Long The pit Poems
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A couple of Sundays ago, my daughter called me stating that she wanted to go to church with us. She realized that it was getting late and apologized for calling at the last minute. She inquired about our schedule, and when I informed her of our normal schedule, she said that she would hurry to get ready so as not to delay us. I said, "No, take your time. We will skip the morning pre-service prayer.
I will never forget that morning, because that brief encounter provided me a fresh understanding of the Christ we serve and worship. I already knew this lesson, but with my daughter, the observation became even more personal. Religion was saying one thing. Relationship was saying another.
Man Made Religion was saying, "I'm sorry honey that you called at the last minute. Perhaps you can go to church with us next Sunday, because we are dedicated and obligated to be at the pre-service prayer. The Lord and the church are depending on us. The Lord comes first you know.
Christ Made Relationship was saying, "The interest of my daughter, a living soul, takes precedence over my scheduled prayer activity. My daughter's interest and spiritual well being become a higher priority than my obligation to the pre-service prayer." Because the priority lessons of Christ were deeply rooted in my heart and spirit, I immediately knew how to respond.
For example, the 99 sheep had to wait until the shepherd found the one lost sheep. The Sabbath had to pause for the rescue of the sheep who had fallen into the pit. The Sabbath had to take a back seat to the crippled man whom Christ healed.*
Christ is not about religion or merely religious activities. Christ is about relationships with Him and his people.
11262017 PS *Mat.18:12-14; Mat.12:11; Mk. 3:1-6
I swallowed an apricot seed when I was younger.
Everyone told me it was hard work to grow fruit trees
especially when winter marches south and tries
to pry all those tiny orange dots from stubborn
wooden hands. I kept it safe, though, tucked away
in the pit of my stomach where despair and embarrassment
lived. I fed it reassurances: I swallowed strawberry
sunsets and ate the pithy vernal blossoms of childhood.
I even drank the recommended 36 ozs of filtered water
every day. Years later now, its branches weave their way to my brain
alongside curious blue blood. Apricot juice seeps
into my veins and fills my body with sweet, yellow-orange
nectar. Fruit falls out of my mouth, staining snow white pages
in splotches of nostalgia each time I sit down to write.
The Circle That Hatched Chaos
When two straight lines crossed at the point marked by fate and by void,
The Circle hatched an egg of chaos on this side of life and death and cold,
The loves that sparked from that intersection burn and never go out,
And the sensitivity of fate approves the pit where Christians reach and doubt.
The uncharted chaos of our love spreads across every road we've known,
The pink on the reverse side of error lights all shadows with a timid glow,
We hide without regret behind the victory of two fingers raised up high,
And our inner heroes lie in the pits both recognized and left to die.
The Circle keeps on hatching chaos from the point where the lines were cut,
The colors of error mirror themselves in the pink that no one ever recognized,
The loves sparked on this side of death die every time down in their pits,
And our inner Christians recognize the pink... and still they choose... the same old cliffs.
The sensitivity of fate falls into pits every time with a painful precision,
The uncharted chaos of our love is an impossible and beautiful geometry,
Two straight lines that cross only once and never turn back around,
And from that marked point... the circle always hatches... and chaos comes back around.
With a longing to die for you a thousand times alive... love sparked from the fatal crossing,
The pink of error shines on the reverse side of our ordinary victory,
The heroes hide without regret behind those two fingers raised up to the sky,
And the circle hatches chaos... and the lines no longer touch... and everything is gone.
Written March 11, 2013
Slide like a snake through the weather vane
Squirm like a worm through your weathered veins
How it makes me feel
How it makes me feel
All the s*** I'll steal
Drink from the heart of an amulet
Drown in the wonders of percocet
You make me act the way I do
You turn me outside in from me to you
What you make me do
Sink in the pit of a past regret
So do you like the bitter taste yet
How I'll follow suit
In high speed pursuits
With a hundred proof
Gone is Ravi and the ways of the days
When sex came before foreplay
How it made me feel
To hear the sound so loud and the kids so proud
To relive those days
This bird has flown
This rubber soul won't heal
How it made me feel.
How it made me feel.
How it made me feel.
Languorus strokes
trace the texture and curves,
the heat gently burns
deep in the pit of my soul
Wooing areola
the tip of your tongue
glides to its target
teasing tips to a frenzy
All reason flees
as straps feather,
brushed lightning
dimples my arms
I am lost in desire
I'm a slave to need,
the langer presses
urgency in its pulse
a spark ignites
as passion collides,
arising to your mouth
lips fire the flames
Undressing my soul
I again loss control,
my vow to never again
is lost to passions spin
Languishing light
tips the veils of morn,
a day of rest awaits
and I feel newly born
I should have grinned when morning came
Atop posts of gaping day, with lunatics
Humming dirges of a broken world.
I remained glued to my gloom.
Rising from the pit of hell, I held
Concupiscent cats hostage.
The course of their waning speed of flight
Harmed my precisions.
From a boanerges' point of view,
Fierce elocution dampened by grey voids of
Unassailable haunts cripple the badinage of
Myths celebrated at dawn's memorial.
I weep through the voice of an alcove's
Muted spirit, one grace, forlorn and dew-wet,
Re-christened at sable-draped ceremonies.
Haunted by such recurring whims of deliberate
Schisms by harridans, I crawl on both knees,
Filching webs atop crests of arachnids.
I should have waved siesta's flag at 3 P.M.
Lush vagaries of new-sprouted greens yield to the
Mockery of phlogiston,
Leaving behind banters from drunken laughters,
Crackles from prostituting fires, meek and ailing,
And hells of sweat from my aching head.
when i think back to the way i was
when nothing mattered i was so care free
you called me from the pit of insanity
a hell i built to keep out the family
when the prison walls are the ones i built
layers of guilt, mortar of impossibilities
i'm in my own war behind closed doors
nothing seems to matter much to me
finding peace so far away not even a piece
the war still rages from the east to the west
taking no prisoners in my domestic race
forget everything and run is usually the case
but you strolled into my life bright as the noon sun
over looked all my sin for it was paid before i begun
washed this wretched soul to be white as the fallen snow
the path narrow , you pointed the way i should go
It wasn't all that long ago when a hole in the ground was where people would go.
Many grew sick from lack of hygiene so some one invented the pit latrine.
This greatly prevented the spread of disease. People squatted over a slab
and bent at the knees.
The first flushable was used by British royalty, a toilet that the commoner
would never see.
Chamber pots and out houses were used by many.
They composted the waste and saved a lot of pennies.
Years later dry toilets were used in most homes.
They had a wooden seat as their throne.
Some time during the twentieth century flushable toilets were
in every home you would see.
Tout allure and hello to a cleaner way.
A clever French man invented the bidet.
Is this too much information? Don't go yet.
The end of my evolution of the toilet.
IN THE TANGLED WEB OF TIME…
How long
must we still march
and sing---
our feet grown weary
and facades of justice
quietly silencing our voices?
Today
we remain footnotes
to his story---
our story
a cocooned legacy
of a pregnant dream
hanging
in the tangled web of time.
Matrices
of pseudo gains
continue
to tease un-ripened minds
with scams of liberty.
Today
in due time
in due season
we will rise up
from the pit we’re in---
rise up
and catch the fallen dream
laying it in the warm nest
of the bosom of liberation---
and incubate the waiting vision
of our destined realities
singing songs of redemption---
ringing bells of freedom
dancing to the beat of liberty:
Indeed
the flame of determination
burns eternally
and the love-journey
of the unshackled
continues toward the trysting place.
Take life for an escalator
Go both through its ups
and downs
Ride it like on an elevator
Expect both smiles and
frowns.
Take life for a suspense
novel
you and I unaware what
the next day will hold
Meditate and muse, or
this book of life just
peruse
Pore over it to watch
life's mysteries unfold.
Take life for the open sea
But pray drown not
yourself in it
lest you lose sight of
God's shore
and thereby lose all
spiritual wit.
Take life for a candle,
let its glow illumine
others too
and in each and every of
its flicker
Try finding a hint or clue
Each soul's life unique as
mazes of one's
thumbprint
And usually for many
life's quite an uphill battle
At times sweet as
molasses, at times bitter
as mint
and life's roller coaster
shakes you like a rattle.
If you let yourself be intoxicated by life
Be prepared for the hangovers
Better taste of the goblet of life
making right choices like wine conneisseurs
Life tis like the rise and
fall of notes
Consoling to find people
in the same boats
Ah on life you can find a
zillion quotes.
Thus ponder over your
life and reflect
how good you've been
to it
and not just how it's
been treating you
Veer around the pit, and
keep your path lit
for darkness of the soul
is for you unfit.
Navigate life's seas with trust in God's plan
Without trust you'll be stuck
too long in earthly ties and clan...
"You can never cross the ocean until you have
the courage to lose sight of the shore." ~ Christopher Columbus