Posts from the ‘Poetry Cafe’ Category

Sunday Blurb

Today in both services, our Pastor was really sensitive to what was going on around us. It was pretty evident that the Holy Spirit was moving, but then he came up and asked all who were able to just “take a knee” and be still in the presence of God. It was so powerful. For me, both instances were completely different. The first service was really about pouring my heart out to God. The second was just resting in Him, and allowing myself to be washed away in His love. It’s hard to explain, but as I thought about it earlier today, I wrote this poem. Hope it makes sense.

 

Down on my knees, head kissing the ground,
forgetting all the noise that is swirling around.
bearing witness to His presence, cause the only sound
Is people declaring “Holy”, giving Him the renown.
Transported to a place, holy ground indeed,
Where He becomes real, and then He proceeds
To meet every single need, filling up every hole
Taking my broken spirit, mending, and making me whole.
Bowed low, but lifted high, drugs couldn’t compare
To the feeling when our God came in and took us there.
Blasted away from this earth, His goodness filling the air…
The King of Heaven and Earth choosing to visit us here..
His love evicting all fear, causing tears as He draws near,
Filling to the fullest-
An electric atmosphere.

Worship the Lord, all ye people in every land,
Lift high His great name, for He trumps all of man.
And when He comes in all His glory, people, please understand
Give him the first and best praise,
Not just the secondhand.

Advertisements

Hour of (No) Power

I sit here calmly,

Observing from the pews.

Pastor’s spitting Scripture like the 10 o’clock news.

The brother on the organ sublimating his views

With a coy mix of gospel laced slightly with blues.

The words go forth, penetrating dead wood,

Hearts disengaged, this ain’t doing no good.

Soil rocked and hard, fertile? Long since passed..

Eyes rolling back, bodies limp

They’ve been gassed.

An hour or so later, it’s handshakes and all love

“Blessed and highly favored”, tongues focus up above

Yet when the keys fit into ignitions like gloves,

Those tongues turn to hisses, disses flying like slugs.

Sunday’s Saints becoming Sunday afternoon’s sects.

Flexing their theology to fit lives lived bereft.

Manipulating the gospel to fill hearts so far past broken,

That nobody knows the tears flowing behind glad tidings that are spoken.

Monday becomes Tuesday, sermon in the rear view

At Wednesday night service, no voices, simply glares too.

Thursday, full force, sin rife, walking in darkness,

Cold shoulders issued with glee, almost like parkas.

Friday it’s the club scene, the boo thing, the new thing

It’s that drink in the bottle-thing, and the high that that thing brings..

It’s God becoming god as the rods get wrapped around,

Then shattered on Saturday morning when the glasses hit the ground.

Then Sunday comes again, one hour of mundane power,

The Pastor speaks and screams, yells, twists, turns, and glowers..

Spit showered, Hell fire and brimstone thrown for 60..

if you can relate to this…

Then something is really missing.

See, the Gospel is no God-spell, sent to brainwash the heathens

The same wash the Jews got is the same wash that I needed.

That same Christ rises within me, nails sin against that knarled tree,

So how can I ignore him weekly, and meet Him so infrequently,

That I can’t even decide what to call Him when I see Him?

The church is not blameless, cause less and less of us stress

the importance of the fact that we be dressed in His righteousness.

Acting so holy with our Christo-political jargon,

Often getting caught within the traps that we circle in.

Only an hour of power can leave your life sour.

Only one hour of power will leave your walk dour.

We need Him daily, a minute by minute walk with our..

Powerful Maker, Almighty Savior, the Dream-giver…

Wonderful God, so mighty that words escape men when we meagerly try to praise Him.

Forget traditions, put down programs and church bulletins.

It’s time to unleash the Body and represent Him.

 

The Revolution Will NOT Be Televised: A Christian Uprising

Gil Scott Heron penned one of the most famous urban poems ever when he wrote “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised“. To this day, it speaks of power and promise, hope and an honest evaluation of where we fall on the spectrum of social responsibility and personal integrity. This poem came to me as I was thinking about Christianity, our youth, the Church, and other things. I hope you feel where I’m coming from.

The revolution will not be televised,

But broadcast live across billions of seeking lives

Tired of seeking lies, their cries rise..

Surprised that the message that was told

Is still being told.

That same Gospel started back in the days of old,

Made new, fresh in our views, this Jesus, this King

The one whose very presence causes angels to sing

Let the praises ring, let the reverb resound

Let all honor be unto Him who is worthy of renown.

Now let Him be found, you seekers seeking the truth,

Time to eat the meat, you be done with baby juice

Apples and oranges? Try Acts and Roman letters

Organic, good for your stomach, your growth will be better.

Sending soldiers into the schools where the system tries to bar Him,

Needing Him more and more,

For only He can even tame men.

Students on a mission, fishing, fighting this sin epidemic

So many lives sick, kids suffering from poor treatment.

Starting a movement, moving in on the abused,

Doing the work of Jesus, proving Him of ultimate use.

The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be televised.

 

 

The revolution will not be televised, but

It’s impact still felt along fault lines,

And faulty doctrines, works without faith,

And hurting lives cast aside, and those just along for the ride..

And those with fire insurance without reading the full Policy..

Those apostics and wanna be Apostles in title only,

Christians who’ve ceased in Christ, now minus and kinda nameless

When that day comes, these lives will be stressed.

We delve into the mess, we pull em from the back alleys

Side streets don’t scare us, we never make a fuss,

Cause our dirt and our stains, washed away by one name

Nailed to the Cross for shame, but with victory He was raised.

Blood stained, water rained, He reigned, reigns and still,

Though sometimes a bitter bill, by His stripes I’m still healed.

Regardless of what I feel, this one truth remains..

The revolution will not be televised,

But cast wide on dark skies,

The clarity will be humbling.

As in on the white horse He rides,

Each and every stride calling forth more to rise..

Lifted high into glory, with the Son to reside.

The revolution will not be televised.

Forget what you’ve heard, this movement begins in the heart

That accepts the Savior’s birth.

The revolution will not be televised.

Easter wasn’t the end,

Just a means to and end where Christ could call us His friend.

The revolution will not be televised.

The stone was rolled away,

Therefore there’s no excuse for us to not live victory today.

The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be televised…..

But it’s happening everyday, all across the globe

Souls soul out for Christ, more precious than gold.

The One that prophets foretold

Causing the meek to be bold

Casting down the works of darkness,

His Spirit manifesting in lessons of His omnipotence.

The revolution of the Revolutionary

It will not be televised.

The revolution is being LIVED.

 

Urban Psalm II

I’m realizing more and more that I’m inadequate man,
And capable on my own of just inadequate plans.
I understand my limitations, just an average man,
But one called and chosen by the Father of man.
The fact remains that nothing produced by my own two hands
Can hold a candle to the deeds of Him who eternally stands.
So when I trust in my own strength and sink like built on quicksand,
I know my God hears my cry and He will come heal my land.
Man, my humanity is tricky, Peter said I’m a pilgrim
Apart from Christ, my life is rife with sin, my light is real dim,
But when I look off in the horizon and the cross beckons me,
I feel the power of Christ enhancing plain ole, average me.
So while I’m still no superman, I’m feeing just super man
For greater is He who’s within than any outside, man.
And by His blood I’m washed white, when once I wore pure red,
Now I’m reppin for my God,
The One who sits at the head.

Urban Psalm

God, please, just tell me when the pain ends.
When my lust for fame ends
When I expend all my ends,
And become, to you, a real friend?
I know that I can’t make amends
For living a life rife with sin,
But tell me when this new life is supposed to begin?
All I see is heartache,
Disappointed daily by the lack of progress happening
As people race clear by me,
Parts of me fall off and die.
I cry and I scream.
Wondering if by purify,
This anguish is what you mean.
There seems to be a disconnect,
Where does your favor intersect?
I’m starving for a change,
Wondering what shame is coming next!
Can’t provide a life for fam,
Feeling like I’m on the lam,
And even my reflection in the mirror is a sham.

But hold up,
Something within me feels a new day dawning.
Awaken my soul, get up!
No yawning!
You tell me, ” Free yourself from the chains that’ve been harming
I took the keys, broke the curse
Saved the universe!
I took your curse and made it blessed.
Dude, you can’t forget!
I started this work in you,
And I ain’t close to finished yet!
Dust yourself off, don’t quit, keep climbing
Keep fighting, and I’ll keep reminding.
You are the son of Mine, it’s time to start your rising…
And when you see My finished work,
Surprising!
Prayer is the key, but faith moves the lock to’ open’.
I know you’re broken, but you can’t stop hoping.
This life is hard, but dude, you’re still chosen.
Spring is coming, a new season with nothing frozen.”

It’s hard to fathom that You’ve planned my life from day one. .
And I accept Your Son,
And He will be my only one.
Lord, keep me focused on the prize You’ve set before me.
And I’ll adore Thee,
And place Your will before me.
Amen.

My Prayer

This is a poem that I wrote a few years ago. It’s still very true today.

God, I need you

In my days, in my nights, in my seconds, minutes, hours
In sunsets, in sunrises, in twinkling skies, when storms rage
In my smiles, in my tears, in my triumphs, when I fear
When I’m right, when I’m wrong, when I come up short or shoot too long
In my thoughts, good and bad, funny and serious, pointed and pointless
In times of stress, strain, times of relaxation, light joyous and peaceful
In my downfall, my highest height, my deepest depth, my self -despair
In my depravity, in my sinful nature, in my life, and certainly at my death

In my heart, for the lost soul that can’t feel you as I do
In my eyes, for every sight of a world decaying without You
In my ears, in every cry out for You from those who have refused You
In my hand, that every touch be from You through me to others
In my feet, that I can walk away from that which is not good for me
In my words, that I speak only what I hear from You.

In my community, that I may be the salt that preserves what’s left

In my love, that mine may become as perfect as Yours.
In my spirit, that I may be as one with You.
In my prayers, that I may pray Your will and not my wants.
In my relationships, that I may nourish and not break them
In my community, that I may be the salt that preserves what’s left

In darkness, that I may be the light that leads others to You
In heartache, that I may understand how You must feel when we break Yours.
In loss, that I may remember the greatest loss that You suffered for our sin.
In defeat, that I may remember how to triumph in You.
In my air, that I am always breathing Your spirit.
In me, because without You, I am nothing.

Amen.