Thursday, November 17, 2011

Costly Ignorance

"They know God's justice requires that those who do these things deserve to die, yet they do them anyway. Worse yet, they encourage others to do them, too," (Romans 1:32).

You must not be flippant toward warnings of sin and God's judgement. They are real. There is an expressed standard you will be held up to, which cannot be met without the perfect salvation of Jesus the Christ.

Would you ignorantly drive drunk down a road lined with police cars, waving off any warnings to the contrary? Would you walk happily off a cliff even though everyone around you is screaming that you are approaching the edge? Common sense would be an obvious no to both. The treatment of your soul is no different. You are surrounded by warnings about sin and divine justice, of the Hell sin reserves you. Do not ignore them!

To use the name of God as a byword is a sin. Who has not done this? You have been conditioned to think this harmless (certainly nothing compared to lust, theft or murder!), but I promise you something even as seemingly insignificant as this is still a transgression of the expressed standard. Sin is sin, no matter how great or small, and the consequence of the least and greatest is the same: sin equals severance equals Hell. If you allow sin to lull you into your grave, you welcome ruin! It's as simple as that.

Acknowledge the sin that even now stains your soul, dooms you like a cancer. Without the perfection of the crucified and resurrected Christ, we have no chance. The Law God has given will condemn each and every one of us, for if a single thought is a transgression, who can survive judgement?

"For whoever keeps the whole law and yet stumbles at just one point is guilty of breaking all of it," (James 2:10-11).

Saturday, October 22, 2011

No Other Way

"Jesus replied, 'Very truly I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God unless they are born again,'" (John 3:3).

There is just no other way to the fulfilling peace of God's kingdom, to the Heaven we are all internally designed to desire and hope in. You must be born again, made spiritually new by the redemptive power of Christ. There is no other way, because there is no other paradise. There is no Heaven without God, and there is no entrance without salvation.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Be Cleansed While You Can

"If you, LORD, kept a record of sins,
Lord, who could stand?
But with you there is forgiveness,
so that we can, with reverence, serve you."
(Psalm 130:3-4)

We all have sin in our lives. It is the hereditary affliction of the spirit that we cannot cleanse by our own means, but daily make worse by our prolonged separation from God. You must acknowledge the universal reality of sin. Know that you will be held accountable for the sin in your life if you do not take up the mundificant that is Christ. He is the only means we have of spiritual redemption - something you may feel you do not need now but, I promise, you do and will even more when your time in this world is spent.

But grace is not offered to the dead. Only in life may you choose your side, choose if you will or will not be associated with Christ. Your death will be the seal upon your decision. Go to your grave knowing that this one thing will carry over, and not even mortality can annul your spiritual allegiance, which can either be a wonderful promise or a terrifying guarantee. Which will you make it?

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Desperate for You

"Before I was afflicted I went astray, but now I obey your word."
(Psalm 119:67)

There is no contesting the reality that it is our recalcitrance that makes life difficult. We invite God's violent correction because that is what it takes to wake us from our illusions of self-sufficiency and God-less happiness.

God is so desperate to have you with Him - to not see you go down into eternal despair and separation - that no jolt is too severe, no warning too brutal, if the final outcome is your salvation. Save yourself and be saved: consider Christ's validity and necessity now, for prolonged rejection only means intensified interventions. God is desperate for you. He does not desire that any should die, but the decision - eternal death or eternal life - is always going to be yours. Just don't expect God to accept your fate with the same resignation that you do: He will fight your demise tooth and nail, because He is desperate for you. You are beloved, and He grieves your division from Him by the second, but God will never just let you go down to your grave in peace - not if there is still the slightest chance of your eyes being opened.

Know that God loves you and will do anything to save you from your self-consigned fate. Just don't expect His interventions and corrections to come in the way of warning letters and gentle nudges: your immortal soul is in the balance - and nothing so costly was ever lost without the most grievous of battles.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Proximitous to Death

"Yet he, being compassionate,
atoned for their iniquity
and did not destroy them;
he restrained his anger often
and did not stir up all his wrath.
He remembered that they were but flesh,
a wind that passes and comes not again."
(Psalm 78:38-39)

If you truly understood just how close to destruction you have come in your separation from God, who despite your denial still sustains you, how could you do anything but fall overwhelmed by grace and repent of your disbelief? The truth is that every breath you take is an allowance from One who does not want to see you die - but must if you remain defiant in your denial. Alignment with the Lord through His resurrected Christ is the only way to true, eternal life; but the mortal life ended disbelievingly will be forever severed from all that is good.

You must see the reality beyond the material world: the truth of a God who died so that you would not have to, and who continues to bless you with life so that you may come to know Him and be perfectly fulfilled in Him. He does not sustain us with life just so we can waste it and go to our graves in separation. Make use of your life this very day and be restored to your intended condition: be reconciled to God through Jesus Christ, in whom alone perfection and salvation exist.

Maintained separation from God is the consent of resident sin. We all have sin in our lives, and only the restorative gift of Christ's sacrificed life can annul it. You may live contentedly now, but I promise you that will not last forever. Your sin, ignored and denied as the deathly soul-sickness that it is, will eventually take you to your grave, and being completely honest, to Hell - an eternal separation from the God you denied in life. Please, do not consign yourself to this brand of immortality. The soul stained by sin, by God's Sinai-given standard is doomed to the place of eternal separation and punishment: Hell.

There is universal Law, represented in the 10 Commandments (Have no other gods; do not idolize; do not take God's name in vain; honor the Sabbath; honor your parents; do not kill; do not adulterate; do not steal; do not lie; do not envy). None of us can claim ignorance. God has made us aware of the standard to which we will be held, and nothing we do can annul the sin His perfect standard reveals in us. It is only by Christ's perfection, who was completely God and thus completely holy, that our lives may live up to the given standard.

I, therefore, need you to do two things, but more truly YOU need you to do two things: don't cling to your denial anymore, but acknowledge and take responsibility for the sin in your life, and secondly, be justified in Christ! Allow Him to cleanse and restore you. His presence is the only thing that can reconcile the mortal life and immortal soul from the poison of indwelling sin.

Please, forsake your denial and your pride. Consider the reality of sin, God, and eternity. It is only by Christ that we can be completed, and I don't want any of you to know the eternity of separation reserved for the life lived in separation. Please, turn to Christ. This very day, accept Him.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

I Know Him to Be Good


"Sing to God, sing in praise of his name,
extol him who rides on the clouds;
rejoice before him—his name is the LORD.
A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows,
is God in his holy dwelling.
God sets the lonely in families,
he leads out the prisoners with singing;
but the rebellious live in a sun-scorched land."
(Psalm 68:4-6)

It is not some wishful thinking that brings me to declare God as good. That is the truth of who He is and how He has shown Himself to me. In every way God has been good to me. What He promises, He delivers. What is disconcerting, He turns to comfort. To those who seek Him, He is good beyond any comparison. In rebelling and not considering Him, in not turning to Him, we are only denying ourselves. He is the wellspring of blessing and life, and with Him is fulfillment - a magnification of all that you now cherish as good apart from Him (mere shadows of potential) - but without Him you are in a dry land, coasting off of fumes when the well is one decision away.

Seek God, who is the very definition of good. He is ready, willing, and capable to provide for your every need, and in unity with Him through Jesus, His Son, we are wholly fulfilled. He provides us with everything we could ever need, worldly provision and spiritual completion. All we have to do is accept Him, and once you do, you will know exactly what I mean when I call Him 'good'.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Believing

There’s a bulldozer
sitting where my heart does its beating,
an atom bomb imparted
in a mustard seed’s smallness.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

About May 21st

"Submit to God's royal son, or he will become angry, and you will be destroyed in the midst of all your activities--for his anger flares up in an instant. But what joy for all who take refuge in him!"
(Psalm 2:12)

A time of wrath and global cataclysm is indeed coming. This will be when God at last ends His waiting for the unrepentant to turn and closes the door on His offer of salvation. This will be when He once and for all rids the world of the presence and effects of sin. As such, this long-withheld judgement will be the irrevocable end for all still severed from Christ, but you still have this moment, today, right now, to reconcile yourself to God through His exalted and crucified Son.

May 21st or not, the rapture and subsequent time of judgement are deadly serious and very real. For you to embrace disbelief in an idea simply because of an imitation's failure is negligent generally, but catastrophic in this case. For nothing holds as consequential and eternal ramifications as your standing with Christ and your preparation for His unpredictable return. To be lighthearted is one thing, to be flippant very much another. Please, recognize the gravity of the situation, potential miscalculation of some aside. The essence of the concern is not something to be taken lightly. May 21st or not, the rapture and subsequent judgement are eventualities that you must not find yourself on the wrong side of. Please, consider what I am telling you and be reconciled to God. Please, talk with me, ask, discuss...do whatever you deem necessary, but whatever you do, don't write this off with the rest of the world's ridiculous fodder. There is nothing more important.

Please, consider and be reconciled to God. May 21st or not, the rapture is real, and judgement day an eventuality. Do not reject an idea because of the miscalculation of some. A poor painting of an apple in no way reflects the apple's true form, after all.

~Feel free to share/re-post/blog/tweet/spread like wildfire~

Thursday, May 12, 2011

Simple Logic

"And he said to the human race,
'The fear of the Lord—that is wisdom,
and to shun evil is understanding.' "
(Job 28:28)

Wisdom and understanding would have us reconciled to God. Any thought that does not produce this yield, no matter how many may entertain it, is not wisdom. If you are imperfect, it is wise to align yourself with that which is perfect. This is simple logic. If something is causing you harm or detriment, an understanding mind would have you abandon it. This is logical understanding, wisdom that would turn us away from sin and reconcile us to God.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

The Least of These


Joseph sniffs glue to get to sleep,
unknowing of the cost his melting lungs
pay just to dream.
As he and thousands like him
lie supine beneath the Rwandan sky,
waiting for the distant stars
to twinkle their concern,
he doesn’t wonder
what other eyes are likewise drinking deep the night,
what hope remains in such a world
or any such philosophical staples and clich├ęs.
He wonders
if he’ll eat tomorrow,
if among the dump trucks’ rotten cargo
he might find something salvageable.
The canines in his belly grow quiet,
muzzled by the fumes of his olfactory lullaby.

Meanwhile,
on the other side
of the same lonely planet,
millions adopt Calvary’s cross and
millions claim Christ but continue to gloss
over just who it was their savior came for,
forgetting the ignored that flocked outside of each door
He patroned.
Those blessed enough to know the
comforts of the west
must not assume the stead
of that Christ-denounced Sanhedrin,
so comfortable with the premise
of a Christ-promised Heaven
that they feel no need to try
to still spread the divine,
to love with a passion and
live with convictions quintessentially
defined in the Christ’s laid-down life.
To millions Golgotha’s yield is only as desirable
as it is comfortable,
and when I wave the world away
with the neglectful faith of a craven bystander,
shrugging off the suffering that strangles my
struggling neighbors –
in Rwanda and Japan,
Haiti and Sri Lanka,
on the shunned but populated metropolitan streets
of Portland, and the ravaged waste
that makes the Ninth Ward –
when I claim the name of Christ
but don’t serve the least of these,
the decay that dresses my faith
is more lulling than any adhesive.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Recognizing the Need and Means of Reconciliation


"How then can a man be righteous before God? How can one born of woman be pure?"
(Job 25:4)

We all on some level are aware of the presence of sin, and the need for some cosmic reconciliation. This need drives the person to acts of altruism and generosity, and has been the sentiment of spiritual inefficiency responsible for the world's religion in the first place. We subconsciously crave reconciliation and to prove ourselves as good people, because the immortal souls that we are recognize the desire for God, the presence of sin, and the spiritual validation that we require to nullify the second and satisfy the first. This can only come from Christ. Without Him, all your goodness and service (albeit beneficial to mankind) achieves you nothing but the same grave as the unrepentant murderer.

Thursday, May 5, 2011

On Passing By the CFI's


Maybe this poem needs a bit of pretext. Maybe not, but I'll provide it anyway. I've been seeing what feels like an increasing number of "non-commercial" billboards lately, bearing the kind of uncouth statements earlier reserved for bumper-stickers and window-clings. It's interesting to see this shift, but that by no means excites me. The billboard in question that inspired this piece is one put out by the CFI (Center for Inquiry), a humanist organization bearing the website name "LivingWithoutReligion.com". Their goal is the secularization of society, and as I passed by their billboard today, I was able to read "You don't need God - to hope, to care, to love, to live."

Now, obviously I find this approach distasteful, but not for the reasons you may think. Honestly, to an extent the CFI are correct. We as humans don't need God to hope or care or love or live; we can do these things alone, but only to the most minute and unsatisfactory degree when compared to the hope, care, love and life lived with God. We can settle for less, and hope, care, love and live at the bare minimum our existence allows us, as the CFI is encouraging - or we can reap the intended and fulfilling benefits of a relationship with God through Christ. That is not my point, though.

The problem I have with their billboard is the assumption it, and all approaches like it, seem to make: that all important decisions can be forced upon someone in passing, that all we need is to find the right condescending or condemning bumper-sticker and our "eyes will be opened", as if nothing worthwhile was ever gained through real discussion. I feel, if you are dealing in things so admittedly consequential, the topics deserve more time than a billboard and a bumper-sticker sermon - these are things that should be handled face-to-face, as if you actually cared for the person you're proselytizing to.

Let's just ditch the advertising of ideas already. I'll take a product over an idea any day, if I'm going to be patronized in the process.

On Passing By the CFI's

Bumper-sticker philosophies
with their backwards, one-way debates
have since hung their unsavory burdens
from the shoulders of city billboards,
prying for proselytes from the stream
of passing steel and glass with such
inspiring offerings as
“You don’t need God – to hope, to care”
and
“Judgement Day – May 21”.

Two sides of one devalued coin,
two poles of an unpalatable spectrum,
these pasted, presumptuous proddings
augur an attitude in their ads.
What respect can such one-sided
statements even pretend to retain
for their readers when they only offer
their thoughts in unanswerable barrages?

Billboard philosophy
and bumper-sticker wisdom
tout proudly the errors of others,
and possibly just as proudly
sell no discussion in one-sided debates.

Friday, April 29, 2011

Thursday, April 28, 2011

To the Cosplayers - NaPoWriMo 28/30

Warning,
the proceeding comments and criticisms
may come as exceedingly geeky.
Listen at your own discretion and risk
of otaku exposure.

To the cosplayers
who ‘ooh’ and ‘ah’
over barely acceptable costumes,
to the cosplayers
who fill convention centers with
the hot air of their unfounded fawning
like so many of Miyazaki’s soot-sprites,
to the cosplayers
who comment carat-eyed
on subpar costumes simply because
the character is rarely endeavored:
            Have some damned standards.

Every cosplayer bold enough
to pose as glittering gold
is not that precious substance
if their wrappings reek of brass.
You scour con-spaces like your last name is Ketchum
and the first peek you get
gets you throwing that ball like
“I choose you, unearned hyperbolic response!”
What happened to quality?
Were we cursed overnight like so many Sohmas,
who instead of shifting shapes
acquire costume-stoked low standards?
What happened?

I’m not saying betray your fandom,
and I’m not saying you shouldn’t be excited
to see a beloved character cosplayed
well,
but if someone wears velvet and
tries to call it fur,
I try not to call them something
worse than they deserve
for swerving so inexcusably far from
the clearly textured blueprint,
for turning Kimahri’s hirsute blue
into cheap cerulean spandex,
for turning Sailor Moon into
bloated bait for resident trolls,
for overshadowing greater efforts
with advantageous
but heinous
mediocrity.
For the sake of the fandom, Usagi, and cosplay,
please have some commitment to quality.

The preceding comments and criticisms
were, without doubt, exceedingly geeky.
In listening to this imploring poetry,
the listener’s nerditude has garnered XP.
The listener has leveled up!

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

What Washed In from the Pacific - NaPoWriMo 27/30


Ashy skies and foamy shoals,
coastlines dressed in shifting furs,
which rise and fall like salty hems
that gather lapping at your toes.

Like the yield of distant stars,
shedding luminary wills,
all that washes from these seas
speaks for erstwhile wetted fires.

Mingled with the swallowing sands,
wave-fuls of the stellar debris,
so unlike the rising sun
whose rays allude to living hands.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Content with a Body of Ears - NaPoWriMo 26/30


As you clutch the radiating cup
of your Sunday morning Starbucks,
bask in the aromatic warmth
of freshly brewed worship,
fellow Christian,
I implore you
do not forget the world beyond your sanctuary’s walls.

Just like the illegal collective
left by Christ to Roman aggression,
the Body which spawned
multitudinous cells,
there are still basements of the
faithful facing hateful oppression,
observing bloody Sabbaths under governmental pressure.
There are still religious climates
that closet Christian fellowship
and seek to enfeeble and snuff
the flames of sanguine-ransomed kindred.
China still accosts the cross
through those who glory in its burden,
Burma still clandestinely quiets
any voice they discover the Word in,
Mexico still hosts cartels for whom
Christian intimidation is currency –
we can’t forget the nations striving
with violence to silence our community:
India, Iran, Algeria, Sudan,
Saudi Arabia, Indonesia and Cuba, a few.
The fields beyond your picket fence
are not without their flowers,
but flourish they won’t in the midst of such
brambles and wilds liable to devour them.

So go,
enjoy the ease of communion,
thank God for the blessing
He deemed to bestow,
but never forget that you’re part of a body,
and the whole cannot stand
lacking even one toe.

Monday, April 25, 2011

Fighting Another's War - NaPoWriMo 25/30


His tactic is transparent,
but no less potent for all its predictability.
Set to slaying each and every
member of humanity,
striving to strike some vain checkmate
against Heaven in sifting
its entrants,
he breathes self-breeding
warfare, offended fire
fanned within neighbor nations.
He knows this life is not the end,
and as long as he can convince us
it is, push us to battle and fret
and defend temporary soil
instead of the salvation from which
his fallen forces recoil,
no ditch will be deep enough to deny all our dead,
no slaughter too costly to that Baphomet head.

Sunday, April 24, 2011

What You Give You Keep - NaPoWriMo 24/30


Some have trouble keeping their promises.
Some are subject to mouths
that machine-gun
the ammo of good intentions,
swearing the moon
with hands full of soil.
Some assure the sunshine
even as their words
fall frozen on Pluto.
Some have trouble keeping their promises,
but not You.
You, the embodiment of a good word given.
As apostolic lips garnered bile
in Gethsemane,
christened glistening leaves with
a beloved’s treachery,
You succumbed to persecution
and fulfilled prognostication.

The blood that dappled your brow,
a vow in moonlit crimson,
each spot upon your englaimed skin
a promise of God’s Tanakh.
Those scarlet beads that led
to streams and pools at Pilate’s bidding,
Your ravaged countenance atop
Your cross-exalted form,
You, the Isaiah-spoke
unbroken Pesakh lamb,
the walking covenant of God,
crushed in keeping every law.
You perished in perdition
and fulfilled prognostication.

Some have trouble keeping their promises,
but not You,
rising from your Sabbath
as a reconstructed temple, 2 days
departed from that rabble-demolished rubble,
not You.
You swore me the sunshine with eyes full of fire,
You promised me the moon with hair agleam with pallor.
You promised me the moon
and beneath its notary seal
yawned the hollow of a tomb,
lunar full as You fulfilled
each eager word in waking.
Some have trouble keeping their promises.
Some have speech longer than their reach,
but not You.
No, as You bodily strode the graven law
and wore the thorns, scorned and raw,
to rise anew from Hades’ maw –
No,
never You.

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Undesirable - NaPoWriMo 23/30


I only grow thorn bushes here,
this garden is not for pleasing.
For more desirable vegetation,
try another street.
This way is for the dolorous,
lined in thorns and brambles,
a sign to show the way needs taken
by piercing-fated feet.


Friday, April 22, 2011

The Trial of Simon Peter - NaPoWriMo 22/30


An Easter-themed poem in accordance with Good Friday, when we remember Jesus Christ's sacrifice for the world's redemption. This piece in particular follows Peter, who denied Christ three times before fleeing His presence in guilt and shame. It speaks on the redeeming love of Christ, how no matter how vile we are in our own eyes, He is quick to restore us from our faults. How great He is, truly.

The Trial of Simon Peter

“Forgive them, Father, for their witness.”
Forgive me, Lord, for I am faithless!

The second crowing of the cock
augmented all I thought
I knew, and segmented this heart became,
shaming me to flee from You.
I did not stand when You they fell
with blows and disbelief like hail.
I spoke not truth when You they mocked,
I could not stay when Your gaze affirmed
the sentence that cawing guilt-knell locked.
I could not withstand your eyes, my Lord,
so I fled to shower the darkened waste
with the waters of my weeping. Poured
salty infidelity on the bitterness of dust,
of more good here
where jackals prey, where
fabrics fray and metals rust.
Of more good here are lying lips
where no ear can behold their sin,
where no crucifix can rise
from such selfish, traitorous, devil-kin,
friend-betraying, God-forsaking,
evil, faithless lies.

Forgive me, Lord, for I am faithless.
“Forgive him, Father, his false witness.”

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Allusive Nature - NaPoWriMo 21/30

Spring erupts with verdant plumage,
lilac breezes preening such yield.
All around bestir the boasts
of resurrected life, the rout
the Green Man in his rise reveals.
As he climbs from a barren tomb
of snow and stultifying winter,
rending dead bark
with unyielding life,
the Green Man manifests a scene
unhindered in its christened sheen.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

To Know the Fullness of Pain - NaPoWriMo 20/30


Taking NaPoWriMo up on their prompt today, today's poem is a ghazal.

As given on NaPoWriMo.net:
Today, because why not, let’s try writing a ghazal. (Pronounced khuzzle, more or less). Ghazals are an ancient Persian poetic form, and they are a good way of trying to let go of prose-like sense when writing poems. Ghazals are composed of couplets – about five to fifteen, so they’re short. But that doesn’t make them easy! The first couplet of a ghazal introduces the theme, which traditionally tends toward longing, erotic or otherwise. Both lines of the first couplet end in the same rhyming word or phrase. Then the second line of each succeeding couplet uses that rhyming word or phrase as well. Traditionally, you’re supposed to include your name, or a veiled reference to it, in the poem.
I woke up today knowing what I wanted to write about, but not how, and this prompt hit it right on the nose for me. Never had tried it before, but very happy with the end results! (Just try to ignore the inconsistency of font size.)

To Know the Fullness of Pain

One will never truly know the fullness of your pain,
that faultlessly burdened brand of necessary pain.

It wasn’t just the boon that Pontius thought he did ordain,
but of more than swinging shards was that, your precedentless pain.

It wasn’t the driven, rough-hewn splinters your carpenter arch did attain
as you labored through languor to deliver that promise of monumental pain.

It wasn’t even the vampiric iron that repeatedly pierced your membrane.
Not even this, with your liquefied heart, truly tells of your knell-honored pain.

It was but to tilt your face Heavenward, for once, to glimpse darkness where you knew Him to reign –
This was the Fatherless and forsaken sadness that truly concluded your pain.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Mere Humanity (or Misplaced Confidence) - NaPoWriMo 19/30

“Memento mori,”
quoth the skull from
beneath its soil pulpit,
a chorus squirming,
affirming its words with
wriggling genuflections.
The unavoidable domicile,
the inevitable employment of earth;
for all your sense of self-sufficience,
the hillock still steadily rises,
looming to doom and deftly annul
the self-confidence mankind devises.


Monday, April 18, 2011

Man of Steele - NaPoWriMo 18/30

Last week marked a year since the passing of Peter Steele, vocalist of Type O Negative and all around music icon. I've always felt a deeper connection to him than just fan appreciation. Us sharing the same birthday might be a part of that. Anyway, I loved his work and will continue to hold him in high honor and admiration. For now, peace Mr. Steele...I'll see you in the Kingdom.

Man of Steele

Peter,
I could always sense your funereal baritone
when those fugues of fuzzy feedback
teased and pleased these attentive ears.
When your funibrial bass lines
rattled sludge-thick thunder through my thoughts,
and that tongue spun Slavic vespers
rolling rich like Gothic froth,
something in me stirred.
Now don’t get me wrong.
I like goils
as much as you,
but there’s no denying
the bewitching sarcophagal spell
your type o’ negative self-indulgence
wove upon each brooding wave.

Petrus,
Aptly branded with that mountainous name,
Peter.
Your Brooklyn-bred physique
was more vampiric than any
Carpathian conqueror,
an unintentional idol, but
whose loathing, most goth
of all your subculture-claimed traits,
deflated any ventured flattery
with the drone of a little feedback.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Nosferatu - NaPoWriMo 17/30

I’m no Nosferatu,
with lanky, bent-backed, Schreck-like languor
and an iniquitous, untethered shadow,
but for all my urgent yearning
concerning those crucifix-sluicing rubies,
I’ve a vampire in this vessel.
I’ve a Grendel in these bones, because
nothing stokes this soul-wove craving
and sates that parasitic need
like Yeshua’s blood,
those garnet streams.
This everlasting ghost
denotes a sanguine requisite,
a slavering scarlet thirst
only slaked on the Christ’s right rivulets.
I’ve a vampire in this vessel,
an unyielding need for particular blood,
met only by the messiah’s immaculate flood.

Saturday, April 16, 2011

Feline vs. Cell Phone - NaPoWriMo 16/30


I'll be honest, I almost forgot about today. I'll be working all day, so again, I had to speedily shoot a poem out like I'm some kind of octopus filled with poetic ink. A quickie today, simple and funny (you won't get that often from me, I reckon).

Feline vs. Cell Phone

The cat is that
that doesn’t grasp
the notion of conversation,
prying every phoned exchange
with meowing interjections,
as if to say of the one seen person,
“try a little eye-contact,
you inconsiderate animal.”


Friday, April 15, 2011

A Lesson of Lit Incense - NaPoWriMo 15/30


The twist of incensed silk,
fragrant wisps that weave
and wreathe
even as we breathe their ease,
their aromatic yield,
the everlasting lavender
dance that lures the eye,
the nose enchants,
always whirling in elegance
no matter how the wind
may shift.


Thursday, April 14, 2011

Easter Service - NaPoWriMo 14/30

Families file in today,
their Sunday finest flexed
to mask their unfamiliar standing.
Seats are set aside
for them, their Easter influx
expected now,
saddening as that is
as they settle
for anonymity annually.
As they entertain church
with this one-time attendance,
their obligatory service stands
to sway that of worship,
and, with so many seemingly satisfied
with entertaining the stranger on the cross,
one can just imagine His concoction
of joy and loss,
no less than that of a parent
whose progeny’s disparate visits
always come on the crest of neglect.
One can almost hear His voice,
with tones that connote
a greater anguish than the cross,
meekly breathed to each Easter attendant,
“I’d love to see you more often.”

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Folly - 13/30 NaPoWriMo




Lightning never strikes the same place twice.
How finely the nature of those fuzzy
tines reflects a resonant trait
in the nature of their author.
As forks of antlered voltage
vie to illuminate the sky, reason
can read no more than a guess
in their puissant gesticulations.
The strikes may spark in the same
gray matter,
but the air that they’ll sunder
and the earth that they’ll cinder
defy any and all divination.
            Lightning never strikes the same place twice.
                                                Lightning
never strikes
the same place
      twice.
And the one that does propose
to know where the lightning’s strike
will glow
may find their very air alive
with their mistake’s incalculable static.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

The Fear of the 49th Regiment - NaPoWriMo 12/30

Back for a 12th day in a row! I know I'm playing the part of a poet, complete with craftier-than-thou pretentiousness, but I'll admit I've never written this consistently before. 12 days down and I'm not running on fumes yet, I must be a better poet than I thought.

For today's poem I decided to take NaPoWriMo.net up on their prompt, which actually coincides well with an event today marks.
Spend a few moments examining an old photograph—a found image, a photo from childhood, an iconic shot from history—and give it a title. Then put the photo aside and write a poem using the title. (Source: Poets and Writers).
Since today is about nostalgia, as well as the 150th anniversary of the start of the American Civil War, I figured why not marry the two for today's poem? So, today's poem, number 12 of 30.

The Fear of the 49th Regiment

I’ve seen the earth erupt,
    seen it splash smoke-choked air with
soil
       as if it were water,
seen the field upturned by fire,
     feeding the diffident to
            distant physicians
                   in cannon-barrel caskets.

I’ve seen legs abandon a body,
emigrating for the field’s
   greener pastures.
It can all change so quickly.
These boot-clad confidences can crack
in an instant, suddenly
just the brittle reminders
        of all a little lead can do.

I’ve seen men unmade by this,
     the damned hailstone of
          God that it is.
All it takes is an opportune spark
           and heads vanish
      like we’re here lopping daisies.
I’ve seen ugliness.
I’ll not deny the gouts I’ve seen,
the veinal yield of victory –
ugly
    as ugly as the upturn
at the corner of my mouth
       each time our cannon shouts.

Monday, April 11, 2011

Why Are You Surprised? - NaPoWriMo 11/30

When killers kill in captivity,
on what grounds do we found our alarm?
We tout the attraction’s pernicious descriptor,
but quail when the whale
proves our promotions as true.
From where do we conjure our shock?
A tank for an ocean,
entertained gawkers for pods,
the buoyant exclamation point of a
trainer’s fatal misfortune,
and we become magicians of wizardly magnitude
for the surprise we materialize.

Do not suppose to safely hold the lightning on a leash.

If trying to capitalize on creation’s nature to kill,
do not expect to quell the killing
nature of the whale.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Word of an Illumined Kingdom - NaPoWriMo 10/30


A new kind of light is illuminating this place.
God’s lifting this dimmer now
quicker than before.
Other times and preceding eyes
may have deemed to surmise
the silhouettes of distant spires,
just the faintest of fate’s
far-off lineaments,
but now!
This illumination!
Do not lock your eyes to these luminary rappings.
Do not deny yourself the view of the unveiling that is happening.

This is the morning light
as it slid into a borrowed tomb,
plumbed the barren alcove
with its inch-by-inch encroachment.
This is the slow revelation
of a promise long in fulfillment,
afar immune to the lit filament,
but near,
uncovering the prophesied figure:
the bodiless bundle of burial wear,
confirming the word interwove with the air.

We can see eternity’s contours.
In this accelerated unveiling
we are witness to the luminous fusion
of creation and intention,
of a promise given and a covenant kept.
This, the quintessence
of all our invested potential.
Our common clockwork wound
around this one unceasing gear.
Do not miss this,
this ever-illumined kingdom.
Its envoy is already here.

Trust in Tribulation - NaPoWriMo 9/30

Tribulation is the soul’s tattoo,
each painful instance injecting
perspective like epidermal ink,
but in its unsavory raiment also
refining as if afire.
Each indelible lineament
may come as we tarry
on tenterhooks, the skin
of our understanding stretching and
tearing and yielding and stretching
and screaming
“This
cannot
be right!”
The uncertainty with which we
receive each stripe
sets our spirits to shaking,
jaws clenched and crunching down on
spaces without wisdom,
time abetting our forgetful nature,
anxiety blinding us to the bigger picture –
the wonderful new perspective,
impossible without such pain.

Weak in the Phalanges - NaPoWriMo 8/30

Let me trace these tips upon your skin.
Let me paint my adoration in
unseen arabesques.
You recline a pallid canvas meant for
the talent of tender strokes,
and my watercolor longing
moves my fingers to their purpose,
looping translucent runes into
your newly fallen snow.

Let me trace these graces in your
opalescent sand,
send ripples of delicate magic
through your shivering, shifting planes.
Let me darken, drawl these shadows
over your luminous skin
and honor with these invoked shudders
your disarming air of beauty.

Let me lace your shape in these,
the faintest brush of fall-fell leaves:
just the touch of fingertips,
all the weakness, all the strength
such lovely charms allow me
when beckoned by these formless lips.

Needfully Hollow - NaPoWriMo 7/30

Its tubular framework is key.
The way it wanders on shifting winds
hinges on those hollow bones,
wings but vain decorum
with our particular density,
flight but a pitiful flapping
if those bones weren’t so empty.

Allegory of the Lake - NaPoWriMo 6/30

The lake’s contained bulk lapped placidly,
despite the ceaseless need that refused
to settle into unlit sediment.
Its boundary of concrete humanity,
unyielding as it was,
could never immure that desire for motion,
bury it into murky neglect
like so many forsaken bicycle tires.
The body of water was made to move,
to pour itself into the ocean’s greater vastidity,
to nourish barkless saplings
and sapful bark on its way,
to enliven brittle soil in its orchestrated flow,
to return to its original form.
This spirit will always press the lake
to strive and persevere,
its natural yearning great indeed
but dammed by indomitable humanity.

Corpus Isis - NaPoWriMo 5/30

Curves like the Nile rise from her ebon reeds,
presenting carob-crested pyramids above her dusky stretch.
The magnificence of Isis in that sculpted form abides,
imperious with the peerless tilt of the Sphinx’s peering eyes.
Her face, a feast arrayed in features irresistible:
onyx-outlined almonds glistening, glimpsing my whole soul,
lips whose pout like apricot coats every word in honey,
locks bedecked with precious beads –
This queen in one word: stunning.

A Cold Sky's Comfort - NaPoWriMo 4/30

I was born into the company of stars,
into a cold and distant reception of
nameless, flickering photographs.
I was unaware of my solitude.
I didn’t know the lights that littered the canopy
had already been put out.
When I did discern this, my division
grew colder, grew bitter with but
snuffed tapers about me. Their
thin wisps of dissipating silk
only served to worsen my loneliness.
Space may have arrayed its yawning maw
with a smile of shining teeth,
but I could not see their beauty,
for the lie in their light, betrayed.
I could not make a connection
with a sky of dying breaths.
Then
the horizon spoke,
a golden thread unknown to me
with my unliving sky. The horizon
came aglow and poked its countless
spokes across the source of my despair.
I could tell this light was different
as it thrilled the filling air.
The rays of red and marigold
gathered in a knot upon that
burning thread. You know,
I dazzled at what they caught:
a wholly boiling diadem
like nothing I’d ever seen,
all alive in its ascent,
blazing and roiling.
You must have seen it
countless times, observed its
victorious morning climb,
and maybe it means as much
to you, but by that risen light
I knew that the melancholy midnight
blue had not reflected truth.
Here there was a living light,
no mere spectre of a bygone star,
but shining still as its rays
reached me, bathed me in
newborn saffron warmth…
and lit the millions likewise enlivened,
we each now aware
of our collective form.

The Wineskin - NaPoWriMo 3/30

We thought we were
these mortal bodies,
just our fleshly vestments,
unknowing of the vested
grams that matter
after death.
In our sinewy wrappings
we saw nothing
consequential, and uncredited
continued our religion-spawning
yearning.
We thought ourselves entirely
of corporeal creation,
but now our sense of incompletion
makes immortal sense.
We, both beset by hollowness
but thought wholly
these unfulfilling bodies also,
are not our flesh but
phantom fragments
not fitted for this form.
The wine is not the skin encasing,
the value is in the substance.
Our bodies are but vessels, host
to the ceaseless substance of a God-craving ghost.

Unless... - NaPoWriMo 2/30

It’s like saying that
only the zebras grown
behind zoological bars
are true to the species.
Defining racial validity
by its most vacuous of elements,
elevating aesthetic while
nullifying character –
welcome to the zombified, automaton America,
land of the boastful slave.

Ghettoes get forced upon
their option-less crops,
and in return we forget
what it means to esteem,
claiming and praising this
domestic poverty, as if
struggle is a best-seller
and we retain all the rights.

Unless LaRog’s wealth winks among my teeth,
unless my wrist and collar coruscate in sunlight,
unless my responsibilities writhe beneath a luxurious, 4-wheeled whip,
I cannot be black.
Since I esteem endeavors and intellectual gain,
since I’d rather see things bettered than become litter in ignored gutters,
since I refuse to wear the shackles pandered to me in diamonds,
I must not be black.

Unless I let my race define me,
I cannot be black.
Since I’d instead define my breed,
I must not be black.

Chrysalis - NaPoWriMo 1/30

Homo sapiens,
the chrysalis longest in vacating its cocoon,
a body aeons deep in dormant sleep.
Beneath the spun fibers of
unfurtherable flesh,
living but imperfect in the
face of its potential,
the eidolon reposes
in its coma.

Homo sapiens,
grown fond of its comatose position,
forgetful of the purpose that saw the pupa formed.
Wake and break your chrysalis,
release the creation latent
in your transitory husk.
At your core it tarries for the chance
to at last evolve, to emerge
unprecedented and perfect
at the pierced shekhinah’s beckon.

Writing for NaPoWriMo

NaPoWriMo (or National Poetry Writing Month) is the main impetus behind this whole blogging initiative of mine.

For those unfamiliar with the tradition, the challenge of NaPoWriMo is to write one poem for every day of the month of April. Now, I have been undertaking this challenge, but poems just don't seem to carry the credibility I'd prefer when simply posted on Facebook. So, to the "blogosphere" I went.

It may seem a bit of a rush, but I'll be catching up on the first week or so by posting the first 9 poems tonight, after which I'll be posting them here regularly.

My experience with writing this frequently tends to be similar to that of a Gold Rush enthusiast: a mixture of gold and dirt, but hopefully with more of the former than the latter.

Well, you'll let me know which one I'm full of, right?

“Through me the way into the suffering city..."

“...Through me the way to the eternal pain...

Abandon every hope, ye who enter here.”

 

Of course I exaggerate. You can hold on to your hopes.


My poetry isn't that bad.


My name is Rodney, and I invite a lot of unfitting connotations by calling myself a poet, but I'll chance it. I love poetry, been writing it for over a decade, writing feverishly as if the muses are always cracking their quill-shaped whips behind me. 

 

You can expect a lot of that here: some (hopefully) witty allusions and literary illusions, prosaic explorations of the world and its many profundities...and if you couldn't tell by that last promise, a whole lot of potentially unfamiliar words, too. Dig out those dictionaries, dear reader.


All witticism aside, this is really just a place for me to vent and share my work. If you enjoy poetry, I would hope you'll enjoy what I have to offer.