¦¦¦¦¦ the Road of Life's so ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ frail ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ driving home
¦¦¦ its latest Stage, the Tomb.
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ in Harness strong,
Marches ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ along:
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ to smooth the Pace,
Fills the next adjoining Trace:
Independance leads the Way,
Whom ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
Truth an equal Part sustains,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
In the Box fits vig'rous Health,
Shunning miry Paths of Wealth:
¦¦¦¦¦¦ with ¦¦¦¦ Smiles,
Ev'ry ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ Step beguiles;
¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ Nature, or ¦¦¦ Fate
Only This I wou'd intreat:
The Equipage might not decay,
Till the worn ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ drops away.
(Blackout of The Equipage by Anne Kingsmill Finch)
Drawn by the image of my Lord
This lumpen mass—worthy of none—
Prays to resist the tempting horde.
Drawn by the image of my Lord
As panting harts bled in the sun
Long for water to be restored.
Drawn by the image of my Lord
This lumpen mass—worthy of none.
Drawn in the image of my Lord
Out of the miry clay, well spun;
Charmed like Saul by His secret chord.
Drawn in the image of my Lord
As resplendent as His dear Son—
My will His own, perfect accord.
Drawn in the image of my Lord
Out of the miry clay, well spun.
You are my Rock, my Strong hold,
You’re the reason I can sing.
You’re my Hope in times of trouble,
You’re my Savior, You’re my King.
I stand amazed, You love me,
A sinner, a wretched soul.
Yet You give me refuge in the shadow of Your wings,
And lift me from the miry hole.
Each time I stumble, You catch me,
When I’m weak Your strength is more,
When my soul is heavy and my hope is gone,
You lead me to Your shore.
Then You sit with me, and we talk a bit,
You remind me of Your great love,
That its deeper, wider, and stronger still,
Than the Heavens are above.
That just because I can’t see You,
Doesn’t mean that Your not there.
And the times when I can’t feel You,
Doesn’t mean that You don’t care.
That my journeys not always an easy one,
Sometimes the mountains are hard to climb.
But I’ll always make it to the top,
If I keep Your hand in mine.
You say to keep going and don’t give up,
you haven’t finished with your plans.
And when I feel I can’t go on,
To remember with you I can.
You say you’ll always be here,
I’ll never walk alone.
That You will see me safely through,
Until you bring me home.
The weather matches her mood today
It is tenebrific
Dark gloom pervades as the skies are grey
Dripping tears terrific
Melancholy's like a miry pit
Pulling her deep within
While outside, the world's depression-hit*
Soaking the earthly skin
Her hope is like that rainbow dazzling
Peeking through those grey clouds
Though she's in a state of mind frazzling
She'll rise 'bove sorrow shrouds.
*Depression - a region of lower atmospheric pressure, especially a cyclonic weather system.
11.09.2021
This miry clay of sin
Keeps pulling me within
Lord, lift me up, I pray
Help me to faithful stay
Temptations surround me
Help me to ever flee
Oh Lord! At times, it's tough
But Your grace is enough
Lord, hear my humble cry
Set me on that Rock High
Forgive my erring soul
Just You can make me whole
05.20.2021
" And even we Christians, although we have the Holy Spirit within us as a foretaste of future glory, also groan to be released from pain and suffering. We, too, wait anxiously for that day when God will give us our full rights as His children, including the new bodies He has promised us—bodies that will never be sick again and will never die." Romans 8:23(The Living Bible)
I say that Jesus is my Redeemer
As I read this scripture it brings such joy and hope
Each day battling pain and internal turmoil
Emotional turmoil mostly of my own making
I know my body the earthen vessel decays more each day
I know through Him my spirit grows a little with each battle
He died that He might redeem me from sins grip
That horrible enemy that puts us down into a miry pit
I, like Job, know that " My Redeemer lives"
Someday on this earth He will stand
All things will be right again
Thank God for His Redemption
Thank You, My Redeemer, Thank You
Contest: Tell Me, Who Do You Say That I Am
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Date: 04/29/2021
Silt smears into a slow ebbing sea.
A sewage of disabled flesh leaks,
as a slurry of dissolution circles listlessly
until it drowns.
There is a tide, but its fed by breathing tubes
from an unwashed sky.
Bare feet trudge a listless surf,
a greasy sand cakes and clings.
Is this a picture of the crumbling edge
of a dark day or a snapshot of departure?
Camp pots and shredded shelters
wallow now in a miry amnesia.
Some took pictures, of a daylight
Leaking into the plastic hearses
of empty bottles.
After an end that never ends,
atomic waste not nor wants not,
it fertilizes the hunting grounds
of carnivorous moths.
The world keeps wearing its clothes
even though there is less of everything
and more holes.
am low down in a ditch;
I am slow and poor longing not to be rich;
Juz want somethings, a little shelter, little food
To be out of the elements rain and cold
I wanna just get it
I wanna be hitched
To the one whose whose not false
I wanna be married to a living God
Want Him to be my bridegroom
And I’ll be His bride on this side
I wanna be with a God whom feeds the robins and sparrows
Wanna be wit a God whom supplies ALL my needs
And some of my wants to I would so receive
Be wit a God whom picks me up from out of the muck and mire
the matter of fact
He is the matter that
Created me out of miry muck and clay
Molded me breath His breath in me
then sent me out on my way
this be my SENTIMENTS TESTIMONY
Hallelujah
My God today
1/27/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2021
up a steep and narrow road
reach the tops
wilderness reclaims a verge
of wintery snags
land juts and tilts
hauls out
lays treeless
clumps and hags
pitch up stricken soil
heap above the miry troughs
loud the heartbeat
nearer to feral thought
then any mouth or ear
swale and quag dawdle
appear to seep listless
no
every bog tunnels shrouded
to fetch up the feckless
harsh and gorsy
heather treading low
the moors mark nothing
only a head of gnashing wind
a whipping dinosaurs tail
blear and chill
bites and grapples
a stone-tusked marl
crofts under
tangles of un-spun fleece
in barb and thistle
sheep piss in running rivulets
thread through
mizzle-pecked rocks
inscribed
by whatever tortures the air
ravens picket grit edges
wings beating back the below
primal caws that lift and speak
for the standing stones
their harrowing
lime-cuffed history
before light founders deeper
black anvils appear
in the lowering
a scant anchoring
a bare farrowing
shorn and scoured aloft
by miles of orbiting
beauty
twenty years later
son sends pictures
of moors long traipsed
the sky in my phone howls
ONLY HE
in the miry clay
when we fall,
only God our saviour strong,
is the call,
in helping you
the prodigal child,
in lifting you above
all toils and strife
that can be rife,
in every day,
and every way,
and only he
leads you strong,
when you feel wrong,
so in the miry clay,
when we fall
only God is the call,
in lifting us beyond
all toils and strife.
Francis Cooper – Mac © 08-Jun-20
Ghetto me be a bleating poor refugee,
albeit I’m Goshen rich in faith
Got a manger stall in the USA,
Pilate shepherd of the Cesarian peace
Time stamped stillborn delivery
tis iron Roman numeral four C
Furnace cast existence: bane brand bound
Babylonian condition, a marketplace sound
Fleeced heritage ... sob separated,
I am just the latest stolen cargo generation
being cerulean cloth asphyxiated
By legion overseers of an ungrateful nation
These pyramid gnash, link bled bones
twas being Pharaoh oppressed: Prey worked to death
in a Memphis factory plantation owned
Where noxious hate suffocate poverty-cuffed breath
Be daily double tasked in a graveyard shift
Those pale hearts so addicted
to the golden flask, err tilted
Drunk on power, they cull with a siren sift
O miry, downtrodden me ...
temporally chained to this wavy treachery
Verily, a wretched place for a black sheep —
such cotton weary misery!
So after four centuries of Cain deluge,
I do still tearfully seek
A rainbow ark sacred place of refuge
promised to the meek
I know it was the blood of Jesus,
that washes me whole;
I am a dirty drench sinner;
from the muck and miry;
O' and I've pleaded the blood;
Of my Savior who saved me;
I am a dirty drench sinner;
from the muck and miry;
I know it was the blood of Jesus,
that washes me whole;
It left His body red;
Though He was pronounced dead;
His Glory rose upon His head;
Contenance pure;
Holy as the white cured driven snow;
I was a dirty drench sinner;
from the muck and miry;
Now I'm watery and flowery;
O' and I've pleaded the blood;
Of my Savior who saved me;
I know it was the blood of Jesus,
that washes me whole;
I feel His presents in my soul;
6/7/20
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2020
My past is over
I am a new creature
I cannot go back to my sinful ways
Cause it was really awful out there
Now I know what it is to be in the light
Cause it was really dark out there
But now I have a reliable companion
Who points the way for me to follow
It was a life of drudgery and misery
Today I live richly on God’s blessings
Once upon a time it was a life of persecution and false accusations
Today It is time to show the proceeds of victory
In the years past
I was held bound by forces of darkness
But now I have been delivered from the miry clay
What a beauty to walk with the lord in the spirit
I can now hear Him speak to me clearly on every issue
A river of peace flows in my being
Contentment glows in my heart and soul
He has put an end to my past and given birth to my future!
Dishonorable Tao pen,
your fealty strokes
are guided by
shogun lust for the yen
Quill treachery
blot your avarice ambition
Devious calligraphy
be the torn loyalty decision
Vain kimono pride
is bushido vow laid aside
Naked truth disrobed —
Coin motive
ain’t unsheathe noble
Ink ronin,
got no master to gallantly serve or valor save
Unworthy pen,
every vile thrust
spilt more scarlet sin upon your Shinto grave
Inscribe your pulse amorality
with a crimson postscript
Follow your vagabond reality
into that inkwell miry pit
Many moons ago,
a languishing lamentation flow
carved a grievous path
in the red soil
Defying moral gravity,
downtrodden fallow weeps
flowed upward to the heavens
With river Nile ease
Native American Exodus
wasn’t done willingly
Oh, how the Five Nations
were saber led forcibly!
Time traveling eyes
need not ask why
Oh, why does the Crow cry?
Ask rather,
why did the crimson-winged Eagle
tell a bald-faced lie?
Many blood moons ago,
there was an Abib scarlet woe flow
Rapid gushes
making a slow, sorrowful path
Towards barren adobe Reservations
Defying logic gravity,
nether voices
offered an uprooted exchange
Trade Choctaw fertile land
(whereupon Creek footfall doth Seminole stand)
for Chickasaw burial sand
Miry ground
to baleful irrigation
live sadly on
Trail of Tears Exodus
was a lamentation overflow undertaking
Oh, how the Five Nations
were talon misled horridly!
Perpetual Cherokee tears
for the living dead is levee heartbreaking
Posterity passenger eyes
need not ask why
Oh, why does the Crow cry?
Ask rather,
why did the granite-hearted Eagle
let so many weary souls die?
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