Big Ben

On the one hand, 

We pass this way every year.

Just about exactly right here in this spot,

Just so far from the sun,

At this angle,

And all of that.

On the other hand,

Where in the hell is the sun going,

And how long has it been since it has been home,

Or even written its mother,

And how much farther will it lead us this way,

Before going home?

It would be nice to know,

How far.

Crisis in Jordan

In the Valley of the Travelers,
Along the King's Highway,
The Lord has set a banquet for
All the birds of prey.

Sweep down from Black and Caspian,
Rain down down Tabriz and Turk.
The fire from His mountain will
Declare Jehovah's work.

Look back upon Ezekiel,
And hear the Son of Man.
Behold the Prince of Glory who
Holds judgment in His hand.

Be baptized in the fire that
Flows down through Jordan's streams.
Repent, and turn from wickedness.
Obey the King of Kings.

There is one year remaining, yet
Before the Son appears,
Walk through the Doors of Mercy
And be ransomed by kafirs.

Bend your knees like water now
Before the Lamb of God,
For all is reconciled when
Hell's fire rips from sod.

Babel

We're all different.
Blame our parents,
Or society,
Or each other.

Some people just keep smiling.
Others throw things.
"That's a good person," they said.
"That person is messed up," they agreed.

People try, most of the time.
Many are very well meaning.
Nobody understands it all.
However, some have made agreements.

Look, here's a flower, Jesus said (paraphrased).
Look, here's a bird, Jesus said (paraphrased).
What are you worried about? Jesus asked (paraphrased).
But then he got angry with those money changers and got killed for it.

Some people are creepy and shouldn't be trusted.
Some people are very, very kind.
Some people draw attention to themselves, and we want to be close to their charisma.
Some people like sitting alone in their bedrooms.

Eventually, people grow old and die,
(Though sometimes they don't even bother with growing old),
And then, the rest of us talk about those people,
Estimating the value of their lives.

Then, we look at ourselves and say,
"Boy, what a waste!"
Or,
"I think I'll build onto my garage."

Having wrestled with all of this for some time,
Here's my advice (for the individual):
Try to live at peace with yourself,
Which means, mostly, that you should only do things that you can feel good about.

Here's some more advice (for society in general,
Which also includes the individual
To whom I already gave advice):
Be patient with everybody else.

To that girl who flat-irons her hair
While watching Teen Mom reruns on Netflix,
I say:
You're good. It will be okay.

To that boy who is trying to figure out how to install Ubuntu,
And is reading through all the forums, trying to figure out what command to use after sudo,
I say:
You are creative, and you matter a lot.

The thing is,
Some people don't know how to talk to each other.
God made it that way on purpose,
So we would have to try.

Uzzah

You cannot help the Lord, oh no,
       The Lord brings help you.
To keep His ark from falling is
       A stupid thing to do.

You cannot drive His chariot,
       You cannot pull His train.
You can't presume to help Him bring
       More glory to His name.

To wait in stillness upon Him
       From us the Lord requests.
Who submits to the Master's plan,
       The Master honors best.

If the oxen start to fall,
       Then let the oxen die.
Who helps the oxen pull His weight
       Pokes Jehov' in the eye.

Uzzah, you were a wicked man,
       Now lie down in the dust,
For glory you sought for yourself,
       And Him you did not trust.

The Lord does not need us to help
       Him do his perfect work.
Be bridled by the Spirit and
       Submit unto His yolk.

We need no holy covenant
       To keep Him to His word,
But only this: to trust in Him
       And let the Spirit work.

Grow there, fine blade of grass until
       The oxen on you feeds.
Fulfill the purpose of you life:
       The Lord no savior needs.

Stand there, tall oak, until you fall
       And saw blades rip to dust.
The Master Carpenter has plans;
       In Him now place your trust.

We wait upon the Lord, at rest;
       He does not wait on us.
Be not a stumbling block to Him,
       Or by Him you'll be crushed.

Our Salvation

ألم       
In the flesh.

ألم

Rose from death.

ألم
God with us.

ألم

In Him trust.

ألم
He is Love.

ألم
From above.

ألم
Let us die.

ألم
Crucified.

ألم
Then we live.

ألم
God's true gift.

Adam Clarke Speaks of the End

Twelve hundred sixty days were said to pass
Before the Lord in timeless peace should reign.
Pope Francis, at the end on holy dais,
Will you then abdicate or still remain
Upon the throne reserved for Son of Man
Who from Ancient of Days was sent to judge
The earth from Mercy Seat as YHVH planned,
In Dan'El's priestly place, or will you budge?

He opens Mercy's Door for all who dare
To pass through and be judged by Prince of Peace.
Though certain death be earned, the sword is stayed:
The Word of God won't pass through thief His blade,
But opens Heaven's door for such as these
Who bow before the Son of Man in prayer.

Tuleps

Yes, daughter, let them bloom.
     Plant them in the fall.
Let them sleep in frozen sod
     Deep beneath the pall.

There in icy winter's seize
     Let the tulep sleep.
Wait for spring to thaw the ground
     While cold winter keeps.

Blooming comes when blooming comes,
     For but half an hour.
Most our time is spent in rest:
     Death before the flower.

Plant the tulep in the fall,
     Stay through winter's course.
When the sun in spring comes up,
     Look for life to burst.

Hard the lesson, hard the ground,
     Frozen in Death's grip.
Soft the soil sun uncoils
     Through which tuleps rip.

Then, daughter, watch them bloom
     As your spirit sings.
See them rise to kiss the skies
     When from death they spring.

Holy resurrection, there:
     Find faith in a flower.
Life and death, blood and breath
     Teach us holy power.

Yes, daughter, let them bloom.
     See them in the spring.
Plant them in the fall, then wait.
     Winter, first, is king.

In the Beginning

Don't you know
You are not yet alive?
Though you breathe,
You're dead until you die.

God is here,
In was and in will be.
Now is all
A mortal eye can see.

Close your eyes,
And rest your beating heart.
Lay down fear:
Give life a chance to start.

Trust in God
Who was and will be, too.
Die in Him,
And He will live in you.

Keith Waclena

Did you know you were born to speak of God
When time had passed, and time, and time, and time?
Did what Ward Cunningham provide for us
Place you transfigured on the mount with Christ?

Of God, of God, of God, of God, of God,
"An immortal supernatural being with great powers."

How can your prose describe a Holy God?

You messed up my sonnet, Keith.

https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=God&oldid=331545083

Kitten

I watched a kitten eat meat from tin can

Set down outside refrigerator box

That sheltered there a sickly, homeless man

Who wore no winter coat, no shoes, no socks.

The man--gaunt, thin, and pale--was cold as death.

The kitten, thick and fat with fluffy fur.

The man in cough and wheeze still fought for breath,

The kitten, young and spry, from belly purred.

I wondered of the two, which most still lived:

The man with sallow skin who choked with wind,

Or little beast who upon flesh did feast.
Though man approaching death, with life still strived,

The kitten, belly fat, still fed from tin

And life and death considered not the least.

Unplugged and Plugged

There is nothing I want to write about.

I got sick last week.
My daughter threw up in the hallway and I had to clean it up with a mop,

A big splash of pink and beige with pizza roll bits in it soaking into the oak floors.

It smelled like vomit.
It was vomit.

She lay on my bedroom floor all night.

She vomited six times, on the hours, into a small bucket.
She turned 13 in October.
She really is growing up fast.
What could I do for her, anyway?
We've all been there, with our faces in the bucket.

Except, I did take the bucket away each time she was finished retching.
Flushed her bile down the toilet.
Six times.
Well, five.
The first time I had to mop it off the hardwood floors.

I felt so bad for her,

Because, I've been there.
I would have traded places with her if that were possible,

But, since it's not, I just didn't see any reason for me to get sick too.

I kept waiting for the onset of nausea.
The back of my neck got a little warm and achy.
I had a headache right behind my eyeball.

My joints felt weak.
I swore I had a fever.
I lay in bed all day, waiting to feel like vomiting.

But then nothing happened.
Except, in the morning, I had diarrhea,

And then again in the afternoon.

After that I didn't feel like eating for about a week.

But I ate anyway,

And I just kept feeling bloated.
Then, Thanksgiving came,

And all my brothers and sisters came down to visit,
Bringing vanloads of kids to my house from all over the Midwest.
A couple days later everybody was vomiting, and having fevers, and making diarrhea.

I wish I could have stopped it all.

I felt sorry for everyone,
But at least it went easy on me this year.
Last year, though.
That was a different story.
I lay in bed for eight straight hours,
Feeling at every moment that I was going to die,

And vomiting yellow bile into a bucket,
On the hours.
Ram Dass taught me to be present in my illness,
To accept it as a teaching, a psychedelic experience,
So I did.
But my head hurt really bad,
And I had a bad case of the shivers.
(But, "Be Here Now.")
So, I did.
Which helped,
A little.

Today, I have a little drainage in the back of my throat,
And I think I'll probably have a cold until Christmas.
Maybe I'll buy some zinc lozenges at the grocer's before work,

Hoping that will stem the tide a bit.

Earlier this week, I couldn't get out of bed for three days in a row.
I almost didn't get up in time for work one day.

But I didn't feel sick,
Not nauseous, at least.
Now that my throat hurts, I couldn't sleep all night,

So I got up early and wrote this.
I haven't felt like writing, though,

Not for a couple weeks.

Still don't.