Tag Archives: poetry

The Nature Of Miracles

Posted on by under Pastor Wrinkles, The Stories

Cataclysmic shift.

Candidates with no faces wearing “Team Jesus” Tee shirts walk through the waters of baptism.

The crowds cheer.

Coppers click the plate and for a moment all’s right.

One nameless man rises from the water and asks “What do I do now?”

Someone cries.

“Make America great again!”

Turbulence and earthquakes,

Conflagrations in the hills,

Conflation in the aisles,

Hurricanes in the Caribbean,

Black Lives Matter and MeToo.

Meanwhile:

Jesus walks the narthex to the altar,

All the space between

Is all there really is.

But they won’t tell you that.

They want you to think there’s more.

The nameless man asks “What do I do now?”

Famous lady’s coat reads, “I don’t care do U?”

Coats of many colors lead to Pharaoh’s chambers through the prison yard.

“Break it down” says God.

Saints walk through the waters of baptism wearing tee shirts that read “Team Jesus”.

In the cocoon of first world problems

Among the fallacies of riches

Catching fire is crazy.

Casting nets is calculated risk.

We believe a lie.

Fall directly into God’s hands.

The idol  topples in the puddles of red, white and blue tempura paint.

Yellowstone burbles holocaust.

Wormwood casts through the cosmos making for its mark.

We praise the microchip that posts our position and pays our bills.

Everyone thinks it’s just grand as the temples rise.

The faceless, nameless know the truth.

Cluck the words no one can hear.

The world dances to the tune of “I Feel Fine”.

Inoculated against the unchipped beasts who starve in the gutters,

Losing their heads in the frantic refusal to the gods of empire.

What do I do now?

And isn’t that the nature of miracles after all?

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Fire and darkness

 

My Little White Dog Makes Me Think

Posted on by under The Stories, Uncategorized

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My Little White Dog Makes Me Think

by JE Lillie

I remembered

My little white dog bursting out of his night-crate.

He leant his nine-pound panting frame, more fur than skin and bones,

Against my bent legs as I fixed

Him in his blue harness, white sweater and red leash.

He loved me just because he was dog and I was man.

It makes me think how

My little white church bursts with songs on a Sunday morning.

Ladies in their summer white cotton dresses, “Hallelujah!” and “Amen!”.

Meanwhile the steeple leans its fragile cross

against an opaque sky as the culture clamps down with a burning American flag.

They hate me because I am Christian and they are not.

I will realize

My wedding garment glistening with a holy halo.

I shall burst forth behind a white horse leaning upon a broken Zion.

I will be bound with unbreakable chords:

Faith, Hope and Love!  I will look into the fiery eyes of the One who loved me first.

I will love Him because I am man and He is God.

Blanks

Posted on by under Pastor Wrinkles, Uncategorized

I have been listening to the music of Dear Evan Hanson over the last few days. Several of the songs really resonate with me.”You Will Be Found” is one of those.

 

Jeannie Mayo, one of our nation’s foremost youth pastors gave a prophetic warning at a youth conference I attended almost a decade back. She stated that as a church and as a culture we must begin remembering and loving our “question mark kids”…the kids on the fringes…the kids left alone by society. She pointed out that almost all of the school shooters to that point had come from the fringes of school society. They were not popular. They were not loved. They were often bullied. They felt given up on and had given up on themselves. She warned that the subgroup called “question mark kids” was growing and that if we did not begin to love them, then the violence we had seen to that point was a drop in the bucket.

 Truer words I guess were never spoken. We seem as a culture to be missing the proverbial forest for the trees here. I guess it’s easier to blame guns than ourselves for what has happened in our country. I guess it’s more convenient to think this is a problem for Capitol Hill to solve rather than to think this is a problem our community, our church, our families need to do something about. I am pretty sure nothing is changing on Capitol Hill anytime soon where the issues of school violence are concerned. This is our job folks. We are a dot in the snowstorm called life. The question mark kids can’t find us. We must find them!

All these thoughts inspired this poem called “Blanks”.

Blanks

By JE Lillie

 

Blank

Canvas

One dot says

“I’m here for you.”

Somewhere in the vast

Snowstorm called life someone

Waits for me and promises love.

But the blizzard obscures my sight.

I can’t find that dot. Hope turns to hate.

Hate turns to madness. Madness begets

Violence. It stirs a plan.

I write it down, practice.

Someone help me

Please! While I’m

Shooting

Blanks.

 

Of Time and Eternity

Posted on by under Pastor Wrinkles, Uncategorized

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Time

The space

Between breaths.

The expanse lives-

Ceases by its touch.

It has its day and night,

Winter, Spring, Summer, Autumn.

Moon and stars by their orbits tell

The story. It’s a passing thing, but

They also speak of something more.

Endless life and light are there

In a clockless realm.

Change changes change.

Eternity

Is no

Time.

 

Generation Gap

Posted on by under The Stories

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Generation Gap

I forget, sometimes, the ocean between us when we stand close together, the language barrier when we talk for hours thinking we understand each other.

That you expect the world to serve up justice and equity, while I’m content with my morning eggs and toast and a clucking of the tongue at the morning paper, seems a minor difference, until you start to raging at the machine expecting answers. You see, I get it that machines can’t talk and never could. I stopped expecting to understand why a long time ago.You still want to know everything and think you can.

That just makes you mad and me a little sad, but still we regard each other from our separate orbits, thinking that somehow we are the same.

Blood is thicker than water except when the cumidin is introduced. Then it’s just the same, except different, and it doesn’t hold things together anymore. And so we are.

I am the cliffs and oceans banging together all, craggy and barely pieced together now. You are the southern  wind and summer solstice, always bright and light.

Real and hopeful, two sides of the same coin, never seeing eye to eye.

Which is the more enduring? The cliffs will turn to dust and the oceans run dry while light and breath remain. I will go on into the generation gap and hope you don’t follow. 

 

 

Cuppa’ :S.K.W.P. 85

Posted on by under The Stories

I haven’t played this challenge for a little while but I felt like practicing a little poetry this week and so here is THE SECRET KEEPER’S WEEKLY WRITING CHALLENGE #85

The challenge words this week are

(5) Words: | SCORE | SLEEP | FREE | CALM | ESCAPE |

and I will be writing in the Shadorma form.

Cuppa’

by JE Lillie

Away sleep!

I will escape you!

Free my eyes!

Life awaits.

Free me my bittersweet muse!

Ahh! Scored a cuppa’!

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Now please take yourself over to the Secret Keeper’s lair to see how others met the challenge. Click the underlined link above.

C.cada February 2017 Project

Posted on by under C.cada: Arts and Stuff

Yesterday was our artist’s gathering, C.cada. Every afternoon the artists meet together to do a group project or exercise.

In yesterday’s exercise we were given a picture of a “Blob” It looked to me kind of like an ice cream cone with eyes.

Our instructions were to use any art form we wanted to create a piece of art inspired by “the blob”. Our only boundary was that the work had to speak to some spiritual reality.

The blob itself was sort of comical. At first I thought I would have to write something light and funny. Then I got thinking about the word amorphous. It took me back to the root Morph and then to Morpheus the Greek God of dreams. In Medieval Lit Morpheus is depicted as a supernatural being who wears a coat, half white and half black. He stands before two gates, one of horn and one of ivory. One gate leads to false dreams and the other leads to true dreams. From these thoughts came the following.

Morpheus

by JE Lillie

Image result for Gates of horn and ivory

At the gates of horn and ivory

King Friday’s court, Big Bird’s nest

Iran, Iraq and Israel 

All play their best.

The boundary between fairy tale

And fairly true lies blurred.

Subterfuge is diction.

Awake is falsehood.

Asleep is just life’s dream.

It’s in the place between,

When nighttime shudders me off in cold embrace

Or grace of sunrises kiss my temples,

Then for moments

Waking, sleeping, amorphous

Morpheus becomes

The pie-bald singer of reverie

There I hear the truth

And know the lies.

Sacred Rush

Posted on by under The Stories, Uncategorized

This is the latest of the poetry I have written. I am getting ready to display several poems and perform in a poetry reading this weekend.

Sacred Rush

By JE Lillie

Haibun Poetry

Spring begins

Tulip’s blood sprout

Breathes the moment.

red and yellow Longwood

I awake and the scent of the new morning hangs but briefly in the air. In the refreshed dark I stretch and say good bye to my waking dreams that meant more with my eyes closed.  They seemed so important but are quickly fading with the sound of perking coffee. That sound more than desire beckons me forth into the scarlet dawn.

Summer heats

The garden’s cool soil.

Red rose drinks.

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“Just one more cup.” I say stroking my dripping god. He dispenses renewed hope one cup at a time and I wonder if I haven’t missed something. The phone rings. I cringe and know I love it still.

“It’s for you.” Says the secretary.

 I always knew it was.

Fulfillment comes in “Hello” as I release the crimson hold button. I feel guilty about that somehow.

Fall winds make

Carmine leaves drop like tears.

Rake and hide.

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I go down “to nap”, but I just lay in the silence and love that place where nothing happens for once.

 I think, “Was I made for this or something more?”

The sign over my bureau says , “Take time for the quiet moments because God whispers and the world is loud.”

But the sign is red so I don’t take it seriously.

Snow freezes.

Ruby lights shine in windows.

Quiet blankets.

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 The night has returned. My meetings are over.  I am to bed. Facebook is still going strong and the world never sleeps, but my phone is nearly dead.  I plug it in and check the alarm. The seasons of the day are done and I am cold at heart. Spent from the sacred rush I wonder when I will believe the Words in red and embrace a different Spring.

Friday Fictioneers 4-22-16: The Snare

Posted on by under The Stories

It is time once again for Friday Fictioneers. This is the challenge where about 100 authors share 100 stories in 100 words all concerning 1 picture chosen by our hostess Rochelle.

Please click the underlined link above to find all the stories written  from this picture.

PHOTO PROMPT © Madison Woods

Photo by Madison Woods

The Snare

By JE Lillie

I tried to warn him.

But hearing succumbs to the louder beating of the heart.

I saw her thorns from a long way off.

All he saw was curves.

I caught the essence of bitterness that is sure and certain poison for men.

All he smelled was her breath on his neck.

She took my hand and there was a betrayal in the gentle grip.

“Her hands are smooth as silk.” He said bedazzled.

My tongue tingled with the flavor of his destruction  that day.

He tasted her lips as the parson said “You may kiss your bride.”

I am not entirely sure why but as soon as I saw the picture my mind flashed to this passage in the Old Testament.

“This is the way of an adulterous woman:
    She eats and wipes her mouth
    and says, ‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’

21 “Under three things the earth trembles,
    under four it cannot bear up:
22 a servant who becomes king,
    a godless fool who gets plenty to eat,
23 a contemptible woman who gets married,
    and a servant who displaces her mistress. Proverbs 30:20-23