The Dwindling Hour

Quite muted may be
The waves of the sea
Compared to the sway
Of the day lit ray.
And yet how far behind
Be the day's ray in mind
When set against the night
Wherein is set the fight;
For behind is anything
That does not at present bring
Any sweet relief
To the weary thief.
Long be his run,
The night be outdone
Upon a wintery shade
That did the earth bade
More time than the day
For those traveling away;
For thieves do alight
In the darkness of night.
Yet the silence of this
Journey is great bliss.
For it opens the mind
So that in it one may find
All that was once lost
Without the weary cost
Of attempting retreat,
In this world of defeat,
In this world of noise,
In this world of boys
And girls gone mad;
Where good is in fact, bad.
Here in the dark one see's
That the light is abused;
Understands the bee's knees
Is just a cloak for items used.

                The Dwindling Hour, (c) Luke Bennette, October 2012

Before the Trial

A poem of beauty and love I would write 
To one with whom in times gone by my spite
Did cause great anguish, pain and misery...
Yet waring within my poem is a fee
Of guilt that's mixed with a brothers desire
To warn fair sister to contain the fire;
Lest such a fire consume her heart and soul.
I do not call her to surrender whole
Herself to the wages of sin, but want
To give her hope; lest she crush me in taunt
About my own inexperienced ways,
How she did follow for most of her days
A life far greater than anything done
By her whimsy brother. And she would shun
Me if I did state the facts to her face,
Our relationship would be without trace
Were I to complain, to commiserate
With others about how much I do hate
To see this golden gem, sister of mine,
To have wasted her potential, her shine!
But fool I am, to have thought such hard things,
Frowns, lines and wrinkles such deep thinking brings!
And I've wasted time trying to correct
A person that I've never shown respect.

Now my guilt set aside, or confronted,
Stupidity revealed, my ego blunted,
I now can say, with some pride I might add,
That my sister's way has not ended bad.
Has grown like a flower, withered by frost,
Only to be healed; and though great a cost
We who look on would have done it again,
Would have borne with her the pain of it when
Through mire and marsh she did make her bent way,
Through betrayal, and hurt, the darkened day.
I know that this flower still does survive...
Is growing still, is very much alive.
And I the gardener do work to change
My attitudes. Though my ideas with age
Have not changed at all with respect to sin,
I have realized that in order to win
Against the weed that threatens the flower
To humble myself, as a rain shower
Blanket the shoot of life with what it needs;
Rather than grunting and griping of weeds
That shunt about my flowering treasure...
I've learned that sacrifice is the measure
By which I may accomplish all my goals...
For mares do become horses from small foals. 

Whatever the case is, whatever choice
That this flower makes, whatever she doth voice
To be her desire, her decision,
I will remain adviser, will not shun
Her when with weeds she parlays and doth speak,
But will remain in the foreground, all meek
Learning from her lead how to approach such
As never see sunlight, who rarely touch 
What I believe is good, and wholesome to;
So I have learned from my sister a true
Skill, to be forgiving of others who
Do cause me great duress, who are untrue.

If my words do offend, know that I jest
On nothing at all; and may you be blest
To have heard what I have to say in this...
May it bring you joy, happiness, and bliss.
I do not admonish in order to hurt,
But as your brother, to warn you! A flirt
Turns to passion when passion is a breeze...
A breeze comes and goes whenever it please.
But love remains in the heart that's given
To a devotion, steadfastness! Give in
Charity and you will never regret
What you do in life. Though turmoil beset
Your person at every turn and crossing
You will find that love is much like flossing;
It must be kept up, must be regular.
Lest you should in time grow quite unsure
Of the cleanliness of your of your heart and soul...
So as you would brush your teeth, such a goal
As giving your heart charities wreath makes
Life worth living, even when the stakes
Are high enough to choke the soul. Trial
Is the means we know that life is worth while.

                         Before the Trial, (c) Luke Bennette, October 2012

Big Sister

Juggler I name thee,
My one true defeat.
O, that I could be free,
Yet that were not meat
Enough to keep me full;
For I've lived by you,
And in part been made whole
By knowing you in part.
So I know you are true...
Not a juggler, not at heart.

You juggle this, and that as well;
Attempting to steer clear of hell
As best you can with what life gives.
Where others do falter in strife lives
The grandeur of your success!
For you juggle each thing, bless
The ground with your presence...
Elitist perhaps? Better than peasants!
But in all this attire of mind
You still are very kind
To both those that juggle,
And those jugglers.
Might I suggest a bugle
To ward off burglars?

Yet all kidding aside,
Which is hard, as pride
That is thrown by the wayside
Is kidding for we who do slide
Through life with a cup of gin
And a smile on our faces, win
Glory at the slightest touch
Of the hat from a stranger;
Or is this all a bit much?
Like a child born in a manger?
You've eyes of fire,
A mind that's steel,
Though juggler's do tire
You never keel.
You're spirit is level,
Off key at times, but hey...
You ward off the devil,
Keep his tenacity at bay
By your trust in God,
Whom we both do laud.

So am I worried as you grow old?
Not that I know, never been told
Has my heart that you'd be ill
From excessively giving your will
To optimism and to your king;
He did after all give you your ring.
But more than this, you gave your all...
Your responded to Grace, to the call.
You accepted love from on high...
In the form of three children nigh.

So if in doubts, or in straights...
Give a call up to those pearly gates.
Say, "I'm in need of another store
Of patience! This world doth bore
Me to tears from it's mediocrity!
And from it I am tempted to flee!"
And he'll respond from behind,
Because God and your king,
Well, they are of one mind.
From this poem, I hope you do sing.
Know my prayers are with you always...
Before they were, now, till the end of days.

Big Sister, (c) Luke Bennette, October 2012

Many Things...

Treading sand that's heated by the sun
Causes a blandness treated by one
Who is traveling with you, by your side,
To curse and fume at you, his friend's hide!

Carousing the stars at night's frame
Hour of dread, what bars do so name
That time men fled when in their own home
In order to stay awake, to roam,
Causes a number of stares, so to speak;
Becomes the story of the week.

Driving faster than the speed of light
On a morning where there is no sight
Of anything, there is a misty fog,
Is like setting foot into a bog
And ignoring the squishy feeling;
Yet your fears such action is healing.

We often do crazy things in this world,
We are for our friends a divine herald
Of change in a world of stability,
And sometimes the opposite, you will see
When we take a stand in a world of flare
In order to live life as though we care.

And though it's not the same as these
That have come before, if you please,
Do listen to what I now have to say
To you who do walk in the night and the day.

It is strange to go to a place
Where a cross stares you in the face...
Yet for you it is stranger still to be
One who does not go at all, does flee
From the creator of the world at a pace
That is akin to a five K race.

And so you know the ways of the world around you,
And you know that the world has in fact found you.
How will you remain in your faith? Remain true
Unless you remain to the teachings true as glue?

What I have said is nothing new I'm sure,
Contraband is after all merely a blur
And you of all people should know these things;
For they aren't exactly diamond rings
Given out by men of honor,
Bound by men of the collar.
But you know enough to know what's good...
To follow your heart, as God knew you would.
So take a breath once more and breathe...
Another year has come and gone; I heave
A sigh of gratefulness and pray
That next year I may humbly say
I've done better than the year before...
Come closer to the pearly door.

Many Things... (c) Luke Bennette, October 2012

The Hidden Light

Words be not enough,
Thoughts be broken.
Sighs are but bluffs,
And stares a mere token.
To speak to you is base,
For you I cannot face.
To think of you is false,
For I am but callous;
And you are far above
Whatever lies in me,
Hidden, mysterious love,
Endless as the sea.
And if I stare at you,
How can I remain?
For I haven't a clue
As to the refrain
That is sung to your name!
I cannot at all claim
To search your face with mine...
For you pierce me through thine.
O world reveal to me the King.
O words, be open to me and sing
Of the glorious reign of God,
For I, a poet, do merely bawd
At what I cannot know or understand...
And what is by me poorly planned.
O eyes do succumb to darkness now...
That in the dark I may in faith bow.
May increase of darkness increase my faith,
Lest in the dark I become a mere wraith.
May the darkness of life inspire hope
That I am not bound by the rope
Of my consolations and satisfactions;
Which when taken away are malefaction's
Waiting to be unleashed by tempers wrath,
Uncultivated virtue the aftermath.
So be to me my dear Jesus...
Everything, even my breath...
Not the breath that's smelly and strained,
But the breath of life, I do breathe pained
Now without you in my soul!
Enter in, and in you may I be whole.

                            The Hidden Light, (c) Luke Bennette, October 2012

In Jest I Say

A nave of spades, a jack of clubs,
A prince of hearts, a diamond ruff
That overcomes all other studs;
His hair is shimmering black, rough
Are his hands in an attack! Quick
As lightning, and flashy too; such
Is his nature. But like a wick
That's burned down to long, his cold touch
May come on stronger than you'd think
Possible, for such a fine and
Jovial spirit, doth oft wink
To see if you can see his hand!
Slight of hand, trickster by his trade...
And quite clever; his tongue his blade.

On stage we know him as the Puck...
Yet this page is more; he's in luck
To be our dear friend, a fine man.
He always has a perfect tan.
While his bombastic humor may
Affront some fool whom he puts down,
We see him as wise, and today
We come, near and far, to the town
In order to wish him well! Jokes
Are made, and many do tell him
How very much they miss him; blokes
Do shake his hand, and on a whim
He doth look through the crowd gathered;
His smile says it all; we mattered.

So sing your songs, and play your tricks,
Pray to God, withstand them fool hicks
That would treat you like piles of dung...
Give them a run, and their pockets
Do treat with, until they are wrung
From all value; and when all bets
Are won in your favor thank God!
His name ever praise, ever laud.
Don't be a stranger you knave, don't
Forget your friends old Jack, and won't
You be sorry you sad old heart
If you don't act your shining part.
You are a light for others to
See, a light for God; now be true
To your calling, your part. Happy
Birthday to you; now go and free
Those that do need a smile, do hope
To be released from the shackles
That bind them, those foul modern ropes
That are wrapped around, manacles,
Their sad sorry minds. Melancholy
Grips a nation; go forth, set free
All these fools from their misery.

In Jest I say, (c) Luke Bennette, September 2012

Through the Cloud of Glory

I walk down the road, and on either side
Their I find that the toad has so allied
Himself with the merchants that line the streets
That poor peasants flock to their vending seats...

And you too should come, he says with a smile...
I am struck dumb, and shutter quite a while
As I ignore his wide, toad-like, face of doom,
That gapes open wide only for more room
That he may swallow me whole, without a trace
Dispose of me, as a shoal of fish; in that place
I found fear following behind me like a train...
Echoing it's croaking, monotonous, endless, refrain...

My glance is caught further down the road again...
Not merchants this time, but sure footed men
That do holler with voices of varying pitch!
They hoist the sails for a circus tent, which
Fascinates me so that I stop to look...
I read the colors as though a book...

A voice tells me to hurry along,
Lest I become one with the noise-some throng...
I recover my senses with a titter,
A flair of anger, a heavy hitter
At the home-plate...
I am in such a state...

Hurrying along I regain my composure...
The sounds begin to align to the moisture
In the air; which begins to strike the ground
With a composition of music never found
In any other place all throughout the earth...
For I walk through the land of my home, my birth...

And for a moment I am struck so that I am still...
I have escaped the noise of color,
And of merchants have had my fill...
But here I stay for the sound of my brother...
Echoing through eternities open portals,
Through memories found in we mortals...
And I gaze upon the ground in this forest den,
I remember him there, stuck in that wide fen
Across the way where we did play
In the sun, in the rain; we did every day
Become better friends, he and I...
Until the day he drowned, did die.

Then I am a quiver with fear...
Suddenly I feel him draw near;
An icy cold hand, but warm to the touch.
Such illusions of mind are over much
For the senses to take, they cannot
Stomach the reality of what is bought
By believing in such fantasies...
So they take what they see,
And twist and turn it to what they like;
Lest realities hand lash out and strike
Their face with the palm of its hand!
So I found myself, in that dreaded land...

Turn away! Don't look back!
The voice inside said to me...
Come hither, my sister!
Set me free! Said he...
But I knew now, too late,
What I was seeing...
And before my fate
Overcame my being
I wrenched myself away,
From that hand of ice...
From my home, my play...
From memories of nice
Happy thoughts wishful thinking...
I ran from there! What was I thinking?

Barren now are the roads.
Not a person walks them.
Not even those foul toads
That once tricked me
Into fettered slavery...
No, not a single color,
Not a single image...
No memories of brother...
Only a mere savage
Minstrel before my eyes;
Minstrels...them I do despise...

And as I walk along he plays a ditty,
Calling the throng, with a song quite witty.
Yet I could not stand his music at all!
I hated it, and in the dark I did call
To him, to him I did beg be silent now!
But he merely winked, and did bow
As if to accept an applause, an encore!
If I could get my paws on him, how sore
He would be! How very much he'd regret
If ever I caught him; for a touch of set
Anger was writhing through my veins...
I considered going back, old refrains
Were pecking away at my desires...
Little lamps in my mind, rather than fires...
In a maze my mind now wandered
To every place I have since sauntered...
And I wondered where I was going...
Wondered at the point of it all...
Wondered at the wind blowing...
I wondered at the quiet call...

Then suddenly I recalled myself
To my senses and shut my ears...
I could no longer hear the wealth
Of this minstrels ditty, no fears
Were set upon my heart any more,
And the anger took flight, the well
Of frustration became dry, the door
Was shut to mine enemy; I sell
All my treasuries of past loves
To the voice I hear. Gentle doves
Do gracefully lift me off my feet...
I fly over the minstrel; his defeat.

Now these doves do take me high,
Into the darkness, the clouds, where nigh
Invisibility is at work, is at hand!
The ground sinks beneath me, the land
Indiscernible to mine eye;
Confusion now reins, try
As I might to turn my intellect around
To where I had been. I am found
In a swirling mass of terror and pain,
I cannot stop the shivering refrain
That besets my heart, my soul!
I bunker down inside, control
My raging fear; like a woodsman
Desperately fighting the fire
I strike back with my desire
To be safe and sound from this dreaded wind!
The sound of which howls louder than sin...

A song begins to dawn in my heart...
Not from my own memory, in part
Perhaps have I given myself
To this great song of wealth...
Yet it seems that it comes from without
To be within my heart and soul, felt
I that it became one with me tonight...
And the raging winds no longer fright
But begin to sound out the melody...
As if I had received from the voice a key
To ceifer the raging winds of pain
As having spoken out in a refrain
Of the glory of God...
A never-ending laud...

Now emboldened by this understanding,
And surrendering myself, now commanding
That all of my energies be engaged
Into this cloud of glory, this saged
Love that beckons to me,
This loving voice, this sea
That pours into my being...
Can it be true? What I am seeing?
I see light unknown...
I see, as though shown...
I see, yet do I see?
Can this truly be?

I stretch out my hand...
My fears one last stand
Take hold of me before I reach
What I was reaching for, teach
Me to fear what is before me...
Teach this sight is all illusory...
Turn my sight back to the cloud...
Falling down now...how very proud
I am that I realized my mistake...
My mistake...did I indeed make
With my foolish behaviors of mind
A mistake? I hope others may find
Me sound of reason when I return...
I hope I realize myself, lest I burn
With ensnarement from their reproach...
Already I can see on the ground a coach
That will take me back to my house and home...
The minstrel waves at me! He holds a comb
To for my frazzled hair, now such a maze
Of many tangles, a fiery blaze
Of lightening and maddened haze...
O, what strangeness! What a craze!
And to think I had almost fallen for it...
This light, this illusion, this religious fit!
Now the coach is off, and I am in...
I have regained myself, I do win
The game that has been set against me...
I have prevailed, can once again see.
We travel past my home and I sneer
At how once I did travel in fear
Across it's plains, this relic place...
I no longer see my brothers face...
We travel through the circus tent!
How beautiful it's colors! Unbent
Are it's poles reaching to the sky!
I feel strange again; I don't know why...

The minstrel plays a tune that I like...
A hand slaps me! My face does strike!
We enter the merchant lane once more...
The minstrel opens for me the door...
The smiling toad throws open wide
His arms, his smile; I am beside
Myself with fear to see his face!
My brother stands in disgrace
Next to his side, ashamed of me...
I do not think...I exit...then I flee!
I run from the road, I run from it all!
I run through the day, the night, I call
Out to the voice that once reigned in me...
I cry out at night in an endless sea...
I cower in fright at every noise that's made!
I cower in fright, for the game I have played
Has thrown me from heaven so dear...
Into a world of doubt, suspicion and fear.

The hunt is one, they come after me!
They say, come again! Pay the fee
For using the coach which returned you here!
You shall be enslaved, forever my dear!
Do not run into the night, this wilderness;
Come! With us you may find great bliss!
Your unfettered desires may become you yet...
I grantee you'll like it, I will even bet
That once you return with us you will say
I am better off in this place, better off this way!
Come, give yourself up to your lust...
We are your friends! We you can trust!
Accept your pride my dear little girl...
Accept us, we are your dear pearl...

Twisted, deformed, and mangled as I am...
I hear in their words a twist, a mere sham...
I hide in the first tree that I find...
I shall stay here till they go. I have a mind
To remain here forevermore...
I fear I have lost myself, a whore
In a wilderness of stupidity...
My price for doubt, no longer free.
My hair is all tangled, my dress ripped and torn...
I am besmirched, ugly, and forlorn...
My captives surround me on every side...
They smell me out, they sniff for my pride...
Wild wolves are they that now prowl the plain...
No longer glamorous; for to my shame
I had seen them in a different light...
Now I see them as they are at night.
Of monstrous shape, and color too...
I cringe at their eyes, my body drew
Back at the mere thought of their hands...
Groping in the darkness of these dreary lands...

In the shadow of this hollow, this gaping maw...
Where I hide for my sorrow, fearing what I saw...
I pour out my heart to the winds, I do cry...
I pour out my soul, my sins, lest I die...
I know not who will answer, only that I fear
To die without confessing, to be a mere
Of darkness in the presence of the light...
To succumb to this evil, this darkness, this night.
I beg forgiveness, from whom I know not!
I cannot recall who it was that had bought
My soul at a precious price...
I scratch at my hair now covered with lice...
I, mere wretch that I am...
Now contemplate, do dam
Myself in my thoughts, in this place...
I think of nothingness, to be without trace
Of form, without grace of life...
To be free from the pain, the strife
Of fear, the shallowness of air
That with the beasts I do share...

Thus to I raise up with croaking voice,
A voice devoid of water from my choice...
I ask one last time for help from above!
One last time do I profess in love
My hope to be delivered, to be rescued;
And I pick up the knife that is imbued
With bitterness and hateful crimes...
I hear somewhere, far off, the gentle chimes
Of a clock; in a city by the shore...
I had only thought it to be lore
That spoke of such a sound...
Suddenly I realize that I am found...
And the winds do answer me as I stare
Into vacancy, they do answer my prayer.
A spark within is set again to burn...
I suddenly remember, do yearn
To see again the sight of the cloud...
To open myself to his praises, and laud
Out in the dark of the night, without thinking,
The love in my heart! The darkness sinking
Into the dawning day begins to tremble...
The beasts on the field do now resemble
The figures they once were by day...
They retreat to the road! The dawning fray
Begins to gnaw away at their heels...
Bells do sound somewhere, their peels
Draw me from my hollow of grief.
I run over the meadows in relief...
I follow the sounds that I hear in the distance
I cast aside all fears, all resistance!

A tingle in my spine...
A voice calling mine
Own soul...
I am full,
Am radiant as the day!
I climb the hill before me...
And marvel at the quay
That hides near the sea...
Now beautiful is it...
I take a moment, I sit
And gaze at this city of God...
Where men and women do laud
In praise and thanksgiving the King
Of glory, their voices do ring
Out in psalms of joy!
In communion they employ
Each other; and the cloud draws nigh...
I recognize it, this cloud, and I sight
With deep relief...
Letting go of grief...
All my fears allayed...
My suffering stayed...
I recognize now how to love...
In communion does the gentle dove
Come more readily to dwell with man...
I was foolish alone, following mine own plan
With brazen arrogance!
A deadly song, a dance
That led me where none could confirm
The love in my heart; a miserable worm
Was I all alone, so abused;
So very much was I used
Up in my struggle that I doubted it all...
And from the cloud did I then fall...

As I walk down to they who do fill the square
I breathe in the freshness of ocean air...
I turn and speak a word to you...
Remain in love, be ever true
To the one who has set you free
From darkness; who doth eternally
Give you the grace to draw nearer still...
Who will in time give you your fill
Of life, shall fill you with bliss!
If you struggle so as not to miss
The boat that crosses the ocean blue...
You'll receive more than you ever knew.

                   Through the Cloud of Glory, (c) Luke Bennette, September 2012