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Helen Murray May 2014

(Road signs in Australia thus remind us to keep to the speed limit)

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
William Shakespeare:  MacBeth, Act 5 Scene 5.

Creeping, seeping, peeping, sleeping,
What’s the common factor through these ‘eep’ words deeming?
Shakespeare calls them dusty and aligns them up with death.
Our world calls it shadow but it chokes you out of breath.
Churches cannot see them so they flout invisible.
Jesus calls them idols yet they sound so plausible.
Christians follow teachers in a roundabout way.
Teachers crave disciples which determines what they say.

But these are all poor players on a poorly structured stage.
Their stage gives way.  They tumble. They rise up in a rage.
“Life has not been fair,” they say, and “Where is God in that?”
Did they ask Him in the first place?  Did they call God up to chat?
The churches have no answers.  Now where do I go from here?
Go right back to the Bible, Friend.  The truth is written there.
Check it yourself. It’s relevant to eras far and near.
Like natural laws it cannot change with fashion year to year.

So do not mix the fashion in philosophies of life
With Truth that stands forever among raging seas of strife.
Counselling in modern terms can get you sympathy,
But will it give you backbone for the next antipathy?
Feminism needed to support the weaker staff,
But now of our humanity it rejects one whole half!
And money is too much an issue when it must be said
That what is not of love is valueless to Christ our Head.

Of all the thousands who are found in church each seventh day,
How many can indeed discern the right and faithful way?
How many put their lives on hold for truth and nothing less?
How many first set out their plan and build their faith round this?
Is there not one who will apply to God for his blueprint
So s/he can play the part of power for treasure in Heaven’s mint?
The Spirit of Truth cannot be found where ideas pull such weight.
He’s somewhere else you don’t suspect.  Chase Him, and don’t be late!
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
William Shakespeare:  MacBeth, Act 5 Scene 5.
Helen Murray May 2014
Grim is commanded for poets all round.
Grim has a fiercely protestical sound.
Grim isn’t grime for it’s lacking an ‘e’.
Egrim’s a poet’s insight for today.

Egrim is like the Norwegian style
Of Fairy tale dwarfs who stomped forests awhile.
Their poetic whimsy delights generations
In un-grim and serious childhood contagions.

They catch it from mothers and fathers infected,
Who, laughing at life, and its trials directed
To misery, make of it  light and perjurious
Nonsense, its daggers no longer injurious.

You who are serious, finding life spurious,
Need and injection of fun for the curious.
Let's give our children something they are after -
Life's greatest medicine - outrageous laughter.
This poem was written in response to a forum in which the value of poetry was in question if it were funny.  The tongue in cheek suggestion was that we 'need more grim'.
Helen Murray Feb 2014
Western women have their rights.
For goodness sake don’t set your sights
On marriage to this sumptuous goose.
She’ll have your kids, and then vamoose,
She’ll leave you very high and dry,
With no-one there to see you sigh,
Your kids are gone and if you want
To see them you must never flaunt
Your rights before her stony face,
But pay full well, or your disgrace
Will plague the daily paper run
While she disports out in the sun.
Indeed you’ll pay for all her joys,
Your house is hers to sell with poise
And re-establish somewhere else,
While you must foot the bill or else.

This is the feminist home ground.
You want to go another round?
She’ll run your nose in all the dirt
So when you finally lose your shirt
With filling lawyers’ purse profound,
And get up, snivelling, from the ground,
You’ll find your company’s hers as well.
You know you’ve landed merry hell.

So if you marry yet again
(when finally recovered,) then
Look somewhere east but never west.
They’ve failed relationship, you’ve guessed.
Feminist rights seem to have destroyed many a reasonable marriage and many a not unreasonable man.
Helen Murray Feb 2014
Gentle ladies, take a while
And choose your mate with lesser style.
Beware the charismatic charm
Of the misogynistic arm.
He’ll ply with love charms, charmingly,
Until he has you all at sea
With this imagined love you’ve found.
He’s swept your feet right off the ground
And carried you away with stars
That twinkle in your laughing eyes.
Yes he can play this game for years
If need be.  But slowly he tears
You right away from those you love,
For you to him your love must prove
In every tiny detail now.
And if you can’t then face this row
He’ll find your weakness, badger you
Until your broken health ensue.
His buffets then you can’t oppose
Yet constantly inflicted those
Abuses in the verbal might
Turn physical, and then the fright
Brings on its shame.  You will not tell.
Results of that you know full well
Amount to just some more abuse
And then some, coming so obtuse
From left and right.  It’s your own fault.
Well so he tells it.  You’re the dolt
Who so upset him, made him fire
Assaults at you.  Not his desire.
And you believe him.  P’rhaps if you
Had not done this or did eschew
That other thing.  
                                You cannot win.
You finally will see this thing
For what it is, and pack and leave.
That’s if there’s some-one who’ll receive
Your brokenness, and take you in
To give you time to heal again.
‘But he’s so nice’, they say in town.
“We can’t imagine him knocking you down.”
He tells them how you selfishly
Took off with children.  You must be
The meanest woman round this place.
He’ll find someone to take your place.
He must have someone on his arm
Whose looks are sweet and full of charm,
Who’ll do the work he needs her to.
What else is there for him to do?
So many girls go for the name in lights big noise man only to find him unaware of a partner's needs and verbally or physically abusive.  She struggles with her inability to make the relationship work until finally her health is destroyed.
Helen Murray Feb 2014
.Soul in anguish,
Soul in torment,
Soul in delirium,
Soul in pain,
Soul in ecstasy,
Soul in anxiety,
Soul in frustration,
Soul in disdain.

Soul in passion,
Soul in laughter,
Soul in death and
Soul in life.
Soul in penitence,
Soul in reflection,
Soul in love and
Soul in strife.

Oh, my soul, you
Keep me dancing.
I can never
Dance alone.
I search for my
Soul’s companion.
Who will offer?
Is there one?

Here are now my
Suitors willing.
There is envy.
Look at hate.
Bitterness and
Pity looking
For a date.

What of vengeance,
Dressed up fine,
Pride and guilt with
Sad depression,
What a line!

I have danced with
Every suitor,
And I’ve wondered
Who is mine?
I don’t want to
Lock into a
Partnership that
Doesn’t shine.

All of these have
Looked attractive,
Yet they weaken on the spins.
Where is one that
Lasts forever?  
I will only
Look at him.

I need one who
Will not fail me,
Leave me when the
Going’s tough,
One who’s strong and
Knows the dance steps.
Treading on my
Toes is rough!

Something deep
Within me tells me
Suitors there are
More than enough.
I must search the
Highest mountain
For the one whose
Name is Truth.

Mr. Truth will
Undergird my
Weakness, lift
My spirits high,
Warm my coldness,
Light my darkness,
Hold my trust as
He draws nigh.

He will lead me
Without falter
To a banquet
Richly spread.
I will follow
Every dance step
Waiting for the
Day we wed.

Then forever
All those suitors
And their lies will
There will only
Be the glory
Of beloved
Jesus here.
Helen Murray Jan 2014
I am the rising sun.
So when your eyelids open to explore the beauty of the day
I pour My light into your soul, and set you on your laughing, loving way.

They shafted steel into My heart
That when My children linger, longing, looking at the Cross of Hope
I pierce their hearts with shafts of love for all who near their pathways lope.

I am the eagle
Who rises on the wind and sees the visions of the future dreams,
Who gives his eaglets flying starts so that they too the visions can impart.

I am the cobbled pathway.
My children pick me out among the highways, hills and valleys of their lives.
Their prayer-flowered Kingdom road is tough but leads to pearly gates and open skies.

True and Faithful are My thighs.
Disciples know I’ll never leave but pour My peace on all their fear.
Their weakness will become the towers of strength that men hold very dear.

Blood Brother is My name.
Commune with Me and in the strife your back is covered by My Life,
And you will all blood brothers be to one another on this sea of strife.

I am the Truth.
The truth established long before the breath of life was mankind’s tool.
Rock-solid, stationery still, though winds of change blow good and ill.

If you will cast your lot with Me I’ll surf with you on curling sea.
We’ll ride upon the tides of life on boards of love.  You’ll be My wife.  
I’ll cherish you beyond whatever you could dream or e’en consider.
Trust Me.  That’s where it begins.  You get to know Me and life spins
In exponential, ceaselessly expanding spirals of liberty.

Helen Murray Jan 2014
There’s a noose around our necks to drive out feeling,
To **** the sweetest instincts planted deep within our souls.
It’s too hard to feel, it hurts too much, so **** it –
Replacing it with lust so that we think we are alive
But we have lost it.

I think therefore I am?  So said that Greek man.
Someone could likewise reason that “I feel, therefore I am”
It’s a possible conjecture but the suffering incurred
Is overboard , impossible, I cannot cope with that.
I’ll take the substitute.

This lust gives me to think I’m feeling something,
Be it money lust, drink, drugs, or sexuality or things.
Somehow, though my ego escalates, I’m feeling grand,
But my relationships are failing, flawed, I cannot understand –
I’ll take the substitute.

I’m at the bottom of the pit.  I’m on the outer.  
The substitute has got me.  I’m in isolated rink.
It’s living hell.  My friends are gone, and everything is bad.
I cannot cope with this.  I need some love. There’s none around.
I’ll take the substitute.

I’ll take the substitute.

I’ll take the substitute.

I’ll take the substitute.

This is hell.

God, where are You?

“I’m right here.”

“I took the substitute.”

"I know."

"It's finished me."

"I know."

"Help me."

“Will you take Me now?”

“I sure don’t want the substitute any more.”

“Will you take Me now?”


“You believe Me now?”


“Do you believe that I love you?”


“Do you understand, I did the substitution for you?”

“On the Cross?”

“That’s it.”

“I believe you.”

“Do you trust Me in all respects?”

“It’s either You or the other substitute?”

“It’s either Me or the other substitute.”

“I’d rather trust You.”

“Come then.  I love you.  
Walk with Me and I’ll restore your deeply broken heart.
You are My child. Draw ever closer, never to depart.
Revive yourself in Me.  My Words will give you back your Life.
I’m your blood brother, at your back when problem scenes are rife.
My Spirit, Truth, empowers you in strife.”
Seeing so much misuse of  alcohol, drugs etc rather than deal with the pain of life by asking God's wisdom and help to walk through troublesome situations.
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