When I started this blog, I set out to share insights from my scripture study. Before long I was quickly sucked into attempting to provide perfectly polished gospel essays on profound topics that would be sure to change everything for the reader. I still like trying to dream up and write said essays. But turns out trying to write two or three, or even one a month turned the blog into a burden. Like too many on the inter-webs, I was like the Greeks of old “For all the Athenians and strangers which were there spent their time in nothing else, but either to tell, or to hear some new thing.” (Acts 17:21).
That’s a tiring game to play. So against my inclination, I’m going to try again to loosen up. To let it be just a bit more raw and real. Let’s start some poetry.
I started writing poems when I fell in love with rock music in junior high. I fancied myself a member of a band with two other friends before any of us even played an instrument. (Hey, it worked for the Wyld Stallyons, right?) My notebooks were full of earnest (and brutally juvenile) verses. Of course I would’ve never called them poems. They were lyrics. Poems were not cool. Years later, after playing in bands and writing actual lyrics, I accepted the fact that lyrics without music are poetry, and that’s okay. Poetry for me has become an important means of meditation, expression, and decompression. I believe poetry is a powerful if somewhat forgotten art form especially in the realm of religion. Mine tend to be short, under-revised, peppered with religious references, and overly cynical. Aside from those long forgotten songs back in college and the odd Mother’s Day card, none of my poems have seen the light of day. Until now, I guess. Here are two from the archives going head to head. I don’t want to say to much, but both of these were born of scripture study, one about books and the other about shoes. Which do you prefer?
Like a steak cooked too long for fear,
if it’s not brown inside you’re going to die.
Let’s be honest.
I sit and read all those bits in italics and it’s true,
I don’t have a clue.
yet, we are well read!
Nay, I feast!
There’s nothing wrong about reading
the right books; no matter how heavy.
Treads are read, like words, from the bottom of a shoe.
Like lines in the dust that prove we went to the moon.
If I took a branch and brushed it behind us,
if I really messed the dust and let it settle,
Might it settle as a man?
For unto dust I am.
My bare feet still leave impressions in the sand.
Do you think Adam and Eve ran?
Did God cobble shoes and coats of skins,
for their bare feat, set to tread
where moths corrupt and thieves break in?