2012.02.13 - consequence
Menasheh
Mighty Maker of men from the dust and Your breath,
of the star-stuff surrounding eternity’s breadth,
Your infallible faithfulness falters at naught
and Your patience with me, as with all who have sought
after reckless endeavors, has salvaged the scraps
of my harrowed existence and stayed the collapse
I had heaped on myself over years of unjuse
justice sewn in my soul so I’ll rest in your trust.
For You, Father of Avraham, Yitzhak and Yaakov,
by Your boundless compassion, recovered me in love,
that the sea of transgressions I’ve tarried therein
would be dried and I’d be made to carry, within,
overflowing abundance of praise to my G-d
who has made my heart holy and my feet unshod
in the place of my King, as with Moshe before,
where, forever, my spirit is fully restored.
El Melekh Ne’eman
———-
I didn’t post a journal comic tonight because I was writing this - the first poem I’ve written in over a month (and the first of 2012). Manasseh’s not covered very much in the Bible (just in 2 Kings and 2 Chronicles, a little in each), but there’s an Apocryphal Prayer of Manasseh that was pretty cool to find.
Harvest
His redemption has rendered us rent from our ways,
that we live in His light and the love He conveys.
For the Kingdom is here, in the depths of our hearts
so be brimming with fruit which the Spirit imparts.
Be a beacon of love to those lost in the waste
and be full of His joy, for in His care you’re placed.
Likewise, live in and spread HaShem’s message of peace
while conducting yourself with patience to release
kindness of our Great King in this tiresome age
that His goodness should ring from our hearts to engage
everyone in devotion with covenants kept
(as a symbol of Adonai’s timeless precepts).
Be a gentle soul, keeping a staunch eye for war
that these fruits might be bountiful food to restore
all mankind to His presence from the depths of Sheol.
Last of all, show restraint of self. Eat of the scroll
when oppressors weigh down on delight in your soul
for HaShem remains righteous and His name we extol.
———-
This is what I wrote instead of doing freelance stuff last night. It’s from Galatians 5:22-23, giving some applications of that list of the fruits of the Spirit (and some differentiation between some of the seemingly repetitive ones). I also wrote 3 other poems, but I like this one the best.
Be good to each other.
I made this book cover for that book of (mostly) ill-fated, romantic poems I’ve been wanting to publish for a while. It is mostly pictures taken on my phone (several from Canada, including a TV show that was setting up to film in Vancouver) layered on top of each other with a faded black square to block off the portion for the title.
What do you think?
Supplication for Life Abundant
I’ve naught but vexations to tarnish my days
& quiet the Spirit, that my present gaze
might lie far below the illuminate space
which weeps for to cleanse my disconsolate face.
Insurgence weighs down on my burdensome bones
& all that’s within me convulses & groans
for want of reflection - of all that’s assured,
though all in its time & remains so secured.
I’m pained in my chest for existence bereft
of manifest presence; from Mt Zion cleft
to dwell in this pit of perpetual thirst
where daily I dream of a future immersed
in water supplied by a spear in Your side,
when You poured out new life at Golgotha, decried
as a charlatan, sinner, blasphemer & beast,
though all that Your glory be fully released.
———-
Today was rough, guys. And I am a lonely man. Gotta focus on something good. Something not so ephemeral as the scene that surrounds me.
El-Olam
Consignment quells the quarrelsome vexation in my bones
where withered worry wearies, separated from the stone -
the Living Rock, resplendent, in all righteousness enthroned,
still shining such as dawn, delineated as it’s thrown
from fevered visions vanquishing the logic of a King
we recognize as in our minds, wherein to Him we cling.
There’s fire fixed unto His feet and upward it entwines
and weaves within with radiance and all the while refines
a molten metal likeness inexplicable in span,
and ‘round His Majesty shines light refracted unto Man.
He rides on lapis-lazuli, on sapphires he strides.
Hallelu El-Olam, amen; in Him my soul resides.
———-
Yeah, when the Bible actually describes the likeness of God, it gets pretty intense. I just wanted to focus on that and… just try to grasp a glimmer of what Ezekiel must have thought when he saw all that.
give me Wisdom
Give me wisdom to discern
what’s perceived (and thereby learned)
from the guidance sewn within,
emanating not from men
but Immanuel, my King,
by the allos for Your being
in a corporeal form;
You’re my guidance through the storm.
It’s etched in my contrite heart,
circulating through my brain,
I’m entreating light to start -
saturate me like the rain.
Torrential downpour swirling ‘round,
it begs me to be laid down
lest the Master see me, found
in Yam HaMelach drowned
where no nourishing abides
among the ebb and flow of tides
from two wicked cities’ death.
I need Your wisdom now, to rest.
I know you may not like the religious influence in the above poem, but that’s not really any of my concern. I felt compelled to write it for the sake of writing it and want to post it here for the same reason. It is a personal utterance to my God, not a means to impose my beliefs on you. Be awesome to each other.
“Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.” -G.K. Chesterton
Good gracious, I’ve a hunger built
around those cultured curds of milk
which, separated from the whey,
shall be my saving grace this day.
I’ve nary such a sav’ry treat
so rich for all the poor to eat
as this, the foodstuff from the field,
from cow or goat which begs me yield
to countless tempting variants
sent to us from the wise ancients.
Swiss or Cheddar, Provolone,
Gouda, Bleu, (I’d not bemoan
some Parmesan, be it of age,
though costing much of meager wage).
Oh, yes, I tarry ev’ry night
with thoughts of, with my waking sight,
peering down to see my bread
adorned with cheese and be so fed.
Transmundane Clatter, Like A Thousand Birds’ Discordant Dither
I’ve felt a great malaise about my every fragile bit
Wherein I’m sure resides some recompense I’d not remit
For fear that all profundity accrued is merely moot
Malevolence misplaced for those I surely would dilute.
If purely by a pitied plea to please a pretty few,
My vacuous voracity for all that they pursue
Assuredly would make of me a wonderful remark,
Revealed as such, dissimilar: a fleck unto their spark.
Ambivalence besets their every move about the crowd
As fevered, foundling words bear blessings ringing true & loud
Across this cataclysm, wailing sacrosanct refrain.
And I am far removed despite attempts to appertain.
———-
It took me about 2 and a half hours to write that, I’m so out of practice and void of ability. I even pause and grasp at simple words I used to know so well, not to mention so many synonyms that used to be such a delight to brandish, reveling in their unusual place among colloquial conversations. I’m still unsure of this poem, but it’s at least something more than 6 lines and has an underlying earnest groan, whether or not it’s communicated aptly.
