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