This is the second part to my spoken word project.
Last time people found it helpful to understand the poems if I provided what they mean to me, so I'll do that again, in the comments section of this blog post. So be sure that if you want to interpret the poems for yourself, avoid reading the comm
ent section until the end of your listen(s) so as to not...er...spoil(?) them for yourself. I don't believe there is any right way to interpret these, not even my own. So I hope some of you really take different things from these.
I hope some of these poems really speak to you guys, provoke your thoughts, make you feel something...make you feel anything. I know they mean the world to me, so I hope they can mean something to someone else too.
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Good God, Sunday Morning (I)
Speak.
Only what you believe.
Certainty.
The idea of knowing exactly what everything you read must mean.
Justify.
What I do not have to do for you about anything I have ever said.
Small.
Must be the size of God in your head.
Small.
Must be the size of God in your head.
Small.
Must be the size of God in your head.
If everyone who is not you is wicked,
And you are the righteous,
And you are the chosen,
And you understand every word and verse of that 1635 page book
And that book was written by the thing that created the whole universe?
And you think you understand even a fraction of what is written in that 1635 page book?
Then small is the size of god in your head.
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Cherem
Like a volcano eruption on an island off the coast of I don’t know where
The rumble of missionaries foot steps, sent to people who can’t even speak their language, but they say “God DOES care”
But these words have their wear.
So poised to reach out,
Don’t you ever wonder what these people would think
When we point at the water and the sky and whisper “You must be saved from a damned fate”
Well then I point at myself for the crusades
I point a finger at myself for all the hate speech against gays that Christians make
I point a finger at myself like the street preacher yelling about the end and “Repent! You sinners, you heathens, it IS too late!”
Well if Jesus Christ had been buried he would be rolling over in His grave
You use your words to speak of a life that none of us can obtain
Diamonds as ears nothing can be chipped
Nothing worth an open mind too hear
Your words are nothing if not empty to these people on the street.
I speak for a thousand strong, but you will never speak for me
I do not speak for Jesus Christ, I speak from what I see.
My life is a representation of grace laden imperfection, and a testimony of everything I believe.
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Black Letters
Don't let your compassion leak into waters that can never feel warmth.
Don't condemn off of words of men who simply wrote down their thoughts.
This is not what the world needs
Another finger pointing group of zealots
Like they are the righteous, and you are the wicked.
Pour a cup of water into the Grand Canyon
Let me know how quickly it can become a body of water.
I'll even let you name it!
We are all a portion of empty waiting to be filled.
Bur our cups will never spillith over because we are completely deaf to barking orders.
This is a war of who thinks they have the most spiritual intellect.
Who can twist the black text enough to fit into a baseball into an axe like Jezebel longed to make heads roll?
"Cherem! Cherem! Cherem!"
The modern day prophets and messiahs cry
As my old friends and my same enemies are busy throwing nooses of words at and around both of our necks
I will remind you that I am at the gallows with you
I will remind you that there is so much more than the knives that cut their ropes to keep our feet from dangling above the ground.
So much forgiveness and grace to be found once we loosen the weights at our ankles, once we have the strength to stand on open air and trust we won't fall down.
Once we allow ourselves to have get swept away by His song, and not their sound.
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Good God, Sunday Morning (II)
There is an alternative version to this.
There is a different way that we could exist.
I am lost amidst sand storms that bite at my lips and wear away at "that kiss"
Even better than the first time I stood at your door way and I considered the thought of "us", could be more than just a fleeting oasis--my mouth was dry and full of sores from all the deserts I've wandered through before
But as you stood there
As you stand there
With your keys shaking in your hand
You had seen a lot of movies, I referenced one, knowing that you would understand
Do you understand?
I don't just want to have Paris with you.
I am settled to have chance decide when we are looking at the same sky turn red, then blue.
Do you know what I am saying to you?
I don't want to know you in twenty years,
I want to know you in-between that space of now, and then.
So maybe the sunflowers will stop blooming
And maybe we'll move far on and forget all our songs
But--tiny, clumsy, dancing girl, this skinny love will only last as long as you want it to carry on
So pick yourself up,
Tell me how much you care.
Meet me at the airport, I'll say goodbye to you there.
