Teach Me to Sing Again

I guess regular blogging is not for me, so I won’t force myself. But once in a while I get the urge to revisit my blog, just to see if I’m still receiving any visitors, and it seems there still are a few visitors that come by everyday. So anyway here’s a poem I recently submitted to christianpoetry.org. I’m posting it here as well.

Teach me to sing again, O Lord of my life;
Heal all the shame and please quiet the strife.
Bitter the heart that has tasted the pain,
Yet the joy of the Lord longs to shine once again.

Let the past and its sadness be heart’s burden no more;
Let the wings of God’s gladness carry thee to the shore
Of a country not far, where the light never fades,
Where the bright Morning Star drives away all the shades.

Never sigh nor a groan can be heard in that place,
Not a sob or a moan but the music of praise:
There be praise to the Father and praise to the Son,
And praise to the Spirit – they are three, they are one!

So lift up thy voice and sing praise, O my soul;
Let the music of heav’n make thee happy and whole.
And this world and its troubles shall soon speedily cease,
Yet sound forth thy God’s praises through the ages of bliss!

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We have seen a foolish king

go meekly to a cross;

there never was a king more eager

to rush to his defeat.

We were very much surprised;

it was frankly all too easy.

(Three days later …)

We have seen a fallen prince;

he was gloating yesterday –

but that was yesterday.

He thought he had won;

he was wrong, dead wrong!

Now the whole place is in shambles,

the walls have all but crumbled,

and the prisoner got away.

(Now …)

We realize

this foolish king

was far too wise,

just far too wise,

for simpletons like us.

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The Last Laugh

“Laughing lions must
come to annihilate with laughter.”

“The One enthroned in
heaven laughs.”
(Psalm 2:4)

The War

And the Lamb had been slaughtered in the place of the worms
Raw flesh on the altar, warm blood on the soil;
Dragon-teeth round scattered in the valley of bones:
White mementos of the War against the Dragon and the wolves.
But the exploits of the Lamb had been lost in the mist,
Clean forgotten by the worms who now worship the Beast.

The Darkness

And the tears out of heaven should have flooded the earth
For high towers of insolence relentlessly rising:
Their ominous shadows defile all the living.
Worms upon worms upon worms! To the heights
They ascend – cruel rabble – trampling one on another,
While the Lamb on the altar is despised and forgotten.
Though of old there are rumors that the Lamb is alive
There has been not a stir, and the blood – it has dried.

The Metamorphosis

And the loathsomeness swelling and the darkness surrounding
Drove the heavens to screaming, and the screams – they were heard.
Now the Lamb on the altar from His slumber awakes:
And the fleece change to fur and the feet into rakes.
Claws of vengeance, fangs of judgment, righteous hunger for his prey;
At the lightest of His steps, mountains crumble and give way.
For the Lamb is now a Lion seeking whom He may devour:
Blazing like the golden lightning, burning with the lust for War!

The Judgment

Worms for breakfast for the Lion had He not been seized with laughter
(He had such a sense of humor He forgot about His hunger)
At a sight so misanthropic – it was tragic, it was funny:
Worms and worms, from fear and envy, building towers in a hurry!
Now the onslaught of His laughter spelled the creatures’
certain doom:
Wormish towers all a-crumbling at the Lion’s sonic booms.
And the writhing worms of Wasteland knew that Nemesis had come:
‘Twas the fury of His laughter that had spoiled all their fun.
And their eardrums were all shattered, and their towers were in ruins,
And their hearts had all stopped beating, and the carnage had begun.

The Aftermath

And this was the Final Judgment … In the ages still to come
Men will ponder o’er the ruins and the paw prints on the sand
Which the Wind itself could not erase however hard it blew.
There were terrors then unheard of, there were secrets no men knew:
“Why do heavens roar with laughter, why are clouds as white as fleece,
Though some streaks of golden lightning ride the cool, infrequent breeze?”
Men shall ask but not remember what the heav’nly symbols mean,
For the knowledge of these myst’ries had been drownéd  in the din
Of a multitude of voices babbling nothing to the point:
Jagged edges, broken perches – everything is out of joint!
No direction, one obsession – that’s to rise at any price:
Worms on worms (this sounds familiar) building towers to the skies.
Crackling thunder in the heavens (Someone’s laughing in a hurry):
“Wow! I never thought a re-run would be more than twice as funny.”

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The Infidel

He cursed the light

that once dispelled his darkness;

He blew the flame out

and stepped into the darkness

whence he came.

The light was but a flick'ring flame:

no real warmth, no steady light

it gave.

The candle-bearers all

were walking in darkness still

(though showing off their candles);

they hurt him with their candle sticks:

candle flames burning soft thin skin.

Not enough to make a martyr's pyre,

But enough to make an infidel.

And the light died out

– 'twas his wish –

Yet his soul cried out:

"Let there be light!"


Have I time to listen truly

To the still small voice of Heaven?

'Tis to mortal ears not given,

But the broken heart hears clearly.

I seek solitude most often;

In the silences I listen:

Learn to love His voice more fully;

"Not my will be done – Thine only!" 

The Poet

Do dreamers still row their boats

In the soft and misty air?

I used to be one of them –

Starry-eyed and impractical.

My fingers knew how to push a pen

But bread was not forth-coming.

So rather than starve and drop

I chose to plant my feet on earth;

At least, assured of daily bread,

Some sort of peace was well in place,

Not to mention “respectability”!

“At last he’s come to his senses!”

But I lost so much, which no one knew:

I lost the sense of who I was

(I mean the truth of who I really was).

I was so distant from myself;

I knew not how to find me. How

Can I be lost when I am here?


The stars I held so gently in my hands

Died out last night and turned to dust.

My eyes no longer shine and sparkle

(I am a man engaged in serious things).

“Balder the beautiful is dead.” I weep!

"Balder the beautiful is dead." I sleep …

A Romans 7 Poem

For we know that the law is spiritual, but I am of the flesh, sold under sin. I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” (Romans 7:14-15)

Dark recesses,
Grave offenses,
Why, my heart is truly hell!
Will is helpless,
All seems hopeless,
God alone can make me well

Wash me whiter,
This my prayer;
Tho’ the devil holds me fast
Thou can sever
and deliver,
Give the victory at last!

O my Master,
Keep me ever;
Save me from this sinful mass.
Flesh will never
Be the victor
If Thy Spirit strengthen us.

Dead I reckon
Self – a lesson
Hard to learn, but learn I must.
Trust God’s reason;
Spirit, lead on!
Do Thou pardon – Thou the Just.

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