WRITE YOUR POEMS OF FAITH?

Don't take me seriously, I've nought against religions.
My approach is not so scathing as to erase another's visions.
We poke and jest, and make faux pas, and risk the chopping block,
Without intent to damage, harm, insult, offend, or mock.

You've written reams. Your faith, it seems, leaves little unexpressed.
I'm sure you write it rapturously, and feel that you are blest.
Your poetry is beautiful, and so interfluous,
Convincing us that you're convinced that you're convincing us.

Your thunderbolts are serious and made to split the dark.
Deaf'ning sound, blinding lights, intent to hit their mark.
So please continue preaching faith, and pot, and toads, and piss.
The thunderbolts we jesters throw are made to widely miss.

Where's Mom in all of this you ask, the mother of us all
Who was clothed in flesh with Adam on the day he took the fall
Cos it wasn’t He who sinned that day, it was Eve who was deceived
Her sin condemns all mankind, in sin were we conceived.

1 Timothy 2: 13-15.

The father missed seeing
The snake in the garden,
And never did ask
For the children's pardon . . .

T’was an upright walking reptile
In whom Eve put her trust
He deceived our mom with cunning guile
Now he crawls here in the dust

One hundred and forty million years
He had ruled where we now roam
His world once filled with death and fears
Now gone, became our home.

Seems Like Fun!

God was getting restless
Rust forming on his sword.
The angels took the hint and said
“Oh god, he’s getting bored”.

He knew the snake was in there,
Standing, sliding, howe’er he’d come,
And he knew just what would happen.
“I dunno, seems like fun.”

He knew (of course) Eve was naïve,
would listen to the bum.
The angels: “Why allow it?”
“I dunno, seems like fun.”

“Watch now – she’s gonna blow it,
Like a hammer on her thumb.
Ha! She gave it to her hubby,
Now I got them on the run!”

He made the snake, he made the tree,
He held the smoking gun.
“Why toss them out of Eden?”
“I dunno, seems like fun.”

He gave the go, then cut them loose.
He made them feel like crumbs.
“Why force them now to suffer?”
“I dunno, seems like fun.”

Thus followed grief, and war, and death
And all woes yet to come.
And the only answer we will hear:
“I dunno, seems like fun.”

So Eve did not create the sin,
Mankind cannot create.
He saw the tempter through the door
And knew he’d seal our fate.

No, Eve did not create the sin,
She couldn’t sink that low.
But he who made the snake and apple
knew how things would go.

And we can’t put him on the stand
And ask why such was done.
Because we know his one reply:
“I dunno, seemed like fun.”

HA!!

I’ve left them in the desert, on the beach and in the snow
On the mountain tops, the river beds, in fact everywhere I go
Tiny footprints, indentations to mark the pathways that I’ve trod
And yet they vanish from the sight all, except the piercing eyes of God

And he’s always been inside me, since the day I ceased to crawl
He watched me take my first small step, saw me stumble, he saw me fall
Life lets me make me own mistakes, and how many have I made
But thank the Lord I’ve learnt from them, that’s how life's game is played

The life I’ve lived, the guilt, the shame, but I wouldn’t change a dot
Cos it’s made me who I am today, and to me that means a lot
I’ll never be an Einstein, a Rembrandt or Khayyam
But I’ve gained a greater inner peace, and I’m content with who I am

Undoubtedly, I’ll fall again, mistakes will knock me off my feet
But they’ll be new encounters mate, past sins I’ll not repeat
For I store the memory of my crimes, like others store their gold
And my treasure house keeps growing as my future life unfolds.... The Anointed.

Flex’ble versatility engenders admirability.
Your adept verbosity shows great respectability.

After such bombastic prose, humility was unexpected.
Pomposity was a façade, with humanity you’ve reconnected.

I’m sittin at me table and me mind's a bloody blank,
Can't seem to think of a single thing to say.
There's a million yarns inside me, I'm like a story savin bank,
A new yarn I deposit every day.
But today I just can't find the key to unlock this flamin safe,
So I'm sttin here and I'm at a total loss
To express the thoughts inside me, I wonder if there might be
Some simple explanation from me boss.
Cos me boss dwells deep inside me, he's at the centre of me being,
It's He who makes the rules and if I stray,
I feels the repercussions of me wrong and sinful actions:
He don't protect me from my folly in anyway.
So, through the years I've learnt to listen,
Though at time He's only whispering
And it's hard to know exactly what to do.
But I think if I am trying to be honest and not lying
To myself, He'll see me through.

And the reason words aren't flowin,
Could be---because me boss is knowin
That it's time for me to take a little rest.
So I'll get up from this damned table
And take a holiday if I'm able,
I think I'll take a little trip and go back west..... The Anointed.

Of all the stars in heaven and the space that lies between
Its centre, is the planet of my birth.
And earth’s horizon stretches outward at equal distance from my throne
So I hold the central point upon this earth
As light and sound need time to carry, all their messages to me
My senses tells me all has run its race
And everything that happens, has happened in my past
So I hold the highest point in time and space.
A primitive concept some might say
And a view that leads to sin
Well! Perhaps we all were made this way
To discover God within…… The Anointed.

Come! Ride the waves of madness on the surging seas of life
Come! Hear the winds awhispering of the troubles and the strife
Come! See the orphaned children and hear their hungered cries
Come here and stand beside me and open those blind eyes

Lift your heads above the waters, feel the warm light from above
Feel your heart begin apounding as you bathe in that great love
Then come here and stand beside me and here, locked arm in arm
We’ll ride the long wave homeward to the sweet and blissful calm
_________________________________________

On the crest of a wave in the ocean of man
We’ll return to the shore from where we began
No more will we fear the dark shadows that swarm
In the ocean of turmoil where Life’s mind is born…. The Anointed.

Why is Christ on a bike so bad?
Can't you see what I mean,
'Cause Jesus was quite green
And not a total fascist like his dad.

Too dull of mind to understand
Too blind to even see
Too deaf to hear his words sublime
But he loves my poetry.

He was a travelling western preacher
A healer of renown
He would preach and heal the poor and sick
In every western town.

It was at a local council hall
In a town just north of Bourke
Where many came in search of help
They were broke and out of work.

There he preached his favourite sermons
Then he asked if any there
Were sick or otherwise infirmed
And had need of his healing prayer.

Then a lad walked to the pulpit
A young man of Aussie bearing
And he asked the priest if he could help
In someway, with his hearing.

"Step forward son," the preacher said,
And stuck a finger in his ear;
Then chanting his mighty healing prayer
He asked, "Now can you hear?"

"Oh! I can hear you mate," the young bloke said,
"I hear everything you speak,
But the Hearing where I needs your help
Is in the Courthouse late next week."..... The Anointed.

THE SCRIBE’S PRAYER by Robert Service

When from my fumbling hand the tired pen falls,
And in the twilight weary droops my head;
While to my quite heart a still voice calls,
Calls me to join my kindred of the dead;
Grant that I may’ O Lord, ere rest be mine,
Write to Thy praise one radiant, ringing line

For all of worth that in this clay abides,
The leaping rapture and the ardent flame,
The hope, the high resolve, the faith that guides:
All, all is thine, and liveth in Thy Name
Lord, have I dallied with the sacred fire!
Lord, have I trailed Thy glory in the mire!

E’en as a toper from the dram shop reeling,
Sees in his garret’s blackness, dazzling fair’
All that he might have been, and heart sick, kneeling
Sobs in the passion of a vast despair
So my ideal self haunts me alway—
When the accounting comes, how shall I pay?

For in the dark I grope, nor understand;
And in my heart fight selfishness and sin:
Yet, Lord, I do not seek Thy helping hand;
Rather let me my own salvation win:
Let me through strife and penitential pain
Onward and upward to the heights attain

Yea, let me live my life, it’s meaning seek;
Bear myself fitly in the ringing fight;
Strive to be strong that I may aid the weak;
Dare to be true—O God! The light, the light!
Cometh the dark so soon. I’ve mocked Thy Word;
Yet do I know Thy love; HAVE MERCY, Lord….. The wonderful Robert Service