Old Age

Photo Cred: (1) | Updated: 2/17/2022

Here is a poem that I wrote on February 15th, 2022. It was inspired by my fear of growing old.

All the world’s a stage.

Old age is its own birdcage.

Actors ready for their part to play.

Speaking lines, but nothing to say.

The show starts with the casting call.

Not you sir, but someone big and tall.

Not you mam, but someone we can catcall.

They’re staged like pretty dolls in a dance hall.

From here the rehearsals begin for this cast.

Practicing until emotion is first and thought is last.

Knowing only caricatures of humans long since past.

Continuing practice for their unending live broadcast.

In the hustle for youth we neglect the long trek to truth.

We’re perverted like the family in that one film Dogtooth.

Our chase for dried-out fountains of youth causes God’s ruth.

Caving to pressure like Lincoln’s skull meeting John Wilkes Booth.

But isn’t pretending not to age avoiding ultimate assuage?

That this farce of unblemished deity deprives souls of sage?

For so long I thought becoming old was itself sin’s final rage.

Now I see that it’s a return to form before we turn the last page.

With that, Godspeed and Jesus bless.

Footnotes

  1. Free stock photos · Pexels

Entangled

Photo Cred: (1) | Updated: 11/25/2021

Here is a poem that I wrote on June 2nd, 2019 that was inspired by a period of time in my life in 2016.

The itsy-bitsy spider climbed up the water spout.

Down came all the rain and washed the spider out.

I don’t know about you, but my life feels like a drought.

How will I make it through when I’m emotionally In-N-Out?

I could draw an S.O.S. or scream out loud mayday.

This life has been nuts and yet when’s my PayDay?

I committed and persisted, yet my life just found a way.

As if all of the build-up of promises never even had a say.

Watching them succeed has me craving to feed greed.

Are these desires and dreams of mine a need?

Among the grass, I’m the new invasive weed.

Outside I look fine, but inside I just bleed.

I say a lot that life is pain,

But God is our only joy.

Is my cute quote in vain?

Is God the imagination of a boy?

I’m a broken city invaded with shame,

Like when the ancient troops took Troy.

I’m a small bug in a spider’s web: entangled.

A dropout loaded with debt: strangled.

Like dried-up roadkill: mangled.

Hung over the edge: dangled.

But then I always remember.

That cold night in December.

When I left the Colorado Film School.

Hit the brakes hard and let the tires cool.

I gave up my childhood dreams

To join someone else’s new team.

I exchanged libraries for sanctuaries.

My anxieties could crush my capillaries.

Out came the beaming sun and dried up all the rain.

So then the itsy-bitsy spider climbed up the spout again.

I had so much to gain and in the end it was all my own vain.

Always thought I was Abel, but I’m just Cain with all his disdain.

Footnotes

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Likes For Lust

Photo Cred: (1) | Updated: 9/5/2021

What’s the world like for women?

What’s it like living among the men?

Everywhere evil is being done to God’s daughters.

Murder she wrote would indicate this is man’s slaughter.

They’re meant to be without blemishes, but we’re the rotters.

If they want to get ahead,

Then they’ve got to get head.

When they’re done, they’re dead.

No purpose, just pleasure instead.

This is the reality of every woman worldwide.

Vultures picking apart the deceased inside.

Crows to corpses, we defy those that died.

We throw stones and wonder why they’re so emotional,

Little did we know that those stones hit only the personal.

It doesn’t matter if it’s Ghandi or Ravi,

Women are always the victim of somebody.

Exit stage left and maybe we can end the tragedy.

We shame their sexuality for public protection.

If this was a courtroom, there should be objections.

We strip their dignity for some short-term satisfaction.

We like to lust, yet they dread all the social notifications.

We say love is lust, but honestly we just love to lust.

From a desire for them to lie with us, we lie for trust.

The currency of man is exchanging beauty for rust.

But God knows you and can redeem beauty from ash.

His standards challenge the heaping strongholds of trash.

Who is the man that forgave the woman caught in adultery?

The one who gave the woman at the well back her human dignity?

It’s the same man that drew sins in sand for the men screaming blasphemy.

In the beginning, women were made co-equals to rule Creation.

It’s here when man failed to protect that sin began its infestation.

Hand-in-hand and rib-to-rib, man and woman were made to live.

When sin was found out, instead of owning it man chose to give.

It was the man of the house who failed his own spouse.

He could have taken responsibility, but his ego refuses.

Now men spit out a theology that espouses excuses.

I suppose my words will not sway opinions of disdain.

Then again, pearls before swine is quite simply vain.

With that, Godspeed and Jesus bless.

Footnotes

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Greatness

Photo Cred: (1) | Updated: 1/30/2021

What is greatness?

Is it being blameless?

Aimless or even famous?

What’s the basis of greatness?

Some say that it’s to be a world famous celebrity.

A person who actualizes into their own manifest destiny.

Etching their earthly impact onto the past pages of history.

And yet how will these crude crusades actually impact eternity?

When the dust finally settles, will we look at what we did apologetically?

For most of us, we’re not brave enough to reconsider our self-made legacy.

Is the cost of fame always the same?

Lurking in our own shadows of shame?

In the hope that someone knows our name?

Who do we blame for what we willingly became?

If this is our ultimate aim, then this is a fixed game.

These fickle aspirations we all have are ironically tame.

Let’s go back and reflect on what greatness is to God.

Have you considered the idea that greatness is a mutual fraud?

That you can go to any side of the world and find this sin abroad?

The lie that whatever you do must be followed by applause is odd.

This is the human mirage.

Our own self-harm sabotage.

To believe we need an entourage,

Is the most dangerous type of barrage.

So then what is the answer to what is great?

How do we end the debate and no longer fixate?

Since when did we define where we draw the line?

If not us, then how do we find out God’s grand design?

I think it lies at the purpose of our ancestors in the garden,

Prior to being cast into the wilderness of an untamed arden.

What was their purpose before sin sowed its seed into the soul?

What was greatness to God before our hearts corrupted into coal?

As Zack Eswine in his book puts it in extensive literary poetry,

“Heroic moments have as their aim the recovery of the ordinary (2).”

That is, what we deam ordinary is in actuality the God-given extraordinary.

The way to make a global difference starts when we embrace our own locality.

As imagers of God our title assumes responsibility.

Both to our Earth and its creatures, along with all of humanity.

Greatness is ultimately the pursuit of cultivating God’s creativity.

Why else would Jesus dwell among us for 30 years before starting his ministry?

Could it be that greatness is defined by an example of Eden-like mundane activity?

A life well lived that is needed, but not known beyond a town in the vastness of our galaxy.

With that, Godspeed and Jesus bless.

Footnotes

  1. Free stock photos · Pexels
  2. Sensing Jesus, P. 48

The Potter and the Clay

Photo Cred: (1) | Updated: 8/30/2020

Wrote this last night in about an hour and decided to post it here on the blog. It’s a poem inspired by a concept in Romans chapter 9.

This is the potter and the clay.

The latter was molded in a day,

While the former made the day.

This is our life I hope to portray.

The potter knows what the clay will become.

Maybe one day a daughter or one day a son.

Could be a father or even someone’s mom.

The potter knows the clay and then some.

The potter molds the clay.

He molds all of it everyday.

The clay has no actual say,

Yet the potter listens anyway.

The potter molds the clay with meaning,

But the clay is dirty and needs cleaning.

The potter finds his creation appealing,

Yet the clay resists for the time being.

The potter adores the clay.

The clay wants to fly away,

But the potter wants it to stay.

The potter is patient with the clay.

The potter is content.

He loves to invent.

Creating with intent.

It was quite the event.

The potter knows all of the clay,

Even that it would choose decay.

The potter created black and white to guide our way,

While the clay pretends that everything is a moral grey.

The potter has the right to make vessels of honor.

The potter has the right to make vessels of dishonor.

The molded always seems to question the molder,

But the clay should be grateful that it gets to be older.

If only we knew our constant need to pray,

Instead we would rather be sin’s daily prey.

Hopefully we learn it’s okay to not be okay.

This is the story of the potter and the clay.

With that, Godspeed and Jesus bless.

Footnotes

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Psalm 29

Photo Cred: (1) | Updated: 5-7-2020

Here is a poem that I wrote on October 29th, 2019 that was inspired by Psalm 29. This was written during one of my daily devotionals through the book of Psalms.

 

O sons of the mighty.

Ascribe to the Lord glory.

That which is due to his name.

May we all do the same.

The voice of the Lord is upon the waters.

God’s glory changes silent skies to thunders.

The voice of the Lord is powerful.

The voice of the Lord is wonderful.

The voice of the Lord breaks the cedars.

Yes, the Lord’s voice is heard by seekers.

The voice of the Lord hews out flames of fire.

The wilderness shakes as said fire goes higher.

Yes, the Lord sits as king forever.

The Lord gives strength to whosoevers.

The Lord blesses his own for life’s endeavors.

 

With that, Godspeed and Jesus bless.

Footnotes

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Psalm 22

Photo Cred: (1) | Updated: 4-24-2020

Here is a poem that I wrote on September 9th, 2019 that was inspired by Psalm 22. This was written during one of my daily devotionals through the book of Psalms.

 

My God, my God, why have you left?

My words, my words, are loudly bereft.

My father trusts you, but I don’t.

I could truly love you, but I won’t.

In his youth, he found you when he needed hope.

Barely hanging on like a madman on a tightrope.

In my youth, I found you simply as a cultural trope.

I only talked to you to confess like you were a pope.

People call me a man of God, but why?

Don’t they know I’m fake and just lie?

They look to me for all of the answers.

Yet I only go to you with inquiries and questions.

My journey is of a man who knows better, but wanders.

Men like me take your commands as suggestions.

Yet you made this man with meaning anyway.

From birth, it’s as if I was born for the way.

I’ve never left you, so why did I stay?

From my origin until now on this day?

I suppose it’s because I know your intent.

That is, I know why you chose to invent.

You gave this man a specific type of mission.

A task unique within the Great Commission.

A calling that would take a lifetime to fulfill.

Like a farmer, this soil I always need to till.

Until it is done and finished, I cannot be still.

If not me to tend to this task, then who will?

Who will be the bridge that unites others?

Returning your sons to join us as brothers?

Bringing those who won’t associate together?

Guiding prodigals home with God forever?

Is it not this modern Saint Christopher?

Carrying Christ across the Jordan River?

Bearing the burden of souls in slumber?

Yes I fast, but my God do I truly hunger?

Reinvigorate this tired man who is your son.

Help him finish what is started and not done.

Let him shine bright like sun-soaked snow.

Allow the inward light within to openly show.

He has been sidetracked by the sins of youth.

Remind him that purity is the path of truth.

He has intrinsic meaning, purpose, and value.

Reinforce the fervor to fight for what is true.

There are many who aspire, but few attain.

We make way for the return of a king’s reign.

I once embraced evil, so now help me abstain.

For this man, to live is Christ and to die is gain.

 

With that, Godspeed and Jesus bless.

Footnotes

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Psalm 18

Photo Cred: (1) | Updated: 4-22-2020

Here is a poem that I wrote on August 21st, 2019 that was inspired by Psalm 18. This was written during one of my daily devotionals through the book of Psalms.

 

God, you are all of my strength.

My enemies are at arm’s length.

But death has entirely encompassed me.

Capturing many like sand in the sea.

The taken are on a mass sinning spree.

Because of these traps I run and flee.

Then the whole earth shook.

A site that caused all to look.

The mountain’s foundations were shaken.

All of nature’s skyscrapers were taken.

Evil caused the fury of a king to awaken.

This world we live in now God forsaken.

Smoke billowed from his nostrils.

And his fire singed life into fossils.

He broke through the clouds of heaven.

Swooping down to decimate the leaven.

Which is those who committed all seven.

Before they could even count to eleven.

Flying upon the wings of the wind.

His justice collides with the sinned.

From the same God treasured words that inspire.

Also came the hailstones and coals of hellfire.

To put it simply, these times will be very dire.

Somehow we sang these words to the tune of a lyre.

When he returns for the great calamity.

Justice will be administered to humanity.

But only for those who lived wickedly.

Grace will be granted to those of piety.

 

With that, Godspeed and Jesus bless.

Footnotes

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Psalm 15

Photo Cred: (1) | Updated: 5-7-2020

Here is a poem that I wrote on August 10th, 2019 that was inspired by Psalm 15. This was written during one of my daily devotionals through the book of Psalms.

 

Lord, who will live with you in heaven?

Those who forgive seven times seven?

They will walk with integrity.

They will work hard righteously.

They will speak truth inwardly.

But they will not use words to slander.

Intentionally trying to hurt their neighbor.

This is the type of person God will favor.

A brand new citizen of Zion.

Knowing Jesus as a strong lion.

Those truly evil reprobates

Will not enter Heaven’s gates.

Their actions God deprecates.

But those who fear the king.

Will offer their everything.

They joyously praise and sing.

So do not ever be mistaken.

The upright will not be shaken.

 

With that, Godspeed and Jesus bless.

Footnotes

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Psalm 13

Photo Cred: (1) | Updated: 4-18-2020

Here is a poem that I wrote on August 8th, 2019 that was inspired by Psalm 13. This was written during one of my daily devotionals through the book of Psalms.

 

God of gods, have you forgotten all of me?

How can you be near, yet the one I cannot see?

Did you leave because I am found, but not free?

How long will I have to comfort myself?

I have become my own hope for help.

I feel isolated like an elf on a shelf.

Then again, you and I have been here before.

When you’re gone and I wait for you by the seashore.

I will trust in you because you have made me for more.

 

With that, Godspeed and Jesus bless.

Footnotes

  1. Free stock photos · Pexels