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

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

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

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

Tis

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

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