My Life's Lens

Thursday, May 29, 2014

The Beginning, The End and Everything In Between

From the cradle to the grave man carries a certain burden
Like a ball and chain…mortality
How does one wander about the gates of hell
Mistaking it for some kind heaven
For some I observe, they live their days akin to a life of wine and roses
Smelling the decay but calling it perfume

What is…in the in between?

Soulful existence, just being, punctuated with bit moments of joy
Swift curtain calls of comedy and tragedy
Seasons within seasons blustering in, blowing out
How does one truly find contentment in this gift called life?

Everything in between never quenches the soul

Always, it is searching, looking for fulfillment
In every sunny area, in every dark corner of the attic
As a human being
Not one, cannot escape this condition
Are we, as one wise king lamented!
Gratification from this world is “a chasing after the wind?”

The end though, is as the beginning

It starts with a breath and ending with one
Alas, the question remains for some
What comes next?
For me contentment is my faith in Jesus Christ
Faith is the substance of things hoped for
The evidence of things not yet seen

Copyright 2104 Wandering Satellite Publishing

Monday, May 19, 2014

Hang Your Harps On The Willows

Should we weep?
For we are captive
The world’s tools we have borrowed
Alas, to the use of our own
So hang your harps on the willows…and mourn

Do not untie my binds that hold captive my hands

For I will not play for you
Nor will I open my lips to utter a joyful sound
And I shall be one as the chased roe
Are there not seasons?
To sing, to mourn

You have become like theatre, a drama

All in the name of the Holy One
The bride corrupted, her ears tickled
Lost in her identity become a shame to you?

Then untie my binds

I will take back up my harp from upon the willows
I will lament and sing of repentance
Pleading for truth to dawn on worldly deceptions

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Beyond Wild Blue Yonder

Roll back the sky Oh Lord
Peel back the wild blue yonder
That I may receive a diminutive glimpse
Of your Heavenly throne room

Let the clouds caught in vacuity drawn

Become my chariot
This bright vivid sun blotted out
Drowned out by your magnificent brilliant glory

Kneel will I at your throne

Eyes kept prostrate
Unable to glance up, your brilliance, your love too intense
But I see the scars in your feet Oh my King

Twenty four elders bow, cast their crowns before thee

Before you, I too cast my life’s crown
In the midst of angelic beings’ thundering chorus
“Worthy, Worthy the Lamb that was slain”

Before your throne of mercy

Here the aroma of incense permeates my soul
While peals of thunder commence, resound
Splendidly sounding like a sweet refrain

Here a man has no utterance

Nothing to paint with words or expression
Yet my spirit coalesced with yours
Bears me to be in Your presence

Beyond my flesh though

My spirit cries out for refreshment
Be glory and honor and power
Be Yours Lord Jesus forever

Occasion Of The Butterflies

Out from the hostile environment surrounding occasion
A new beginning
The birthing ground gave them up
To the sky
To the air
Thousands of wings in movement
Demanding attention
Yet all is hushed
In this unshaded place we roamed
Walking the deserts meadow that day
Yet they flew
The heat of midday bothers them not
Some lived and died
But it seemed as if in this moment
They were enjoying
Sharing of themselves to us
In all directions they dispense themselves
Dawning this birth
Unto a destination unknown to us
And as all this beautiful chaos subsides
Observing this
Creation’s phenomena
Few are now left
We take this wonder in musing
And we return from whence we came

Somerset Bazaar

Will you be there?
Trinkets, lace, colorful thread and charms
Nestled against and amidst the forest green
A song for you I will play on my instrument
Or speak poems to you

Are you going there?

Under sycamore trees watching
Stroll the path over fallen leaves
Following the wind in your hair
Until you have arrived

I will gather myself to meet up with you

Wait will I by the well
We can leave the bazaar
The busy hum, the throng of crowd
Bartering with others we need not to

Bring with you your loom and your basket

Will you weave something special for me?
Maybe a scarf you can sew to keep winter away
With thimble and thread
I will play a song or read to you

I will play until you daydream of another situate

I will trade a poem for your darning
We can have dangling conversation
Language of words that float away
Washed away by late afternoon shadows

Until then I will musing

My thought will be of you
I will be waiting to hear of you
Your arrival
To the Somerset Bazaar

Through A Sleepy Town

A yawn
At daylights dawn
It stays the same
When the day is gone

A tumbleweed here

And a tumbleweed there
Roll along derelict train rails
Chronicles a story of dreams and rundown tales

Few buildings left in this rural decay

It seems to stretch and fold its arms
Hanging its drowsy head
Sentiments and borders, safe within, no fear of harm

I perceive this town has been in slumber

For many days now, month and or years
Nary a sound of laughter or speech
Just strewn about rusted machinery of broken gears

It appears that it used to be animated

Commerce, shops and business
People make a community
But present at hand, here, is emptiness

Overgrown underbrush though is in full use

By scurrying and winged creatures roving about
Seminal, capable of development and ideas
Its resolve to wake, its being, is in obvious doubt

This town would rather be keen to nap

Than to slightly wake or frown
But it’s time for me to pass through and on
Through this quaint, pleasantly strange, sleepy town

The Din Of A Distant Caravan

From afar I heard the sound
So I drew near
To the rim on the hill I found

Following wagon tracks

Through dandelions and dew
A din from a distant caravan
Resonance that drew

Of song and dance

From circled wagons amidst pitched tents
A band of nomadic gypsies
Celebrating a certain bent

They whirled and they twirled

With timbrels in dance they embrace
Penny whistles chime with melody as voices lyric
Of a Savior and His amazing grace

I descended the hill to join their dance in the midnight field

Hoping to find a welcoming invite
To make merry and worship
With them on this starry night

Hands now I join and embrace

A daydream merriment under a midnight sun
With those like me
Partaking of grace that encompasses the Holy One