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Keith Wallis

Poetry Challenge 2015

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By faith, we have no rudder,

 

 

dead-reckoning, Spirit trusting,

 

 

grabbing tongue's helm

 

 

lest the relic of our sainthood

 

 

be the hulk of a shipwreck

 

 

which no megacurch can hide.

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The megachurch's bulwark

 

 

makes nothing of the waves.

 

 

''Amen'' sing the saints

 

 

cushioned by the praise.

 

 

'Help us' cry the mariners

 

 

of the flotilla out at sea,

 

 

''The harvest's ripe, the workers few;

 

 

How can we make them see?''

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Lost at sea

 

 

midst tyranny

 

 

of other folks

 

 

priority.

 

 

The fog is dense

 

 

with innocence

 

 

the robe of praise

 

 

is plagued with rents.

 

 

And still the mountains tremble

 

 

with the rage of infamy

 

 

as the lost are lost

 

 

and lost remain

 

 

as the waters cover the sea.

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Outside,

 

 

to the camp

 

 

the gritty

 

 

carry their crosses

 

 

by trial and error

 

 

confessing

 

 

lacking sophistication

 

 

of centuries

 

 

of law piled on mercy

 

 

The dust rises from

 

 

sandals of the sincere

 

 

whose gait

 

 

coaxes the lost

 

 

from the walls

 

 

to leave, get

 

 

dirt in their eyes

 

 

seek as role model

 

 

the one whose stride

 

 

matches hymn

 

 

matches feat

 

 

And Messiah will return

 

 

when the last

 

 

one out

 

 

marvels at the mirage

 

 

of the marchers

 

 

When having caught up

 

 

he sees but one

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Sometimes, the best hymn is mute,

 

 

the stanzas changing with each Spirit's fruit.

 

 

Imagine the billows of praises that roar

 

 

when tongues from the hearts

 

 

interpret the Lord.

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Sometimes, the best hymn is mute,

the stanzas changing with each Spirit's fruit.

 

 

Imagine the billows of praises that roar

 

 

when tongues from the hearts

 

 

interpret the Lord.

 

GOD says in Psalms 46:10 to be still and know he is GOD. Being still involves silence. No noise, let his word do the talking while you are finding peace in it. GOD's word is good all by itself. Shows the importance of worship. The most beautiful song ever. It caters to GOD and not us. Wonderful piece. Directly to the point.

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In the still,

 

 

still,

 

 

still of quietness,

 

 

by waters that quench

 

 

the thirsty soul

 

 

with their deep running,

 

 

the silence of eternity

 

 

is the voice of God.

 

 

The low whisper of peace

 

 

encases the heart

 

 

with its warm longings.

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I wrestled with the Angel of still,

 

 

afraid of the mighty rush of

 

 

art that awaited my world,

 

 

till I heard a crunch

 

 

on the good leg of my easel.

 

 

There, as I lay on the ground,

 

 

smelling the earth

 

 

from which I was formed,

 

 

I saw Glory,

 

 

as the muscle ache changed

 

 

to a longing for more

 

 

of your Glory.

 

 

Greater than a mood;

 

 

it's the wonder of Your works,

 

 

as it were, set on a table,

 

 

for the hungry among the

 

 

little less than the angels.

 

 

Angel, as You create,

 

 

sit a spell!

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Angel of still, I have stayed here a while,

 

 

moving now with the being You have given.

 

 

I'm impressed with vision that You hold audience

 

 

every moment, with those who have visited.

 

 

I am stepping on out, nothing for granted:

 

 

if stillness astounds, stimuli will give pause to take in.

 

 

You've hammered home, with quiet nails borne

 

 

into me suffering that lets patience listen.

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Brothers of Thunder reflex your memory

 

 

asleep in childhood now see like a man

 

 

lie still in the mist look all around

 

 

extinguish the darts of the enemy

 

 

moss is soft on the run

 

 

turn and pray

 

 

Hallelujah!

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Man, be childish in your trust, just now.

 

 

Abba is Jesus, with brows.

 

 

Is there anything Messianic hope can't do?

 

 

Test the waters, play in God's will.

 

 

Be black and white under His rainbow.

 

 

A fish, no serpent. A hunk of bread, no stone.

 

 

Good discipline, no mere rambling run.

 

 

Hope as Abba Is! Live this trust.

 

 

Seek His approval for His Love.*

 

 

Son that you are, nestle in such devotion.

 

 

Having received, cheerfully give.

 

 

Be prankish in dismantling unbelief.

 

 

Be separate by making Christ different:

 

 

sin-bearer, Riser, lawyer, mansion-builder.

 

 

Be childish by tuning out fiction's command,

 

 

and read, look at Bible pictures over and over again.

 

 

___________

 

 

* All who have repented are accepted in the Beloved. Still, God "is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him" - Hebrews 11:6 (KJV)

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Christ different -

 

 

unsullied by onslaught life,

 

 

befriender, defnder,,

 

 

unlovely lover,

 

 

uncareful of time's restraint.

 

 

Christ different -

 

 

the signature

 

 

that cannot be forged.

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Christ's signature -

 

practiced, etched

 

on eternity's foundations,

 

once sand-vouching

 

an adulteress,

 

now a curing cursive

 

scratched onto

 

heart walls of souls

 

found wanting yet wanted.

 

Christ's signature -

 

before the Final Covenant

 

was even penned.

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Jesus' fingers touched

 

 

Adam-without-bones,

 

 

sand, each grain one breath

 

 

short of life.

 

 

All of the accusers,

 

 

one more breath toward

 

 

mixing with Adam again.

 

 

They didn't see that,

 

 

much less that their spirits

 

 

must give an account.

 

 

Quivering adulteress,

 

 

more hope for her need

 

 

than for the rabble's assertions.

 

 

She, walking away, incredulous,

 

 

believing that the stones of eternity

 

 

were built as a shrine

 

 

to the authority of Sonship,

 

 

not for accusations

 

 

to be flung at her.

 

 

She could almost hear them

 

 

cry out to the accompaniment

 

 

of an unseen lyre.

 

 

She ran to the Temple,

 

 

in the hopes that her praise

 

 

would rise up first.

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Your temple our bodies

 

 

As imperfect and impure

 

 

Still we try

 

 

Broken each day

 

 

Until we're on our knees

 

 

Uplifted by your perfect sacrifice

 

 

Love, your greatest commandment

 

 

Condemnation our greatest sin

 

 

By your stripes are our temples rebuilt

 

 

One thousand destructions each day

 

 

Perfect as you heavenly Brother

 

 

Who died for us,

 

 

Who lives for us,

 

 

Who stands for us,

 

 

Where we fall.

 

 

Our pillar, our strength.

 

 

Our mortar, our Rock

 

 

Rebuild our souls

 

 

Glory and praise

 

 

As we fall at your feet

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We do not fall

 

 

as we ought

 

 

on the eve of advent.

 

 

When You become the adventure

 

 

that we set our lives upon.

 

 

When the incense of frankincense

 

 

breaches the supermarket aisles

 

 

proclaiming prosperity

 

 

not poverty.

 

 

When the lights that span our houses

 

 

outstar the star that spans eternity

 

 

and the darkness of our light

 

 

eclipses the light that shields our lives.

 

 

We bring the shroud and not the swaddling

 

 

with our poorly focussed

 

 

celebrations.

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Celebrations of old how focused they were

 

 

On myrrh and on praise and on Him.

 

 

Now just convention, now just greed.

 

 

Yehoshua saviour who gave up His life

 

 

A fond memory of old and faithful few.

 

 

Our failure our vanity our strife

 

 

Made soft instruction to appease all man

 

 

And lost thus Holy truth to compassion.

 

 

He came to protect us from ourselves.

 

 

Hopeful I look to the ground as I pray.

 

 

For peace and goodwill is gone.

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Mercy has no perch,

 

 

it's where Heaven's burden came crashing to earth,

 

 

low-lying fruit for humbled hearts,

 

 

who've learnt ground-up is for us where it starts.

 

 

Earthy grace for ethereal words,

 

 

if we gather, expectant, what wouldn't hearts hear?

 

 

We're rough on the edges, this Advent, to start.

 

 

Let's let the Lord's coming make becoming an art.

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Grace and mercy, love unbound

 

 

No fetter can contain

 

 

No work of man, no boast unfound

 

 

This miracle explain

 

 

Who is He, who yonder lays

 

 

A gift to be received

 

 

To change our lives in unseen ways

 

 

A Saviour is believed

 

 

Will men accept? Will they deny?

 

 

Fall humbly at His feet

 

 

On their own strength will they rely

 

 

Ne’er Him to meet?

 

 

What will you do? What will you say?

 

 

Can you accept this grace?

 

 

This mercy, this love, this way,

 

 

His death in your deserved place.

 

 

Come! Come to Him while you can

 

 

Before the day is done

 

 

This miracle is meant for man

 

 

This gift of God’s own Son.

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Oh heavenly Gift forgive your flock

 

 

We know not what we do

 

 

Of all the years, that are bygone

 

 

Became a precious few

 

 

Our hopes and fears complacently

 

 

The generations taught

 

 

No end is nigh, no son will come

 

 

The truth no longer sought

 

 

Save our souls, blessed son

 

 

Just like you did before

 

 

Each holy day that finds us here

 

 

Is like a holy war

 

 

The gentle flock who prays to you

 

 

And cupped our hands we raise

 

 

Holy Son our Saviour dear

 

 

Accept our deepest praise

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Hillside-flung flock,

 

 

by divine standards dumb,

 

 

but we do not stupidly stare.

 

 

We have a Shepard Who calls.

 

 

We crave His care,

 

 

gather ourselves to be counted,

 

 

rather, led away from despair.

 

 

We have a Shepard Who cajoles.

 

 

More wool He cuts

 

 

to fill again by green grasses,

 

 

so we are fattened and fed.

 

 

We have a Shepard Who knows.

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Walking in the world,

 

 

 

 

I don't know where I'm going.

 

 

 

 

I know I'm growing.

 

 

 

 

I see them and myself all the same.

 

 

 

 

I see in all of us it hurts,

 

 

 

 

to be in shame,

 

 

 

 

to be alone in our mind,

 

 

 

 

to think we are sick, and blind,

 

 

 

 

but hoping we all find,

 

 

 

 

the way to the other side.

 

 

 

 

Its nasty behind pride.

 

 

 

 

Its pain we try to hide,

 

 

 

 

its confusing, its not amusing,

 

 

 

 

what to call it?

 

 

 

 

what to do about it?

 

 

 

 

All around it,

 

 

 

help us out of it,

 

 

We're dying,

 

 

We're cursed.

 

 

Jesus is crying

 

 

Jesus is first

 

 

Jesus died

 

 

are we the worst?

 

 

When will our Savior come back to this evil earth?

 

 

A miracle is a wonder and prayer from troubles since the day of birth.

 

 

Have I said enough?

 

 

Have I said anything at all?

 

 

Ask In prayer,

 

 

Ask the one who is aware,

 

 

he will share,

 

 

the answers because our Father God does care,

 

 

and his power is inside us if we ask,

 

 

don't give up on yourself when you don't succeed

 

 

remember it's time to focus on what you need

 

 

its a war, so you will bleed

 

 

but an end to the pain, starts with one, who truly wants to lead.

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Waking up from deepest sleep

 

 

Need to find a world so deep

 

 

Where is it?

 

 

Would I cry...

 

 

Is there someone to hear me,

 

 

tears to dry?

 

 

Waste of time it seems ...

 

 

But one day a Child just came

 

 

in small Bethlehem

 

 

Shepherds did some angels see

 

 

Wise man stars to follow did

 

 

Saviour, God is He

 

 

Truly dried my weary tears

 

 

The world I waited for was found

 

 

in the Saviors deepest sound

 

 

in His holy eyes

 

 

in His Voice Divine

 

 

He was born just to die

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Years

 

 

Take a ticket and hold it

 

 

Lord willing

 

 

into the New Year.

 

 

Await Christ's return

 

 

over flocks worldwide

 

 

Witness "Glory to God in the Highest!"

 

 

the first millennial night.

 

 

Every wailing wall stone

 

 

will laugh for joy

 

 

Glad, just hands will rub

 

 

its weary back

 

 

and sing

 

 

"The Prince of Peace is here!"

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