In Every Place

In every place 

He is

He took me to a high place,

And showed me,

Over the contours of my kingdom,

My corner of the county,

The small stretch of a score of miles,

In which I live out the majority of my life,

In the basin,

And over the valley,

Where the wind whistles,

On the peaks,

And above,

Amidst clouds,

In clear skies,

Behind the wing,

Above the bird's back

All about it

And far, far off,

And every space in-between,

The camera is rolling,

And always was,

Our lives go on beneath him,

Within him,

And he within,

Cars and busses, busy on their way,

As they pass through he is with them,

And he remains with them,

Until they reach their destination,

Even if it is The other side of the country,

And yet he never leaves this place,

The camera is still rolling here,

And when tomorrow morning,

I rise early with the thought of this poem,

He is still here,

In the darkness,

As the larks wake,

And there he is too with the poet,

In his head,

And surrounding his half clad body,

And in the space between his fingers,

And the keys,

As they repeatedly drum on the squares,

That send the signals, 

That tell his computer to display the letters they encase,

Upon his screen,

The ones you are reading right now,

And not only is he there between the poets fingers and letters,

But he is with you,

And he is still here,

Hovering over the valley,

Filling the space 

Between hills and blood cells alike

And in every lonely place

In every corner and nook,

On mountain tops,

In desert,

Across vast tundra,

Over waters,

Beneath the ice,

In every space an eye could see,

And in the eye itself

The camera never stops rolling,

He is

Existing

Wild and free

And we

Have only just arrived

In his eternity

An Honest Poem

 I love you all, with sincere love

But I'd leave in a heartbeat

For the promise of heaven

To be pain free

And without ego

I'm a little torn

But that is what my longings say

I never understood before

When Paul says it is better to be with the lord

But I guess I just ran out of hope

Despite transcendent moments

Of this life ever satisfying me

Or of peace that settles like snow

Or true silence

I love this world but I'm ready to go when the time comes

I love everyone

No, really

Don't think I don't hate objectionable things

But I never met a human who didn't have something to love in them

How ever hard they tried 

To convince me otherwise

And if I was spikey

or hurtful

Or insensitive

Please accept

It was never hate

But fear that kept me from loving you well

And I feel 

That the fog of hatred over humanity

would be burned up

if we all could see  clearly

The source of our fear

God is love

That is my discovery

But I recommend you don't make the mistake

Of making a God of what or who you love

Submission to a loving and wise God is the furthest thing from subjugation  

On the contrary: it is empowerment, if you could only accept his rule

I believe you reject it at your peril

I believe there is one way out

One Human who can save you

The Human Jesus Christ

The bridge across the chasm 

of misunderstanding and foolish action

That so many of you automatically rule him out seems like an evidence to me that he is for real

I found him

And was found by him at the age of 6

Yes 6

And I knew something was different

And it never left me

However hard I tried to make it

Because I believe love to be eternal

I'm sorry for all the bad I have done

And to the people I have hurt

Nothing I gained from hurting you was worth it

Please forgive me

Though I can't always show it

And the truth of these words may not be known

Till the end of what is known to us now

I love you

And if you hurt me

I forgive you

Every last one of you

Labour

 You say you want to win nations

It's your vocation,

But you'll have knock your walls down,

Re-lay your foundation,

It'll make your back hurt,

Mud and dirt on your silk shirt

You turned away from being such a sick jerk,

Better knuckle on down and get back to the brick work

You build on Jesus, and his foundation,

His words will uphold you, like they do, all creation

No wall is gonna fall if its all laid in this location,

Any storm that's formed will fail to topple this inhabitation,

His word is heard and then observed

You better put it into practice,

Only when we trust and then obey, 

Will we begin to get better at this,

Be a doer and a hearer to avoid all deception,

Like looking in a mirror then forgetting your reflection,

That's not obedience, that's rejection,

Listen to the words of James that come like a correction,

When building on the word, it should find a good reception,

This word can save you,

Like he forgave you,

Humbly accept the implant,

And move swiftly on to stage 2,

Don't let it phase you,

Now the sacrifice of Christ

Is the basis of all we say/do,

So we build hard, remaining on guard,

Trowel and sword in hand, we're building and we're fighting for our yard,

Don't allow a foothold, or give an inch up, 

Armor up against the devil, Take your stand and keep it flint sharp,

Don't flinch or move or run, but stand, resist and you'll be kept son,

You're a brickie and a fighter, working hard and but having fun,

Fun with the Father and with the Son, and the Holy spirit: Fun with Three in One,

However hard your working, remember he is working harder,

It's grace gave you a place and led you through the Son back to Father,

Unless he builds the house, all your work will be in vain, so wouldn't you rather,

Let him do the work... 

And cut out all the drama?

It's grace and faith not works from the first to the last,

Never on your merit, and never on your past,

Christ the cornerstone, the first to be laid,

To Christ the Capstone, to show he has finished what he made,

Yes his yoke is easy, and his burden light,

We share the load with him, so our work will be alright,

And when it takes the test, and withstands the flames,

We give the glory back to him,

We did it for his fame,

We did it because we love you Lord,

And you took all the blame,

We did it for your glory Lord and to give honour to your name.

My Praise Looks Good On You

 Dressed in inexhaustible, 

Unapproachable and incomparable light,

The sun is your halo, 

Your backdrop: The night,

The stars pick You out, they outline Your glory,

Humbled I stagger and stumble before them, 

I'm thrilled at Your majesty, 

Awestruck at the sight,

Nothing to add the Alpha of all things,

No garment to fashion, for the creator of all,

Creation itself is the expression of your beauty,

The green grass of summer,

The orange arrangement of autumnal fall,

The warm and deep browns in the depths of the earth,

And the full flourish of flowers,

The blues of the sky and the aqua-marine,

And these just the colours that my eyes have beheld,

And yet there are more colours that still wait to be seen,

Oh there is still (and yet nothing) more,

Than the brown eyes of God,

The beauty I see in them cuts through my heart,

No picture or painting or poem or piece of music,

Can begin to describe 'How great Thou Art'

What can I bring to embellish or to add to your beauty?

Descriptive powers to declare your praise,

Were my words like Wordworth's and could they flow freely forever,

I'd not be able to add a thing

To the beauty of a single glance of Your face

My powers of description are found wanting and lacking,

The best that I have simply will not do,

They add nothing to the infinite glory,

Of the source of all that is lovely and true,

But yet, somehow, in a moment,

Singing, and pouring my heart out too,

In my own eyes, I realise,

How fitting it is,

That still my praise, in your endless mercy

Fits you so well and

Looks so good on you

Chances

The blower of second chances

The aquireror or unrequited romances,

The stumbler through many death-defying dances,

The giver of third glances,

Blows that landed on him like lances,

Pierced the heart but grazed the cheek like a lover's entrances,

Lazy-eyed love, the languid look full of nuances,

But that the chance is the chances,

Were slim to skin and bone, do none, no nothing to enhance

His days were done long in advance,

His chances blown, like his finances,

Thrown away with all those fiancés 

First second, second third?

What were the chances?

He blew them all,

And off he dances

Two Kinds Of Poet

 There are two types of poet:

Ones who portray themselves,

As an aesthetic of their own creation,

A verbal skin to be inhabited,

A lens through which to view the world,

A better reality,

Then there are those,

Who simply disrobe,

Exposing themselves as formality,

And maybe this is too simplistic

And I like to reduce to the dualistic,

And neglect the nuance of my willful self-deception,

Too caught up in the mirror for my own reflection,

But can you guess which of those is me?

And which I aspire to be?

Crushed

The oil from the olive,

Comes from it's crushing,

From giving foot to the grape,

The will-be-wine comes gushing,

The flour for the bread,

Formed from grinding the grain,

And so the help for the healing,

Pours out of his pain,

If his body was not broken,

Then there was no bread,

There was no wine, nor forgiveness,

Without his blood being shed,

The oil wouldn't overflow,

Without his being crushed,

But the Spirit springs forth from the crushing,

And wells up within us,

The olive, the grape, the grain,

The oil, the wine, the bread,

The Spirit, The Blood, The Body,

Was crushed, 

Was shed, 

Was dead,

And from our crushing comes,

An increase in the flow,

So let the crushing come,

And let the blessing overflow

But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed.~ Isaiah 53:5