Mirrors

This poor man cried, and the LORD heard him and saved him out of all his troubles.  Psalm 34:6  NASB

That Blessed Curse

 

When did I discover I was falsely made?

The day I first noticed no one knew

That underneath my skin I grew

Some other way

 

When did I uncover my hopeless agony?

The day I saw me throw away

The ones who wanted me to stay

Forever true

 

When did I admit I had lost the fight?

The day I first realized

How empty were the open eyes

In my mirror

 

When did I remember He could heal the sick?

The day I found graveyard clothes

Wrapped around my eyes and nose

Inside of me

 

When did I discover my illness made me well?

The day I fell into the tomb

And found it was a child’s room

Freed from Hell

 

 

FACES

 

Lizard skin, bulletproof.

China doll, stand aloof.

Old crow, fast and easy.

Sour puss, real sleazy.

 

Little pet, tough as nails.

Real slut, always bails.

Air head, rants and raves.

Good ol’ boy, Jesus saves.

 

Top banana, corporate man.

Red neck, Ku Klux Klan.

Scared silly, old hag.

Big bully, real drag.

 

Chicken shit, full of doubt.

Ivy league, down and out.

Real loser, good in bed.

Mental case, walking dead.

 

Variety by endless score

Tombstone, resume, epitaph.

Molded into fleshy form

Make us cry, make us laugh.

 

It is the land of faces

I try them on for size

And every mask fits just like skin

Stretched tight around my eyes.

 

1991

 

Topical Index:  Psalm 34:6, curse, faces, poem

 

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Robin Jeep

Wow, intense!

Rich Pease

Thanks, Skip, for your poetic reminder.

Our 20-20 vision equips us for perfect darkness
and all the illusions and deceptions that await us there.

We see, but we do not perceive.
We hear, but we do not understand.

Until our greatest spiritual blessing is revealed.

The gift of Himself . . . staring us right in the face!

Brian Toews

Hellow skip.I think one of us needs a vacation.Mabey a nice beach in the caribian would do the trick.

Judi Baldwin

Hi Skip,
Thank you for sharing some of your poetry with us. Through it, you’ve just given words to some of the feelings and some of the faces that many of us have felt and/or tried on over the years. But, thanks be to God for opening our eyes and bringing about circumstances that force us to look deep into our “Well of Grief” so we can experience His perfect healing.

Below is another good poem by David Whyte that John often uses on the Men’s Weekends he leads twice a year.

THE WELL OF GRIEF
Those who will not slip beneath
the still surface of the well of grief
turning downward through its black water
to the place we cannot breathe
will never know the source from which we drink,
the secret water, cold and clear,
nor find in the darkness glimmering
the small round coins
thrown by those who wished for something else.

David Whyte
from
“Close to Home”

Kees Brakshoofden

English poetry…..
Just a bridge too far for my understanding.

Kees Brakshoofden

I’d like to see you try! 🙂

Kees Brakshoofden

Seriously, I miss words (Obtuse? Where’s my dictionary!), I miss culture, I miss figures of speech, so I miss meaning. Doesn’t that sound very much like the problems we meet when translating Scriptures?

Kees Brakshoofden

For instance:

Little pet, tough as nails.
Real slut, always bails.
Air head, rants and raves.
Good ol’ boy, Jesus saves.

The only words I understand are… Jesus saves (if I understand them at all!) Let alone what you MEAN to say.