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