Shaking Things Up

From whence did the form come that it came so
Speedily, as a shooting star that falls
From orbit? It's glimmering sheen a show
Of fire, sparks of gold, resplendent halls
From memories long ago blaze before
Mine eyes in this single moment of sight.
For to see her is likened to a door
Of Iron that is opened to the dark night;
Such is the might of her beauty, that touches
The deepest depths of the soul. What villain
Could escape from this blaze, the clutches
Of her piercing gaze, the gaze of the sun
In the form of a gentle woman's face;
One that does tell evening "move apace!"
That the sun may rise again to see her,
Who shines in the night as a beacon sure
To those who have never seen sun lit rays;
Surely she is a sign of endless days.

And though the one I speak of, immortal
Beauty, piercing gaze that touches the soul,
May only be compared with to these things
As a metaphors to reality,
Even so I shall compare her; she brings
Out such images, such depth, as a sea
That cannot be fathomed by any man.
So is woman, so is she, a great fan
Of the imagery that man does use. What
Other being shall he take note of in life
That does not limit himself to a shut
Window, a closed door, life full of strife;
But woman's beauty and piercing gaze makes
Him humble; and in her presence he shakes.

Shaking Things Up, (c) Luke Bennette, September, 2012

CTL Flyer

When you fly through the air, avoiding trees,
You avoid the snare, but aren't the bee's knees.
And though you float high above all of us,
You can't be here in this CTL bus. 
But still, at least we know you're around,
Flying higher still, sometimes upside down;
And though we'd rather you be with us now,
We're glad that you've managed, and to you bow
A nod of encouragement and delight,
That you keep up your courage, the good fight.
Tie up the line, and get in the jet plane;
Watch out for the clouds, stay out of the rain.
Wherever you go think of us below;
Take our memory with you where you go.

                       CTL Flyer, (c) Luke Bennette, September 2012

The Lord's Mountain

With loving ascent let us ascend high
And lofty white peaks; where the breathing sigh
of God may be heard by the one who seeks
His powerful word. Let the wind now streak
Through our whitened hairs, or brown, or black, or
Golden hue of sun; let not this great Orr,
Precious metal, be by us lost but won;
So while we trek this hill in simple garb,
We with a cord tie ourselves to the one
That ties us all together with a barb
Of suffering, of pure light, and of bliss;
Yet though this trek be to us a great fight
To climb the blessed peaks, let us miss
Not what we left behind, bespeaks the might
Of God in our hearts. And though our eyes do
falter from time to time upon the great
Valley bellow our brown lit robes, and dew
The likes of which drank, that second rate
Water devoid of life, that stank, though these
Sorts of things which once we valued with love
Do occupy our minds now far above,
We strive, nonetheless, through the mercy of
One whose peace is likened to a white dove.
But here the rocks do fall atop us, now
We cringe and fear the trek ahead, we bow
Against the wind that strikes our faces, drink
Deeply of the cold chill that takes our breath
As the travelers fee; what greater brink
Is there to walk than the one we do? death
Made powerful than the one we aspire
To? wherefore can we discover our God
Better than in the present sufferings? laud
Out praises more sincere? or trust in our
God's love, even though we do fear to loose
His precious gift? where else near or else far
Can we find in order that we may choose
To give to God what he now desires?
This is the mountain of our God we walk,
Though Earth it be called in all people's talk.
And as we age we climb it, higher still,
Or die upon the steps for lacking will
Of purity, humility, having
False desires for our fill water,
Or bread to eat; thus do I pray He sing
You a blessing, that you may then be sure
That he will be with you always, and then
In peace you may give yourself, a gift to men...

                     The Lords Mountain, (c) Luke Bennette, September 2012

The Open Door

Whatever image we have of woman,
One can be sure, it is better than the image of man.
True can be said, perhaps, in conclusion
When speaking ofa woman's view rather than
That of a man; and both do find it good
To see in the image of the other what would
Bring them to peace in God,
Would help to give him praise, to laud
Out a song, a hymn of praise.
Allow me now to restate, rephrase
If you will the things that I have said thus far.
That man and woman are of one knit,
But yearn for each other as from star to star.
Thus in each other they find sweet relief,
Whether in love of body, or in soul they meet,
Whatever circumstance, though it be brief,
Their God, in passing, as though on a street!
And by such sight, the heart, united to wit,
Becomes a voice, a wave of sound
That is yet unheard except in a gentle frown,
In a smile returned, the blush that's found
In a moments notice, that makes one look down.
Though stars do stand so far apart,
They long, the one for the other's stead;
And looking so far to the other's heart
Eternal separation is what they do dread.
Then why O stars are you silent?
Why do you only shine your light?
Why are you so very defiant
In hate of God, hold onto spite?
Speak with your light, lest the light you shine
Becomes you with a dark from which you will pine.
Thus do I look up when woman passes me by,
To see her smile, it is then that I know why
Regardless of union, bodily or not,
This love one feels, experience,
Is truly human, and that it ought,
To lead me back, as does a fence,
To the gateway of the Shepard door.
Be that sight for me, O woman, O Star,
I do beseech thee, I do implore;
Lest I should wonder from afar,
Further still from where you and God are.
So be thou still in good humor, when bleak times come around,
Lest there be in you a demur, that takes what cannot be found
In the daily passage of our experience,
Lean not away from God's beauteous fence,
Traverse with me all the way on your side,
Walk with me, lest I be filled with vain pride,
Stay with me awhile, do not leave.
You are for me, and I for you,
The means by which we may believe
That God loves us, is to us true.
So woman, I, Man, do in love pursue
A mystery that is found in your frame,
But holds, to my delight, love anew,
The mystery of Gods very name.
And though I love you but from my heart,
My soul with yours enjoined to God's,
I know that this is but the start
Of gleaning love. My heart applauds
To see you walking down the path,
And in our wake, the aftermath,
Come many others, who search us out,
And will in time find, as we, all about
The one eternal God in three,
Be my example, and I will be for thee,
What I do beg of you through God.
Who sends a smile to me through yours,
Gives through you a loving nod,
This is what we seek, we are open doors.

                        The Open Door, (c) Luke Bennette, August 2012

The Perky Tornado

Through the town their goes up a cry
By which men do swear, and women do sigh,
For up in the clouds, hidden just out of sight
Are the rays of the sun, covered over by thy might.
And suddenly their comes a single drop of rain,
That patters, and patters, then a cascading refrain,
Then the wind howls, and all the earth answers,
Like an avalanche of off pitch cantors!
Combining elements brings forth new terrors,
Greater and stronger than man made fetters;
And such a beast that's loose in the windy breeze
Now slams to the ground, it's not meant to tease!
Opening up it's ghastly mouth,
It sucks up the air from north and from south,
From east to west it carries itself,
Ruining more than the earth or our health,
It stampedes across the winding brook,
And makes passerby who do flee now look...
Now its strange to think, that this great fiend,
One of natures greatest beauties, by all is frowned
Upon because of the great brawl of energy
That she brings to the site, a fallen tree
She may toss to the sky,
And others that see her do sweat, some do sigh,
For she measures the measure, and breaks it down,
She breaks the standards in this crummy old town.
Such is the woman I do know by heart,
Who cascades around at the very start.
Who leaves not a trace of herself behind,
Who pays no attention to others, no mind,
Cares not that she is who she is, not at all,
Loves who she is, and loves others, all.
Who is this lady who resembles natures beast,
This creature of beauty that God has released,
With firm affection do I applaud her stance,
Though some may think ill of her advance.
I hope that her path bring her close to those
Who can learn from her experience; I close
With a word of prayer for her,
To God I pray, of which I am sure
That he has blessed her beauty, Has blessed her work,
This boundless sea of generosity.
And may he protect her from jealousy,
And inspire others through this gift, this perk.

                           The Perky Tornado, (c) Luke Bennette, August 2012

Comfort Zone

What is the mirror that it should reflect?
Hidden errors it cannot detect.
My frame, my body, it clearly defines,
But cannot see past those clearest cut lines.
What is a turn that allows me to see
Another side, potentiality?
Have I discovered what I sought to know?
Or does the turn obscure what once did show?
I turn my back on what I see in me,
I turn my back, and I look onto thee.
And though, like a mirror, I cannot find
Within you the answer I had in mind
Still there is a greater joy to put out
From my own self, to cast off, cast about
In an unknown sea, a turbulent wind;
Perhaps in you I will find in the end
The key to my questions, the answers three
To the problems I've found eternally
Probing my mind, and through it my heart's core,
My soul throbs to see thee, is longing for
The mystery you posses. Yet you go,
Disappear, like an evening star, do show
Yourself to me as if to tease me out,
Then vanish without a trace; and I pout
To have been led astray by your fleeting
Presence so dear. Now I do speak, I sing
Upon the high waves so far out upon
The ocean blue where I was by you so drawn;
In silence the wind responds to my call,
In silence the sea makes my ship it's thrall,
In silence I falter, my body breaks
Upon the mast, as the ship in high stakes
Crashes through the rocky ground. Gone adrift
Has my ship, with no chance that the sea lift
It from it's peril, its doom; sealing my own gloom.
Silence surrounds me as I crawl the deck,
As the ship sinks down, a pittance, a speck
In the vastness of the ocean, silence.
My one hope is the rock, my recompense
For my journey, a safe place to rest my
Head before I go on, before I do die.
Silence as I scramble the rail of wood,
Silence as I land on the rock, and blood
Does pour from my side with no end in sight,
Silence do I now see, there is no light.
Silence becomes my feelings more than touch,
But I long for the warmth of the world much
More than I ought to; for there is a world
Which your sight was the brilliant herald,
And does call out to me from beyond me,
In the depths I do fall, from my rock flee.
Silence now becomes my dread sight as well,
And suddenly silence becomes a hell.
For in my mind a scratching is heard, fierce
As the kind that is heard by rolling hearse,
The kind that creaks, and screams your name out loud;
Such silence has turned my sight all around!
Sinking into the blue, no more light seen
From the silver moon as it might have been
Had I been on land, by my mirror's side,
Silence becomes my taste; arrogant pride
Fumes forth from my body, possesses heart
To cry out in such anger that waves part
To see the vile sound spewing from my mouth;
And even as I return from the depth,
Regain the surface, breathe deep of the air,
Silence becomes my nostrils. In despair
I cry out, in silence my cry unheard
Shakes the sky now grown peaceful, like a sword
That rents in half a grown man is my voice,
Though silence becomes me, I still have choice.
But then you appear, you reach out your hand,
From the rock where I fell you now do stand,
And I who have fallen short of the task,
What should I choose? Well, need you even ask?

                    Comfort Zone, (c) Luke Bennette, August 2012

The Mexican

What do we do with Mexicans?
Nothing much, we put them in pens.
We ship them out, or do we ship them back?
Now that I think of it, a ship we lack!
But somehow, or another, they come, and they go.
But without them, we know, there'd be no flow.
A vibrant song goes forth from their lips,
It brings out the groove, the swing of the hips,
The women, or ladies, become all afire,
They satiate, in men, the love of desire.
Their hands make anew, what was thought to be old,
They make a party lively, when it seems most cold.
Their heart is in it, because you only live one life,
Yet they flee from their home, all full of strife.
For their sake, for their home, I pray to God,
To him I cry, and to Christ I do Laud,
For the sake of my friend, who has taught me to smile,
Whenever I see the sight of his profile.
For the sake of my friend, the passion he brought,
To the sound of a guitar, of which you ought
To play with life, with soul, with a beat!
For the sake of my friend, who accomplished this feat.
What little I know of him is his heart,
His homeland means much to him, that's a start.
More will come in time, when time has passed;
When more and more hearts are then amassed
For the cause of peace, love, fidelity,
Of hope in God, and the blessed maternity.
I speak these words to my friend, in time;
Hoping he understand the meaning of my rhyme.
May his hands be evermore limber, and fit,
Capable to swing a hammer, or use a pick,
May a song be always in his heart, his wit
Be full of good cheer, and his phrases slick,
Not for simple profit, nor for pleasing gain,
But that God's name be praised, for this refrain.
And through his profit, may his country be,
Through God safeguarded, eternally.

                    The Mexican, (c) Luke Bennette, August 2012