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Follower of Jesus, non-conformist, preacher, poet, blogger, graduate of Highland Theological College, Husband, Father, Son, Brother, Friend, Learning Assistant (ASN) Outdoors. Late diagnosed Autistic.

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This Weeks Top of the Posts

Day of the Martyrs

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Gathering of light. Sacred assembly of love. Age of war, hate, and strife. The day of the martyrs has just begun. Blood stained standing stones. Anabaptists tears, angels song. The day of the martyrs has just begun. Ice cracks, foe falls. Pilgrim saves. To burning he must go. Stands fast, dies slow, proclaims love for all to know. The day of the martyrs has just begun. *** Published in the anthology Poetic Velocity. This poem reflects on the powerful faith and love of many Christian martyrs. The main one is the story of Dirk Willems who was an Anabaptist Christian martyr. He was being hunted for his faith and he turned back to save his enemy when his enemy fell through some ice. Dirk was burnt at the stake for his faith despite his merciful gesture. He entered heaven with a clean conscience.
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Essential

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Written in the depth of the Pandemic: "I am essential!"    The preacher roars in his hundred dollar suit.  His hundreds strong holy huddle of pew warmers burst into an applause of rapture as they prepare for the second offering.  The TV channel switches to pre-recorded "Tele-Evangelist mode".  The cheers echoe through the giant money making machine.  Like an idol his image flashes across giant screens in the auditorium.    As he speaks he suddenly remembers his brother across town.    In an old tin tabernacle the gentle shepherd speaks to his flock.  "I am not essential... Except the Lord builds the house the builders build in vain."  He says this while ministering in a soup kitchen as he serves the needy.  Later that day he plans to do food drops and work in a care home.  At evening prayers his prayer would be as he helped refugees at the docks and prisoners in the cells.  Then at night he would minister on the streets as a practical pastor to the needy a
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The Poor Man/One Thing

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(Two Versions) 1. The Poor Man: We hid him. The poor man. His existence challenged our comfortable lives. A prophet speaks out. The vipers take him out, on our wicked behalf. We say, "not in our name", but... How can the prophets compassionate humanity be tolerated when it challenges us this much? Like trees with no fruit our true colours show. We store up. Moth and rust still win. The grass withers and the leaf fades. A puff of smoke, a vapour. This to shall pass. The empires crumble and fall. Even the ecclesiastical tyrants meet their maker. The rich shall inherit the grave. Earth is for the others. *** 2. One Thing: Hiding the poor, Killing the prophets, Generation of vipers, Trees that bear no fruit. The grass withers and the leaf fades. A puff of smoke, a vapour. Empires crumble and fall. One thing remains. His name is LOVE. *** The first version is a short piece of writing of precisely one hundred words in length. The purpose of this style of writing is brevity, testing
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