Broken

Broken we watch the things which are breaking
as the innocent break from our innocence taking
we watch the helpless abused for their guileless smiles
while our own hearts are hardened by our pitiful trials
we watch the useful get used till their empty and wasted
their fruit left unripened, their best juices untasted

We fall to the ground overwhelmed by our sight
for it feels like the sky all our lives has been night
and the darkness within us has matched the darkness without
and so thoughts of the morning fill our soul with grave doubt
we’ve watched so much darkness flow out from our souls
would the bringing of light in not only bring holes?
would we not be fractured beyond all repair
if that which flows from us was no longer there?
Watch thus yourself closely that you may not fall prey
to that which we doubt most, the dread breaking of day.

And broken we’ll weep for the things we’ve been breaking
but not comprehend grief from our innocence taking
for the helpless need helped from their pitiful smiles
and their hearts they need hardening for all life’s harsh trials.
the useful need using before too old and wasted
their fruit after all is no good left untasted.

We fall and rest on the ground, well pleased by our sight.
And why not? For the sky all our lives has been night.

For Ryan

As the light sifts softly
through the dust which hangs still softer
in the morning air
a memory of the bout before the dawn
the grappling of the good and true with you
from here we’ll limp
with holy unhinged hips
to remind us of the one who’s whole
the one who is our home
the one to whom we go
as we journey through the trees.

An impassioned plea for pens, paper, and the printed word.

[note: I should mention that I wrote this when I really wanted to write a friend a note and a poem for his birthday but had no pen, just a computer. The words felt empty and so I wrote this instead. It's based on a quote another friend told me that was ironically in a book that said, "books are where words go to die."]

Books are where words go to die,
but here they’ve never lived.
They’ve never felt your eyes
except through the veil,
never felt your touch or been a part of a page
which, leafing softly, fluttered in your ears
casting scents of new or aging paper
upon your hungry nose.
Here they are sexless fantasies which
emptied of their power need
complex circuitry to bring them to light.
No warm soft light illuminates them,
only cold backlit translucence.
Words here are like cut flowers
which, while in more amiable and accessible surroundings,
are far from the home where they became beautiful.
Like animals in a zoo, there is a sense of settling.
A sense that though complacent in their cages
their eyes were meant for the hunt.
Like your elders in a “home,”
their wit and wisdom dulled
through lack of needful relationship.

Yet here we mistakenly hope,

trading beauty and sense
for a chance that somehow without them
we will communicate truth
more efficiently.

Meditation on Isaiah 53

All
pornograhpers, slavers, and ethnic cleansers
molesters, racists, and liars
cheaters, addicts, and whores
all drunks, sluts
and abusers of the physical, sexual, emotional
all oath-breakers, haters, and homos
bitches and witches
bastard children and adulterating parents
all terrorists, extortionists, and gossips
slanderers, blasphemers, idolaters,
all the arrogant, unrepentant, and reprobate
heretics, cannibals, and violent

have hope.

paradoxical,
beaming hope.

shining brightly
in the downcast eyes
of him who carries

the iniquity of us all.

You is.

You is.
You is the was
you is the now
and you is the gonna be.

You is the word that was spoke
to make the sun shinin’ day and the starry dark night.
You is what made the fishes swim
and the cow to chew the cud.
You is what makes rain drops fall down
and the sweet corn come up outta the dirt.

You is what made most all that sees the sun and some things that don’t
Jesus, you is what made the sun shine today,
and you is what brings the clouds across the plain.
you is why I’m breathin’ and why I’m cryin’
lovin’, laughin’, livin’
Everything that’s livin’s only livin’ cause you is.

But the thing is that most a what’s livin’s broken.
and the livin’ end up dyin’ someday…
but you is dyin’ too.
least ways you did one time.

The thing is that of everything that’s dyin’ you is the only one ain’t dyin no more.
Cause you is the gonna be.
You is the livin’ again.
You is the big brother of all o’ what’s been broken, dead and gonna be livin’ again.
and count o’ that you is gonna be King of all a what was, is now, and is gonna be.
and every broken livin’ thing that sees that for you there ain’t much difference between the was, the now, and the gonna be has gotta go ahead and make you 'is King.
cause the gonna be happened a long time before the was was even a gonna be.

So when you is born in a feedin’ trough you is already a King though none o’ the kings that was would ever think much of ya.

And when you is lovin’ the parts of us that’s broke, it hurts so bad we don’t believe in kings at all. But you is still a King that washes our dirty toes, confusin’ all our ideas about what you is.

But when you is gonna be breakin’ in next time… well kings is gonna be hidin’ cause they gonna realize that they all been doin' is playin’ dress up and weren’t really kings at all…

not compared to what’s gonna be.

Something I wrote as I began to sense the air turning to gray...

Tonight
we wait
long have we come from distant lands

long coming we come to this moment
and now
tonight
we wait.
in the darkness we have heard the distant star's song
and now
tonight
we wait.

the cellestial anthem beckons us to fix our gaze upon the East
and now tonight we wait.
In pitchest black before the dawn
tears streaming in silent anticipation
water the ground with the sorrow of long-suffering
as now
tonight
we wait.
broken from our journey
longing for the break of day
sobs of yearning break
as the air turns to gray
we look to the East as rays of gold
stain the sky and as day comes in all its splendor
the seeds planted in barren ground long ago
watered only by tears and warmed by mere starlight
spring forth in life.
love has come.
love has come.
love has come.
the wait is over. now floods of joy stream down.

And the song! The song which began among the heavens millenia ago before the darkness. The song which has been sung by seraphs before the throne of God Most High. The song which had its origins deep in the Sovereign's heart ahd flows thru all the Holy One is and does. The song of all and the song of the One and Only. The song of creation and the song which destroys the old for the sake of the new, redeeming what was forfeit for the sake of its hearing. The song which has never known beginning and sees no end. The song which governs time. The song of our Savior who sings over us leaping and shouting and magnifying, creating, loving, caring, knowing us. The song is given to man. And all the weeping, the sorrow, the bondage, the heartache, and the pride is replaced with tears of joy, thanksgiving, happiness, freedom, light, and wholeness. True honor is given to man as he takes his place giving honor thru the song to Most High. Looking ever eastward whence comes his King.

"God is not like me" or "How I learned that freedom doesn't come with comfort."

I thought you small
I thought you weak
I thought you looked
a lot like me.
I thought you safe
I thought you white
I thought you’d let me
sleep at night.

I tried to put you in a box
But it seems that not
the strongest locks
could start to hold you in.
I had you down
I had you snared
But it seems I’d grasped
no thing but air.

and then...

into the world you made, you came
not the least bit weak, nor tame
you spoke, you bled, you died, you rose
and when I lay in sin you chose
to save me from myself.

Then it all became so clear
that all I’d once held close and dear
was just a pile of shit.

But you...

You it seems are not like me
Not weak, not small
but strong and free
Your love abounds so mad, so wild
and it demands all from this child.
As that is how I acted while
I wanted you to be like me.

Every Careless Word

Every careless word that's ever come upon my lips
has been loading one side of a scale
which now only one way will tip.
All the "I love you"s and "I'll give you my heart"s
the "I'll never leave you"s and the "we'll never part"s
Now stand to condemn me without an excuse
all screaming me careless for over misuse.
Is there any who speaks true to love till the end?
Is there any pure, kind, or unfailing friend?
Is there any who's heart is uncrooked, unbent?
Is there any who's ever said exactly what he meant?
And saying the truest words from the core of his soul
had strength to then follow through to make others whole?

Dear brother don't lose hope
don't falter my son
for one Word's been spoken from before worlds begun
and though once it was spoken
here twice have I heard
the speaker's love is unbroken
and there's power in his Word.
Take heart then my brother
put away all your fear.
For though you've always been leaving
this Word now has drawn near.

How Long

How I long, how I long
O Lord how long will I long for home?
How long will I roam upon longing roads?
How long will I long for home?
How long the rest of the miles til my wrestling soul rests?
How long will I long for home?
How long must grow in a body which groans
and how long will I owe for the things I can't own?
How long will I long for home?
How long til my ready body's redeemed?
How long til unnatural sons will by nature be seen?
How long will I long for home?
How long will my hope be all that I have,
til in having then all of my hope at last pass?
How long will I long for home?

broken.

I got my .40 cal cocked and I don't know how to use it
I don't even know if know how not to lose it.
All I know is you're in my sights and you won't move will you?
I know everyone dies but I don't wanna kill you
I've left shattered dreams from here on down to the border
and leaving one more ain't too tall of an order
if I cry when I kill you it ain't because I true loved you
but rather because I put my own dreams above you
And when you fall to the ground then my dream's lost its prop
then all my hopes engines will come to dead stop
so I'll plead with you to stay there I'd with all my might will you
not so that you won't die but I don't wanna kill you.

A piece of my heart

I will carry you always
in a piece of my heart
which no doubt has grown smaller
the more we've been apart
but the pull is still there
an echo of love.

Haiku #1

I like haikus that
don't make any sense at all.
Stop looking at me.

The ones I cannot know...

She walks solely on the souls of men
who want her solely for her soul
She sees their sullen eyes which seek
her solely subtle soulish ways.
and when the man's souls strength is spent
its then upon his soul she preys.
he'll walk until his soles wear thin
till his weary soul no more can stand to win
the solace of her acidic soul.

Mama

A poem to honor the 90 years of Harriett Lou Whitesides, my grandmother.
By Will Rearick

A motherly love
a saintly repose
eyes fast up above
fuel a faith which still grows

A heart beats with prayers
and head shakes with laughter
both still eager to care
for the ones who’ve come after

Wise eyes long have watered
fields of sorrow and joy
and have seen sons and daughters
their fruits long employ

Though the journey’s been long
and the legs may be tired
the heart still sings the song
and holds fast to the fire.

Your life it speaks freedom
to me and my kin
which allows us in seasons
our own lives to win
not by works nor by reasons
which we’ve found from within
but by God who foreverly faithful has been.

I wanna tell you somethin'

All shadows in this world which here night our light
live in a garden growing ever more bright
and when death in this world causes us to decay
the queen light to them will at once be displayed

Their bodies out of the ground once old and abused
will wink out the instant queenlight beauty's infused
through ground we will travel, bodies old up through the terf
while our shadows are born out of wombs with queen's worth

Brother can you remember our garden world home
where queen light went through us wherever we'd roam?
Hold fast to that memory with no fear in your heart
for we'll go there again when this world we shall part.

22 Aldeah

For Brian

Silently watching tobacco bowls glowing
warmly we grasp the pace of life slowing
speaking of fathers and the souls we've been showing
the ways which the church and your baby's been growing

finding substantive answers for our hungry souls' why's
in reading of rivers and tying on flies
and of polar bear dreefees of miniature size
we'll leave here the lighter and feeling more wise.

a moment of peace grants our eyes a new view
to how loss and silence are similarly used
to teach use of the gifts with which we've been imbued
and draw our eyes to the one who will carry us through

though now the nights on the porch seem all none to many
we'll trust we were also not given too few
we'll bless the great giver for granting us any
and with mixed joy in our hearts bid each other adieu.

Possibly my new favorite poem...

If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream---and not make dreams your master;
If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And---which is more---you'll be a Man, my son!

Rudyard Kipling

what if?

what if none of these lines work in time?
what if they don't rhyme?
what if this song sucks?

what if all your fears were true?
what if everyone laughed at you?
then what would you do?

would you get up and try again
resolved to be a perfect ten
doomed once again to fail?

would in defeat you take your seat
and suffer dishonor in retreat
doomed to never try again?

what if all of them were wrong?
what if you just sang to sing your song?
would it be so bad?

The thing about seasons.

a poem for Jamie Wagner
written by Will Rearick

When high above sight great dark clouds have grown
and dark unthawed ground lies cold hard below
and when all around you the icy winds flow
and when all seems deadest, dear sister then know
that winter’s cold will end.

And when the cool rain breaks hard upon earth
and nature’s redeemed for all of its worth
when all that’s been dead receives its new birth
dear sister then smile with all joyous mirth
for spring has come again.

As summer comes forth with verdancy deep
and on her warm nights you rest from her heat
as of sweetest fruits from her storehouse you reap
dear sister your excess remember to keep
for summer has its end.

And when the chill winds of autumn do heighten
the sense that your best fruit has long since been ripened
when the limbs of your trees from their leaves become lightened
dear sister do not let your life’s joy be siphoned
for all seasons know an end.

The only way...

The only way to combat materialism is to give your stuff away. The only way to not live in fear of being found out is to be as honest as you can about all that lies in your heart. The only way end violence is to turn the other cheek. The only way to stop theft is to give thieves what they would take. The only way to be rich is to embrace poverty. The only way to live to is to give your life away. The only way to uproot bitterness is to bless the ones who curse. The only way to joy is grief. The only way through fear of failure is to fail and wake up very much alive the next day again, and again, and again... The only to be full is to be empty. The only answer to your hatred of God is his love for you. The only way to strength is weakness. The only way out of loneliness is solitude. The only way to understand is to become foolish. The only way to win is to give up. And if you're like me... the only way to do what's right is to think of the least intuitive thing you could do, and do it.

(these thoughts inspired by Jesus Christ, Henri Nouwen, and Dan Allan among others...)

An inspiring message...

I just listened to this message from flatirons church. Well... those are all the messages but I listened to the one from Dec. 13-14 entitled "Move On." I was incredibly moved to hope, and had to put it out there for your encouragement.

I work for these people and I don't really know what to say...

So weird...

Am I a Man?

Yes... technically... yes (flight of the conchords reference). But anyway...

This morning I was staring at myself in the mirror trying to decide whether or not I should shave. I decided that the stubble on my face made me feel a little more manly and I decided that I can use all the reminders I can get. It made me think though. A couple weeks ago I wrote what I would call, "The Story of my Man-ness" in my journal. It was pretty much the story of my life and the key stories, moments, personality traits and failures that have shaped who I am as a man. I wrote at the end that I don't need anyone to tell me I'm a man. And this morning I wonder how true that is. As I thought about my facial hair I thought about how often I don't really think of myself as a man. Or worse I think of myself as a man but don't embrace the meaning or responsibilities of it. It's kinda like being given the title and license of a doctor but refusing to treat your patients on days when you feel burnt out. You'd get pissed if someone said you weren't a doctor or shouldn't be practicing, but really your actions don't show that you're anybody different from someone who isn't a doctor. A friend told me this afternoon, you don't need anyone to tell you your a man, but you need lots of people to tell you what you're supposed to do because of it. Then he asked me why that's the case. It's because the primary responsibilities of manhood involve self-sacrifice (providing and protecting specifically) and not self-preservation. None of me normally wants to give anything up. Most of the time I'm thinking about how I can hold onto more and save myself from pain, instead of give away more of myself until I have nothing left. The other aspects of manhood, the pursuer and leadership nature of it, I often fear my own inadequacies.

The good news is that Jesus provides in pretty solid ways through the cross to address both fears of discomfort and of inadequacy. To my discomfort Jesus offers future hope and a resurrection. To my inadequacy he offers me the opportunity to nail my sins to a cross and the robe off his back to clothe my shame. He offers a Spirit that brings power to live above my circumstances instead of drowning in the sea of them. That same Spirit gives me peace in the midst of the deep questions caused by the pain of life. And all of this gives me great hope for the future. I don't know all of what it holds but I believe it will be good. Let not the lamp of hope die, my friends. For the morning comes soon...

Twice in one month?

No, that last post was a poem I wrote years ago finally reappearing... this is fresh though.

I was reading in Philippians 2 yesterday reading that passage where Paul tells believers to be humble. He says stuff like "Do nothing out of rivalry or conceit." and "consider others more significant than yourselves." As I read that yesterday morning, I took it in stride as just a piece of a long list of areas of my heart that need work. But as I continued reading a couple lines down, I got to this part where Paul says to do this stuff so that we can be like Jesus. He made himself a servant. He was God and gave it up to be a man. One who would die for those who followed him for a few years and then ditched him when things took a turn. And it occurred to me. The essence of the believer's life is not to regain what we've lost, or even to hold onto the things that we have. The point is to give ourselves away for the sake of others as much as we possibly can, maybe even our entire lives. I'm not talking like Jimmy Stewart "It's a Wonderful Life" type giving away your life (although that's one of my favorite movies of all time). I'm talking your friends walk away from you when you're about to die type of life. Paul says be like Jesus. I have to confess that it's been only recently that I've started to take that advice with any weight, and I hope that one day I will take it with greater serious that I do now. Until then I'm eternally grateful that the man I want to be like made himself lower than me.

Hope...

O Lord let me fix my eyes
steadfast upon your face
for only then can I believe
that you still offer grace.
Fixed hard upon the smile-worn lines
which now form love's stern gaze.