Joe Thorn posted a video of a poet by the name of Taylor Mali reciting one of his pieces. Great poem; watch it and take it to heart.

Stranger
creaking through a strange house.
Dark hallway sighing through the
floorboards.
Bare feet shuffling,
Trying not to wake the rooms
I pass.

Light flares,
my rods and cones doing their dance.
An exchange of waters
and a glass to fill me up.

The darkness comes
at the speed of light.
Now I’m quietly rushing
For the strange house is chasing me,
Back to the sheets
that are my safety from
monsters in the hall.

Poetry has always been a love of mine. The interplay of words, ideas, and phrases to, all crafted to help the reader see the poets point of view, hear the poets heart, or simply just to scratch some stanzas for the sheer necessity of it.

I want to be a good poet. If I can be that, I do believe that essays I write will have more meaning, more thought, and be better put together. If I can be a better poet, I think I can live better, more complete. If I can be a good poet, I think I can worship Christ more fully, with more of the me I am learning to be.

I just started another blog: savage Poetry.  Its a place to put my poems, record my thoughts, and turn a phrase or two. Here I talk theology allot. There, I want to feel life. I need both of these voices so that I might learn to always live deep, love hard, and worship God.

Say a prayer
before falling free:
Fearless
is synonymous with disbelief.
In this deep knowledge of need
we are finding every flaw
become eclipsed
by the love of God.
The courage to become
does not finally come-
Instead we are taught to decide
with the cross and beyond always in eye.

People have been trying to get Christians to shut up for as long as we have been around (Check out the stories in Acts 4, 5, and 6-8, for some of the earliest records of the attempts to shut down this love revolution). The attempts have been unfruitful, yet they keep coming.

One of the “newest” attempts is by James Cameron (directer of “The Titanic”). He has supposedly gathered enough DNA evidence to prove that Jesus is still in his tomb (read about it here and here as well).

Michael Spencer has a quick response, and I’m sure the blogsphere will soon be lit up with discussion over this story. I just want to offer a quick thought.

The one thing that I have to bring up in this kind of conversation (which has been happening long before this “new discovery”, and will continue long after) is the simple fact that no one produced the body of Jesus when they were trying to get the apostles and disciples of this Messiah to shut up.

The Jewish religious leaders knew what tomb his body was in and the Romans would have a record as well, if for no other reason than the guards being posted at the request of the Jewish religious leaders. But all that was said was, “stop talking about this” or (in Roman circles) the followers of the Way were called atheists. Still, all these words against Christians, and no body produced to silence them once for all? That testifies along side the eye witnesses that truly this man is the Son of the Most High, and truly He rose from the grave.

Nothing between she and I…
and still I can’t touch her.
So much space
in a fraction of an inch.
So much distance
between the first kiss.
Too far long to overcome
what people seem the think
for now.

So I bang my head against this wall
and remind myself of why the door is locked.
Still, the key I have
I long to fit into her hand.
I have to remember
I need to remind
the whys of reason
and the truth of need.

Would a conversation be so bad?
Could all resolve be lost
from only extended
eye contact?

Honesty frightens me,
especially if anyone sees
these words.
But I must rely to You
for the basis of this truth
so that she and I won’t hurt,
especially her.

These butterflies won’t settle;
It’s either the flu or love.
I wonder when she feels the same.
(I swear I can see it in her eyes)
(and I swear she looks so good)

Oh, just kick my heart and
remind me how much the ache and
break hurts!
I will ask this:
Is the pain worth what
could be gained?

So tell me,
is it so inconsequential
that I’m sitting alone
one more night full of questions
and I’m wandering on
and on…

So what if I
can’t always stay on course.
I’m just a normal man
and I want to find
some place where I belong.

So is it all so important,
to be some better man?
Useless endeavors
surround me, enticing and trapping.
I get so tired,
such a burn out.
Will I fade out
as I lose the effort to change?

So is it all
so inconsequential
that I’m sitting here?
I feel I should
be surrounded with
fellow seekers.
Other people who honestly
talk as I do,
other people who really care.

Maybe a mood has captured my soul.
Maybe this is nothing more
than the same old lines.
But I gotta believe
that something
leads to something real
and I can really talk
about everything I fear
about my faults,
indulgences and flaws
and that You might listen
and still let me in
to your embrace.

Something brushes my cheek,
And I swear it’s a kiss,
Heavenly and sweet.
Something wants to hear all my honesty;
You want to listen
And believe…
… in me.