Thursday, June 6, 2013

The Rant

Clue me in to one small thing if you will.
I am watching and observing, and find
In you satisfaction, and do so fill
My heart with laughter and fair peace of mind
From you gimmicks and flounderings that I
Really wish to know why it is you try
So hard to be what everyone else sees,
Feel what everyone else in their hearts feel,
Taste at every remark what you should taste
As if some man marked you at every turn
And reported you for crimes; in such haste
You run about your day that I do burn,
And think it as odd. Yet you look at odds
With me, as if we were not friends, but foes.
I am your friend am I not? Peas in Pods,
Birds of Feather, Shoes and laces, what toes
Were ever seen apart from a foot that
You should think me but a fool, crass and fat,
Not worth your time and effort, a mere tool
To be used and thrown away when I start to drool
In public and make a scene unwanted?
Are you by public favor so hunted
That you cannot look on me but to peer
Past my shoulder at someone else more apt
To give you what you want, do you so fear
To be seen with me, are you so far wrapped
Up in your world of doings that you have
No satisfaction in all else that brave
Man is capable of? Does it make you
Comfortable to avoid my strong gaze,
Drooling though I may be and in one foul craze,
Do you think to avoid discomfort by
Closing your eyes to it though it be in
Your very heart and soul until you die.
Is this not the power of pride and sin,
That it should fear to look on another
And crave solitude eternal from one's
Sister, Mother, Father, or kind brother?
I stand here, awaiting your answer. Shun
Me not, for I am persistent as a
Widow whose need for the judge every day
Compelled her to act upon her base need;
And I upon your silence merely feed.

Maladies and Wounds

A malady is but a hurt made of warts and bruises,
But a wound is more of the soul.
And if a man by his will so chooses
He may hurt a man or a woman whole.
With a word he may lash the soul with ease,
So that the body remembers the pain.
But with violence, do whatever he please,
Physical abuse will the soul drain.
Thus we are completely whole, one and the same,
Body and soul we are through and through,
Yet some believe it otherwise, insane!
For they cannot believe that this is true
If they are to maintain their life of ease
And do whatever their desires please.

                      Maladies and Wounds, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2013

Saturday, June 1, 2013

Symptoms of a Madman

Describe for me your symptoms sir,
Lest I should not for you procure
A healing for your malady
And you should for some reason blame me.
My words are haltering I said,
I'm stuck inside my  little head.
My limbs are numb and in a haze
While eyes rove in an angry gaze.
My tongue tastes only bitterness,
While sweets are sweet but give no bliss
My ears hear no melodies
But only noise that makes me freeze.
I'm tired all around and whats more,
Other's company I do abhor!
Yet in the silence I beg for they
In whose company I become dull and gray,
And so my life appears black and white;
For in silence I hold my tongue in fear and fright
Lest what I say should be my death,
And so I hold at times my breath.
I know not what this plague may be,
But from time to time I cry mercy!
For in the depths of my heart comes  a stir
When working for others, and I hear a sure
Sound from the recess of my mind
That speaks softly. Gentle and kind
Is his voice, for it is a he I believe,
And to the point he drives. A reprieve
He gives by telling me of his love
For me, a sinner, and the sky above
Grows bright with a ray of hope,
While I am barely able to cope; 
For I, to tears am driven when
I hear him calling, and am stricken
Dumb with disbelieve and dismay
As if I were to dubious to say
There was any truth or faith in he
Who spoke from the heart and is dearest to me.
These are my symptoms if you must know.
Give me now the cure, and I will go.
But the doctor smiled at me with pleasant eyes,
T'was a smile enough to make me despise
His gentle frame and white gray beard;
For from his gaze my heart was seared.
He took in hand a small white ball,
And tossed it to me where I stood. Withal
Dumbfoundedness I caught it where
It landed in my hands most bare;
Yet I did not understand what he
Had done for his patient, had done for me.
If you care to know what you must do,
Look into the ball and ask what is true?
But if you are not prepared to see
The truth revealed by eternity,
Then best you give it back again
Lest truth should drive you to a fen.
My eyes stood stock still, I dared not look!
Yet the ball stood in my hands like a book,
And had I but an ounce of courage
I'd have eaten of truth as if it were porage.
But truth is more powerful than a bomb,
It's power strips us of more than flesh.
Truth is a power known to alarm,
And does not our hearts with pain enmesh.
But painfully we take the truth,
For we may not it bear at first.
We stand far off from it, aloof,
While yet we stand outside in thirst
As if from a desert we were traipsing in  
To discover sand pouring from the faucets.
For while we stew within our sin
Truth is forgot while we hide in closets.
Stop hiding in your head dear lad,
He said from somewhere in the haze,
Come back from thought, tis not so bad,
And I stared him down with such a gaze
That I did think he must surely die;
For that was how I felt, though I know not why.
Then holding his gaze in mine,
Or was it the other way around?
I took the plunge, the leap of faith,
And craned my neck to look on down.
Now time and space are silent
As truth begins to speak from within,
And all one's energy is bent
Towards focusing the man within
On what is said to be the cure
To what causes pain and grief.

                      Symptoms of a Madman, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2013

Thursday, May 16, 2013

Each day by day

Memories of golden hue,
Give to me what is my due.
Open far gone time and space,
Make a rhyme and save this place.
Share with me the secret phrase,
To overcome times well worn haze.
Strengthen my resolve when I
Become worn out and question why
Life has become a misery.
Set me on fire, set me free!

Discipline, O fire brand,
Take me fast, and by thy hand
Lay low fearful anxiety;
Make strong the sea of memory.
Open up the path of thought
By giving memory a shot
That time and space be well kept.
Women and men have surely wept
To see in dreams what you have made;
For you are memory's sure aid.

Prayer found within the heart
Give to discipline a start
By which it may rock and jolt to life
And overcome tearful strife.
Make sure the path for memory
And by desire set it free
For man's well beaten paths untold
Made sure when man becomes well bold
And offers up a prayer of desire
By which the spark becomes a fire!

Will of certainty not doubt,
By which all is carried out,
You cannot be ignored at all
Whether my act is good or doth appall
Choose wisely which prayer to take
And so a path of discipline make
That gives the memory sweet taste
And makes ones actions not a waste
Lead me onward, further up and in
Find the wise choice in what has been. 

Friends of many tribe and tongue,
Of race and family, old and young
Stir up in me the will to act
And make with me a lasting pact.
Say what you will and will what you say
But be not for me life's strife filled way.
Open to me your heart and soul
And bid my memories be whole.
Be for me when I cannot stand
My discipline and fire brand.

Forget not what has been I pray,
Lest discipline should loose its way,
And will be weakened by the loss,
And memory recount the cost,
And prayer become a stale act,
A broken record recounting facts.
Remember by an act of grace
This place in time and in space.
Maybe then in this way we may
Carry on our lives each day, by day.

                   Each day by day (c) Luke Bennette, May 2013

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

O Cherubim

O Cherubim divided
Where does your heart reside?
In whom have you confided
While scorn, bitterness, and pride
Remain steadfast companions
In heart, mind, body and soul?
You pick the pedals in the fashion
That is expected of a foal
That's pressed on and on until
It breaks upon the floor; or worse yet
It loses all desire to have its fill
As it seeks to fill others desires unmet.
So wherein lies your heart O friend
That you forage and hunt in farmers land?
Your soul is restless, through the fog you wend.
You search for solid ground on which to stand.  
Add divisions divided
That never become whole again
And you shall be never reunited
With blessed bliss and peace, your friend.
Is it not the case that when we seek truth
It hides inside and waits for silence,
While in noise it remains aloft, aloof?
And can you not give it such recompense,
A quiet room in your cavernous heart? 
Or is all within a buzz of sound
That cuts your very self apart?
And is it not the case in life that death
Is made apparent to us when we do shift
From soft and slow apparent breath
To the lumbering breath we barely lift?
So Cherubim divided, why
In your heart have you decided to die
By feigning life in every way
While inside you die, each day, by day?
Do you not know that the path to God
Is littered with souls through which you must plod
And that these cannot be ignored at all
Whether they grimace, smile, laugh, or applaud?
O Come death,
If a living death I do live; and shake
Me to my core that I may give breath
To the fear that gnaws and makes me break!
Give words to this life in which I live
By which I may delight in presents straights
And conquer myself so as to give
By which I may attain the pearly gates!
Admonishing defeat depart!
Be now gone from me, and from my heart.
For this I know, that life is bliss and pain
Woven together into a blessed strain
Made beauteous by what they mean and say.
This I have faith in, I hope in, I pray...

                   O Cherubim (c) Luke Bennette, May 2013

Saturday, May 11, 2013


A word such as "Tis" is enough to make
One think that the author is but a fake,
And seeks only to impress and flatter
Those who hear him while he grows much fatter
Off excess tax and revenue's well earned
By those who do market what some have spurned
As the verbose verbatim in ill verse
That leads to an early death and black hearse.
But I know "Tis" to be but a small word
Made up in the mind of the great herald
Of musical poetry found in lines
Most lyrical, and by which a maid pines
After the one who speaks the word to her.
For "Tis" is but 'is' and 'it' in a sure
Annotated format from England's glen
Made up by Authors and great poets when
Much hate and loathing for French made speaking
Prompted men to reshape their way of thinking
By which they thought all thoughts worth while to think;
Yet still it exists and wont leave if we blink.
Words may outlive their time or place of fashion,
Cease to communicate man's pent up passion,
Fail to please the ear or the mind within,
And be thought of only as a mere has been,
But still they exist for those few brave souls
Who seek to shape and to fashion new goals
Which cannot be expressed by our own thoughts
And can only by "Tis" be known as they ought.

Tis, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2013

Friday, May 3, 2013

Blazing the Trail

Teeter totter back and forth,
West to East then South to North,
Walking, Running, Jogging through
The storms of life that break anew!
Overcome with weariness,
Looking for that life of bliss,
Never able to find a trace
Of what on earth has no face.

But in the mud and in the rain,
Falling down, enduring pain,
Sliding through a snowy bank,
Blinded by long hair most rank,
You suddenly see in a man
What you missed before; God's plan.
He smiles at you, you smile back,
Your heart is filled and does not lack
What at first it sought to gain
Through toil and labor's refrain.

Music sounds within you heart,
Color blazes forth in part,
Chimes ripple through the wind,
Sight receives whats in the wind.

Then gone is the man that was,
You search around for him because
His presence was a mercy too
Your aching body turning blue.
Yet worry not! You'll find a way
To discover him again, and may
Find him where you least expect.
He resides in hearts that do protect
With fervor and passionate strides
The children of God borne on the tides
Of this unreasonable world;
He is to them a great herald
Of faith, hope, and love in men.
By him each man and woman
Finds peace in each others form,
Discovers purpose as the norm,
Becomes anew creation in
The absolution of dreaded sin.

So do not worry that he is gone.
He will return when you go. Anon!
Walk, run, or jog if you will.
You will find him in others still
Waiting with that blessed smile;
Remain in his love all the while
You search and you will be amazed.
The heart once dead again has blazed.

                        Blazing the Trail, (c) Luke Bennette

Saturday, April 27, 2013

More than Meets the Eye...

The story that's told is of those ill at ease.
Friends become foes when one seeks to so please
His own fancy at the others expense;
Love turned astray is vengeful recompense.

M: Tarry you so long at the huntsman's gate
That you should find yourself to be so late
In arriving here by my side where you
Vowed to meet your love ever good and true?

F: Well, by your mean look on me you're jealous
Of him, he that speaks of your lifelong trust,
Who through thick and thin did wade with your life;
Between you both is love; or would be wife.

M: Tarrying words cannot, will not, make clear
What it is that I desire from you.
Draw close to me now, have no thought or fear!
I seek only my turn to court, to woo.

F: So bluntly as this do you seek my kiss?
An arrogant ape that would sooner rape
Than would miss the rest for a moments bliss
Are you, and he worse! You both offend me.

M: If offense is what you take from my words
Why then give them back and I'll make such burs
That are these advances into a rhyme
Of beauty and grace; for you are divine--

F: Peacock! Don't think to flatter me withal
The powers of charm. Back to earth you'll fall,
Your head's in the clouds from lacking earths air;
But after love's deed your love will prove bare.

M: And does my friend speak to you in pretty
Rhyme or serve a dainty dish of words sweet?
Is he not uncouth, rough, an angry sea
That boils and froths whenever you two meet?

F: Tis modesty that holds him back, tis you.
You see he loves us both, and is more true
A friend in the sight of God than either
You or I. We do him harm, I am sure--

M: Harm him not then! Do not give in to his
Advances and lashes of woeful tales;
For he does spin them up out of what is
In reality a web of his ails!

F: It's not his ails that compel me to speak.
Nor have you guessed rightly in the offense
That I mentioned before. I am but weak,
And my words do fail to show my intents.

M: What, have I not guessed them? Or they may be  
Other than I have mentioned...Are you free
To speak your mind with me, your utmost friend?
Have we not to journeyed far from end to end?

F: Why tis only your imagination
That makes it so, and it is a vexing
Frustration that takes its toll. What a pain
You are that you talk of this and that thing!

M: Are you suggesting I have not the ring
Of truth concerning the problem at hand?
Are you not worried to harm him, to sing
Of your love for me, do I understand?

F: When we were children we each did walk, talk
Side by side of our hopes, and of our dreams!
And while you did of each other so balk,
I remained quiet amongst silent screams.

M: What talk is this of screams? Of nightmares then
Do you speak that keep you from answering?
What nightmare could stride apace from a den
To cause your stammering and sad shaking?

F: Anger it is that causes me such grief!
Yet sorrow to. For time has been a thief
To take from my my gentle friend at hand
And replace him with one who will demand!

M: I demand nothing more than what is mine.
Tis for you, my friend, as you say, I pine!
I've no understanding of your anger.
Am I you friend, of whom you can be sure?

F: My friend, my friend. You are my friend, say so!
Not as you intend, for you should now know
That your hopes and dreams are not mine to wed;
I love your friend, our friend. Your pain I dread.

M: Say tis but a mischance that you spoke so
And I will lay aside my grief to show
That I am not opposed to jokes and games
When from my love they achieve their smart aim.

F: T'was chance that kept us together so long.
Years went by, and we three among the throng
Remained steadfast while bitterness and strife
Grew among our people. Now, on my life--

M: Say not again what you have said before!
I've shut my ears and heart  as though a door,
And will not hear you but to hear you say
That you'll adore me each and every day!

F: Tis vanity to say such a thing, fool!
Do you not see how arrogant a tool
You have become with age? I did mistake
To think you'd love my choice; for love you fake!

M: Fake is the snow flake, for it is water
Crystallized in a pretty form made sure
Footed by the cold that is winters grip.
Yet when I sought water it only bit...

F: Enough with such delusions! Clear your mind
Of such a thing as this bitterness. Why
This is what I feared would happen in kind,
That you would my words pull apart and ply!

M: Your bite proves far more bitter than winter's
Waging war upon spring. Summer blisters
Is hardly the name for such a harsh sting
As that borne upon your treacherous wing.

F: You rant and rave in a corner. Well, fare
Thee well enough to the contents of hate
Borne of bitterness that refuses fair
Words and kind hearted cheer uttered too late.

M: Late are you in leaving, why tarry now?
How long will you remain, arms fixed across
Your busty chest like a steady held bow
Prepped for a dogfight at sea? Why at a loss?

F: You were once more proper in how you saw
My frame. I know you seek to make a thaw
Out of what you deem to be a winter's
Grasp. You make yourself but a gross sinner.

M: And he whom you have chosen over me
Is more virtuous so as to speak of
A subject you deem as ill modesty?
Isn't it an illusion this game, love?

F: Your hands ought to know their place, as your thoughts.
I've overstayed my time for our friendship's
Sake, but you have soured my love with your quips.
I leave, that you may be sane, as you ought.

M: You leave me but to leave me with no choice!
For I know women cannot give a voice
To the desire that affects their whole being,
They'd rather men accost them then be seen--

F: Seen by who? And seen doing what? Leave me
Be! I desire only to leave you to
Yourself now that I see you are not free
To be the man I once thought of as you!

M: I've always been the man you see before
You now. I am what I am! There's more in store 
For such a one as you, who are my friend.
If you'll admit you're interest in bed--

F: What madness is this that takes you by the
Soul so that you should speak such, as though a
Demon were driving your wit and your mind?
Let me go! Open the door, or you'll find--

M: The beauteous raven that I once knew
Turn ravenous with anger, this tame shrew?
You can't fool me, for all women are
Of the same breed and like, those near and far!

F: Stay far off! Or I'll meddle with your brains!
Though I see now that you have none, nor heart!
Else you'd have understood the labor pains
With which I delivered my tale in part!

M: A tale of betrayal!? Harlot thou art!
Leading men on with a smile and a glance
As you joke and sigh and ask them to dance,
Such is your tale! As fatal as deaths dart!

F: Please let me go--Please--Let go, let go! No!
A beastly brute you are, you are but show!
Have you no sense in you to realize
That this act you commit you will despise?

M: Whether I shall despise it or you is
Hardly the matter on my mind. I'm more
Than willing to love you with a kind kiss
That I offered once before at the door!

F: You miss again my pointed cry and plea
For abstinence and for so much mercy
As you can muster! No please, don't do this!
It wont bring you the love you sought, no bliss!

M: Tis a bliss merely to act upon you,
To unleash the beast that you will soon rue,
To satiate with hell what heaven denied
With the maid I have many years espied.


                      More than Meets the Eye...(c) Luke Bennette, April 2013

Thursday, April 25, 2013

A list of Sayings

Have you for me today my friend,
A thought a word or deed?
A sentimental heartfelt phrase
To make an ink pen bleed?
Have you a simple metaphor
By which your excess need
May be expressed in such a way
As to make haste and speed...

What have you now for me tonight,
Tis but another rhyme!
Have you a gist of syllables,
A sigh by which to pine?
What catchphrases of language
Will you this fair night maim?
What ambiance will go to waste
While you speak words so lame...

How many lines will you obscure
With ill begotten meaning?
How long before you do procure
A dictionaries gleaning?
Wherefore art thou, in nothingness!
No sense in you is found!
What happenstance could make you think
A square's that's clearly round....

Is all that's in your head but fluff,
Philosophies of yearning?
Has traveling within the bluff
Filled head and heart with burning?
Is common sense dead inside you
Or is that but a dream?
Please understand me when I say
You make me want to scream...

Which way is up and which is down,
Are you perplexed indeed?
By words expressed you are a clown,
And smell of herbs and weed.
In likes or um's or well you know's
You shake your head and smile.
I smile back, and all my shows
Label you infantile...

Your woeful tales do speak your mind,
But hardly speak of you.
Your actions tell me what I'll find,
They give to me a clue.
Your body language so awkward,
I want to run and hide!
Like Antony I'll find a sword,
Despair is born of pride...

Theology has never been
Your forte, this I guess.
For what is wrong is deemed as right
In how you deem to dress.
Theirs so much more to you I say,
Than meets the eye's first glance.
Yet you believe in expose
Bare as the floor you dance...

And what of you O ape divine,
Is this how you respond?
You look at her and for her pine,
And lead her far beyond!
Were not you meant to be for her
A shinning Knight in deed?
Was not a man a womans sure
Defense in time of need...

Now tell me dear professor sir,
Your catchy wit for me,
Explain the symptoms of the cur
Who strongly speaks of thee?
Why has it gotten into man,
That youth is somehow blessed?
Overcome with good looks they tan,
With ignorance obsessed...

A family is not a whole,
Its parceled out like doe.
This government is but a toll,
A bell that signals woe.
When everyone is thought of as
A simple means of gain,
By ill economy's bad spaz,
Such medicine is pain... 

                     A List of Sayings... (c) Luke Bennette, April 2013

Thursday, April 18, 2013

The Batting Line

Merrily, quite merrily, I do sing.
Not because I must or because I ought,
But because singing has quite a nice ring.
And while it's true, as we both knew, were taught,
That singing is rude in public, construed
By this listener as awkward and plain;
Yet get a patron for a sword, that bled
Of your freedom you may earn by your pain,
And suddenly no one is bored by song
That comes forth from the north wind pipes you own.
I sing because I enjoy what was long
Ago told to me by my mother, shown
In my infancy. A song makes most clear
That what we hate, do most verily fear,
Is nothing more than a foolish thought made
In the heart to be the law of the land;
When in truth such a law, an ought, is played
By those with the power, do understand
That by constraining talent and joyful
Song to only a few they discourage
Many a man from expressing his soul
And limit the few as their personal page
To sing and to dance whenever they say
That today is a good day. I say nay.
Nay to those that would keep my soul in check,
That would my heart overcome, that do peck
At my wants and my hopes and at my dreams,
Who provide nightmares at which my soul screams.
I will sing and dance, but not for power;
Touch me if they can, if it is my hour.
So while I wait for them to seize my frame
I sing quite merrily. Though very plain
My song may be to those who hear it said
It is worth more while than such infantile
Songs made by those who have paid and have bled
To the power that be in order that
They may have their chance, their turn at the bat.

                        The Batting Line, (c) Luke Bennette, April 2013

Monday, April 15, 2013

Belief; that which in effect gives relief
To one who holds something to be most true.
Therefore when I say that I suffer grief
Wherefore art thou? My dearest friend most true?
For believe me most assuredly, or
Else my eyes shall be shut to thee, that wealth
Has no effect upon me. For the oar
Made of gold has no opposite, and health
Cannot be obtained through unspent trinkets
Kept for the sake of a covetous heart.
Why in it believe? Its power ill begets,
And can only in circles tear apart
What was once as clear a path as ever
Could be; the aftermath of purity
Made firm by commitment, that did never 
Waver, found out to be no more than free
Stagnant waters: a fair wind that proved in
Time most foul! And so sweet relief did soar
For but a time by the oldest known sin;
A believe rooted in pride which did gore
Us as a spear in the side, in the rib.
Why leave me alone, why from my side fly?
When two hearts become one and one has hid
It leaves itself in the open to die.
So belief in oneself, whether married
Or not, is the fools fate; by which one finds
That he has bought nothing (since he tarried
In trusting the Spirit that guides all minds).
Such fools--one alone, or two in one--make
By their failure a proof for trust in God;
For sin's a tailor that measures and takes
So that the bride and the groom through life plod
As a result of their naiveté.
For though they be rich in pocket and purse
They discovered their union in a fray.
Art thou satisfied, do you understand?
Wealth supplies not belief in the other.
It cannot supplant, replace, nor demand
Of belief that it should remain firm; sure
Hope and commitment lies in poverty
Of spirit, meekness, and gentility.
For such characteristics attract, and
Do touch the heart with a wealth of sweet bliss
Such as we affect in the springs warm kiss.
So believe that belief is by God's hand
Nourished and sustained in natures design
By which man and woman both first do pine
For the love of God which they discover
Is the key to loving one another.
Relief, an affirmation of belief
By which one finds bliss and avoids much grief.

Thursday, April 4, 2013

How to Unwind...

You simmer and simper at the mouth with quips
That hardly remind me of Karate kicks!
Yet the simmer becomes a boiling range;
And as such I can hardly say I am sage,
For I have fueled the fire by poking round
Within your mind. Fetters, if they are not sound
Do come loose with time, just you wait and see;
For anger is stewed out of great misery.
Then ask yourself what you would write on her
Who you do believe to be unhappy. Were
You in such a position to stop
At the red light you'd consider the cop
Waiting to start up the chase with such glee ,
Releasing his rage, O quite merrily,
While he steps on your mistake full throttle
So as to escape the need for the bottle
Of booze or other supplements to choose;
Embracing these things he forgets he is ooze:
believes, for a moment, he's worth his pay.
So don't go sticking your head in the fray,
Rather, wait patiently and change your mind,
Lest a simmer becomes a boiling unwind.

                          How to Unwind, (c) Luke Bennette, April 2013

Saturday, March 30, 2013

The Seamless Seam

Is there a soul that a man can now read
That hasn't experienced some struggle
By which it came into the world? We bleed
As we grow so as to make ourselves full
Grown and able to do what is right for
Us. How else to survive but to suffer
Through, to soldier on, to break the fast door
That bars our way by resolute will's? Were
There any other way life would be a
Paradise to man! For no man loves pain.
Yet what lies upon the other side may
Prove to be what we have searched for, a gain
So sweet that all glamorous ardor pales
In comparison to the luminous
Beauty that stands before our weary ails,
Our hardened body, and our broken trust
Opens once more in the presence of, what?
But I cannot say what it is of which
I speak since hardly a day has gone by
That hasn't caused me some pain. In a ditch
Is my mind more often than not, I sigh
By night as though life had no meaning, no
Appeal, no beat, as though my heart makes much
Show at beating and cannot truly go
On since what is seeks is but a dream; such
Pretty lights yet unseen in the mind of
A man so longing for the sight of true
Sensational being that he cannot love.
And all that I seek and long for is, what?
For suffered I have not only in my
Bodily parts, whereby I have received
Mark upon marks that were marked on the fly
By sharp pointy sticks. By metal I bleed
So as to prove myself a man in a
Cold world grown dark and dank with so much work
That only a fool could thrive by the day
And make for himself some undeserved perk!
Still I go on, and on goes time; with me
On it! As if a jaunty ride by sight
Did suddenly loose its appeal when we
Boarded it; for such glamor is a plight
To man since he seeks in life permanence
Of comfort and security. How else
Should I describe the wound that festers in
My soul, this soul that bled and rang the bells
Of St. Peter's Pearly Gates with a fresh made sin
Made possible by time's way opportune?
Or am I but a fool, and merely a loon
That's searching and searching for who knows, what?
However much I complain and do moan
For whats hidden in the dark, has not shown,
No matter what it is after which I
Seek I know that it shall not reveal
Itself until I am down and out, die;
Until I am very humble, meek, steel
Myself to do my job: whatever that
Is. So search I still on this sad Friday
For what I long for, and what may at
Some point in the near future be at play
In my life and in my work as a ray
Of hope by which I may see that which is;
Whatever it may be, though all it is
Is what it is, by which what it has been
Is renewed and restored as though a seam
On a cloth that did rip down the middle
Became one and then seamless! A fiddle
Will play on that day I do find it there.
Whatever it is may it lay me bare
So as to reveal what's in my sad soul
So as to say that whats inside is whole.
And then I'll realize that all my work
Has earned me at last some well deserved perk;
Yes, when I find the who of the what.

                          The Seamless Seam, (c) Luke Bennette, March 2013

Friday, March 29, 2013

Wane the Dark and Wax the Day

Far off from me, why run away?
Why seek the non existent day?
But of course, you hear and fear the sounds
That make their voices heard in the towns.

Thunder and lightening, mighty forces
That shatter the ground and frighten horses,
That adds to the damage and woe within
As we here ponder, death, our enemy sin!

Yet I wonder at you who ponder to long,
You and the rest of the many manned throng.
I cannot understand the lengthy time
You place upon Christ's fare death and rhyme.

At that you turn, and I see the pearls
That fall all around your cheeks like murals
Painted freshly in the cold of May
Awaiting the Spring and the warmth of day.

Do you not have a heart to have rent apart
While the King of Kings doth his descent start
Into the depths of Hell where we belong?
Into death by which he saved the throng?

You see death as an enemy of God?
For sure, but the enemy now doth plod
After the feet of the savior, in tow;
For it has lost by a great force of show!

Weakened by grief, overcome by your tears
You have failed to realize the end of your fears
Has come into your presence and put down
The enemy who has stolen life's fare crown.

Un-minted and raw is the sight you see
For which I cannot lay a blame on thee.
Since vision lacks a word for such pain
I'll keep my peace and say no refrain...

But, a second perspective is all you need
By which the image with which you bleed
May be repaired by ink newly printed,
Wherein you'll find the truth unsifted.

The answer to your problem is in a book
By which you may take a second look
At whatever it is that is plaguing you
And see it, as it is, anew.

So take a look, then remember well
How you saw a man entering hell.
Your problem is not as great as it seems
Since he went to rectify all has beens.

By the back entrance he stormed the gate,
As if to say I am here, I'm not late!
And while it may seem a great sorrow
You'll have reason to sing tomorrow.

For the words of which I speak do retain,
Do ring a bell most clear, and I'd fain
Say that you'll glean much more out of them
Than crying the night away in this glen.

Still drops of gold do come faster still
And veils of flesh do hide them till
The sound of a stream begins to fade
While the moon keeps up its cold parade.

My words cannot comfort you yet in pain,
For night is still over us, and our gain
Is still afar off as it seems you realize;
But I hope you will heal, as the clock fly's.

And looking about I cannot mistake
Silence that sifts, shifts, and doth take
The sorrow in the hearts of mankind
As victory, and on my heart it doth grind.

Now comes a moment for I who know all,
A temptation made by the tempting thrall
That fails to voice his faith and hope
And falls to darkness at the end of a rope.

Do I know the truth that rises anew,
Or do I in sin continue to stew?
Have I over these forty days done well,
The mist sets over me, and I cannot tell!

Then a gnawing and cold sets its hold
Over my bones, and it doth make bold
To suggest and coax out of me all my doubts,
Before my eyes it waves them about.

Cold and chill do wax inside like a knife,
And I see now how you fell to such strife.
I see anew what I thought was good news...
And suddenly it plunges me in blues.

My knees groan and crack under the weight
That sets me to the ground with such hate
That I wonder if I shall escape this rage
That defies my hope, sets it in a cage.

For it seems that the enemy, though defeated,
Still seeks to overcome self conceited
By means of reminding them of the truth,
That by ourselves we remain from God aloof!

And so it appears the end for me and you,
The darkness sets in, and what was once true
And newly minted in my heart now takes flight
As it experiences the cold of winter's bite.

Yet as the cold whets its rusty blade
I hear a song from beside me thats played
In a rather upbeat way that shakes the night
And puts the cold inside of me in plight.

And I realize that the seed took hold,
And by the word you are now made bold
So that when I fell you were there to remind me
That God's love is deep, as deep as the sea.

Now the thaw begins in my heart, and I look;
For in the dark I did lose hope and mistook
Hope for fear by a pricey exchange.
I see you standing, looking down the range.

A single pearl upon your cheek now dries
As light overcomes what darkness denies.
I stand to join you, and hand in hand
We look out over the changing land.

The tree's were barren, but now come to life,
They endured the cold and the thorny knife
That winter sought to plunge in their hearts,
And now from them springs forth their arts.

The clouds are painted and tinted with red,
Yet after that comes gold light instead.
Such a sight restores my inner vision
So as to see by this sin's remission.

And I look over and see in you
The good news made evident and true.
How strange, I thought, as you look on,
The change in you that comes with the dawn.

No longer far off, no longer running.
No more are you forever shunning
A happy word or the good news I give;
For you saw first what I sought to live...

Now you who do read this poem listen well,
Lest you miss the point of what I here do tell.
The damage is done, yet the price is paid.
Evil is broken, and the corner stone laid
Upon the path for us to walk on through
Has made it possible to overcome what is due.

The good that comes from such a woeful day
Soon trumps the darkness that prolongs its stay.

                             Wane the Dark and Wax the Day, (c) Luke Bennette, March 2013

Monday, March 25, 2013

Kernel of Truth

The blur and whir of thoughts and wishes
Makes for man a variety of dishes.
Most are seemingly enjoyable,
But some can be downright deplorable,
While others taste divine and comely,
Still some thoughts can ring quite unsoundly;
For many a thought, and each has effect
In varied ways, each paying respect
To the core or center within it's shell
Of mystery and wonder. Such a bell
Doth sound when the hammer strikes metal,
And the dishes of thought can be fatal
If ill prepared by the chef of one man's
Imagination, can shred desire, bans
All reason and faith for ideologues
That speak to our hearts, but in the real slogs
On because it cannot measure out life
In the way that life truly is; for strife
Cannot be overcome by an idea,
But must be made to run and to flee! A
Treacherous imagination must be
Harnessed by man's discipline, and a sea
Must be prevented from overwhelming
Land by a hand greater than it's song. Bring
Me thoughts of varied kind so to eat,
But let the kernel of truth be a meat
That is well marinated by such faith
And reason as befits such recipe!
Lest I spew out your thought as a mere fee
For gaining my attention for a time
While you daze and confuse with painted rhyme.
Thus will your truth be real, and not a wraith. 

                            Kernel of Truth, (c) Luke Bennette, March 2013

Thursday, March 21, 2013

The Deacon's Gate

Gentlemen both, I bid thee adieu,
Your life begins, once more, anew.
Both past and future do now await
As you journey towards the Deacons gate.
A laying on of hands, a change of heart?
No, but a change nonetheless, in part.
A change that will bring much grace,
But the heart it cannot, will not, replace.
And so my advice? Well, none so to speak;
For you both do outrank this most weak
Minded fool, I who do address
You both must admit, must confess,
That I cannot fathom at this time
The meaning of the Deacons serving rhyme
Made permanent by steadfast vow
Carried out in time (in the now).
Yet still I hope and pray you'll do well
(Which you shall, as far as I can tell).
And when you get there, through the gate,
Say a prayer for me? Lest my fate
Be other than what God has planned for me?
Pray that God send wise servants such as thee
To guide and Shepard we laity
Who do walk in darkness, are unfree
Not because we forget to look
At Christ our King but because we forsook
Our own talents and dwelt insecure
Within the caverns of our mind most unsure.
So pray that we have the grace to go outside
Our hiding place, and to walk by your side
In serving and giving to those in need.
In this way we may our own selves feed
By forgetting for a while our sorrows,
Our self pity; for such acts make tomorrows
A day worth looking forward to.
So pray for me, and I'll pray for you
That we remain in constancy of faith
In God; lest ourselves become a sad wraith.
Gentlemen once more, I bit thee adieu!
As Deacon's remain in God, remain true.

                       The Deacon's Gate, (c) Luke Bennette, March 2013   

Monday, March 18, 2013

Maw and Thaw

Stop and listen to your fears,
They cajole you onward into tears!
Hearken no more to their bitter phrase,
Your eyes they seek to solve with glaze.
Hasten further you should not at all,
Lest in blindness you should stumble and fall!
Up and down, left and right,
We move about, but cannot fight.
Exhausted by the running game
We flee, in flight from the dreaded flame.
Escaping from what we know
To be real and true, more than a show.
Into darkness you run, darkness most deep
That leads to a numb and unblessed sleep!
And though it seems darkness from which your run,
I advice you to holster your anxious gun
That you may better see what you do flee
From is that which is God, eternity.
Crash and burn, our bodies break!
Yet still we flee, as from a stake
In death; for dying we do fear.
We cry for help, as death draws near.
What we lack is seen behind us now,
It seeks to be reunited. And thou
Who dost seek to be removed from it
Will in darkness forevermore sit.
Tugging at our sleeves apace
While we run in darkness, a hidden face
Suggests we stop and rest a bit;
Lest from the cold a coughing fit
Develop in our souls grown cold.
Stop and listen, be brave and bold!
For should we turn and face this threat
I can assure you, I would bet,
That this demon we face, death to self,
Is the assurance of life, and of wealth.
Prosperity lies on the other side.
If we are, (and this is crucial), with Christ allied.
So do not flee from silent halls,
But rather hear, listen! Jesus calls!
Do not run from his voice, his light;
For he restores to the blind their sight.
So if you would give up those things which draw
You onward into the lions open maw
You may find you have the strength to turn
And embrace the fire for which you burn.
And suddenly the worlds aglow,
Time's pace ceases, and wonder...O!
Freed from shackles once thought to be
A comfort in sorrow, I find myself free.
Herald I am, a witness to love
To earth itself from heaven above.

                      Maw and Thaw, (c) Luke Bennette, March 2013

Alls too late...

Miserable wretch are you. Can't you see
That what you have always wanted to do
Lies outside of your boundaries not in?
Can it be possible you cannot be
What you desire, that you cannot win
Through courage and fire what you seek?
But you say you have tried and tried  again
To overcome the obstacles; yet when
Struck down you get up again. That is good.
Start with that, if only to get some sure
Optimism within your system. Would
That everyone could recognize their straights
Through the eyes of optimism's sure gates;
For they lead one up, not down! No cynic
Holds a smile, they all wear a frown. Still wick
Burning bright, that is a candle that burns
Without thought for tomorrow, it turns
Not its head backwards to see what's behind
Since it holds to the task it has in mind.
And that task is what you have lost, my friend.
You stew in misery without an end
So long as you fail to set abroad your
Mind! It is riddled with self loathing, more
Than self loathing since life seems a hard chore
Made up by boogie men and fantasies
Born of the mind's imagery dwelling
Far to long upon what should or ought to
Be the case; such thoughts must, needs, go! What more
Can you ask yourself than what you can do?
What play act are you selling yourself, sing
To your mind when no one else is around,
And then allow to torment you when they
Do swarm about you like moths to the flame?
Can you give such misery a fair name
By which to rid yourself from its taunting
Game? Thus you know what you must do. So bring
Yourself to do it before alls too late!
Face your fear, lest it determine your fate.

                        Alls too late...(c) Luke Bennette, March 2013

Saturday, March 16, 2013

Stung by Death

Now watch this passion, I, through your eyes;
Though some do love, and others despise
That which they see as portrayed to be
What is, as is. How is it that we
Can view such a thing as this display
And not affected be? We well may
Enjoy a good show, or a rough fight
By which we do know that the dark night
Has not yet come upon us like a thief,
Has not yet stolen our comic relief.
Then was the day bright and jubious,
Our Papa became Emeritus,
A new face did rise, though old in name;
For so all men do rise by old fame
Made new through histories game, this dance,
By fortune's blade is struck down fair chance.
So in our own day and age is seen
Anew what is, what always has been.
And so I thought that through such a veil
I'd understood better this woe, this tale.
And though I'll never have seen in full
This tale of how was redeemed my soul,
Such a viewing as this through your eyes
Has led me, my sins, to hate and despise
That which caused such a passion for He
Who died by crossing to death by a sea
Of torments and shouts, of spits and of blows;
Such a sight did cause in me many woes.
While many a man who did view such show
Commented on it, as if they did know
How better to portray such an event,
My heart was struck--by an arrow was rent.
Now ask yourself this, you who do know,
If you know better then why don't you go?
Why don't you leave, but rather you stay?
Only until the end, only so that you may
Ridicule what you have seen and heard
Through a veil, a mirror, another's word
Made evident through imagination,
Made real by an artistic devotion,
Why don't you respect this great mystery!?
By which you and I were kindly set free?
So many a man in aged wisdom
Did my thoughts mistake for a wanton
Youth, did misunderstand my passion
For foolishness born of ignorant bliss,
Did ignore my tears, did contrition miss.
What can they take from this if their thoughts
Prevent them from hearing? The snares have caught
Them by the ankles, yet they know not its
Thorny vines do sneak upon their wits.
As for me I'll take from this sad act
A notion of how my life is a lack.
And many a tear I'll shed from this pain,
The idea, what I've done, this refrain
Pounds me from the inside like a fist.
If you understand from me the gist
Of what is going on inside of my heart
You will know what can be known full in part
As truth made clear through a veiled art;
Thus by this viewing my life did start. 

                    Stung by Death, (c) Luke Bennette, March 2013


Key to my heart, reveal yourself.
Show to be the contents, my wealth.
Exit from me whatever does not
Exist as that which my life has bought.
Be to me, you who exist nearby,
More than a thought, more than a sigh.
Walk, talk, breathe, lest I forget
You are more in life than merely a fret.
Open heart, be for me dear soul.
Converse with me, be with me whole.
Convert through conversation with me
In order that you may truly be
What you are, to me, the key
By which I may understand my life,
Reveal to me myself, cut through life's strife!

Time tells the story, alone I may be.
Through actions made, voluntary.
I cut myself off, strove, am striving
For what is; and what life may bring
I ignored, searching for a dream.
Never did what is and what I thought
Together meet, as they should, as they ought.
The key I misconstrued as love,
Love understood to be made up of
That which is violent and perverse;
But love I had not, not a jot in my purse.

One day I listened, how I do not know;
Such happenstance! It just goes to show
That we are not the key to ourselves.
We are but existing, and our heart wells
Over anxiously as we search our mind
For what reality shows, what we find.
But I had not listened for so long a time,
That this sudden light, barley did rhyme.
So foreign to me was the thought, as day
Is from night; for I had kept at bay
Through violence and strife perverse
What was truly good, clung to a curse. 
And so this thought, this sound did sound
Within my heart unlimited, unbound.
Not kept in check by a thing at all;
For limits are for like things, and fall
By the wayside when something new inside
Presents by itself, as itself, as allied
To my heart's true desire and its bent,
Presents itself to be heaven sent.

Heartfelt desire met graciously
Within, as a fire, what I did then see.
Dream did hold hands with reality
And what I heard I heard as the key
To who and what I am meant to be.
I saw and heard what is, eternally
Begotten; for in it I found eternity.

Yet this all was relayed to me in a way
Most strange, and odd, if I may say.
For we oft do think of God
When through life we do plod.
But how he reveals himself is not ours
To understand, our nature bars
Us from having access to his being;
As happenstance reveals, as we've seen.
How then he reveals is up to him,
And he chose to light my heart most dim
Through another heart, through his mother;
How else could we have met each other?

For he I had ignored for so long,
Though he was a capable man most strong
Incarnate, divine, not a jot of wrong
Was in him to show, not one jot!
And though it was I that he sought,
I ignored him, in ignorance walked;
In self knowledge I the truth balked.

But woman made his voice so clear
That I could not ignore her drawing near.
Through her I saw his presence at last;
For I saw in her reflected his wrath
Stayed only by her kind loving part
Employed for me. How great thou art
Lord Jesus Christ, for having done
For me what you did, for having won
My heart over and over again
Through your own mother. When
I did forget you and left your way
In order to walk my own path, I did stay
My salvation by stupidity,
Did forgo my wealth, what a costly fee!
Redeemed by receptive maternity
By which you were able to set me free.

So converse with me dear friend,
Convert with me, be at an end
Strife and violence perverse;
For that way leads straight to the hearse.
Exist, not as a mere wraith, a ghost;
For to live for yourself will at most
Attain you a swift and sure death
By which you will give your last breath.
Be for me the key to my heart.
Reciprocate my love, and so start
Again in love most mature
By which you may see a clear mirror's
Image reflected back at you
In which you shall see love's image true.

In one another we find the key to life
Through conversion to peace, out of strife.
And what is strife but a lonely walk 
Through eternity, with no one to talk.
But life is a union, is a unity
Of what is, of what I hope and dream
As the font of all life, as a steady stream. 

                   Keystone, (c) Luke Bennette, March 2013

Monday, March 11, 2013

The Presence of a Friend

In bygone times we were a team,
We few, we happy few did dream
Up many a creative rhyme
Made fit to film. Now step in time
With me and go backwards to see
What you have done for us, for we
Who did aspire to become such
Persistent artists. You did touch
Us at the heart with your spirit;
Though none of this did we merit.
You imitated God as is your nature,
A parent to we youth yet immature
In knowledge of life's many ways
And taught us to love to the end of days
That which we call the Art of life;
For Art overcomes all pain and all strife.
When we in chaos, in darkness heard
The sound of a voice, a confident word,
We took hope at escaping the mist;
For in your word we caught a mere gist
Of what was behind your voice and form:
We caught sight of God even through the storm.
While many another has tried to teach
What we did in you find, they did breach
Our minds not at all; for the lacked
What was given by you in your voice:
The invitation behind the choice.
An invitation to life and love
Through hard work, through toil we strove
To match what we saw in you, our friend.
(For you taught not knowledge, but an end
You did outline with your knowledge true.
You loved us first, while others a shrew
Did resemble in matter and mind;
As many a man and woman may find,
What is taught cannot be understood
Without a connection between those who would
Learn and the one who would them teach.)
What I am saying is this,
You made our learning life bliss,
And overcame our sad state
With a gentle hand, not hate. 
Now, while many a thing may be said
I'll end here! Else never to my bed
Shall I go for lacking time to say
How much I, We Few, do so love You;
So pray that our love remains always true. 

              The Presence of a Friend, (c) Luke Bennette, March 2013

Sunday, March 10, 2013

Unique and Perturbed

She stares at me and asks me well,
What is it that causes you such anguish, such hell?
I respond with anger, a flare of rage,
How can you ask such a thing from a page?
I spend my days speaking and talking,
I spend my nights waking and walking,
I cannot find peace or quiet at all,
No one understands! And so often I fall!
I am an introvert, yes this much is true.
I am not like anyone, no, not even you!
I need my space, and my time alone.
Lest I do something which needs atone.
I am melancholic, and often despair.
Yet of this melancholy am oft unaware!
I am choleric too, which doesn't help.
Am often treated as a mongrel, a whelp.
I want my way, and oft don't back down.
So often the mirror reveals my frown.
My sorrow increases and multiplies,
For I am obsessive! And my heart replies
To a mild and mediocre soul
With the full fury of the summer sun's toll!
Thus, driven between the poles of emotion
I have too many a strange devotion.
I stay in no place long.
I feel I am all wrong.
One day I long for love and sex,
The next day this very thing doth perplex.
Another I'd love a cloistered life.
Yet the morrow such thoughts bring me much strife!
Driven on in such a frenzied state
I am often filled with sorrowing hate.
I long for peace, yet I find none within.
I am often driven about, and so sin
Where the better answer would be to pray;
I beg God, not another day
Of this misery, of being myself,
To search for (as my wealth)
A state of mind that is content
And finding often only a mind that is bent...
She looked at me, with a sigh (most bemused)
That suggested to me my words had abused
Her contentment and peace of mind;
In others I often do something find
That causes me grief in having discussed
With others my problems. Yet I must
Wait for her response to know
Whether inside doth resemble her show.
She said introverts have a hard time,
They need their space in order to rhyme.
Melancholy is harder still to bear,
Many in sorrow have torn their hair
And little can be said or done to console
A tormented and self belittled soul.
Choleric minds have some advantage though,
At least they know what they know; although
They could stand to listen and learn
Lest in isolation they forever burn.
Obsession is something to forsake,
But it takes time, and the heart doth ache;
For pendulum's swing, and only with age
Comes the ripening of fruit, or spicy sage.
Now I ask the question, what's the answer?
Time she said, time cures such a cancer.
Yet I am ill content at this, for s'wounds!
What if such a thing can't cure the wound?
She answers, such a passage is only a part
Of what is necessary to cure your heart.
Prayer too is necessary, for sure;
So pray from the ache in your heart. A pure
Heart create within me O God,
That onward in life I may plod.
I beg not another day of myself!
My worst enemy, the cause of ill health.
I'll turn to others, and work in the land;
Procure for others with God's loving hand.
But in the mind, do not trod long my friend,
Lest you in the mind think yourself to an end.
But what when I tire of others company?
Said I to the woman who replied gently.
You will know what to do, you will!
You must trust yourself, whether the hill
And be at peace with fortune's fair chance;
In  life we must learn to join its fare dance.
Upset I may be at what was said,
But later I thought, when I went to bed,
That what she had to say was true...
Perhaps I could learn to be a bit like you.

                         Unique and Perturbed (c) Luke Bennette, March 2013

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

Well Thought Advice

From the porch the white haired priest looks out upon
A sight to behold taking place on his lawn.
Toddlers yelling and screaming ha ha! 
Lovers sighing and singing la la. 
Shoes that are tapping away in the night. 
The sound of men preparing to fight! 
Schoolboys are running, their shoes in the mud;
One falls headlong, then the sound of a thud!
Laughing ensues, the two boys do fight;
Their brothers in arms scream them on in delight!
Girls in their dresses walk around in disgust,
Disgustedly looking at the boys in the must.
A spark of annoyance in each of their eyes;
The boys and the girls do each other despise.  
Elderly women fussing and gawking. 
Many young men boast though still walking. 
The ladies do laugh as they watch them go by; 
They snicker and squeak when they do draw nigh. 
Old timers smoking their pipes in the shade. 
They smirk and the joke at the youthful brigade. 
Man breaks from the group to speak to the maid.
Her blush earns for him from the men a "well played".
The priest looks again; the scene changes hue,
No longer does sunlight reflect in the dew,
No more does the afternoon sun in full
Take out its fury, exacting it's toll. 
Sunlight that streams over hill and vale, 
By which we may see all that's said in this tale, 
Now lowers his head in a yawn neath the clouds. 
No more can be seen but the lights in the town. 
And under those lights dance the night away 
Old women and men; young boys at play, 
Imitating with pride their great hero's 
While the ladies and gents in sighs and O's 
Did take it in turns to approach their crush; 
In the dark were made many a blush.
And from his porch the priest chuckles and laughs,
For he knows all to well life's well worn paths.
He stands and he enters his house with a smile,
He goes to rest, prepares for the isle
Down which he must process in the morning 
Which will be overflowing, outpouring
With many a dreary eyes and faces;
Each reminiscing on the nights fare paces.
Will he reprimand they who did enjoy
The nightly revels which they did employ?
No, not he, but he'll remind them of this;
A saying that's important if one seeks bliss. 
Life at its best requires some work 
Lest merriment be a sour earned perk. 
And all of us toddlers, lovers, and old timers too, 
Will learn, are learning, and remember true 
Love that's made visible by a chance
That happened one night by circumstance. 
Let us seek ardently and strive patiently and maintain perfectly that which is most worth while. 
Let us seek communion with friends, brother, sister, father, mother, and infantile.
Obtaining balance and communion with God
We'll soldier through life's problems and onward plod! 

                              Well Thought Advice (c) Luke Bennette, March 2013

Sunday, March 3, 2013

Life's Cross

To be or not to be? What a question!
Is this to be a rant, a confession
Of how obstinate and stubborn a man
Can be when he refuses to get a tan
By way of sunlit walks upon the shore
Or by way of spending time evermore
Trapped, self imprisoned by his own deceit,
By the mind that is itself made replete
By repetitions of melancholic
Nihilism in a false sopranic
Voice that screams of dreariness, woe, and pain?
No need have we for the dreaded refrain
That is sounded in several different ways
By such analogies of darkened days
Of dreamlessness, of weighty minds gone dark;
For how can one dream unless first he is?
How a flame unless he is first a spark?
And from what possible source comes a kiss
Without first owning a pair of lips that
Can join that of another? You're minds at
A strange place if you think that taking arms
Against yourself will solve the great alarms
That have plagued your health for so many days,
Months, and possibly years. Such things are meant
That you should seize the day and woo your love
By means of staying your right vengeful hand
In order to face the great heaven above!
Let the dead bury the dead, live on in
Silent memory of them and hope to win
Some peace through living still in this dread land.
For to be or not you certainly are;
To consider otherwise is quite bizarre.
And if you should seek not to be what then?
You still are! A firm realization
You yourself made when you said that the dark
Holds mysteries unknown; a nightingale
Sings one to his or her death, while a lark
Encourages life to go on. A snail
Has more life than you though he go so slow
And carries more in state than you in yours!
Consider not death, such thoughts are for bores.
Live your life, though a cross, and simply be!
Life's fare cross; joyful reality.

                      Life's Cross, (c) Luke Bennette, March 2012

Monday, February 25, 2013

Strife be my Peace

I gave you these things for the good of your
Soul; to nourish your heart, and to make you whole.
I sought you, even in the dark of your
Pain; yet you sought not my face when I called
Your name. And so I turned my face,
I went my own way without you behind
Me, because you paid no attention; blind
Have you become in your wallowing death,
Unable to breathe, you have a labored
Breath that speaks to you of your burdens so
Procured for you by your sin. Hear you its
Taunting voice? Feel you its callous hands? Fits
Of rage and anger in choice manifest
Themselves, and do of you demand actions
Twofold, another choice so to speak, test
You and break you down! Sure weakness
Is a dreaded state that causes you much
Pain and suffering, for sure; but to touch
Upon such matters with more pain and such
Suffering that you cannot escape, this
Does not elevate you O foolish ape!
Rather you deepen the gauge upon your
Soul by a scythe, reap what you have sown more
Often in the flesh. Thus your spirit faints,
Your mind voices often its many complaints,
And death draws closer to you day by day.
Turn back and plead that you may be saved! Saints
Have procured such mercy from me as this
Which you now desire and need for such bliss
As you seek to obtain in these worldly
Things of power, money, and diamond rings!
What are these things to you who know life?
Why do you invite perpetuate strife?

              Strife be my Peace, (c) Luke Bennette, February 2013


I strain my ears as you speak the babel,
A necessity born of the rabble.
I grunt and I groan, inside my frame shakes,
Hearing muddied arguments, my heart aches.
False reality leave me now for good!
That I could escape you, I surely would...
But having gone up the mountain to flee
What falsely is seen, I am truly freed;
Yet know also what is necessary
(To return to the rabble, and so plea
The cause of truth, with gentle clarity.)
And so now you know, for knowledge the fee
Is service to others eternally
That they may, as we do, thus truly see.

                        Surmounted (c) Luke Bennette, February 2013

Saturday, February 23, 2013

Exit the Merry Go Round

In life we see but one struggle;
Man's search for truth, in full.
Yet only through strife comes he to conclude
That within himself he doth still elude
The dreaded answer which he seeks to find;
The truth is already within the mind.
And so we see in many men,
Whether eight, or nine, or twenty times ten
Years of age (in youth's or strong veterans)
The inner struggle which inside us spans.
A wide variety of characters and choices;
For the struggle takes on many such voices.
But if man seeks to overcome this drama
He must take a hint from the Dali Lama,
From the Pope, from a simple hermit;
But first he must himself be open and permit
The hint that has hinted within his soul,
That single voice that is the whole
Of what mankind seeks upon the shoal
Of eternity, the landmass of this earth;
It beckons from across the water's girth
To walk towards life and give up death.
So in the drama we are of life bereft
Because we find the answer and still forsake it,
Upon our golden answer we foolishly sit.
Ill content and ill at ease with what is offered
We listen to the drama that is proffered
By our senses and confirmed by our reason too.
We struggle to answer the voice that is true,
We stop short of happiness divine
And day after day in a drama we pine.
One day we are young, the next we are old.
One night we pout and another make bold.
Yet we never acquire what it is we seek,
We are too broken, to tame and weak;
Unable to give our all for what's worth.
The answer we seek is a new rebirth.
An exit from this drama we play,
And into a communion with each other. Pray
What is the name of this voice that we hear
That wills to be heard through the chatter of fear?
It is true character from which all the rest
Find their fullness, in it they are best.
So struggle on if you will, but as for me
I shall give in to the epitome
Of character that is made free.
Thus the conclusion of this drama is known
To be in Jesus Christ, which I hope to have shown
By these words that have come before;
Now you must exit life's struggle through the open door.

                    Exit the Merry Go Round, (c) Luke Bennette, February 2013

Thursday, February 21, 2013

The Apple and the Snake

Knowledge is power? That's what they say.
When did power become, so to say
Someone smarter than another, say
More than is needed? Knowledge will say
The way you will be greeted by say
The masses uneducated; by say
The people who you care about; by say
The politicians who smoke you out. Say
You know everything so to speak, say
That you have come to a peak; but say
You've gotten there, what then? Will you say
What you know? What have you gotten? Say
You know all things, but do you have love? Say,
I bet knowledge comes from up above; say,
From God, who's perfection is love. Say,
Do you have love? Or know what it is? Say
That knowledge is power, what next? Say
That power makes you less perplexed? Say,
Isn't there more to knowing what is? Say...
Believing and doing what's rightly known?
Knowledge is power, as I hope to have shown.

The Apple and the Snake, (c) Luke Bennette, February 2013

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Reaching Out

Grief bourne of pain upon the back of man's faint mind
Cannot long hold up, as man surely finds.
Pain born of grief holds the man's mind in check
Impedes his progress, and doth the mind peck!
So torn between what is and what could be
Adds to the weight of a man's misery,
And lends truth value to the parable;
Don't turn your head when your hand's at the plow.
But if such things should cease to be resolved,
Then grief continues, a pain that revolves
Around and around, causing darkness fast;
Such as the moon. But darkness cannot last...
And light returns again regardless of
The mind that ignores that beautious love.
So bear thy part, and when the darkness comes
Listen to your heart, the beating of drums
That echo inside your memories clear,
Listen for the sound that will abolish
Fear and trepidity. Ignore what's false,
Let unchanging light of eternity
Echo inside of your mind, and so be free
To reach out, back towards God, eternaly.
                     Reaching Out...(c) Luke bennette, February 2013