Style comes to play when these edifices we seek to raise
Romanesque, Gothic, architectural sprawl and splendour resplendent
From foundations rise then, things we’ve dreamed and seen as befitting
Sitting on acres, thinking, holding things and frames
Marble and glass and a sea of colour-spawn accounts, from start to apocalypse
Our own stories should fit in here too, I think

So sounds choirs create as chant and psalmody verbalized resound, sonic perfection sung
Wrung from fronds like palms laid before our king
Many words said, many names proclaimed, one vision appealed to
Apparently
I look to the vessels and see golden glitter, look to the pews and hear tired ‘phews’
Gracefully garmented choir tries to charm with sonorous rhythms
But a chasm is widened as they retreat to seats, to regular routine
Like the rest of us church folk, church bunch seeking charm, finding only sham
And more- shame
Lame, destroyed by fear of our own wrongs done, those deeds done that shut us down
We may cheerlead for our people’s fine voices, but who’s won the adulation?
God’s not fooled

So we’re trim and clean cut for Sunday’s same serenade
Nicely dressed up and reeved up for what talks and faces we’ll have and see
Business deals sealed and partners to seek out, a time to hang out
But is it love or self seeking service that drive these engagements, I ask
Are our meetings only taking forward traditions, social settings devoid of Christ’s full presence
Are our hymns and confessions heart felt or head read
Are we truly free, not hiding behind smiles and breeding death beneath
Are not our wells deeply poisoned, isn’t our salt stale, worn of taste?
What’s our worth, what has the world seen of us?
Where is the fear and offence in the eye of the sinner and the vile
Why is the world so at home with our profession, why are we so cozied up to its style?
Why is life mild and dull, where’s the daring stare of the saint, the defiance of our timeless army?
Decimated horde, ours, I think…
May God decimate that tendency!

Come now, beloved, let us desire His fire
Let the flame of love be real in us, let us be dried of starving moist
Let our hearts be earnest, be daring, be at unrest
Wrestle down dire cowardice, give Him every stained gown
Give up fighting truth, die to come alive, slay deathly slime, rot
Disperse the dark
And let our God, Lord of the light, make us His Church again.

Utter beauty
Purple sunset paints a faint portrait but still, its heart-snatching
Roaring, thundering to crash, smashing awe into stunned eart, waves to ears
Blossoming flowers, lush dainty things, delicate, love-recollecting
Terrible heights, mountains staring down monstrously upon little me
Rugged descents, steep sharp, trapping, enrapturing, as hawks soar
We gawk, even stand still, in rolling green pastures, sheep feed, dew thick downed, drenched grass slades
Sparkling landscape glittering gold as sun reflects extra-terrestrial splendour
I shut my eyes, breathe in, breathe out, sigh out a sign of deep seated gratitude
Someone gives us the life in which to behold these

My heart softens as children cheer and laugh and play joyfully in the streets
Simple innocence, reminiscent of perfect rest God affords us forever
This forever reflected now, from our soul’s deepest wells, to vast skies’ span, unscaled
When love grows slowly, then bursts forth in confession, lover to beloved, declared, revealed
ike surging waves furiously advancing our way, these spectacles unwrap
The indescribable feeling of being held by overwhelming, comforting, uplifting hands
No world would truly recount to our dim sensation; He, artist per-excellence,does
Makes our perceptions come alive to His rivetingly wondrous works
Makes us see, even through cracks from the dungeon of fallen man’s flesh, brilliant light
Helps us make sense of strips scattered abroad, splintered pieces from a once perfect world
We see these best when we’re there, here with Him
When God smiles upon us.

I am a sinner, a sinful one,
but you oh Preacher,
should see most clearly.
You have traveled the same road as I,
and made an almost identical journey
up the same similar mountain.
Your nude feet have marched
a similar dusty path.
Surely, this piece,
of our younger days,
this peace confession
of a life ill spent.
This piss- beaten,
termite-eaten signpost
on the road we both knew,
should stir some familiar echo
in your mind.
Like a father’s favourite fairly-tale
heard again years after his death
or
the long-forgotten voice of a child hood friend,
heard again at his funeral,
sin has become
an all possessive obsession,
an obsessive compulsive disorder
and
like a block of ice left out in the sun,
I break up and melt
when temptation provokes.
In the very same river
where you once swam,
I now drown
like an oil-soaked sack of sand.
preach to me once more
preach preacher
my life sure needs a swing..

Fries, grates, garnishing, fish, shrimp stews and steaks, stuffed stock of turkey n’ beef
Smells rise, scents to savour envelope, develop single sided soaps
I watch an opera repeated in whose honour? seated guests and merry-faced audience?
Noise in the city centre, beats bang and blast out of speakers, hit songs
Season’s excitement, feverish feel, energetic struggle through street’s crowds
Rowdy markets flooded by humans and their sorts
Morphs of many cares, party-minded concerns
Joy declared, the time is here
It’s a birthday; but where’s the celebrant?

The biggest bash ever, always, annual rave
Street parties brew putrid atmosphere, swirl in lewd swill: celebrating who?
Madman-like drive style stuns thousands, rests several “in peace”: celebrating who?
Moguls sift through streams of figures saying gains, rub rot-ridden palms in glee: celebrating who?
The buzz about the season flies about, on wings of unbelieving sails
“He never was” say they, but “cool thing, his party is”: you kidding me?
Kids unwrap strapped gifts, but the celebrant’s offered null
Hugs and kisses for friends and more, but none for the main man
Our reveling- his tears?
Our indulgence- his being left out?
Our great time- leaving outside indescribably joyful eternity?

The sign is the gift, the love is the clarion call
Mulling about the mall, materialist craze, debased jewel life lived otherwise is
The sign is a twinkling star in the sky so high, above earth so low, in need of being raised
Your other option is vagueness as
living, question mark on ultimate aim
The sign is the bubble on chubby cheeks of children, before Christmas gifts fade, innocence taken away
He came to bring back the peace, to bridge to the best side, the aside of present fallen-ness
The Day of the Lord is here, is coming
Embrace joy, lest it be disaster soon after
Let light not be embarrassment, but relief, the basis for death of base forts
Found your joy on faith in him, be freed from fate-driven celebrations
Rejoice, for the saving Celebrant has come