Original Christian Poetry: Recent Episodes
Kai-Anne Clews
Over 150 original Christian faith based Ecumenical poems read by the poet, Kai-Anne Clews. The poems follow a variety of subject matter and topics. With listeners from 50 countries world wide, I am so pleased to share my poems with all of you. So why don't you stay a while and listen. :-) God bless!
Oh sing again of her,
The shield maiden of the cross
She free of vanity
Her battlefield she crossed.
Oh tell again of her courage
Her humble peasant faith
That placed heaven itself into her arms
And quieted that debate.
How swift of foot that nimble soul
An eagle high that yields to the wind
How she soared, to follow Him, and
How she still flies,
soaring,
By His side.
Her eyes may pierce the fallen
Her eyes so like Her sons,
She has been given leave to bring warning,
To every country, every people, everyone.
She calls us little children,
For the expanses of her heart
In knowing and Loving Christ,
To us would seem Frightful Depths,
And we would miss its delight…
That even this great Lady,
Is but a dove in the Lord’s magnificence,
She is our shield maiden of eternity,
And is defiant to all our indifference.
You say my Jesus is a fantasy
A fairy story, an ancient myth, with zero worth.
You so frightened of this intimacy,
That comes along with the second birth.
Like a mother and a child are likened to one flesh
So too all those who are reconciled,
To begin again, and start afresh!
There IS no earthly equivalent
For what takes place in the converting heart.
There IS no earthly metaphor
For the sting of that fiery dart.
There IS nothing I can tell you
Lest the Holy Spirit Himself brings illumination,
Only then can understanding dawn,
And you’ll plainly perceive your destination.
So I am terribly sorry,
My lament is not a lie,
If you’ve yet to receive that brightness,
To change and sharpen your eye.
It is ought a mystery,
How some are yet to come to Faith,
But know that we the faithful, pray for you,
To enter in those blessed gates.
Oh my beloved Champion,
With hatred always comes
And ending.
But with Love
Comes always,
A beginning. An assurity
Of depending.
And in my daily Loving You
I daily make a new start.
And in my depending upon you,
I am quickened with another beat of my heart!
Oh Champion unforgetting –
Where hatred demands the sacrifice of another,
But with Love, we are called to sacrifice,
Ourselves for our sister and brother.
This the heart of the Champion –
This is the path of the wise,
Seeing all eternity
Through Gods own loving eyes.
I’ll guide them to my Jesus,
No matter the scope, or type of their pain.
No matter the depth of their woundedness,
No matter the cause of the shame.
Please don’t think me shallow
For this “one size fits all” approach,
Please don’t think me lazy,
Fit for a reproach.
For even if I were a Doctor,
Who could provide the body with healing,
I cannot offer eternal life,
No matter the intensity of my feelings.
For even if I were a lawyer
Who could preserve the reputation,
And keep my client out of the dungeon cell…
I cannot preserve anyone from the dim dark fortress of Hell.
For even if I were a teacher
Who could instruct in a right good way,
I am not the Author of Truth,
Who brought forth the night and the day.
For I am just a human,
A lucky one who knows Gods own name!
I know that in Him and Him alone,
Rests Salvation for us, the slain.
The birds do not gossip
That they should prefer better songs,
Than those given them by the Creator,
They do not mumble that He was wrong.
The mighty stars in their orbit
Do not mutter about it being too far,
That the Creator should expect such service,
Never so complained a single star.
All the rugged and noble animals,
In the wind and the sleet and the snow,
They do not boast of their better knowledge,
They do not sell what they know.
Show me one atom that opposes HIM,
The Great One called; I AM.
Only the Devil demands independence from HIM,
And with this same madness, he poisoned man.
All of creation follows Gods leading,
Animals, Plants, Planets and seasons,
They require no explanation,
And suffer to give none their reasons.
Only mankind and the Devil himself
Would prefer the Outer Darkness to the Lord…
Only mankind and the Devil himself,
Believe they alone ought be adored.
Oh my heart... What art thou
That I must needs have charge of thee?
What child that I must choose what
Nourishment to feed, and what medicine to heed?
But thou art my own guide,
My guardian and keeper
So it is right that I should guard thee
And keep thee with all diligence,
Oh Doorway for my redeemer...
Beloved heart, and wicked lair...
How deep do thy chasems roll?
How eternal thy skyward sunrise
How ineffable thy friendships stole?
To be my greatest allie,
Oh most intimate enemy of mine...
To lead me into or out of eternity,
Like a casual passer by...
Solomon said "Oh who LORD, can lead these people all Your own?"
"Give unto me an understanding heart,
Leave me not to tarry alone."
From that hour onward he could
Interpret the swaying of the trees...
He could understand the far flung stars...
And the voices of the birds with ease.
I cannot understand those things,
I look but still fail to see...
I pray but know not what for,
As I drift in a never ending sea.
Oh Lord what a responsibility!
To give me a human heart...
Only Our Lord and His Lady,
Could make of them exquisite art!
Oh Lord, what a treasure in my keeping,
I feel like a mother with a babe...
Let me not sin against it,
Let me not lose it to the grave...
What is a heart, this woundable thing...
What is a heart, that when full makes us sing.
What is a heart, this tabernacle of Christ,
What is a heart, this vessel of life...
For too many, too many,
It is but a cauldron of death,
Full of idolatry
And still not full yet...
For too many too many,
The heart is the pit...
Full of snares and thorns,
And bitter wit.
Beloved, my Jesus, come tame
This wild land...
From my planes and my valleys,
To the deep ocean sands...
Beloved, my Jesus,
do not let me grow wild,
Help me, and tend me,
Thy wayward lost child.
Beloved, My Jesus,
Grow in this tomb,
Make an eternity
Out of this fortress of doom.
Listen oh Heart!
Be supplicant and obey,
Follow then Our Jesus,
The True Life and The Way.
Listen, oh vessel!
listen, oh earth!
Become Thou then worthy,
Of the gift of Thy birth.
And the seed of the serpent,
The child of murder most foul,
prepared to speak his heart aloud -
"I do not need to KNOW him!
Whoever this mortal soul might be -
I know I already hate him -
With a perfect enmity."
And we heed also the servant,
The child of the Lord most true,
spoke then also plainly,
an opposing picture drew:
"I also do not need to know him either -
whoever this mortal soul might be -
I know I already love him -
who was made to the image of the Deity."
And the foe stood glaring.
The Saint; serene.
A more perfect opposite
only once to be seen.
In that of our Jesus, gentle,
Facing Satan's cruel eyes,
The moment before our Lords
cruel, sacrificial demise.
But Lo then for the wicked!
Who thought they'd killed the Son -
Who upon His cross defeated sin -
Each and every one.
My mother, my beloved Queen Mary -
your words so pure, you city of God -
Even the most basic of your precepts -
And I swoon with the poetry of thereof...
Oh Lady, oh the nearest to a goddess
the world will ever know -
But thy start was purely mortal,
and thy stock; human, I know.
But Lady, though pure human,
were kept from the raving madness of sin -
But you, gentle woman -
perfect from when thou didst begin.
Only one kept to such purity
Could bear the Lord in her womb -
For any other sin stained woman -
The fire would lead to the tomb.
Like the purest Gold of the Ark of the Covenant,
is the flesh that encased our great Lord -
Only one perfectly abstinent,
who never for one moment ceased to adore...
If love is the glass-like surface,
In which the refection of the beloved is seen -
Then she is the most perfect reflector -
Showing a true image of Him, sent to redeem.
Source Documents:
Mystical City of God Vol 1, 2, 3 & 4 is a book written in the 17th century by the Franciscan nun Venerable Mary of Jesus of Ágreda.
According to María de Ágreda, the book was to a considerable extent dictated to her by the Blessed Virgin Mary and regarded the life of the Virgin Mary and the divine plan for creation and the salvation of souls. The work alternates between descriptions of the Trinity, the Virgin Mary's life, and the spiritual guidance she provides to the author, by whom her words were reproduced for the spiritual benefit and growth of the reader. The book describes at length the various virtues, and how the reader should live in order to see them reflected in their own life, with the Virgin Mary as their model for sanctity.
Oh Loves sweet strange beginnings -
What a mystery is found in thee?
What special doorway in thou is't,
leading to eternity?
Love has in its character -
And like a mirror behaves -
To turn the reflection of the lover,
Into the beloved so craved.
When a boy admires some hero,
he'll walk and talk and act the same -
When a girl admires some example -
she'll model herself, and twin that flame.
When a woman loves her child,
She is transformed into a mothers grace,
She is transfigured in her manner,
bearing the same, but so different a face.
When a man is a lover of money,
protecting his big pile of gold -
He slowly transforms into a dragon,
only by a cold hold consoled...
Love in the natural is dangerous!
Of earthly things breeds but death...
But love given to the innocent,
that love is a bringer of breath...
Love so enraptures the mortal heart -
For the divinity burns away all deceit -
Love ennobles and steals away,
Making this world obsolete.
The Bride-groom is coming, To collect His Church, The Bride - He is not coming back for pieces, But a one whole and fully alive.
A body divided against itself, Are the remains of a sad cold corpse - It cannot think, it cannot breathe, It neither smiles, frowns nor talks.
A body divided against itself is useful for nothing, Except to be mourned - And those who did the fateful hacking, Murderers all to be scorned.
Oh you! The many Churches! You; the varied denominations of The Faith! How you've forgotten your first love! And traded Him in for a fierce debate!
If you cannot love each other, Breatheren, Here on the miserable earth, How then will you get along in heaven? You who declare you alone have some worth...
Not one of the denominations is perfect! ALL fall far short of God's glory - You'd think you'd all remember that, With the many retellings of His Story. Stop being boastful! Stop being so proud! Stop belittling others! You're making the Church a tent full of clowns... Where is the humble bride? Who'll draw water for the tired and the needy? Where is the expectant virgin? The Church who has her lamp and is ready?
Where are her softest sighs - Awaiting her beloved in peace? Where is the bride? The who He was sent to release?
Put away your squabbling, Oh Church of Christ - He may come for you this very night - Perchance to find you ill prepared - At the locked gate left then - Standing there.
Oh Lord, please send your bride Some word, some hope, Some warning signs - Least she be unprepared, Least she should should die... Least she should forget at all, That she is your faithful bride
Who is the public for whom I perform? Who, when I grieve them, am I left hard forlorn? Who do I write for, alone in my bed? With whom do I seek council, alone in my head?
Heaven is my public. The angels critique - The saints observe my career daily, When I am obedient or weak.
All the souls of Heaven are my audience, absorbed! And there at the high center, My beloved! My Lord!
So in all my life's progress, Each morning to touch my foot to stage, To egress from this world, Through battles, wars to wage!
I fight against the Devils - I fight against my sin! I fight the seductions of this world That yet my soul might win!
My Lord supplies me armour - My Lord supplies me hope. My Lord supplies me ardor - Of an infinite, unending scope!
So all these days of mercy, When I'm upon this stage - Do I give to my Lord freely, Till I am ripe and grey with age.
All of the earth’s children, from 1920 to 2005,
Were recipients of many blessings,
that he prayed for the youth while he was alive.
His faith and hope and life professing –
Trusting in what the Lord saith and addressing
The Universal call to holiness,
That controversial call melodious –
To lay down the world, and take up your cross –
To gain eternity, disguised as loss.
We are a special generation, of that there is no doubt,
The spirit alive with salvation, when all predicted it was fading out.
His prayers armed the children of the Lord,
Upon us light, and loved was poured –
That the spirit called and claimed us –
Enthralled and inflamed us –
And like the passion of the ancient saints,
We caught again a glimpse of those mighty gates.
That lead to a world of perfect love,
To make visible on earth, God’s kingdom above.
St. John Paul’s prayers for our grace,
Advocating in our place,
His intercession that he asked the Lord for,
A faith that God would indeed provide, at his very core.
This saint who walked with earthly feet,
Prayed for children to be educated,
Play, eat, and sleep,
In peace and protected as a flourishing crop,
A generation of the Lord whose blessings would not stop.
Note from the poet: Today is the 23rd of September 2021, and in honour of Padre Pio, for his feast day, I am publishing this poem. God bless and keep you all. Amen.
Oh, sing again of her,
The shield maiden of the cross
She free of vanity
Her battlefield she crossed.
Oh, tell again of her courage
Her humble peasant faith
That placed heaven itself into her arms
And quieted that debate.
How swift of foot that noble soul
An eagle high that yields to the wind
How she soared, to follow Him, and
How she still flies,
soaring,
By His side.
Her eyes may pierce the fallen
Her eyes so like her Sons,
She has been given leave to bring warning,
To every country, every people, everyone.
She calls us little children,
For the expanses of her heart
In knowing and Loving Christ,
To us would seem Frightful Depths,
And we would miss its delight…
That even this great Lady,
Is but a dove in the Lord’s magnificence,
She is our shield maiden of eternity,
And is defiant to all our indifference.
God is like Nature
It pops up everywhere
And even a little bit of it
Can brightened even the worst sadness and despair.
Even under concrete slabs
And serious heavy blocks,
Nature finds all the gaps
To give us Dandelion moon clocks.
Even around penitentiary barbs
Brave vines break in!
With petals and perfume,
To brightened the terrible loneliness,
And lift the deadly gloom.
Try to keep the birds out,
Or shush the crickets as they sing,
It never tires of growing back,
It will grow and blossom and spring!
it will sprout! It will sprout!
Try and hold great Nature back,
And you’ll just wear yourself out.
So too our Great Gods love for us,
Breaking and bursting through,
As gentle as a seedling,
As persistent as thick bamboo.
But we insist to mow down the jungles of His goodness,
To trim the edges and edges of His story,
And then we have the audacity to mumble
About a bourgeoisie lack of glory.
But when we get tired of hemming Him in,
And let His love for us grow wild a free,
From stumps He’ll regrow skyscrapers,
And span wide the flower’d canopy.
When we grow weary of saying,
Our Lord doesn’t show us His love,
He’ll regrow the palms gently swaying,
And we’ll hear the gentle cooing of His doves.
Oh, my sister, so many sisters,
Throughout the ages,
Oh loveless widow,
Where is your husband?
Oh, orphaned girl,
Where is your father?
You are both widow and orphan,
People spit to say your name,
Or see you, but “Truly,” He said,
“Tax collectors and prostitutes are entering
The Kingdom before you.” This will be to their shame;
Who now hurt you, and swear at you, oh, my sister…
A measure of a society
Is how it treats its women.
Oh, my sister, that charge is carved on you.
Oh, how all society is measured by its neglect of you.
I pray for the day,
I can see you raised into glory,
For He paid the same price,
For virgins as for you.
I long with all my heart
To see you free of stain,
To see you smile in victory,
Your eternity to reclaim.
That bright love of the Lord is yours,
For you believed even at the preaching of John,
At the very start, by the Baptismal shores.
You were cleansed,
And You were saved,
From the indignity of the grave.
In becoming aware of my poverty,
That I have not true life or true wealth,
In realizing the authority, that,
Belongs with the Lord alone, Himself.
I then saw the great poverty,
Even in the rich or well bread,
I saw the spiritual malnourishment
So much the worse than the want of bread.
But want of Love is poverty,
The worst kind of violence to slowly starve,
That disfigures the original mortality,
That cares not for others or even anymore, the self.
This living death that frames loveless eyes,
This “security” that never cries,
That comfort of a well-stocked tomb,
That sparkling and glamours doom.
Oh, but if you tell them of their nothingness,
They sneer and then turn it as proof,
That they should do whatever they like,
And thus, then remain then aloof…
Humility cannot touch them,
It feels only like useless humiliation,
Oh, pray then for the prideful, like the poor,
They live in every nation.
Why are the poor so numerous?
Why is this so?
On every corner a hundred hands,
Begging for bread, God knows…
When a poor man reaches out his
Hand, asking for your blessing,
He is actually offering you,
The Kingdom of grace, in his disguise so distressing.
For our loving Lord likes to make reply,
To us for all our actions,
And He rewards us generously,
For providing the poor some satisfaction.
So when the great Kingdom comes,
And the damned all shout they had no help,
All the poor will then stand up,
Their robes bright, their hearts glad,
For they made a permanent outpost,
Offering ALL Gods hand.
For as the poor accepted bread,
From all kind souls who would give it,
So they extended the Kingdom of Heaven,
To all kind souls to receive it.
The Kingdom of Heaven is available
On every street corner of the earth,
In showing kindness to the homeless and the starving,
A chance at the second birth.
Oh beloved souls gone astray!
Listen to what I have to say.
Don’t take for granted this beautiful day,
Don’t let it slip by you, to be gone away.
For one fateful day is coming,
And it’s approaching soon –
That the final church bell will be rung,
The final sermon preached, some unknown afternoon
Or morning, or evening,
But there is coming a day
Where the opportunity you have now,
For Salvation, will be moved away.
Oh yes beloved, you who say,
The preacher’s drone on and on
Like a record forever on replay –
But there will come a time, beloved,
The very last day…
Then the thunder will clap!
The church bells hushed by the trumpet,
Of the Angels doing as has been foretold,
And there, laid bare, to whom your soul was sold.
Then there will be no time for quick confessions,
No time to purge the tar,
No more time
No more time…
You are then what you are.
Oh blessed creature, Created to God's own form, How lost, berfet, how violent, And forlorn...
How forgetful of your duty, Oh gentle touch come back to man - Or be forever attached unto misery, Unable before his Lord to stand.
How I love them, And pity their forgetful state... So petty and shortsighted, But the hour, is very late.
How might we rouse these sleepers, And share with them the treasure? How can we pull them free from their keepers, How might we tempt them away from pleasure? Surely, we have not the power, To do anything such as this... Only the Holy Spirt can change them, Only He can fulfill this wish.
Come, Holy Spirit, Come, Save the children from their sea of tears. Come and ease their sorrows, Built up like prisons throughout The years.
Let them break to freedom, To the kingdom fair and high, To look on their Creator, To finally realize why.
Oh flesh then unrelenting! Do not put demands to me! Thou fleshy and gross matter, is Not fit for eternity.
Is that perchance why you're stubborn, And tempt me day and night, Because, oh flesh, You will not accompany my spirits noble flight?
Bitter flesh, oh lustful glutton, You are but sensations slave. Would you lock both body AND soul, Into the humiliation of the grave?
You really are a brute, oh flesh, Dull and uncomprehending - The night of eternity is drawing near, Allowing less and less reckless spending.
Oh time so limited, The grey and the lines, Seem to multiply by littles each night...
Oh time, so limited, Ceaseless are thy chimes, That pass so quickly in strange delight...
But time once spent is coveted - By the lesser for the greater good light.
If my body should be the home of the Diety, Know then thou place, as a servant, oh flesh, And do not boast yourself above your height, you are but a vessel of death...
Oh body, I must leave you! I cannot lift you with my spirits wings - Oh body! I cannot receive you, This gift enwrapped in grosser things.
The seedling must needs crack the seed. The clouds must outpour the rain, and The field, must set free it's grain - T'is for the body to release the soul, just the same.
Little boat, doomed to sink, Body to go down in the blue blue drink - Soul to step on heavens shores - To wonders never entertained before
My Lord was not locked with chains of steel,
But by bonds of love, tied by His own will.
My Lord was not restrained with rope,
But bound by the blessed and eternal hope.
My Lord, His life, was not forcibly sold,
But He gave His life, for His wayward fold.
My Lord! My Love! Oh, Mystery…
He came to die to set us free.
The Beloved gave freely, what they thought they took,
His gentle silence, hard mistook…
Most beautiful, innocent, kind, humble man, my Lord!
Lived in obedience to a higher plan, restored.
He descended down the steepest fall,
Into Hell itself, He broke its wall.
He then resurrected to His body again,
As proof, alive, over deaths dark shame.
From thence Ascending the mighty road,
To the Fathers Throne, went He alone.
To take the seat at His right hand,
And offer this passage to the likes of man.
From thence our Lord will descend,
At the very end, to conclude the story.
He came once in poverty,
The second time, He comes in Glory.
Strong amassed with all His Saints,
To crash again on Hells hot gates.
To divide those who would accept His grace,
From those who refuse and deny His face.
We are standing on the threshold,
Of something made of God,
Remember His wrath,
Is as perfect as His Love…
We are approaching tribulation
Like no other generation has caught,
And you who think you can
Bring God down to the level of man,
Are but naught!
Sin has got to be reckoned with –
All the sin that won’t be confessed –
Sin has got to be done away with,
For the blood demands it,
This forgotten blood of the oppressed!
This great flood of violence,
Of abuse and of neglect –
This mighty God will topple
Every high tower,
Until there isn’t one left.
This Mighty Judge who offered
To arm you with His own might and love,
will judge the hearts of everyone,
And know exactly what you’re made of.
Remember!
Remember, this is the Mighty God.
Remember, His wrath,
Is as perfect as His love.
He crossed the distant dessert,
He crossed the roaring sea.
He crossed the distances to convert,
To come and set me free.
He crossed time and space for me.
He crossed over into mere flesh,
He crossed over into poverty...
He crossed the straits and yet,
He wasn't cross with me,
For my weakness and my faults.
In fact, He paid my ransom fee,
Paid out of His precious vault.
Then my Savior, my beloved,
They hung Him on a tree,
And there upon the painful cross,
He died so we could live to be -
Able to make our own great crossing.
From Here, unto Him.
So we might do the same,
And return to Him again.
Love is the boat we will travel in,
To cross the forever sea,
Love is the Prime Bass of all other virtues,
If you have love, then Pilgrims you'll be.
No matter if you have much learning,
If you have not true affection,
Then you cannot, yourself, make the crossing,
you'll just be a sign pointing out a destination.
But Oh, dear Pilgrim, if you love Him true,
Though a thousand foes may oppose your steps,
The Lord will take your hand and see you through.
Though a million mountains stretch out to hold you back.
Though the sky may threaten to fall,
Though the pavement threaten to open,
You'll be guided by the creator of All,
Your Souls senses each awoken.
Set Love and Charity as the compass of your soul,
Follow that bright North Star, and ignore the loud world.
Give as freely as you have received,
And from the husk of old doubt, will grow new belief.
God bless you dear Pilgrims,
To complete your crossing in time,
To make the brave journey, cross its fathoms, alive,
And make of your frail human hearts,
Restored and devoted shrines.
There the beloved will shine within you,
Making beauty where once you wore disgrace,
You'll shine with the light of loves duty,
All corruption will leave on you not one single trace.
So Pilgrim, I greet you,
And encourage your growth,
Go read the great Saints and all that they wrote.
Reform and repent, make good and try,
Then beloved, when you die, you'll actually thrive.
Thank you Lord for my life,
Thank you for all that has come about -
Thank you for providing me Faith,
When you could have left me in doubt.
Thank you for my friendships,
Honest good and true,
And thank you for everything I learnt,
From those less than true.
Thank you for the common things,
The gentle mornings in harmony and peace,
Thank you for precious late night coffees,
with beloved ones now deceased...
Thank you for the memories,
I absentmindedly made...
Thank you for every color,
I can remember, and now with me, forever, stays.
Thank you for the heart breaks,
That have made me softer with my tears -
Thank you for not always giving me what I wanted,
Thank you for giving me so many years.
Thank you for the comfort I have received,
When my heart was downcast, locked in grief,
Thank you for the friends like these,
Who make me smile again, as if with ease.
Thank you for the unexpected arrivals,
Of friends, of foes, and choice -
Oh Lord, I thank you for my voice...
Thank you for songs and rainstorms and kitchen frogs,
Thank you for mulberries and bicycles, and puppy dogs.
For all the beauty I've ever seen,
Is from your storehouse of light, oh King...
I am in awe of how much you've done already for me,
Oh my beloved, my heart can only but sing...
I could never list all the beauty I see,
I can only be still, and remain, contented then with Thee.
My Mary let these hands be yours,
Joyfully place them to do some chores.
My Mary help me sow good feeling,
That comes after some humble cleaning.
My Mother Mary teach me what all to do,
To mop or brush or sweep or sew.
My mother taught me these things blossom much love,
In the bosom of the Heart of God above.
Set me please humble tasks -
Keep me praising throughout -
Then I will glimpse sweet eternities font,
and I will be in no more doubt.
That I belong to my Creator,
and He delights when I do good -
That He'll take me sooner or later,
and I praise Him like I should.
I may praise as a faithful daughter,
Even with my hands in dish water.
I may humbly hum a homily or hymn,
In the dirt of the garden, as I contemplate Him.
I am unoffensive to the angels when I am engaged in cleaning,
Like celestial chimney-sweeps are they to me, this great gift revealing.
As our beloved Jesus did observe,
It is far greater to serve, than to be one who is served.
So my Mary, let these hands be yours,
Teach me the virtue of some humble chores...
Oh my Mary,
Thank you Lady,
You are revealing to me at last,
The heights of Heaven,
can be attained
through
humility's
downward
path.
Oh my love, before I go,
Before my soul must ascend,
Oh let me tell you what I know,
Before my breaths must end.
When I see that light place,
Nestled in God's great embrace –
When those rolling hills of spring,
I shall then wander in –
I know I will be able to rest forever
On the heart of my loving Lord,
Knowing that I undertook every endeavor,
To share with you this great reward.
I know my soul shall find its rest,
When I have followed my Lord's behest,
To encourage you to seek him true –
To understand He came for, and He is calling you.
Before I go –
Before I go –
Let me tell you what I know.
Before I sleep –
Before I sleep –
Let me share my secret deep.
My Beloved Jesus I pray for them.
And with gravity I place these precious lives into Your plans.
Entrusting you, my Jesus,
With these my little ones,
To and from Thy divine hands.
In truth my Lord it is fair to say,
That they are all really your little ones,
You’ve entrusted into our hands today.
I place them into your hands,
Just as you place them into mine.
You know the number of their strands,
You know the plans I can’t understand.
Oh, help me my Jesus, to show them to You –
Help me to show them your goodness, your truth.
Help me to comfort them whenever they’re blue –
Help me to show them, their best friend is You.
You share the lot of your master
As if he were your father,
And you but a little child,
who shares the whole part as son or daughter.
Those who take their inheritance from Satan,
Inherit the World and its treasures.
They aspire toward the lap of luxury
And swim in fleshly pleasures.
They abhor all humility
Zealously avoid pains –
Seeing the only ‘reality’
Of living life by gains.
Those who take their inheritance
From Jesus,
Give this life in preparation for the next,
With meek and humble striving,
A constant living quest.
They partake of the sufferings,
And give themselves to charity,
to pray for a world, lost, in forgetful
strange barbarity.
Satan extols the High Life,
Jesus proclaims the low,
Whatever then we grow,
Is whatever we have sown.
Tethered for eternity
Will every soul then be –
To the master they have loved
And served, with total
Fixity.
All humans engage in worship,
Of some idol, some god, some desire -
We turn our lives around our loves,
Spiraling lower or higher.
In the end it’s not our sin
That condemns us,
But our abhorrence
Of Jesus as Lord –
The only one who can commend us,
Is the sovereign one over all.
Lord I was born and you gave me strength,
A tiny beating heart, and along I went.
As a little thing I learned to love,
My mommy, my grandpa, but I didn’t yet know you,
God.
As I grew you gave me choice,
My heart found beauty,
Through song, my voice…
Songs of love, and dreams of grandeur
To warm the blood, with nobilities’ valor…
My little heart fully engaged,
With the romance of that perfect golden age.
That golden visage for all does shatter,
With encroaching steps upon our youth.
How this weary life our hope does batter.
How that imagined vista slowly shrinks,
How those lofty dreams of splendor,
In the darkness slowly sinks.
I searched again for comfort,
To quicken me as once before,
Parties, and lovers, cynical science,
Anything I might worship and adore.
I left no spice untasted.
I left no flesh untouched.
I left no opportunity wasted.
But it didn’t add up to much.
I learned clever philosophy,
These Christians, with a laugh,
Where the first dismissed.
Then I turned my oh-so-cleverness,
To a never ending check-list…
Oh beloved Lord, you could have left me,
To this sad blind fate.
For it was by no power of my own,
That darkness of the flesh that I escaped…
When the Light of your great beauty came,
It slew me!
I was prostrate, face down on the floor!
Aware suddenly, of that noble beauty,
Oh God, you alone are worthy to be adored.
All the rest of life’s distractions can leave me,
Please go, they must depart.
For I desire now the Ancient love,
I have been given me, a new heart.
A heart that beats solely for Thee.
I am nothing but dust before the Almighty.
So changed am I, as if awakened –
I have glimpsed it, and it has taken,
All captivity of my soul…
My old desires are like rags to me now,
It seems all so stupid, what I once found high-brow.
Parties and lovers and adventures and bliss,
Like ash in the mouth, like a tragic abyss…
I can tell you where the earthly me died.
I can take you to the place, recite the day and the hour.
Wherein this useless vessel,
Was touched by true power.
Through no merit of my own,
I received a new heart.
I received a New North Star,
And I made a new start…
What I had been so quick to dismiss,
In my hasty youth,
Now shone within me, impossible to resist,
An anomaly of Truth.
Conversion comes in many shapes,
Sometimes gentle, sometimes rough.
But for all us converts,
It is perfect, and it is enough.
There once was a blind man,
and his name was Doubt,
And all his life he could not see -
Old man Doubt was blind from birth,
and he often wondered about this mystery…
He had a friend who was not blind, but had sight,
With whom he loved his friendly fights…
His name was Faith and as he’d go about,
He would describe what he saw to his good friend Doubt.
“Ah tell me again of the sunset,”
“You said it’s so pretty that you weep…
All the sunset means to me,
is that it gets cold and then I go sleep.”
“Today’s sunset is truly splendid.” said Faith,
sitting down next to Doubt,
Happily the old man grumbled
and at his argument set about.
“So, What’s it all about hey?
Describe to me what you see…
So I might understand and
So then I might believe.”
Faith looked at Doubt,
Who could not even return his gaze,
And slowly Faith tried to paint what he saw with a phrase.
“Well my friend, tonight's sunset is deep red,
and fading orange and white to descend,
There is a large cloud sloping at a mighty range
Totally splashed with light, like a mountain, but with constant change.
The birds are small as grain against its massive white hedges
Encroaching on the blue deep sky the sunlight glowing on its fiery edges.
The full Moon, at its huge distance from the Earth,
Is silver and graceful and immeasurable in its worth.
Just on the horizon, in a crisp white mist, crowned with stars, a beauty uneclipsed...
The brilliant Sun itself has almost dipped completely over the edge of the World, and soon it will be night. Over the ledge we are hurled…”
Doubt listened closely to his friend
before he then spoke again,
“Yes… yes… I remember you told me of colors,
of the prime colors and how they mix -
The feelings that they made one feel,
but how can you find beauty in this?
You told me red was danger,
passion even fear,
So how can this fear of heaven,
Be beautiful to your eyes, let’s hear!”
“It is not dread, that paints this red,
Though it is passionate, and far larger than we,
This kind of red, feels like more, respect,
But yes, it can be called fear...
But there are also many other colors,
And many other feelings here.”
Old man Doubt didn’t lik
If you met your favorite sports star, A legend of the court, Who's sunk more goals than anyone, A man of a unique sort -
If then at this meeting his mama was also there, You'd never dream to slander her, Or sneer at her, you wouldn't dare.
You wouldn't berate the lady, Because she couldn't score a goal, Or run as fast, or be athletic, No, you'd be sincere, I know...
You'd greet her very kindly, And listen to her speak, About when her son was little, And growing into his full physique.
Even the angels spoke to Mary kindly, But you out-do yourselves to boast, Deeming her but a breeding sow, And hating her the most.
1 Peter 4:16 says "However, if you suffer as a Christian Do not be ashamed, But praise God that you bear the name."
If those who are closest to Jesus Are mocked and do suffer, Surely she is closest to Him, His poor despised mother.
Point of no Return A branch can only be bent so long,
And then it can no longer be reshaped,
It grows too thick, it grows too strong,
Its posture fixed and change escaped…
So too with a human soul estranged,
Reaching the obstinacy of sin…
It goes past the point of choosing to change,
To a point where it can no longer begin…
God can forgive any trespass,
Indeed, any sinner need only confess.
But WE can go beyond being able to regret,
WE can lose the ability to ask Him
To forgive and to forget…
If we dance and sing too long in our dung heap,
If we become too beloved of our devils,
If we prance and fling too much that is too cheap,
We become incapable of attaining to higher levels.
Pity the soul that has reached that abyss,
Their sinning too precious to repent,
Pity them now without any hope or wealth left,
Having lost any hope of ascent.
Beware those who would re-brand Jesus,
And make him in their own image…
So as to un-humbly proceed,
To do much damage, with the false visage…
The Communist Jesus, pleases.
The Republican Jesus, squeezes.
The Liberal Jesus, eases.
The Pagan Jesus, freezes.
He came to establish his own governance,
Not simply sign off on one of ours.
He came to remedy our ignorance,
Not simply pass the hours.
But the people,
They lay their traps to grab him,
Parade him around to boast.
“We got him! We’ve got him!
New Ticket prices we daily post.
On the Door!
Come see the greatest freak of creation,
It’s perfectly safe, we tamed him,
He’s not troublesome anymore!
Anything we didn’t like we’ve cleverly improved,
We speak for him, his will removed.
For he doesn’t seem to say much anyway…
But we got him! By Jove, we’ve got him! Now pay!”
But he flies the fences of the fiends…
The gentle giant, this one of peace…
He cares less about denominations than you do.
He cares way more for the outcasts than you do too.
He stays with those who keep his ways,
Walks with them, day by day,
But he doesn’t permanently loiter and stay.
A father must withdraw his hand,
If the child is ever to learn to stand.
The hand of the father is then returned,
And the child continues to grow and learn.
A father must nurture and teach the young,
Otherwise, invariably, they will go wrong.
For this to happen,
They need to listen to him,
Not dictate to daddy,
And tell him where to begin.
These simplest truths,
Are of great importance to him,
Your fancy theology might be
Intellectualized sin…
Maybe before speaking,
Go read what he said…
He’s shocking and uncomfortable,
And he came back from the dead.
Then speak to him humbly,
Quiet and true,
Then maybe, Just maybe,
Are your prayers getting through.
Don’t settle for discounts,
A coupon Christ,
A safe and easy Jesus,
Middle class nice and white…
Don’t settle for a counterfeit,
Don’t be sold a Red Herring,
Don’t go cheap on your immortal trip,
With all your price comparing.
Since that precious moment,
Wherein you won my soul, my love,
All of me…
I would cross greater straits to get to you,
My beautiful beloved,
You so won me, that,
Well, I have such a hunger now for souls…
Not for myself, of course, but to guide them some
Little way to you…
To that gorgeous vista,
Wherein we sat together…
Oh my beloved, too beautiful to behold,
I had to look away,
To look again and find you looking back at me –
I feel in that moment struck, as if dead,
And more alive than I’ve ever been.
Oh darling! The world is a better place,
Now you’re here…
Oh that knowledge,
I need to share it…
Oh, my Lord above!
This is my sinners’ lot!
Though I came from Thy own hand,
Some goodness I forgot.
If I am bound to be a sinner,
Let me sin as I here do write,
Let me then sin, my Lord, in this hue of light.
Oh Lord let me be slothful,
Lazy to jump to any anger,
Slow and heavy to any rage –
Lord let my hatred be slothful
till I am ripe and old with age.
Oh, Lord let me be envious
Of more pious hearts than mine,
Let me be green with my envies,
To see all gestures good and kind –
Oh Lord make me so prideful
That I cannot turn away from to see,
Any loss of humanity through bleakest poverty.
Oh Lord make me wrathful
To my every evil thought.
Oh Lord make me stubborn
Against things I ought think not.
Oh my Lord bless me abundantly with Greed!
That I may collect smiles and cares,
Let me hoard and count them daily,
These my most precious wares.
Lord make me a glutton of healthy fruit and veg,
Make me drink like a drunkard upon fresh water, and grow
Spinach in my garden beds.
Oh my Lord make me lustful,
For life and love and song –
And help me find my virtues
From this plethora of wrongs.
Remember, beloved, Our Lord is a person, The Original Person, who's blueprint we all match, To whom we may nurture a connection, Who through fellowship we may deeply attach...
One with moral capacity, Willpower to choose, An intellect to understand, To give consent or to refuse...
It is vitally important, To understand this fact, You're dealing with a person, Not something abstract...
One who has Perfect knowledge, A perfect Father to love and encourage. One who has perfect wisdom, To lead us out of our barbarism. One who is perfectly, eternally strong! Who is totally incapable of leading us wrong!
If the Holy Spirit does something, it is absolute perfection! No earthly human can imitate the brilliance of that reflection... He is a person with emotion, my weakness moves Him so, He cares about my infirmity, and wants His love made known.
Just as each thumb print, is unique To each one who will ever live, So too are we each stamped, By our Lord, and we are His...
Our names are carved into the very palm of his hand, Oh beloved, He loves you, Try to understand....
We are made for fellowship, To hear His voice, But He will never force us, It is our free choice.
I thought it was faithfulness,
To be so prepared to die...
I see it was actually a lack of faith,
To say too early to this life goodbye...
I saw the deaths of the martyred saints,
And that clinched for me the quiet debate -
Even my Jesus had a painful demise,
Why should I hope for a better goodbye?
Surely He cares for my spirit alone,
My flesh only there for which to atone,
My flesh alone a passing mirage...
A target for the unending barrage...
But I see now, that was terribly wrong,
A trick of the Devil, to sing that old song, of
"Nobody loves you, you are alone don't you see?
Here, have more disappointment and lack of belief!"
"He says he loves you but he leaves you to cry,
Thousands of years of injustice,
Of miserable lives…"
But lo, that type of thinking makes,
Many a theological bad mistake...
That turns Gods promises into a lie...
That says He doesn't care if I live or die...
Though this life is not our final port,
He did not make us for terror and to give us no support…
Though we do live in an age of despair,
Our Lord is loving, and seeks our care...
We have us each an angel,
We have each all the saints,
We have His own beloved word
To comfort our desperate straits...
We have the Holy Spirit,
Our comfort and our Hope,
From the deepest pits, a solid climbing rope....
But more than these persons who are invisible to see,
God gave me to you, and God gave you to me.
If we don't care for each other, beloved, who will?
It is what we've been sent to learn, the lesson to instill...
Do not turn your back on all people,
Just because some are wicked and bad,
This is why we congregate under the steeple,
For the best earthly support, we've ever had.
Friendship is real, and love is true,
It is meant for others,
And for me, and for you.
If we are not there for each other,
Yes, all that is left is just a sad life and death...
But if we have friends for to live for,
We can bravely say "No not yet!"
He wants us alive, healthy and strong,
To have the courage to love,
To strengthen these bonds.
For these bonds of friendship,
Of familial care,
Are the very net that will pull us,
From the black waters of despair.
Pity the one who falls down alone,
Who in the wild winds is battered and blown…
Pity the one who has no friend to help them,
By this very isolation they are condemned…
A companion is a treasure,
and can lift you when you fall,
You can progress through any weather,
Together, you can face it all.
How ineffable the Holy Spirit,
What a rare and precious Sprite.
How infallible, as God does will it,
His very presence; true delight.
As unprocurable as the foggy mountains,
As deep as the starry abyss,
As fresh as the clearest fountains,
So much the more, lovely, than all of this.
As the air is always silent,
Yet is present everywhere.
As the wind can bear no confinement,
And goes wherever it cares.
So too the precious spirit soars,
That personality of Love,
That Divinity made to touch all shores,
The living Charity thereof.
Just as none can grasp the wind,
Or hold a mighty gale in the hand –
So too none can take hold of The Spirit,
As He is much superior to man.
Beloved, truest beauty, true light!
Come dwell with us, give us life!
Active, moving, living God!
Bring us Thy blessings, of exquisite love.
My God of Light and of Love Divine!
Show me what is truly mine.
Naked I came with nothing at all,
And without any possessions again I will heed your call.
Teach me Lord, my love to sing,
To understand this to you I might bring.
My natural heart which is bowed to you,
That wealth of soul is Treasure True.
Gold is too heavy and dense for to take,
Amassing possessions is a mortal mistake.
Though I may work the land to fruitful yield,
I must leave it behind, for it is only a field.
Accolades grow dim and silent still,
Popularity cannot fill the striving will.
A pretty face, becomes wrinkled and old,
And health flies, and the warmth turns cold.
What can I have that will not pass?
Oh beloved, what then can last?
Only you the miraculous Lord,
Let me sail with you, who the seas outpoured.
The one who made the noon day skies,
The one who speaks with the stars at your side.
The one who the Angels love and serve,
The one who is the motion of the axial curve.
Lord, what then can truly be mine? Only Thee!
I give you my time, and all of me.
Lord, what ship then can sail eternity’s waves,
To fashion boats from our coffins, and life from our graves.
Send your Holy Spirit, take it I beg, not from me!
That light, that bliss, that healing dream…
Make of me an abode for you,
You most loving, you most true.
You gave me this hunger and called me near,
Oh don’t now deter me, or disappear.
Do not delay me to my love,
I am called, and I answer, my soul, thy dove.
Young Immortals Who is the young Prince of Heaven?
The one, who this world, for the next abandon.
Who is the young immortal on eternity's edge?
The one who was stung by the Creators pledge.
Who is the traveller of the Spirit Sort?
The one who is an unraveller,
Who wills, in short,
Who is the sojourner of truth;
Attainting to eternal youth.
Who shall live past today?
The one who all surpassed to say
Past the limitations of the age; quote
“I let the Lord, my heart assuage.”
Who will see the Great Continent, at last,
Shining Heaven, true and vast –
The one who dies before they died,
These ones then, are kept alive.
And looking across the battlefield,
Who then at all could emerge from this jungle?
And the Lord answered simply saying:
“Only the truly humble.”
So be the wisdom of the wise,
Look at yourselves through Heaven's eyes,
Understand there are more dimensions to know,
Gorgeous vistas where we can freely go.
Lovely souls still encased in flesh,
Who are persevering within their tests –
These young immortals go each day unseen,
Crossing the strait, the deep ravine…
Emerging eventually to Heaven’s gate,
And all that there for them awaits –
Eternal youth and splendour untold,
Wherein eternity may then unfold.
Oh my Lord! Help me be,
All the things you want from me.
Oh Great Beloved, enact your stage,
As you preside over age upon age…
Teach me how to listen –
Show me where to look –
I know I shall be risen –
You told me in your book.
Oh when I beg of you speak to me –
Guide me to the Bibles Shores.
Where I may contemplate your mystery –
Amid the daily sins and human wars…
Oh my Jesus guide my rest –
Guide my actions, even though my best,
Is dust and soot and nothing at all,
How we were sold at our terrible fall…
Lord, lift me up, adopt me again…
Clean me from my parents’ shame.
Adam and Eve sold me into slavery!
Let me repair myself to you with much
Diligence and bravery.
Lord, I can do really nothing at all,
Without you, I cannot even crawl…
Anoint me please, let me work for Thee –
Then I will be happy,
Then I will be free.
There is an evil demonic clown, Called "Too Much Entertainment" He makes everything a gag reel, Keeping Good passive in tight containment...
In a hostile circus tent, dirty with age, The people laugh despite their chains, At ever more hurtful, ridiculous spite, Laughing and howling day and night.
If he keeps you playing, Demanding distractions, Like a drunkard swaying, Unaware of the nooses tightening contractions.
Even the Devils freely admit Christ is king, Even the damned shrug and say the same thing... It is not that they do not know, They know the truth and refuse to slow,
The evil that happens outside the tent, That polite society thinks doesn't exist... Oh, it exists! It thrives and survives, For who is left to counter it?
Wake up sleepy peasants! You'll laugh yourselves to death! These vile entertainments, are not presents! You are wasting your precious breath!
Oh, I so lost in splendor –
Lord increase my obedience to Thee –
My every step and every falter –
You shine brighter for me to see –
But just as all have seen the Sun –
Yet not a single one has touched it –
Just as each being has barely begun –
And seeking, driving near to clutch it.
No one at all, can fully possess –
But oh! How we suffer under the gentle caress.
I am scorched by this love for Thee –
Burnt clean of all other distraction –
I am dipped in eternal torment –
Of insatiable satisfaction –
How long! How long! Before my final close of day? When all else will leave me and I am Yours to stay? I will loiter near the portal, to divine eternal rest –
In anticipation of my death day, my day I may be blessed.
How far! How far! Forever must I strive,
If I wish my soul to be for You,
A fit and faithful bride.
I weep to behold your beauty,
and I am grateful to purgatory –
Let it clean me, and bedeck me –
Let it make me right for Thee –
Even if a thousand years must burn me –
It will pass as the sweetest melody.
Oh! Keep me not from my beloved, one hour more than needed –
Leave me not exposed and uncovered, let Thy power not be ceded.
The challenger who would like to eat my soul,
And throw me out to its tragic abyss –
Knows too well Your seductive love –
And will do anything to prevent this –
This yearning that has lodged in me –
This bliss that leaves me stubborn –
Laugh at me humanity, you who’ve forgotten love –
Cling to your earthly trinkets,
While I leave all, to go above.
Oh burn me in your jealousy –
Make noise in all your rage –
Work hard then for your master,
Use up all your days.
But I will sing of sweetness
Of love so perfect and so pure
I will sink me down in meekness
And find my every cure.
Leave me –
I leave to follow my beloved,
Every footstep I want to copy –
Every treasure of this life is hollow, and uncovered,
Whole kingdoms passing fields of poppies.
For I seek the love eternal – the life that lasts forever –
With sincerest love; perfection, the truest vital treasure.
Lord, I thank you for my nightly dreams,
These places I have gone to,
These things that I have seen,
These terrors I have gone through
These warnings that intervene.
Thank you for preparing me,
Showing me what I couldn’t understand,
Thank you for giving the symbol key,
For sending the Holy Spirit to expand;
These vivid dreams I’ve had every night
Some of which caused me trauma, despite,
Some of them being, more lovely than I can ever say,
Huge landscapes of deep beauty, far far away.
Thank you Lord for teaching me
To pay attention to what all I see,
To write it down religiously,
And not presume I can fathom Thee…
Months later, or years first pass
Before comprehension dawns –
And slowly I’ve developed a compass
And a vocabulary for what all they warn.
Over the years since my childhood,
One theme has constantly been revised.
Over and over again,
These things I’ve witnessed,
With my sleeping eyes.
Evil days are coming…
The likes of which we’d not believe,
I listen close to the war like drumming,
A great monster will rise and many deceive.
What warning can I condense this to?
These warnings of my dreams,
Only to beg the people to remain true,
to remember things are not as they seem.
Each poem I’ve ever written,
About the dignity of grace,
has at its root some dream I’ve had
As its inspiration and its base.
All the things we see now,
Will be lost in the fire and the storm,
Oh my Jesus I beg you,
Help the people to reform…
You are coming in your glory,
You are coming to cut short the war,
You are coming to destroy the evildoers,
You will no longer be ignored.
Forgiveness means "I set you free." But it also means "I also free me." Forgiveness means "I know you were wrong." But it also means "I don't want to prolong, This pain inside, this pain I feel, Let me break this burning, turning wheel. Let me breathe freedoms air, It doesn't matter if you don't care; I will not be locked up, Any longer in your snare.
Forgiveness is painful, But not so painful as holding on, Not as soul-destroying as waiting and hoping, That the one who hurt you will see you coping, And being strong.
Forgiveness says " I forgive you for what you took by force, " But it doesn't mean that I endorse, Your selfishness and your taboo, That is just par for the course, When interacting with you.
Forgiveness says "If I see you in Heaven I won't be mad, I won't be angry, I won't be sad. It'll mean He worked on you, Just like He worked on me; The Lord of mercy who sets the captives free."
Forgiveness means "I let it go." Though I've sighed and I've cried, I continue to grow, A fire flower blossoming, Amid the snow.
Oh my Lady of the Rosary,
Your children love you so,
We are your children,
For our Lord gave us, you,
As our Mother, long ago.
From the very cross He spoke,
To the Disciple, and so, making us all one:
He said “Behold your mother.” And
“Dear woman, here is your son.”
Oh Mary, how I love you,
Help me pray my Rosary…
Help me celebrate anew,
This special day, your anniversary;
With the little shepherd children so true.
On the side of the Hill,
In 1917, on the 13th day,
Appearing to them each month,
Ending in October, and starting in May.
So since the 13th of May,
I’ve composed poems for you,
Each month, and this is the second to last…
I shall end this sequence
On my birthday; for you!
For you and our Lord are unsurpassed!
Pray for us my Lady,
Please intercede for us,
With the Father and with the Son –
For you are chosen from all people,
To be this special one…
My Lady, My Queen,
I thank you,
On behalf of the whole human race,
And I pray we all could delight then,
To behold thee; the first daughter of Grace.
Upon the throne which is liken to Sapphire,
Is the One, like Jasper and Ruby, aglow –
Where the rainbow climbs, like emeralds higher,
In the fair city, established eons ago.
Here in the light of the Fire,
The elect sing and praise with
The celestial gong,
Here the very air vibrates,
With the sound of many thunders,
That echo to song…
This highest spire,
This crowning peak,
This mount over-looking eternity –
Drenched in beauty and loves mystique,
Is the eternal court of The Deity.
Here at the heart, the seat of Love,
The Lord in Majesty reigns.
From here, with great art,
The glowing heat of the eternal dove,
True sight constant maintains.
Across Space and Time and secret thoughts –
All are known, to His resilience, aware.
To the One who burns like furnaced brass,
Glittering molten brilliance,
That shatters and repairs the very air!
The One who glows like fury,
The One who is Charity’s ultimate and ardent burning,
The One who is ancient, and eternal,
The fount of all Goodness and Learning.
There amid the dazzling light,
At the right hand of the Father; The Son.
There! Creations true delight;
The One who will right
Every wrong.
When He arises as the Judge,
Oh, who can keep their feet?
When He chastises to descend from above,
Nations will weep for their conceit.
Who can stand before Him?
All will be alarmed even unto death -
To perceive this One who is peerless
And Ageless,
This One, who long ago,
Offered to pay our deep debt.
I’m sent onward, like many others,
To warn of the Judgement ahead,
Wherein He’ll call, all to account,
Both the living and the dead.
Oh, let me tell you a story,
A story about The Eye;
How it’s either like a Honey Bee,
Or it behaves like a Fly.
Where you look,
Will determine what you see.
Just ask the Fly,
And the Honey Bee.
If you ask the Fly
“Tell me of the lovely things,
In and around this place.”
He’ll buzz his wings,
And his path then retrace,
Saying…
“I haven’t seen any lovely things –
I don’t believe they exist.
But I can tell you where all the rotten things are,
All the dirt and filth I’ve kissed.”
If you ask the Honey Bee
“Tell me where is the rotten,
Where do the ugly things stay?”
He’ll buzz his wings,
Remember the flowers of Spring,
And not know what to say…
“I haven’t seen any ugly things –
I don’t believe they exist.
But I can tell you where all the meadows are,
The fresh water and the flowers I’ve kissed.”
Just like the Honey Bee,
Just like the Fly,
You inevitably see,
Wherever you put your eye.
If you’re looking for evil,
You’ll never run out of corruption to list.
If you collect all that is rotten,
Surly, you can fill an abyss.
If you’re looking for beauty,
You’ll, likewise, never run out of
Those colors of bliss,
You’ll fill your eternity
To gorgeously reminisce.
Where you look
determines what you’ll see,
What you treasure,
Determines what you’ll be.
So then examine
The scope of your eyes,
Do they collect like the Honey Bees?
Or do they collect like the Fly’s?
Beware the power in your tongue,
The power to bless.
The power to curse.
What you declare within some hour,
You nevertheless disperse as you converse.
Some throw away curse like
“Damn him! May he never know peace!”
Can curse a whole family line,
For generations!
Until released.
Some simple blessing like
“Bless her! Bless her heart with love.”
Can stir all of creation,
And move the Lord thereof.
You don’t need to know some Voodoo,
You don’t need to know some spell,
To call down a curse to devalue,
Distill poisonous words that make others unwell.
You can enact a curse with your casual racism,
With your false pride you can cause much ill…
You can curse with your envy and sexism,
By the unhealthy use of your will.
With your words you can curse your country,
Your leaders, your teachers, yourself…
Your words are indeed your infantry,
The sum of your hearts true wealth…
So, examine your life and your family,
Are there any generational curses there?
If you should notice and see them,
Don’t despair, you were unaware.
First, get yourself right with the Lord,
Repent and try to do right –
And pray then for the healing,
The entering in of the blessed good light.
Believe it now and receive it!
By the blood of the Lamb, be free!
He died to give us this asurity,
His Fathers own guarantee.
Pray then for your family –
Your parents and your kids –
For all the Good that God allows,
And against all the Evil He forbids.
Be an Outpost
What of the people’s passion,
May then endure and last?
Are we not littering with useless things,
A strange and swerving past?
Oh you, Fascinated Generation –
How shall anyone speak with you?
What will be the relics of your reign?
Oh! Who assassinated your aspirations?
Who? Their ballistics are inhumane…
I wish that I could reach you,
I wish that you could see,
This world and its trappings,
Was never made for you and me and
eternity…
How I long to know,
You’ve kept that root,
Of your heart alive!
To dare to love,
To remain warm inside.
From the living root of the heart,
Grows the Good Fruits of the Mind.
And the hands may also do good,
And together make good use of time.
But this, is an age of Trickery,
Many are blind and lost.
It requires repentant recovery
To bear the weight of this cross.
Oh you, daughters, who are complacent,
And you Sons, busy admiring fools –
Are these symptoms not adjacent,
To abandonment too soon?
How can I reach you?
Those who feel secure now
Might not feel so later.
Those who feel unsure now
May very well turn out the greater.
We have a friend who can steady us,
One who is always there.
One who can be relied on –
But only for those who dare,
To not despair.
Open your heart to Him,
Please let Him in.
In that true moment of conversion,
You are one with the King.
Make your heart an outpost
Of Heaven,
Let the light shine in the innermost,
Reclaim your aspiration!
Potent generation, listen,
Through there are steep mountains ahead,
It is only those who are unprepared,
Who need have any fear of death.
I would rather hide myself in Jesus,
And be a stranger to this age.
I would rather chide myself, for this pleases,
And averts many dangers along the way.
No bitter depth or cavern,
No expanse of depth, of deepest space,
Is anything but shallow
To the Lord of all eternity, and
Immediately accessible, to His gaze.
No height of any mountain peak,
No celestial vision amid the clouds,
No upward reach of eternity,
Is considered high -
To the one who All surrounds.
The High, The Low, The Middle way –
The canopy of Heavens stars –
All are within sight everyday –
Of this Beloved Lord of ours.
The Lord of all eternity,
Where, then, from Him can I hide?
I step in all places, with asurity,
He’s already mapped it all.
And is by my side.
What feeling can I encounter,
That my Lord then might not know?
What place can I travel to,
That my Lord then, did not first go?
What knowledge then is secret,
Discovered only unto me?
What treasure of wisdom,
Excludes, the Holy Three?
What achievement of any hue,
Can I claim then is mine alone?
What virtue can I lay hold of,
And boast “Why should I atone?”
What beauty could I notice,
What pleasure garden could I nourish,
What medicinal poultice could I make –
To make men well and flourish?
If not all taken first from His library,
Borrowed from His stock?
All meaning flowing from His dictionary,
All time, ticking, from His clock.
Does not then the painter
Merely imitate the glory of the sunrise?
Does not then the Poet,
Merely name the beauty seen with the eyes?
All belongs unto the Lord,
Even the Creatures, all are His,
That He shares freely with us,
As gently as a kiss…
How He Longs to Know You…
He’s always awaiting the slightest prayer,
So everyday might dawn anew,
Together, to face the eternal frontier.
He has made us then for fellowship,
We that bear His form,
This good eternal apprenticeship,
That does every soul transform.
I humble my heart,
And join my prayer,
With those who pray in this hour,
Everywhere.
I give thanks for Thy graces,
And Thy efforts in mylife.
I rejoice, in and through,
Joy and strife.
When my Creator,
Asks to look upon my eyes,
I will not be unready,
Or rudely surprised.
I will greet my Lord,
As a long awaited guest –
Striving to give Him,
My brightest and best.
For my soul is a little golden ship,
Upon the vast and unending sea.
I shall go forever Eastward,
Align my sails to Thee.
A life of eternalsunrise,
An ever-blossominghorizon,
The light that delights the eyes,
More vivid,
And more awesome.
Brace yourselves for the coming changes,
For many will be extreme.
This is why so many of you,
Are dreaming prophetic dreams.
Listen and take special care,
Of what the Lord is showing you.
Be cautious and be prepared,
Put prayer into your discerning of truth.
This time of Tribulation,
This difficult time ahead,
This time of evil situations,
This time of the living dead;
Will fall upon us suddenly,
No government can face it.
This war among the Angels,
The celestial powers then will wage it.
The Devil will raise his champion, and
This Antichrist will charm the people.
With promises of unity, he'll dismantle
Every steeple...
Flash floods of fascism,
Will drown nation after nation,
Internal conflicts and climate crisis,
Will promote this downward acceleration...
The divide between the rich and poor,
Will be bigger than it's ever been.
The gap between poverty and grandeur,
Will be the most blatant ever seen.
How many will die from genocide,
How many from disaster and disease,
All the plagues of Egypt,
Were just a prelude then to these.
The Lord will pour His Spirit out,
Like at Pentecost of old,
Be ready to receive it,
As it has been long foretold.
These are Biblical teachings,
These are the prophecies of the Lord,
The Devil will raise his monstrous head,
And demand to be adored.
Surely there would be nothing left,
If the Lord does not cut it short,
But His hand is still raised against us,
As it has been detailed in our advanced report.
So brace yourselves for the changes,
There will be many, and very fast,
Falling us quick to tyrannies,
The likes of which are unsurpassed.
This Christian belief has long since, been merely annoying...
With our eyes fixed upon forever, we speak;
Now is this age that we'll all be destroyed in,
Only to triumph again, from deaths sleep.
It will be the terror of nations,
It will be a scandal profound,
When all the martyred Saints
Raise up from the dusty ground.
Jesus is coming in power and might,
The light of His judgement will make the nations cry.
Jesus is coming, all will see the sight,
To defy those who still deny.
For the Lord is now to gather in His harvest,
Truly none can hide from His hand,
For surely His hand reaches the furthest,
In the perfect fulfilment of His plan.
Do the little things, And you'll change the world. For these call capital blessings, That estrange darkness, And make light unfurl.
Find the smallest possible task, Do it gently, quietly, and with care, And you'll see, true beauty at last, Shining boldly there...
God does not despise, These small works of human life, He knows that they are necessary, And that to perform them, brings much light.
I thought I had to be lofty, Grand in my praise of the Lord... But He is there within me, When I am busy with my chores.
To pray while working in the gardens, Or to sing while making stew, Calls down so very many pardons, Upon others and on you...
To put in a little more effort, To think ahead, and be kind, To allow yourself to do this freely, Is a good investment of your time.
Offer something small, Maybe help to cook, If something has gone missing, Then offer to help them look.
You have no idea how much it can mean, but brace yourself, happily, sometimes it's unseen. Your efforts and attempts, but don't get bitter and cold, You are doing these things, for the Lord alone, Truth be told.
Give some small service, Without thought of reward, And you will be most pleasing, To our sweet and humble Lord.
Just as salt as needed for all types of food we use, So too humility brings savor, To very many virtues!
So salt your life With small actions, Small acts of love and care, And you will grow in all that is good, And the Lord will be with you everywhere.
Take Courage
One of the most truly terrifying, experiences of existence, Is when your own body fails to respond. When due to the fatigue of illness, You realize you are no longer strong.
Nothing humbles you like being, Actually physically unable to achieve, The things you could do yesterday, But now, you can barely breathe.
It strips you of power, it shatters your pride, You are left to rely upon others In order to survive... Needing help just preparing food... These necessities of existence, Can make you feel like a fool.
There is a certain shame that comes With being ill, and being less able, It can make you feel worthless, It's hard to remove that label...
These days, now after many years, Of slowly losing my health, I've visited at Deaths Door, More times than I can count...
It used to make me dizzy with panic... I'd beg and bargain with God, I'd pray desperately and plead and cry, And in my weakness, I'd sob...
I don't have to convince God, He knows exactly what I'm suffering... I don't have to pray like a beggar, As if God requires such badgering...
My illness was to me, intolerable, My weakness caused me such shame, Until I realized it is transferable To unit it with Christ's own pain... To give it actually as a sacrifice, To make it an act of love, To give it all for reparation of sins, And to become united by faith, above.
I still contend with my fevers, I cannot run as I would like, I cannot do a lot of things, Like, become a mother or a wife...
But now when that weakness grabs me, I told on tight to my prayers, I think of my mother Mary, And how this all, my soul prepares. To join Christ in His sorrows, and From His sadness accept my share... To join Christ in all His tomorrows, so in humility, we may be paired...
Then even in that darkness, My heart and soul accepts the test, To battle either back to health, Or to accept my final rest.
The fabric of reality; The architecture of a flower, To an ascetic, is dimensionality, A lecture on true power.
The numbers and rhythms; Fibonacci and Pythagoras, Express the Mathematics of Eternity, Increasing our awareness.
Every leaf then becomes a workbook, Every geometry, a teaching, To scale the mental heights, To our furthest, most lofty reaching.
The ascetics and the scientists are twins, actually not adverse, These sojourners, These discoverers of the Universe.
These naturally multidimensional, infinite thinking, feeling, beings ~ Wrapped up in the fabric of all their dreams.
These young immortals, Sleeping still, The call beckons as The Universe wills... The teacher is teaching, The students who listen, To His Ancient and perfect wisdom.
Just as every person is an artist, In some unique way, So too, The Creator, has His Arts, For He spoke into existence, The night and the day.
His life's work; the whole creation... And we, the created, observe, He teaches us very openly, Through what is seen and heard.
To Perceive the Universe at peace, Is to behold a simple Rose, You see its beauty with your eyes, You smell its perfume with your nose.
The thorns and horns upon the ascending stem, Are there then to protect it, And only prick you, If you presume to grab it.
Using your higher senses, You become a higher self, To navigate Heavens defenses, Attaining true wisdom and wealth.
He knows all the stars by name, But also by number, This genius of God, Is an eternal brilliant wonder.
How did the desert fathers, Ascend so far in their holy aims? These pious pilgrims, In their caves, Seeking only The Holy flame...
They refused entangeling alliances, With all except the Lord, Refusing a world of compromise, To vibrate the blessed chord.
That note in tune with heaven, That frequency of creation, That wisdom of eternity, Available to all with the aspiration.
The desert fathers too, Came out from every creed, Every people, every continent, All the self same call to heed.
The call of contemplation, To let the stillness speak at length, To accept annihilation, And to know what then comes next.
St. Anthony, the father of Cave meditation, Has long be thought and is said to be, One of the Saints who progressed Further to Him in heaven, than we can possibly perceive... Teaching us that strong devotion Is the route to being free.
St. Macarius the Egyptian, Is one of my favorites, And strange... Still decipherable Of meaning, Yet baffling, even in this age.
These Christian hermits, Ascetics, and monks, They provided the early church With some lofty tree trunks.
These branches ascending Through diligent growth Can be climbed by us, the children. As we study what they wrote Their mysterious stories and apparitions.
Let us revive the desert fathers, And in turn, let them revive us, To read then again these ancient texts And increase in our awareness, and trust.
Sometimes it can all feel too difficult,
The path that He's given you, too rough.
Sometimes you can cry out for death,
Weeping, you whisper "Enough..."
"Please let it end, holy father...
Please let this pain cease...
Please, I beg you my Jesus,
Come. Bring me your peace."
Tears that salt the soul,
Fall silently,
While Angels,
Gently gather each one...
These deep waters will be parted,
And we'll be lead out, by the Son.
And all that caused our mourning,
The reason for every tear,
Will persue us into those waters,
And there, engulfed, will disapear.
There then the Shepered.
Standing before Him, His sheep...
The Lord says
"Come now, my faithful...
My promises, I surely do keep."
What if the Creator, Required one final Saint, One more brave soul, to heed His call, One last Mother Theresa, One final Saint Paul?
"Many are called, but few are chosen." These are Jesus' own lines. So many hearts are so cold and so frozen, At this far outpost of time.
You know in your heart If He called you - Maybe you don't know how to express it - But perhaps our sweet Lord Relys upon you, to steadfastly confess it.
To boldly share this Spirit, To declare and remain true, Oh my dear friend, beloved, Is the final Saint needed, Not you?
Could it be you, the last one, So the perfect number is completed. So He might finally come, And that old snake, be finally defeated.
My heart is relieved, for I've fulfilled, My task to call you to ascend, I can breathe now, and be stilled, With this little poem I've penned.
In the wide open spaces
I sense You, oh so near...
In the deserts, and the oceans,
The gaps between the stars disappear...
All is filled up, so gracefully with You,
In the infinite pools, black skies
Turning slowly white, to blue.
Blasing with gold fire
As the sun claims its course...
But even all of that power,
Simply speaks of its source.
You my beloved, my Lord
Most fair of the ages,
Most hidden of beauties,
The treasure of the sages...
How brilliant your whisper,
When one looks into the deep,
What images you gift us,
While soundly asleep...
You are so perfect,
So much greater than any soul.
You are so worth it,
For all the things you Love and Know...
You are the path to satisfaction,
Wherein we can no longer be remiss,
For the Light of Your creation,
Has already promised us this.
Trees like green candles,
Aflame with new leaves
Light up the creation,
With Spring and its dreams.
Yet even in the desert,
Where nothing seems to change,
Even upon the wild ocean,
Whose waves remain the same...
Even in the canopy of the planets undisturbed,
There moves the immortal consciousness,
If only we'd listen, would be clearly heard.
If only we'd look then, we'd openly observe...
That in these great silences
That my God, you do speak,
To teach us compatibility,
With the mysteries You keep.
My absolute favourite image of Mary,
The Mother of our most Holy King, Jesus,
The image that always comforts me deeply,
Satisfies me again, and eases,
Any concern I feel for the fate,
Of the human family, the human race -
Is dear Mary’s journey to Elisabeth,
Her footsteps across the stark country,
My heart does often trace her steps,
And I see her, before me.
The Angel Gabriel came to ask
The Queen for her consent
And she freely gave it,
Then to her cousin, she went.
Alone she travelled for many days,
Making camp each evening, along the way.
The Lord of the Ages entrusted to her keeping,
Peacefully within her as she lay sleeping.
In a humble satchel, a little portion of bread,
A cloak to cover her, the bare ground for her bed.
A little flask of water, for this most humble of daughters.
But Oh! What delights our eyes cannot fathom,
Glowing within this mother of God, this daughter of Adam.
What light must have accompanied that tiny foetus so small,
Radiating gently, the greatest love of all.
How her inner world, her soul, her heart, her mind to transfer;
She with He, the Living God, growing inside her.
Did not her eyes sense the constellations sing?
Could she not hear the Sun rise, in praise of its King?
Did not every little bird she met along the way,
Not sing the more sweetly, recognising their Lord that day?
Did not the very Angels, accompany this living ark of the covenant,
Carrying their blessed saviour so supplicant -
To the tranquil Queen, and her sweet songs of praise,
Her heart all aglow, with the Messiah's bright rays…
For all the highways of the air,
Where the Lord used to pass,
Stretching now in silence, their routes empty, at last…
Because His throne became this precious girl,
This Mother of Nations, This Mother of the World.
She is our example that we can cross any terrain,
So long as He is within us, and we treasure His name.
She, the greatest of Saints,
The holy beloved, who secured all our fates…
In this, the great marriage, between heaven and earth,
In these tender months before the blessed virgin birth -
Of the One who would save us -
The One who was promised,
Since the earliest times,
Sung of by the Psalmists.
The Son that was gifted so humanity could live,
So that for all of our trespasses, He could then forgive.
St. Mary traveling to St. Elisabeth,
Mother of St. John the Baptiser,
Who would prepare the way for the One,
Who was so much higher, kinder and wiser.
St. John who would baptise with water in His name,
Who’d prepare us for Jesus, and who in the wilderness proclaimed:
“There is a route out of the penalty of sin,
All sinners can start this journey.”
He announced the Lord's appearance on earth,
As a Judge, but first, as a bringing of mercy.
That journey began with brave Mary
Walking with Jesus alone,
That journey we all then can follow
As she all her children, has shown.
There are three things we must conquer completely,
If we are to see things, of truth very clearly…
These three difficulties of temptations influence,
can only be beaten by stubborn discontinuance.
Like Joseph the Dreamer literally ran away to avoid,
possible temptations that kill and destroy -
so must we, flee the wilfully bold sins
Otherwise darkness seeps in and makes cold our skins.
To numb us, and we lose our joy to seek the Lord,
While we’re busy with rough temptations that demand to be adored.
The first temptation to overcome is the WORLD and its pleasures.
The second is the DEVIL himself and all his promised treasures.
The third is the hardest, we must conquer OURSELVES, and know that without God we have zero innate wealth.
There are the three helpers that can aid us,
There are the three methods that can save us…
I have HOPE for myself, that I can conquer myself,
Through the person of the FATHER my Lord.
I have FAITH for my community,
That through JESUS we can have unity,
and finally cut the Devil's chord.
I believe that through imitation of CHARITY,
I can start to comprehend the HOLY SPIRIT, that pearl,
Who is ever generous towards us,
and who defeats the selfishness of the World.
Purity of heart makes us bold then to seek Him,
But much indulgence in sin makes us bleak,
then we fear Him… Not in the good way of gentle respect,
but in a sick way that is incorrect…
Those who are bold in their sin are shy approach the throne,
Those who are meek within and accept reproach to daily atone,
are bold before the Father, their purity makes them so -
There is great strength in this dignity, and it leaves the soul aglow.
So remember the three traps are: The World, The Devil and Ourselves.
The three helpers are: The Father, The Son and Spirit, themselves,
The three methods are: Hope, Faith and Charity,
Apply them all daily, like medicine to receive clarity.
If you have a hunger to punish the wicked,
But understand you cannot be so cruel,
Let me give you an insight,
Let me tell you what you can do.
You do not need to employ occultists,
To put curses or spells on your foes…
You do not need to hire Thugs,
To give them heavy harsh blows…
These people who’ve hurt you, these mockers,
Who think Hope and Faith are not real,
These people who’ve tormented you,
And never cared, how they’ve made you feel…
The best revenge, is to pray for them,
That they’ll find the right Good Way,
For there is nothing harder or more painful,
Than true contrition, that burns night and day.
These people, who think love is easy…
These mockers who call forgiveness cheap…
But this road is very narrow,
and the climbing, very steep…
If you want your tormentor to suffer,
Pray they’ll repent, and try -
For no ocean can hold all the tears then
A true sinner in repentance does cry.
The Silent Sin The Devils most potent potion,
Most employed by his generals and slaves,
Upon already slothful humanity,
locks so many into their graves.
It is not bitterness, not regret,
Not lust, or indulgence that misguide...
But it is an easy form of indifference,
Rotting the soul from inside.
The Devils most potent and evil corrosion
This slowest, most steady, most acidic erosion…
The one that seduces with its evil elegance,
Is that deadly one, of simple, daily, negligence.
The good Samaritan gave the reasonable care,
Neglected by both the Priest and the Levit.
The man with the one talent, was cursed to despair,
Because he KNEW, did nothing,
and admitted it outright!
When one knows, but fails to act,
When one sees, but stays then slack,
When one hears, but is unresponsive,
One becomes a zombie, dull and unconscious.
You can destroy your children by just ignoring their lives,
A man destroys his marriage by ignoring his bride.
A woman can kill her child by just neglecting to feed it,
A government destroys a nation by neglecting to lead it.
Their lack of reasonable expected care,
To those who fall under their authority,
who are left to languish in filthy despair,
This apathy causes agony.
These sins of omission are born out,
Of an optional approach to our duty,
Diligence and Compassion then,
Are the only cure for this intolerable cruelty.
Even the smallest, most petty of sins,
Is connected to the largest evil snake.
That towering, invisible cobra,
Who tricks us with his slick debate.
Stealthy he lingers throughout our gardens,
Lying in wait, like a trap.
Wealthy he triggers us off guard
Then snaps shut to drag us back!
Oh despair and terror,
If even the smallest sins warrant death
Oh Fear then these grave errors!
How can we ever hope to pay these debts...
The world is now a maze of chaos,
Every city block awash with tears,
Of horrors and torments from our fellow men,
Only growing more sinister throughout the years.
Where then can we run to?
Whose hand can we reach out to grasp?
That one we already rejected,
That soul of the Messiah whose love does last.
Where then can we find still waters?
Where then some sweet relief?
Only at the fount of forgiveness,
In the stronghold of belief.
What makes Christianity differ
From the other religions of the human race?
Only that there is hope also for the sinner -
Through the underserved sweetness of GRACE.
Many other religions talk of miracles,
Promise even life after death,
Though Christ is the only Messiah
Who has gotten that one right yet.
Many have Wisemen following stars,
There are even legends about virgin births,
But the ONE distinguishing factor,
The one of the highest worth...
The power of forgiveness,
To start the life anew,
The power to start from scratch again,
And try to be better, to be true.
Is the very thing they killed Him for
The carpenter who was nailed to wood.
That He Himself could give pardon of sins,
And that it was good that He should.
The power of the owner to collect or cancel a debt...
What then is the price, of such a crazy request?
Only that you give,
Also as you have received,
And that you forgive those who have you grieved.
They said "How dare He presume to wipe a slate clean!
Does He have any idea how bad the sinners have been?"
But man, sees only the sin, not the tears of repentance shed,
Man hopes through punishment to win,
And through fear good conduct to spread.
But if you won't forgive others,
He'll not forgive you -
This is the personal cost
To have this dream come true.
Grace is the gift you must first give away
If you wish to then get and receive it -
Grace is the path upon which you must stay,
Take hold of Christs promise, and believe it.
The future St. Francis, strong with youth,
Knelt in a small broken chapel, seeking truth
Praying at St. Damien's, he felt his inner world soar,
As Christ spoke to him “Rebuild my Church Francis, go and restore!”
So he started with stone, repairing church walls -
First St. Damiens, then St. Peter's
And to St. Mary of the Angels, he was called.
The ancient church had a history of Angels
That could often be sensed singing and visiting Mary there,
But was long ago abandoned and in tattered disrepair.
With a wild wood surrounding thickly and
Thorn covered brambles overgrowing everywhere.
St Mary of the Angels belonged to the Benedictines. Who admired St. Francis’ restoration of the Church of Heaven's’ Queen,
They offered to give him the church, if he wished -
But his vow of poverty did not allow for this.
So he paid them rent each year,
in the form of 1 basket of fish.
The first friars and the first noble fruits,
Of the Franciscan Order found their first roots,
Around this little Marian church, in humble mud huts,
And the devout souls therein did all things as such,
As are fitting to monastic worth,
Amid the Angels lingering so near the earth. One night while in a fierce battle
Of temptations to discouragement and sin,
Francis was so close to giving up
To leaving the convent and giving in…
So wracked with desperation,
For the difficulties of the way,
St. Francis given inspiration,
Counselled himself with as if to say:
“Pain to the body is often medicine to soul!
I shall roll in those bramble thorns
to re-humble my soul,
perhaps this reminder of Christs painful wounds
Will keep me from abandoning this convent too soon!“
The bramble branches were serrated with thorns,
Laying thick with sharp horns like wild open jaws
He sobbed at his temptation, the moonlight glinting off the spikes, He threw his body into the thorny thicket to save his soul that night.
His body, he expected, to be sliced thickly with pain,
But he landed softly, a grace he’d obtained...
Opening his eyes under the bright gentle night,
The miracle revealed under the still sweet light.
All the brambles had transformed into many a thornless rose…
He wept at the sweetness of what he’d been shown…
All the garden was perfumed with peace
St. Francis wept at the gift he’d received,
And the sound of the Angels filled the nights air
St. Francis gave thanks, and for the rest of his life he stayed there.
Still sitting in the gentle flowers absorbed
In the bliss of the Angelic choir,
The heavens seemed to open up and descending Light from much higher,
There the Christ he loved so dear,
To dear St. Francis did then appear.
“Ask whatever favour of me, and it shall be yours.”
The eyes of the body can distinguish color, shade and depth -
The eyes are used to judge between things and know their breadth.
The eyes of the body detect the light from the dark -
The eyes then can keep the feet on the sure and steady path.
So too with the ears, they discern what the subtle world does send -
Of all the beauties of music, and speech on them depend.
To reason, explain, illuminate and show,
We do, but, by our senses grow...
The eyes of the Soul are also for discerning,
To know and to see, and to apprehend most intimately, the learning.
But just as the retina of the flesh must be clear -
For the image to rightly, in that lens, then appear -
So too for the eyes of the Soul, the retina of the conscience must be clean -
For the image of God to be clearly seen.
A spiritual eye clouded and made dark with sin,
Remains blind and lost and dark within.
A spiritual ear clogged up with lies,
Will never hear the Lords sweet replies.
Repent then, come clean, and regain your true sight -
Birth your mind to day, from the ignorant night.
Let your eyes then be opened, ears unsealed,
From your lameness be now healed.
If the words to which you are dutiful
Appeared all over your skin
Would you still be beautiful
Or would you long to try again?
Sticks and stones can break your bones,
But words, my dear, can damn you.
Tricks and tones, even whispered alone,
Words, my dear, can scam you.
Words can do damage.
Words can repair.
Words can help manage the
deepest despair.
Every single one of us,
Remembers some encouraging word -
And every single one of us,
Is scarred by some cruelty we’ve heard.
How can we forget this awesome and terrible power?
To make another soul flower,
Or seething, to make them cower…
From the tongue the heart is known,
In your daily language your soul is shown…
If you constantly belittle, then you are quite small,
If you constantly lift others up, you might, in fact, be tall…
The heart is like a fertile field, It’ll grow whatever you plant to fabulous yield…
Whether you plant Deadly Nightshade
Or good and useful Wheat -
Out of the heart the tongue does speak,
Gentle light or course deceit…
Even God showed us the creative power of words,
He spoke into being the land and the sea,
And with a simple statement,
Withered unto death the fruitless Fig Tree.
Your words have eminence,
They define your whole being.
They show and are evidence,
Of your very meaning.
My Lord, My God,
You are a mystery to me -
But Oh! Thank God!
I am not a mystery to Thee.
You know what I have need of
before it occurs to me to request it -
Your do not break the bruised reed off,
In fact, even bruised, it is blessed.
So am I in every pain -
My every agony, repeats Your sweet name -
Wherein once I may glimpse You -
I can never be the same.
I can bear so sweetly,
The rigors of the grave -
For in You I am perennial -
For in You I am saved.
The Legend of the Lenten Lilly There is an ancient legend,
fair and sweet and old,
Remembered by our grandmothers,
around each Easter time, retold.
The Lenten Lilly is the Daffodil,
Its bright yellow trumpet
and its solar disk shaped face -
Turned as if they sadly bowed,
like the Angels who marveled at the grace,
Of what their infinite Lord allowed.
In the Garden of Gethsemane
This yellow flower that night appeared,
To comfort Jesus, sweating blood and crying many tears.
Knowing what was coming,
at the touch of Judas kiss,
He prayed then to His Father
Facing an abyss.
Not only facing His own tortures,
But for the sinners sake who would perish either side,
One going onto the second death,
The other, through repentance, saved, and alive.
In Heaven then forever,
Or the prideful to lose the bliss -
The Daffodil in other legends,
Foreshadowed also this.
The Greek Name for this flower, Brings us the story of Narcissus, in love with himself,
Whose pride and vanity cost him his beauty and his living breathing, health -
And left only poor Echo as a witness, to the loss of all his wealth…
Self love that leaves no room for God,
Is the daffodil of death,
Self sacrifice that is in bloom with God,
Is the daffodil of breath.
This symbol of life,
Of the journey through days,
This perennial wonder,
Upon which we gaze,
Is filled with the mystery
Of the Lord and His ways.
So when you next see a Lenten Lilly
Ask yourself, quietly, to answer true,
When your final act draws near thee,
Which sinner then are you?
Eyes to see I give my heart away to the training,
Of my sovereign and my Lord,
The One whose truest home and kingdom,
Is another dimension, far abroad
A second horizon on top of the first,
A higher dimension than that of the Earth,
A noble vista to comfort, the stark reality of our birth.
How marvelous are our faculties?
The inner world can reveal,
The light with which the furnace blaze,
Yet burning in its brilliance,
In modesty conceals –
That lesser eyes should not
Behold it, until first the soul be healed.
Then to glimpse but sweetly,
Some savored certainty unsealed,
The truths of all eternity,
Made understandable and real.
Press on then, in your inner world,
Seek dignity and grace,
And slowly turn to live,
By the light of true loves face.
Within you lie the mysteries,
Within you every clue,
Obscured by foul obscenities
And ruined by evils rule
Run then wicked thoughts away
Refuse to partake in this demise,
And see what a pure mind can bring forth,
And look with opened eyes.
See then the wonders of eternity,
With plain old human eyes
Understand some of the wonder
That before escaped your tries,
Brilliant causeways of forever,
wherein stars to
dip and rise.
Hallowed pathways of forever,
The wisdom of the wise.
Reaching to Heaven My Jesus comes to take His sheep,
His lambs, His ewes, His old rams at His feet.
My Jesus comes to free His flock,
The pasture prepared, the gate unlocked.
He’ll guide us in and give us rest,
He’ll give us all that is good and best.
My Jesus comes to call us home,
Never again, to be hurt, lost or alone –
But to belong to Him,
And be His own.
The world will be emptied,
Like a basket of grain –
To be threshed and sorted
And same put with same.
The grain is gathered,
The chaff is burned –
We are all the evidence
Of what all we learned.
Learned to love, be salt and light,
Learned to help and put wrongs to right
Learned to listen and obey
Our good shepherds voice, every day.
An eternal Intelligence
by Kai-Anne Clews
A pagan friend of mine, laughed at me,
For following Jesus in The Way,
She said I could attend at the shrine,
Worship Nature, and be ok.
She said the creator of all the Earth,
Lives in everything, everywhere,
That God can be found in earth, and fire and water and air.
She said that at special times,
The creator can reveal himself as a sacred animal –
She said you can sense him in clinging chimes,
And be venerated, but casual.
She said the Lord of all the Universe,
Could incarnate to any plan –
To which I replied, “But you pagans limit Him by saying He was never a man.”
It’s easier for you to limit Him to brute beasts and pagan fire –
Pretending like He’s not been quite explicit of what He from us requires.
Limiting Him to animals, keeps Him just a brute –
It keeps His messages vague, fallible and mute.
Keeping your Lord elemental, you actually try to rule over Him,
By setting this limit upon Him, you never really begin.
To stop to worship the created, as though it were the Creator –
Seeing the great nobility in a turnip, before you bow to what is greater.
I agree that Nature speaks of its Author,
In the spiral of every shell and tree –
I believe my creator spoke human words, so I could finally see –
Not vague guessing and presuming His will –
But actual teachings that enrich and instill,
More than just cycles of time and of death,
More than just alignments of East unto West –
More than just rituals to clean up the energy –
But to worship a living God, not just some effigy.
Gentle I bask in the light of your candid beauty,
And feel myself pulled towards the same,
I study at the shrine of your heart’s duty,
And feel your soft silences, like even softer rain.
All my edges are gone from me,
I am a pebble in your hand.
You are my mighty river,
And I hug you as the sand.
In your eyes, I see them there,
The luminous curtains: aurora,
A lustrous shimmering,
O’re the nights’ black dome,
Without which, beauty’s the poorer.
My Jesus your beauty and your living streams,
Interweave the vibrant tapestries of all my dreams –
Your loveliness gives me courage,
Your goodness makes me trust,
That my soul may yet flourish,
That I can do yet what I must.
Visit the website at:
https://www.sabiansun.com/post/the-true-ones-practice-love
Or read the poem here:
The true ones practice love Encourage other Christians,
For the true one’s, they practice love.
Comfort and console them,
As reminder of God above.
Not only above but also within,
In fact, foremost from the heart and care.
For when you love,
You can never do enough,
And yet the burden is light to bear.
From this place of striving,
Take another by the hand,
Pull them upwards to the glory of heaven,
The ultimate promised land.
All eyes will yet behold it,
A kingdom whole and reclaimed,
From ancient prophets long foretold it,
Birthed to eternity from heavy pain.
So when you see another,
Trying to enact some grace,
Upon this cold grey earth, for this sad and exiled race,
Remember then the courage it takes,
Remember then the high set stakes -
To strive again towards goodness,
in a world full of bad mistakes.
So encourage those willing to try -
Who do not ignore the tears they cry -
Hearten, inspire, reassure and restore -
So we might all gain the eternity
We're all so longing for.
Read the poem at: https://www.sabiansun.com/post/the-splendid-boast-of-our-people
The splendid boast of our people Since the very beginning of the human race,
Marriage unified previously individual tribes,
In the giving of a groom and the giving of a bride.
Vastly opposing, waring states, found common ground,
And could then communicate.
After celebrating the wedding feasts,
Wherein old foes become one flesh and fighting cease.
The living heir, the child of union –
The new perfect expression, with all dominion,
Calling upon the combined inheritance of both parents,
Their kingdoms and their histories,
Harking to their opinions and respecting their mysteries.
The greatest such union of unspeakable worth,
The union of the kingdoms of heaven and earth,
Giving us the true heir delivered through the virgin birth.
Our Jesus who is fully God and also fully man –
A unifying of our two kingdoms in a way humans can understand.
Two families now made as one -
The Holy family, the holy Son
Our blessed Queen Mother, most chaste spouse of the Spirit,
And gentle mother to our great redeemer.
Mary is the best of us, the bridge upon which He traveled,
The first one to who He showed Himself, and to who many mysteries unraveled.
When visiting any royal court, one cannot only know the name of the King,
There are many other members, doing many different things.
All, of course, in keeping with the Kings approval and His rule,
But to only greet the King alone, is uncouth and very rude.
No doubt if the King should ask your assistance
Or accept your offer to serve,
He’ll place you with some servants,
some friends whose teachings to observe.
You would not just work with Him alone,
But be party to His court,
He is after all the King,
And has all this support.
Remember this beloved, when you greet the Queen, Our Mother -
That you address the mother of our God, the one likened to no other.
The human daughter who brought us all into the kingdom of Grace –
Remember, please, your manners when you look on her beautiful face.
She smiles like she’s in on a secret
Like she’s certain of some grace
She smiles like the sunshine,
The beams stream from her face.
She steps with an uncommon lightness
She faces pain as if –
It all melted in the brightness –
As if everything’s a gift.
Hope that she will pray for you
And bring you forth before the Father,
For your sake she will implore,
And pray for salvation rather.
Thank the Spirit for a faith like hers,
One that’s always striving –
Steadfast in her prayers,
A living one among the dying.
When you were just a little one
Your granny prayed for you
All the way up, as you grew,
She thanked the Lord for remaining true.
Those little prayers she prayed over you
Are still procuring you daily grace
Those little blessings she hoped for you
Are aiding you in life’s great race.
For prayers are a deep and glorious mystery,
And a type of power that does not atrophy,
But become stronger in the passing years,
That provide you calm in the midst of tears.
Your granny’s prayers bless you still,
Even now this very hour,
Those of faithful gentle hearts,
Are in awe of its unstoppable power.
So, say a little prayer of gratitude,
For your Granny and your great good start,
For remembering you before the Lord,
For keeping you in her heart.
The saddest sight I ever saw, Was one who was once a Christian, Called one no more. The fallen away, Lead others astray, With the same snare that tripped them up That fateful day… I know, My onboard compass Is not enough, To keep me on guard against sin – I know if I go my own way, The Devil right there, Scored a win… In all the magnetic desires, I pass by, My compass is not always true North, And I, Should set my sights, On my North star up high, To help me steer my course. To guide me steadily, To guide me true – In a world full of falsehood That screams the falsehood is You. I pray for these lost ones, And wonder if ever, They glimpsed your true splendor – Or in truth, Where Christians never? How then, can one loose What then, was not possessed? I pray for true conversion, to comfort their unrest. I pray they may be unburdened, From the snare And from this test. Our Lord was tested, And so are we. Pray for those, Who like St. Peter, flee.
Light and Dark Our Lord and God is always Himself
All the way to His bright and shining core –
He shines like the Sun, and behaves so forever more.
The eternal powers are not changeable,
Like humans are changeable on their views,
One moment smiling,
The next to be lost to their sad and lonely blues.
The Devil is also always himself,
All the way to his terrible crushing core –
Like a black hole devours everything,
And cannot show mercy, ever at all.
The Lord of Mercy, of Light and heat,
Doesn’t flicker into dense deceit –
The Angel of evil, of obscurity and pressure –
Doesn’t suddenly change and somehow offer us strange treasure…
All the planets that orbit the sun,
Benefit from its light and draw from it daily strength –
Anything that orbits a black hole,
Will inevitably be lost to its crushing depths.
How can you bargain with the Devil,
And expect that he should show you favor,
Some last minute mercy and charity,
And Let you skip freely back to your savior?
How can you suspect the Good, eternal Lord,
Of using his light to somehow hide,
To be a partaker in deception
for a darker purpose inside?
These powers are not so changeable,
Like human are changeable all the time –
They are fully themselves from atom to Light year,
From Adam to right here;
Love is fully love,
Fear is fully fear.
Humans who dance around the black hole of death,
Will be eaten and fully disappear.
Humans who orbit the true sun of the guiding light, heaven sent,
Will be ever clear, and continue unimpeded, in enlightenments' ascent.
What can I give to you?
Eternal Father to make reply,
For all that Thou has given me,
All the days of my life?
Can I offer you my labors,
My strength that comes from you,
Can I give you my endeavors,
My plans my hopes my journey through.
Can I give you my possessions,
To the poor disguised I see,
Clothed in frail humanity,
My Lord, I see in them, Thee.
Can I offer you my body,
as a living sacrifice,
And labor for you sweetly,
To the dawn of my true life.
Let me offer you some songs,
Some poems my heart can sing,
whose inspiration comes from Thy own hand,
You gifted to me, what all I might bring.
I have no natural children,
No Isaac I can bless,
I have only what Thou gave me,
And will give it gladly at Thy request.
Make my offer to you sweet,
Though the giver is so small,
To present my little treasures,
To the sovereign over all.
For even in giving every breath,
Every thought in the thundercloud of my mind to this,
Every consideration of my heart,
Every single gesture, I would
Yet still be remiss.
No reply that we humans can make
Can ever hope to fairly purchase Thee.
And Thou great gentle goodness,
Accepts what we give and sees –
The love with which it is offered,
A whole temple or a single coin of brass –
For it is then in our loving
That the offer then may last.
Even in my smallness, I am so grateful to be,
In relationship with you my Jesus,
And that I may so love and cherish Thee.
Oh my sovereign dearest,
The apple of my eye,
All I have to give Thee,
The everyday or the sublime.
Oh my Jesus who restores me,
Is already Thine, more than mine.
He is the beauty all begotten,
The radiance of creation.
With the loveliest look,
He reflects every nation.
Wherever He dwells, is beauty and grace,
He is that light of forgiveness, on every saints’ face.
He is the blossom in the petal revealed
He is the living truth who is our great shield.
His heart and his body together laid bare,
So sinners might know they have a father who cares.
His love is the Author,
Humanity holds the pen –
If you’ll not go to follow Him now –
Then when?
In Saintly icons the saints point Him out –
They say, in small gesture, all together
What it’s all about.
They say
“If in me, any glimpse you see,
Remember T’is our Lord, His Majesty.
If in me any light perceived,
T’is not me, but He.”
“You have no idea what you’ve been given!”
Hissed the demon as we fought.
He tempted me with the foulest images –
Toward things I ought think not.
“Do you realize the power of a single angel, given to each human freely
Not even for sharing, given to a wretch like you.”
He smirked and did not fear me.
He laughed so shrill and violently,
Afraid I swayed upon my feet –
The demon tormented and tortured me –
With lies and smoke and heat –
A bitter cold and soaking wet and
Gigantic spiders appearing in my room –
And foul and nasty monsters
Telling me of certain doom.
I held my ground and defended myself
With the promises of scripture –
Dealing not on my own account
In dialog with the creature.
How could we ever forget a foe so fearsome and so bold –
Who lingers with us from conception till we’re very old –
No gentle thought or hint of light can ever
Soften the demons attack, but the boldness of
Light keeps them at bay – and can push their boundary back.
But they come so hot and fierce and fast.
When they sense a soul might yet pass
Through to salvation, and victory at last.
My faithful friends, with faithful hearts,
I beg you, do not from your Lord depart!
We all have our challenges and I have mine too –
And from my hospital bed, I talk now to you.
Take courage, take stock of your souls –
Perform your small duties, humbly conform to your roles.
The Lord has not forgotten you or me –
He’s not forgotten the world or even one country.
What is pain to the flesh is medicine to soul –
This has been our Christs teaching both ancient and old.
Be like sweet Mary who didn’t even have a midwife,
But gave to the Lord everything, the totality of her life.
Be like Saint Jude though they hacked him to bits,
Still he would not renounce his Lord and call it quits.
Be like Saint Sebastian though covered in arrows,
Refusing to leave the straight and the narrow.
It is we who are forgetful, not our Lord –
It is we who are insensitive, not our Christ –
It is we who are negligent, not our Jesus –
For He gave up for us His very life.
The reason I can suffer such pains of illness and disease,
Is not any merit of my own.
I join my suffering to my Lord, then I do not suffer alone.
I give all this pain for reparation of sins,
And beg the Lords pardon of the blasphemer –
I give to join my sadness to that of my Redeemer.
To suffer with Him by His side,
I am part of the Church, part of the bride –
Because just as I join Him in my injuries
I may then join Him in His victories.
So stay faithful, stay true to love,
This is the Highest virtue from God above.
I love you and miss you and I have no fear –
I will see you again, either here or up there
The hour of physical death,
Is spiritually perilous too;
For no bargaining or hiding,
Can make this hour pass over you.
It is a doorway,
Everyone must journey through.
The Ancients knew
And long foretold it,
One should prepare,
If one hopes to see it through.
So what happens in this hour,
How should one be prepared?
Surely there is no difference,
What Spiritual peril can lurk there?
Satan. Ready. His forces squared,
His terrible evidence neatly prepared
for this 60-minute court…
So that he and his satellites of darkness,
Might terrify the soul by their detailed report.
For here in the hours last minutes,
The truth of the life lived revealed –
What they sowed in their life now witness,
What all supposed hidden. Unsealed.
This powerful unrest,
So deranges us,
That even Saints can be tricked by the strife `
To lose their entry into the kingdom,
To forget eternal life -
Turning suddenly from grace,
When confronted with their own Adams face.
The Devil does all this to make the soul believe,
They are outside the Lords care and His reach,
So they themselves turn themselves away,
Wander in obscurity forever astray…
Adopted by darkness they forsake the day…
So take special care of the dying,
For the Devil infuses his own insanity,
To keep sins unconfessed and in hiding,
And delay over burial vanity.
Prepare yourself too dear soul,
For your hour fast approaches,
Wherein the Devil will bring the lighted coal,
Full of hard reproaches.
Prepare yourself and know,
This hour will touch you too.
No force can snatch you from the Lords hand,
Except your own will and you.
When the Devil accuses
Remember your Christ –
Who died in your place,
The Devil's on my life's path
I just can't avoid him...
A little family of three,
Called out of Egypt -
Destroyed him.
The Devil and I will yet have our tussles.
How sad, a noble like me
already set free,
Should be lost to such scuffles.
The Devil and I
May yet both disappear
in that final fire
that draws ever near.
The Devil and I do
more than just dance...
It is the only battle whose score will then last.
I cannot defeat this Devil alone.
So I go down to Egypt,
to join that little boat.
St. Jude also called Thaddeus,
Whose name means; Courageous Heart -
Is the Patron Saint of Hopeless Cases,
His prayers a gracious art.
He has been my Patron Saint
For many sound and fruitful years -
I've turned to him when down, drowned in all my fears -
When hopeless and hurt, in need of a friend -
I ask his intercessions,
And my request may ascend
Up to the Lord who wishes me well,
Wishes me Spiritual wealth,
My St. Jude prays better for me,
Than I can sometimes pray for myself.
This Apostle rich in miracles,
This immortal now in bliss,
To be a faithful friend with him,
One is not remiss...
The Eastern Orthodox sages,
The Coptic's and the Catholics all share
Veneration to this special Saint,
and ask him for his Holy prayers.
He is now inseparable from
our one and only Holy Lord,
On St. Jude, at Pentecost,
was the Holy Spirit poured.
He is a wonder that is inexplicable -
His prayers can aid you too -
I've witnessed so many of his miracles
So I may sincerely recommend him to you.
He helps those lost to trouble -
He is a gentle friend -
I was lifted from the rubble,
Saved from what might've been the end.
Just close your eyes and say the prayer
"St. Jude please pray for me."
Mention your special intention
and complete with One Hail Mary,
One Our Father, and one last Glory Be -
I promise you won't be sorry,
Miracles will come and set you free.
This Saint so loves his Jesus,
his soul a mirror on HIM,
All the Saints are themselves textbooks,
Studying, The One who was free of all Sin -
Sainthood is what happens when we finally allow the Lord in.
When first I perceived the forgiveness,
That you’ve purchased, dear, oh so dear over me –
That undeserved sweetness, for me so worthless,
Fear took me to trembling.
I fall again, repent and try,
I repair myself to the Lord and I cry
Why do you keep forgiving me!?
I don’t deserve even the first, my Lord
As I progress in Your teachings
I realize I am worse than I thought.
Little sins that seem so docile,
That grow and sprout stubborn roots,
Without weeding become colossal,
Stunting and limiting the good fruits.
Each time I fall and may try again,
I become more aware of the extent of my sin.
Each time I fail and fall and slip
I learn, my Jesus, to have a tighter grip.
To cleave to You as my only hope
To let all worldly things, die –
To hold fast to you, the only rope
Upon which I can hope to climb.
As my life unfolds, I become aware,
Contrition is freedom, sin is the snare.
Slowly my eyes open to see
Only in obedience to you, that I am free.
When wounded by some evil,
Too many, too many people,
Discard their love, in order to keep the World.
Discard rather the World and keep your love.
This is by far the wiser path.
Too many see the hard world,
And rush to make their hearts hard,
So to keep in step with this burning orb,
And thus end before they start.
Rather leave the world
To its hardness
And let your own heart burn with love.
Let rather your sorrows be peerless,
Be the Lords most gentle dove.
This is by far the wiser path.
When evil is done to you by detestable humans,
Do not let them become your teachers in hate.
Accept the rejection and continue to love,
Then you will never be defeated or can abate.
Understand this is a passing place,
These pleasures will all rot in the sod.
Understand that everyone is a passing face,
Look then to the eternal love of God.
Seek then His ineffable Grace –
Seek then the route to eternity,
Seek then to step with His steady pace,
To the truest place of unity.
And one came asking
“Where is my Lord?
Is He with the teachers,
Far abroad?”
Someone said,
“But the Lord is near,
He is not far
He did not disappear.”
“Then where shall I find Him?
Where can I look,
Tell me where is my Master,
Which route hast He took?
“He is with the lost and the lonely,
At the dry gates of the city,
Hit sits with those, for who,
The world has no more pity.
Wounded by our lack of love,
Our Master also thirsts and suffers,
With all our other wounded,
As He loves them like a mother.
As so He calls us to be –
Wounded healers
And be set free
Through our pain and passion be –
An imitation of Majesty.
During the blessing of time on earth,
We sculpt our inner earth and engrave,
The landscape of our inner world,
Diligently, daily, from cradle to grave;
Our whole life is Edit Mode,
And Death is the final, File>Save.
That is why some people, in Heaven,
Are a city on a hill that is shining.
That is why others are deep gulfs, deep pits,
In need of much climbing.
How did you attempt to smooth your vast planes?
Did you dig and remove from yourself?
Or did you add and built to your wealth?
How did your work with others?
Did you scoop or scaffold?
With a tendency to stoop, or a tendency to be dazzled?
Of all the human elements, who’ve gone on to populate heaven –
No city is greater, or wider than that of the most Holy woman.
She who gave birth to the One who would crush the serpents head –
She the purest white dove, back to the safety of the ark now fled.
She is our mother eternal, our Advocate, Immaculate –
She is the greatest city in Heaven, and Heaven itself is our Lord, and she lives within Him, His length and breadth, unfathomable and unscored.
We become the cities of Heaven,
How many in our hearts can we keep?
10? 20? 10, 000? Or just ourselves alone in the deep?
I met Jesus, and he gave me a fish,
We walked together as I ate it.
When I was full, of the wondrous fish,
I asked him how he baited it.
He replied to me only,
With these few words,
And left me uncomprehending.
He said, “As all good fishermen know,
Some of the best bait, is just Waiting.”
So many years later, I met him again,
And he offered me, like last, the same.
And once I was full of the blessing,
I asked him what was his gain?
For surely a man who gives all his fish,
Will certainly grow hungry and die,
Surely, they will grow cold and thin and
utterly utterly cry.
He replied, “Men die with fish in their baskets,
It is no deterrer of death.
Men die in over-filled
Markets, they die in exquisite beds.”
I went on my way, but saw him again,
A moment before my body expired,
He offered me another fish,
But I longed for something much higher.
The breath was gone, the desire lost,
I believed myself cast to the flame,
But back I sprung! A resurrected feat!
I would not return in dull vain.
Sitting at my miracle bed, he offered me another fish.
Sitting in my amazement; the meat was not my wish.
By the time my relatives came, all to be astounded,
The Lord had left my bedside, my heart was heavy and confounded.
I traced him out and found him, and presented him with three fish,
Asking please for explanation, of how my life could come to this.
He smiled so gently kindly, and bayed me give them freely,
To any passing pilgrim, to any who should be needy.
I pressed him still, My Lord! My Lord!
Tell me what life is for.
He handed me another fish,
And smiling said no more.
Oh come now and listen,
About the story of old,
Of the promised Messiah,
long since foretold.
From all the way back,
In the Old Testament,
Given were many signs,
And the old prophets were sent –
To proclaim a great victory,
For all of mankind,
To justify and renew and bring sight to the blind.
To raise and deliver the Lords many people,
To raise up a church,
An ever-reining steeple.
For Aged Zachariah,
and Elizabeth his wife,
had prayed for a child throughout their long life.
And inside the temple, where he lit the incense,
The Angel Gabriel appeared, and the Lords message expressed.
“Do not be afraid, Zachariah, your prayer has been heard!
Your wife will have a baby, for this is Gods Word!
A baby boy named John will prepare the way,
For the one who will save, humanity gone astray."
And it was so, as the Angel had stated,
Elizabeth became pregnant, and for their baby they waited.
Though faithful Zachariah could not say what he saw,
For his voice was taken for little while,
Until the baby was born.
Six months after the Angel spoke to Zachariah,
Gabrielle visited Mary, with news of the promised Messiah.
She was a virgin and betrothed to be wed,
She was gentle and beloved, and received a message heaven sent.
"Do not be afraid dear Mary, the Lord is with you.
I bring you news, excellent and true.
The spirit will touch you and you’ll conceive a son,
He’ll inherit the throne of King David,
For he is the chosen one.
You are to call his name Jesus,
For he is sent for the salvation of countless souls,
It was foretold many times in the ancient scrolls."
"Let it be done to me as you have said,
I am the Lords servant, and I say yes."
"Your relative Elizabeth, even though old with age,
Has blossomed in pregnancy and awaits the good day.
For I tell you, no word of the Lord can ever fail,
There is no limit and no excess of scale
All that he says will surely come to pass,
From ages unto ages, stretching and vast."
Love
Is the glove –
One size fits all –
Whether you’re Julius Caesar,
Or flower of the Wall –
No matter how lowly you consider your station,
Love is still your supreme destination.
No matter how highly you regard your standing,
Love is still your souls demanding.
No matter mediocrity – Love is for you
No matter your sinning – Love is still true
No matter
No matter,
Any-thing you can possess,
You will never escape,
Loves potent caress.
Men try to hide it,
Shelter behind many things,
Some try to bind it,
And force it with rings.
It cannot be forced,
Coerced or tamed,
It is however often,
Cursed and blamed.
Those who lament that they receive no Love,
Who weep in the shadows, and send curses above,
How they know not, the truth of their condition,
They give not, so receive not; that is their affliction.
But Love is the fabric of sky and seed,
Love is the triumph over insurmountable deeds,
Love is the essence and duty of the spirit,
Only invite it in, and have as it would will it.
For Love, being pure, and composed from such light,
Is truly the essence of the highest height –
You’ve heard it said, and quoted above,
For truly, truly,
God is Love.
So I say make your Love pure,
Untainted from disease,
Of jealousy and anguish,
And pushing others to their knees.
Distill your Great Love, so it bears no agitation,
And you will find yourself arrived,
At your Supreme Destination.
Pick out the floating bits
Of previous disappointments,
Filter off the particles of passive aggressive fear,
Distill your Great Passion,
Till it is Crystal, and it is Clear.
From contaminated Love,
Comes no true hope, nor joy nor cheer,
So, I say again, Purify Your Love,
Till it is Crystal and it is Clear!
Then its great potency knows no limit to grace,
Then the stars do all align and shine to thy face.
One day, I will walk that path,
My mother walked today.
One day too, I shall close my eyes
Not to open them again under these fair skies.
One day I shall follow them,
My many ancestors, who,
Lived and breathed and laughed
And sighed, now all gone,
To somewhere new.
One day there will be
New young ones,
Who will lay me to my rest.
They may say a few gentle words,
the kindest,
‘She did her best.’
From thence into the Lords own hands,
I must commend my spirit,
And in my gentle yielding,
Would have as He would will it.
I hope very much to see her there,
More radiant than a pearl.
There she is to greet me,
Me, her eldest girl.
God knows when your heart is broken, You do not have to explain why - He knows when you are wounded, And that slow & gentle healing is already fully supplied. God knows when you are grieving, He understands that pain of loss - In it He is slowly revealing To us that heavy cost... With which He purchased every soul, Both you and the beloved you've been called to let go - So they could journey safely home. The Lord shares the agony, you now bear alone. Though your loved one has gone on into grace, They've left the harder pilgrimage to you. Take comfort; you will again see that sweet face, Once victoriously your journey's through. The reunion will be a dawn of brilliance, For the loved one who was lost, Will be then returned to you, And justify this heavy cost. The loved one, lost, will be restored, And all the pain of sacrifice, And death, will be no more.
Jesus was this good carpenters son,
but Joseph himself also Jesus first son,
Of the infant church then begun.
Joseph and Mary, the first to pay homage
at the living temple of the child Lord,
Late to come were the Sages
Who followed that star and saw -
What the Angels proclaimed to the shepherds,
Later what Christ Himself would reveal,
That knowledge of the Messiahs arrival,
To this gentle Joseph revealed.
Joseph and Mary were the infant Church,
While Christ was still growing -
All through His childhood and 20ies,
Sharing with them His deep knowing.
His beauty filled their small humble household,
And both father and Son worked with wood,
Together they lived unencumbered,
Such love was there; gentle and good.
Mary, Joseph and Jesus, a little family of 3 -
Such a family of love; including both you and me.
The beloved Lord does send His mighty legions,
In heavenly realms of the blessed beautiful light.
His angels attend to Him from all of Heavens regions,
And are swift and dutiful to take flight.
They are messengers of Gods good grace,
And they listen closely to every sinner,
To the loud so they may prosper,
And even to those who only whisper
“Please Lord, help me.” The angels do rejoice but to hear it.
“Please Lord, guide me.” The devils have no choice but to bear it.
The angels are listening even now, in the blackest heart of sin,
The request for at last salvation, so this human soul might finally win.
My mind’s eye floating upon the infinite sea,
In a sturdy little boat by the name of ME.
I cast out my nets to catch from the depths,
Around shores and flotillas sailing East unto West.
My days here are numbered but the fishing is good.
Remembering again what I once understood.
Time travelers wander from dawn until dusk.
Clay men arise then turn back into dust.
Spirits of gold swoop in and out of sight
Like dolphin speed breaking the foam,
Lighter than dandelion dancers, swift as living Light –
An eternal coming home.
Phosphorescent pathways stretch deep into the depths,
Well beyond the reaches of my well-made little nets
Above the twinkling abandon, the abysses cry Reflection!
The point to reason why, provoking introspection.
They say, that we are in the land of the living,
That those who’ve gone ahead,
Inhabit the land of the dead.
Like so many things, it’s really reversed,
We’re not the living and the dead all cursed.
We are the dead… who must resurrect to eternal life.
We must get it in our heads, the purpose of this short-spun life.
For how in any human arch,
However famous, loved or sublime,
Could ever touch the Master’s Spark,
With this, our little bout of time?
How could we with human eyes,
Ever see a fraction of the Grand Creation?
Without first we becoming wise,
And knowing Heaven, the destination.
Too many see Heaven childishly,
A place of lazy ease –
But to look on Heaven boundlessly,
As a place of Living Free.
What did Jesus teach us, let’s reflect –
What did he show us to do?
He told us we must resurrect,
And reject all that isn’t true.
Come now tell me –
What would He –
My beloved,
My Jesus be?
If He went around
disguised as me?
Would He feed the hungry?
Would He Raise the Dead?
Would He cede the mighty?
Would He Salt the bread?
What would He do,
Dressed in my disguise?
What would He see,
Looking through my eyes?
How would He respond
To my morning alarm?
What would He do,
Even just one day long?
How differently would He walk -
Through this wild world than me?
Fully in his sonship,
Free as free can be –
Why not me?
If He could live inside me,
For even just a single day,
What wisdom would He whisper?
To keep the devils checked
And at bay.
Why do I only imagine?
What If He lived in me?
Isn’t that the message of Salvation?
Gods own ransom fee –
Paid for my freedom,
Paid for my liberty.
Not just mine alone,
But everyone –
Every. Single. One.
Bought and paid for
By the Blood
Of Gods own Living Son.
So, take your Sonship seriously,
You are the inheritor, receiver,
To be fathered and eternally loved,
By the perfect patient teacher.
There once was a king of old
A king of faith, a faithful king –
Here is his story told –
Let’s begin…
There were none like before him,
Nor will we see his like again,
This King was a prodigy of
Faith and
Blessed was his reign.
A ruler known as wise –
A king of true beauty reigned
Who followed after David’s Lord
And dignity reclaimed.
With the repairing of temple,
He mended the ancient chord,
His offering true and ample
To the eternal Living One, restored.
Even when disease had taken him, to mourning and despair,
And an evil on the horizon with an army drawing steadily near,
Even when Isaiah told him he was soon to die,
He turned then to his Lord, and faithfully, he cried
“Oh my Lord forget not, I have served you true,
Lord you are my master
The choice is up to You.”
“Healed then! Restored! And in temple in three days!”
Was what Isaiah burst back into the room to say.
And the Sun moved in a miracle
To assure the king that day.
Isaiah spoke again with the Father,
then declared -
Hezekiah 15 more good years he’d be spared.
And That He, the Lord, would defend the city,
For the Living God does care.
Between the Prophet and the King,
Much peace that day was shared.
Assured Sennacherib would not triumph,
Not one arrow in the air.
Now, Sennacherib of Assyria boasted
That no god of any city
Saved its people from his hands,
He made them all slaves without pity.
No people could him withstand!
The tyrant’s vile emissaries, then to Hezekiah’s fold
Announced that the Lord would not save them,
They’d be burnt and killed and sold.
A letter from Sennacherib filled with vile blasphemies unscored,
Into the sacred temple,
King Hezekiah, brought this correspondence to the Lord.
With Sennacherib fast descending
Full of blasphemies and blood,
A legion of death impending
To take the city of the King beloved.
The soldiers ate and drank and slept,
Secure they’d take the city in the morn –
But the Angel of Lord slew them,
All dead bodies by the dawn.
The boasting legions quieted,
The eerie camp of death,
As Sennacherib stumbled
his fierce soldiers robbed of breath.
The city was saved.
Sennacherib fled…
The destruction waived,
The fame of the story spread…
To even another re-telling today,
Of the life and times of Hezekiah’s day.
Today I saw a video of Pope Francis,
Talking to a young woman sharing testimony
That she triumphed over bullying,
She persevered through adversity.
She said she joined a choir,
And now so loves to sing
Pope Francis listened closely,
And did a special thing.
He asked her if she would sing for him,
And smiled all as he listened,
I wept as she sang for him,
And I thought of my Lord Jesus arisen.
My Jesus bless this gentle Pope,
This father who teaches
This father who reaches,
His gentle hand to so many,
This good father who preaches.
God bless his warmth and kindness,
God bless this gentle caring –
God bless this gentle heart,
That seems never to tire of sharing.
See him safely into your kingdom,
Answer, please, his loving prayers,
That he’s prayed for all humanity,
For people everywhere.
Hear my prayer for him again,
Feel my soul rejoice as I say Amen. Amen
Oh, my sweet Lord, my Champion Grace,
My ever-present teacher,
I see your face in joy and necessary woe,
I have no hidden feature.
I can only feel you know me better,
Then I can yet know myself,
You know what my heart can weather,
You know the balance of my soul’s wealth.
You know what lies before me,
As I try to understand what lies behind,
In private pride and desolation, Thou saw me,
To the fullness of Time.
I know that I have work to do,
If only to push past my flaws,
I know my light comes direct from You,
To clutch me from those jaws.
I lift my face and hands to You,
As I set them to my tasks,
I give my heart to weight of truth,
No matter how challenging or vast.
The mettle of our souls will,
And the Blacksmith of Time,
Strike against the anvil -
The great forge softens our design.
Again, we are pummeled,
Reshaped and re-enforced,
Each baptism in the fire,
Straightening our natural course.
The fire consuming the heavy stones –
Milking gold from black mountain bones.
But how the furnace torments the ore –
How it yields spilling more.
You may yet escape this life untested,
Unrefined and unscathed –
But you’re still the same old lump of rock at 60,
As you were when just a simple babe.
I’d rather face the fire –
My Lord Blacksmith punch away!
I am totally Your creation,
Form me in Your way.
Though the fires may change me,
In Your hand, I’ll not die, nor desire.
Though the light may blind me,
T’is Your eyes I require.
I feel my shape refine,
But risk not to claim,
That I know the final design.
That secret belongs to the Lord Blacksmith,
The forever Lord of Time.
That wry and sneaky serpent,
Who procured that yes through Eve,
Who to darkness became a handmaid,
When by that tree was then deceived.
The crunch then of the Apple
Between the jaws of the virgin tossed
Caused all humanity to grapple,
Be fallen, blind and lost.
It be true to Gods economy
The balance of the world
Both the fall and the fortune
Come to humanity through a young girl.
The yes of Eve is nullified
By the Yes of Mary Virgin Queen
Humanity re-purified
Liberated and cleaned.
The crunch then of the serpents’ head
The skull to meet the jaws –
Under the dainty foot of Mary
Who Her Jesus so adores.
That old snake forswore the doom of man
And entered through a girl –
It is fit to Gods economy that
Who should defeat him should be this pearl.
No other loved Jesus better
No saint a closer bond can boast
Than that of gentle Mary
Who loved her son the most.
All will come to sit with Her,
At the foot of Calvary’s cross –
Her intercession to defer
And protect us from that loss –
Of one thief gone to damnation,
The other safe in grace -
One led to liberation
Inseparable now from Gods embrace.
She prays so for the children,
That we may then incline,
To procure the gift of forgiveness
While there is still yet time.
Her Hope Her Faith Her Charity
Are the workbook to discover
She teaches us better imitation
Of Her Son than any other.
I love Mary, & on this, the 13th of May,
I sing of all her sweetness and
Recommending her heart I say –
Turn then quick to Mary
And through Her Son be saved.
Who then is your adversary?
Against who do you compete?
Some then ignore their identity,
And allow chains around their feet.
Chains of bitterness,
Terrible rage,
Sad unforgiveness
That shatters our days.
Do not forgive them only when they deserve it,
Christ forgave you and you have not earned it.
Forgive them their trespass, forgive them your loss,
This is the agony of carrying your cross.
But remember beloved, the true fight to survive,
The landscape on which for your very soul you do strive,
Is only the little heart,
And the elevation of its climb.
For all the cities of heaven, and every depth of abyss,
Is found in that small vessel the heart,
Either the other to eclipse.
Remember then in your learnings,
this one vital note,
remind yourself of it daily,
and learn this by wrote.
Your adversary is not the one who beat you in some game.
Your adversary is not even the one who caused you terrible shame.
Your adversary is not the teacher who attempted to give you discipline.
Your adversary is not the friend who encouraged you to be a dissident.
Your adversary is only one, even though he calls it legion.
He lives inside your heart more than any other region.
You cannot beat him once and for all,
But you can resist him daily.
You can strengthen your weakness,
with prayer and humble training.
He would like trick you
Into blaming a fellow, also tricked,
Another brought to madness
Through any particular conceit.
My Lord!
You gave me hope that from death you could cleave,
When the buried body began to breathe.
And when in my own grave, dead but asleep,
Awaiting the footfalls of my Lord that will keep,
All the prophecies true as we read -
Knowing the true Rock of Gibraltar, to which we must cleave.
When we awake, all things will be made new –
Generations called Lazarus, dazzling with Truth –
Reflecting their Lord, in his Ancient and beautiful Youth.
What then can await, no mind can declare –
Nor even sense the sweetness of that day’s air –
We are left with our faithfulness,
And the light debonair –
Remembering that old promise,
Of a new life under Thy care.
All the world is silent,
For our Lord does gently sleep,
In the quiet of His earthly tomb
He conquers now the deep.
All the world now stilled,
And waiting with baited breath,
Though given up to be killed
He defeated even death.
Faithful pilgrims keep faithful watch
For the rising of the Son –
For the victory of the eternal Lord,
Eternity thus begun.
Now every Sunday is an Easter,
A remembering of grace –
Every church a Calvary
To remind us we are saved.
https://www.sabiansun.com/post/holy-saturday
When asked what I see in my spiritual devotion,
One might as well ask, a drop in the ocean,
What it sees and what it feels,
What it breathes and what it heals.
To ask me of my relationship with God,
To explain and define and tally the odds,
I always reply, the same without hesitation,
Go talk to Him yourself and see my exaltation –
And when you do see, and have seen and will see,
And another comes asking like you just asked me,
Answer them just, as I answered you,
Go seek for yourself, for things that are true.
For stars do not land,
To explain themselves to man,
And angels ask not permission to be.
The wind doesn’t wait, until it’s convenient to blow,
And knowledge doesn’t come, while you idly go.
If you want any good answers to the question of the soul,
The answers lie inside, not outside, you know…
A boy and his father walked a road,
And came to a boulder smooth and old.
The boy said “Father do you see that rock?
Do you think I am strong enough to pick it up?”
The father said “Yes, if you use all your might,
Then I know you will get it right.”
The boy tried and tried and then he cried
“Oh my father why have you lied?”
The father smiled kindly at his son,
And the lesson thus begun:
“I said if you used all your might,
That you’d not fail to get it right –
But,
You did not apply all your strength to the stone.
Oh my son, you tried to lift it alone.
You did not make use of all your strength you see,
Oh my beloved son, you didn’t ask me.”
Keep me in the light my Jesus.
Keep me close to Thee –
Swooping, diving, falling, flying –
Keep my eyes ever fixed to see.
You, the pole of all the Universe,
You, the axis of my soul –
You, the Stationary Son –
The One we all need and know.
Let me orbit all my days –
Yours, the bright light above.
Let me absorb it, all your ways –
Yours, the sublime heights of Love.
Grant me a fierce humility –
That I may gently go –
Wherever You should call me,
To whatever You will show.
Help me to trust You, always first –
And bring to you all my actions –
I know you satisfy my souls great thirst.
There is no higher satisfaction.
You put understanding into my eyes,
And wisdom stirs my heart,
The only thing I could ever fear,
Is from You to depart.
So keep me in the light my Jesus –
Always near me stand –
For I never ever loved so dearly,
Such a faithful, loving man.
You, my brother Jesus,
You, my teacher, friend,
You, my companion pleases,
To eternity without end.