Inside the Drum

Pum, Pum, Pum
Came the beat of the drum
Thick, full echoes shaken, quaken

Bum, Bum, Bum
All through the enclosed room
The air reverberated and faded

True, True, True
All is in clear view
Nothing is hidden, naught is forbidden

Bole, Bole, Bole
Hear His thunder roll
There is only sound all around

Thwack, Thwack, Thwack
The wall inside, I stifled the whack
Now two partitions split the transmissions

Pap, Pap, Pap,
The stick went slap
The words were broken, a dream half-woken

Still, Still, Still
Eerie restlessnesses fill
The empty recesses of my newfound trusses

“Pum,” “Pum,” “Pum”
My noises sound dumb
The echoes malformed are not warmed

“Bole! Bole! Bole!”
My voice is droll
The echoes die; it is I

Lies, Lies, Lies
My mimicking cries
The room I split, a dark pit

“No! No! No!”
With all my might I throw
The walls collapse with a crash

“Bum, Bum, Bum”
I shout in the drum,
It rings soundness, and profoundness

Ring, Ring, Ring,
I listen for something
Anything to be known, and blown again

Bow, Bow, Bow
The sound returns now
Tear wells are open at new words spoken

Boom, Boom, Boom
The presence in the room
All fullness no dullness

Broll, Broll, Broll,
Welcome thunders roll
The instrument is His

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Math Myth

At lunch today I told this story to some 5th grade kids.

Once there was a division between the Sum and the multiplication. There was also a guy named Minus, who wasn’t very good at doing things. He wanted to remove the division between the Sum and the multiplication.

Minus had one problem. He didn’t have a heart big enough.

So he drank a lot of milk to make himself stronger.
But his heart didn’t grow any bigger.

He went to school and learned everything he could about the division between the Sum and the multiplication.
But his heart didn’t grow any bigger.

After school he gathered as many numbers around him as he could: all kinds of possessions.
But his heart didn’t grow any bigger.

Finally, he prayed and asked God to give him a bigger heart.
And God gave him a bigger heart.

After this, Minus found Sum and multiplication still divided.
And because his heart was bigger now,
He applied himself to the division between the Sum and the multiplication
And Viola! He “subtracted” the division from between the Sum and the multiplication.

The Sum and the multiplication had a party and celebrated with cupcakes.

Then they all made an equation to remember how a Minus is always able to remove the division between the Sum and the multiplication.

That is why there is a minus sign used in the Division symbol.

The Peach

From depths untold the Warmth was baked
Into the hardened crust ‘neath waves
And gathered into land, He seeded
The tree to bear the fruit we needed.

The planet much like to the fruit
It’s pit the core, round-pressure formed
The meat the fiery mantle surging
Through cracks in skin here on the surface

The land locked secrets not for mortals
The Maker made the fruit for eating,
But one tree he kept for His own
The seed of which was deeply sown

The very heart of Eden there,
Two trees stood at the river’s spring
One with juices invigorating
The other only the skin was for beauty.

And now the Tempter comes to toy
“You will be like gods! enjoy!”
And with a bite, the lady sought
The core knowledge not meant for her.

O! Leave the blessed fruit alone
And let replanting take right place
Of the tree of life, whose seeds take root
Not the seed of death, and weeds un-tame.

So the world once lost, will rise
At the core unveiled, it’s glory dies
And the surface rebellion is swept away
For the seed of the New Earth in the soil of Day.

 

I’ve Glimpsed Him. (Poem)

It takes faith to believe that God is.
Once you have this, you can see him.
I do not promise that you will
Because He must decide to reveal Himself.
It takes a pure heart, with no guile.
Some believe that this is impossible,
But all things are possible with God.
How will you recognize him?
You won’t be able to ignore.
No more than a stick can ignore an all consuming flame.

How did I see Him?
I waited.
He spoke.
I looked.
He stood.
I bowed.
He is.

Music purged my heart of unexpressed filth.
Writing arranged my thoughts according to biblical specification.
Love set my heart on fire for another.
Joy surged in my creative freedom and pleasure of wisdom.
Peace quieted me in His approval.
Translation laid sticks of explosive dynamite end to end.
The Holy Spirit’s voice was the match.
The prizing and valuing of His own personal being.
And Jesus the Living one of all my life came.

T. Austin-Sparks~ “God’s answer to strengthen His people for Suffering.”
Is a new unveiling of the glory of the person of Jesus Christ.”

“What is the answer?
A new grasp of His greatness
That’s all.
And then if we are suffering
If we are knowing adversity, trial
And the clouds seem to be gathering, Accumulating, increasing.
How will we get through?
Only thus: by this:
Getting away
And asking
And seeking
And pursuing
In prayer
A new heart revelation–unveiling
of Jesus Christ.
And I am sure that will do it.
God give it to you.”
~T. Austin Sparks

 

Wind, Tongue, Heart

Wind
Tongue
Heart

Churning
Burning
Yearning

Tempest tossed
Flame-brands crossed
All feels lost

Rivers eddy
Warmth is steady
Always ready

Clouds raging linger
Pyres point the finger
Please dull the stinger

Storms are slackening
Fires are blackening
Soul is flattening

Hush! Little wind and be calm
Brush! Feed the fire and keep warm
Thrush! Shells crush, but do no harm

Sea of glass as flat as a plate
Soft embers blown by love not hate
The strength of words now marked in slate

I’m
at
rest.

A Prayer of Victory

Skiddish Little millipede
Your cyan shell is easily penetrated
I do not seek to break it
I seek only to teach and lead

Oh Room of watchful souls
Your eyes see truth more readily
Than those who bear weight steadily
And see their heart is full of holes

Now comes to tempting trials
That beckon sons to cast their life
Away for what only laziness brings: strife
But can the bars withstand the files?

Fear not, your heart means more
Than countless hours of death and dying
Though my own heart is used to lonely sighing
I will not let this emblem vain be bore

The power of the chronicle to tell
A story that reaches from the body to the soul
Will carefully instruct the wisdom’s role
Lest the story end up half way down to Hell.

A week of peeling self-lessness
That pries the very heart of all things sacred
And spits out everything that desecrates it
And renders those with no time a useless mess

Prickly sticky fingers grab the sword
Where fire leaps upon the drying brush
And carries up the anthem to a hush
And beckons the returning of the Lord

Yea! Battle cry ye sing forth words of old
And bring the AdamSon to heart the break
Of thunder clapping lightning splitted skies
Which echo with the carnage of love’s choice bold

“The battle is accomplished!” Says the son.
The rain has landed on the thirsty ground
The heart is open, and is not made unsound
By the devices of the accusing Evil One.

Nay! For the battle is for the heart of grace
The heart with a single voice to be discovered
May the Lord the Savior grant my whole recovered
So there may be a full light in our face.

The Less and the More

The heart wrestles with the less and the more
The less it knows well; its Hell he can tell
How it numbs him and dumbs him
Like a lute it strums him
Shaking his soul’s song sung before
The first conducted baton stroke fell.

The more is his deep-seated longing true
This more– the core with more in store
How it fills him and wills him
Like a like river flowing thrills him
Life that gives its life for more in view
Saving joy for the ocean he will every day adore

O heart betwixt the path of now or always
The choice is yours; make your noise and rejoice
The song He wrote has one sure note
Like a name He skillfully wrote
Awaiting its debut in many plays
When you hear your beloved’s voice