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