conceive,
The word a window through which I peer,

At times in wonder and fascination,
At times in revulsion,
Drawn to look,
Like I am to some rabbit guts,
As I cycle past the carnage.

But not as in a museum,
Not as with insect;
This specimen is alive,
Squirming,
Pivoting on nine inch pins,
An uncomfy cross,
The pins through palms,
Like pens nail it down,
For the gospel writers,

He is living here in this moment,
It is no scene of death,
It is the death that will never die,
He is pinned to that wooden frame,
For all to see,
Splayed,

Arms open,
Like it or not,
"Here I am",
A forced offering of embrace,
To which he gave himself,
For better,
For worse,

Arms open to receive,
All hurled insults,
As the spit runs down his face,
His shame,
And ours,
Displayed for all,
Exposed,
Splayed,

And that loincloth,
That humanity, in fake modesty, placed
For the more sensitive visitors,
To this living museum of scripture,
That loincloth,
Was never there.

Here I am,
Splayed,
Displayed,
Look at me,
Look at me,
Now,
Through windows of history,

Here I am, hanging here,
All that is man,
All that is God,
In this shop window darkly,
Spit polish with your sleeve,
Rub away the grime of mystery,

Splayed,
Your fear,
Mob mentality,
Mob justice,
Rebellion,
Hate,
Greed,
Shame,
Splayed,

The depths of Gods love,
The unending mercy of his grace,
As they spat and cursed,
They missed the expression on his face,
His infuriating, forgiving Smile,
Displayed,
Splayed,

The visible image of the invisible.

Little Deaths

The wise man told me,
That every day,
Is full of little deaths;
Dying wishes.
Dying breaths.

That if in each tiny,
Microcosmic dying,
We meet our maker,
Within the sighing,

Then we can start
Our dying well,
That in the end
Our life will tell,

That the sting has met its salve
That fear shall no longer imprison
Our hearts resolve,

In the letting go,
We go home,
In the lifeless husk
A seed is sown,

In dying a little,
Every dying day,
In losing all,
We find our way,

When life is full
Of dying well,
Then heaven holds
No fear of hell,

So give me this day,
My daily death
Give me my bread
As you give me breath
Give me my life
As you give me my cross
To live and die for you
And not count the loss

Blip

These feelings
These thoughts

A Blip

This regret
Those oughts'

A Blip

This acceptance
That rejection

A Blip

This loss
This projection

A Blip

This separation
This Isolation

A Blip

This wilderness
This desolation

A Blip

This Pain
This undoing

A Blip

This brick wall
And the ensuing

A Blip

This Long dark night
This sorrows endurance

A Blip

This wait till the Joy of morning
This wait for reassurance

A Blip

These light and momentary troubles
These years on eternity's line of time

A Blip

A blip in time, in the light
Of the eternal weight of Glory's shine

A Blip.

Hold on.

Just a blip.

The power of deepening Memory

A bull Elephant,
I have heard it said,
Can be chained,
By a single peg,
The size and the depth,
Of the one that chained it,
as a calf.

The peg's roots,
Comparatively shallow,
Have deeper roots in the memory,
They mature with the calf,
Ever deepening,
Submerging within the skin of its brain,
Burrowing like a splinter,
Until it's spirit is infected.

Like the fabled 1st burn of the fire grate,
The child that is slapped,
Never relinquishes,
The first sting of it,
He wont easily return,
To the seared skin,
Of the primal burn,
And fear
Shall be his rod.

And once rejected
A child form within its peers
Shall retreat through all the years,
Recoiling like a hand from the flames,

And through the prisms
Of such mental prisons
All that is unseen
Is seen,

And the recording
I was just listening to
Now digital,
Now new,
No longer contains the jump,
But I still hear it,
And I always will,

And my mother still calls to me
Through a record scratch
That changed the words,
'So Cool'
Into 'Matthew'.

180814

The promise
Flows downstream,
The faithfulness
Trickles down the generations,

From Father
to Son,
It goes on,
The unfinished
Unbroken line
The faith that was his
Has also become mine
Your God
Is my God
Where you lie
I will lie,
I will go with you
And with you I will die.

Through years
From ancient days
The river flows
And winds its ways
And captures us
In rapturous praise.

The Faith that I had
Is now also yours,
And our God goes with you
Where ever the rivers course,

His faithfulness will never leave you
He wont die, like me
He is our Father in Heaven
And our home, eternally.

I'll meet you at the gates
Of that Mansion, by and by,
And we'll walk side by side
My sons, you and I.

And my Father
And his Father too,
And his Father before him
And the whole ramshackle crew,

Fathers and Sons, all brothers
All lost in Gods Great grace
True sons of the True father,
Caught up in love and praise

The faithfulness goes on
Unbroken in our line
Of broken bruised believers
From all corners of time,

A covenant of Love
The love that you were offering
A God to me, forever
And to my Offspring.

Hallelujah

Overflow

The overflow
Of a forgiven soul;

Forbids stagnation
Defies containment
Cascades love
Replenishes mercy
Refreshes wasteland
Quenches loneliness
Washes weariness
Lavishes hope.

Filled to the brim
And overflowing
Wave after wave
After wave.

Walls cannot keep us
Fear cannot gag us

In silence
Our hearts cannot stay.

Trees breaking free from protective collars

Although poems may follow, these need no words.