"redemptive" poems
There’s a battle raging through my head,
So much that it knocked me off my bed.
There’s a war raging through the thoughts;
Diverse and dismayed neither I can sort.
Haste is the time that spent wasting
Entertained by such pacifistic maiming.
Ideating the norm and realizing the storm
had just started as I shut the squirm.
Conscience speaks the threat at hand,
the head does not agree the time it spanned.
Where there are more things on heaven and earth;
there are more dreadforth than my brain sports.
The enemy lurks the darkness in me,
passing by the realm of my inability.
I had to open eyes wide to invite the Light
while at the same time shut from plain sight.
Recall the Words spoken to me,
realize there is much for me to see.
The villain emerge from the dark of the moon -
the cerebral crater dormant from the day’s form
“You – are not – real.
You are just a figment;
an imagination, a fantasy,
one that I let you haunt me.”
The One I know died for,
Lived and loved me through the core.
Lies no longer seem redemptive nor elegant nor sped;
Flee not the grace and flee the grave though instead.
Jolt to wake myself up,
admonition that all along I was held at a stop.
The battle becomes the sleep yet decided;
settled more for the Love had invited.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 12:39 AM UTC
I watched the water rise. Creeping down the muddy street. As if a divine force was attempting a stealthy act of insurrection. I didn't have the heart to fight it. Had I only known.
I watched Hell's Half Acre silently succumb to the whimsical (however so pleasantly devastating) path of Gaea. Through this empowering incident I felt redemption like I never had before.
I jumped down from the platform of the livestock pen to personally welcome the satisfying force of nature's purification. The water lashed out and grabbed my leg. At that moment my jubilate spirit spoiled to uncontaminated terror. It was not a redemptive Spirit winding its way through the rail tracks but the serpent Lucifer. Had I only known.
And so in the West Bottoms Tavern I found myself under the ***** shoe of The Machine. A wayward phantom rising from our precarious Kansas River. It drifts through the sweet Midwest like the coal black locomotive smoke that paints a suffocating thick haze above the Stockyards.
A welcome slate of provision. A shelter covering us from the racial tension and poverty smothering the outside world. To those in the Bottoms with unruly desires, a saviour. To those at City Hall with loose morals, the messiah.
And it was at 1908, I nervously pulled the covers over my vulnerable body and sealed Satan's foul kiss with a diabolical red scrawl. We skipped hand in hand through the freshly paved streets of our "wide open" town. I always tried my best to look the other way but I knew full well that I travelled with a gang of thieves.
Nonetheless, everyone votes in our town. A brutal party whip keeps the Jackson County Democrats in line and "Charlie the *** prevents any Rabbits from multiplying.
But I've been working from within the belly of a "whale" for years and I fear we've now run out of ocean. Our arranged marriage has robbed my capacity for faithful navigation. I'm seeking a radical divorce from The Beast, the cost has become inconsequential to me.
So I found genuine redemption. Finally. I closed the driver side door to my sedan and walked out to the edge of the bridge. The water below seemed whimsical (and so pleasantly devastating) in nature, much the same as it had 36 years ago. I pinned this note to the window, and with a Ready-Mixed Concrete block tied around my waist I watched the water rise.
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 9:47 PM UTC
I'm a reformed man
my habit has been cast out
a good woman
showed me how to bring it about
with her understanding ways
she helped me give up the grog
and life is so much better
now that I'm no longer in a grog fog
on the path back to sobriety
her hand guided me
with its never ending
patience and solidity
she is a redemptive angel
in my eyes
she gave me reason
to see a clean sunrise
the grog couldn't stay
in my addled life
cause it had imparted
much too much strife
for the rest of my days
I'll be a reborn man
for a wonderful woman
took hold of my hand
her love and care
showed me how to kick the grog
and she has lead me
out of it's fog
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
You speak of salvation.
After the chaos I've caused,
my redemptive acts
merely clear a few stones
from the path of an avalanche.
What sort of deity
would deign to
sanctify me? Where is the sense
in granting forgiveness
when I still hold myself
accountable?
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 7:49 PM UTC
*thinking oft of alighting into dreams
whose rides go through loftiest-clouds..*
Upon the gilt threshold, it appeared - a waiting carriage
and passing by, along the broken road, came Zachary
through gentle-haze, it struck him - the face of beauty
Came nearer.. only for disillusionment to take him by the hand..
Zachary’s lament falls on the thunderous roll of carriage
as it leaves the water’s edge..
ripping out his heart-eyeball and throwing at open lightning-sky
He chokes on dust-particled truth-beads piercing heavy-air, doubling over
Zachary, oh Zachary.. who are you?
too many ill-winds
blow rude-breathe
rack and shake your life-cage
try to unseat your heart’s-core
*a gentle-prayer comes across the way – and takes your hand – leads you to the side
it shows you how redemptive-answers lie on the light-ripple on the water
go quietly beneath and
you’ll find yourself..
in time*
S T – 15 Octogonic-day 2013
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 2:47 AM UTC
I'm a reformed man
my destructive habit has been cast out
a good-hearted woman
showed me how to bring it about
with her understanding ways
she helped me give up the grog
and life is so much better
now that I'm no longer veiled in the grog's fog
on the path back to sobriety
her supportive hand guided me
with its never ending
belief and solidity
she is a redemptive angel
in my eyes
she gave me reason
to see a clean sun rise
the grog couldn't stay
in my confused life
as it had imparted
much too much strife
this day I am a reborn man
a good woman took hold of my hand
her love and care
showed me how to kick the grog
and she has lead me
out of its murky fog
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC
time stands still....yes
awake at last
much less hurt.
superb splashes of colour
ingenious maker dabs
deep strokes
lightning-fast!
no words needed
silent canvass
awaiting
bold moves
timeless heart.
riding on a wave
yet to be discovered
such delights....
reality tilts in surreal way
no apparitions
hiding
pitch-black night.
atoms split
from unexpected quarters
undeservedly
so, grateful for support.
in your eyes
not yet seen,
layers of
insane aliveness.
sweet and simple sounds
lead to redemptive road
beauty
beginning
affording faith leaps
believing strains of truth
finding forever sought.
:)
S T, 27 April 2013
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 1:45 PM UTC
I am undone and all my wanton ways are nothing
my wishes now but clay. I am the dry husk of a man
defeated by machinery.
Ah, but should the mercy of your redemptive tears
tattoo my face and moist forgiveness give me hope
would there be awakening.
The damp soil beneath your naked toes
fevers at your flesh to send you reeling
into deeper dark adventures.
Until the final breathless gasp
the voice of angels crying in your skin
Awakens my fertile humanity.
Leave those toys and that blessed car
we will wallow in the damp grass.
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 8:11 PM UTC
I am made for more than drudgery of world,
Each day awake, struggle out of bed,
To one more day, a difference I try
To make.
Within myself, a struggle for the ages, as past
Mistakes remind me of a life lived in
Failures of my mind, unable to please
God or man.
So aimlessly I wander through life, within a
Mess of questions, of motives, of
A purpose divine, planted perhaps upon
My soul.
I search, a little, here and there, for purpose,
Setting my soul in a dance of ages
With One divine, to reconcile world,
Myself to Him.
All around, I move in midst of walking dead,
Enslaved to sinful selfishness, chains
Binding against the Created One that
Loves, sets free.
Eyes to the soul filled with depth of pain, masked
By a bellyful of emptiness served up
On promises of Prince of this world, the
Evil serpent.
Everywhere, voices cry out in silent terror, unheard
By owner, enemy of God, stuck in their
Own mire of hopeless despair , no reason
To live on.
Too often, I choose not to hear, not to respond to
His creation crying for redemptive love,
Too caught up in my own selfish desires,
No time to care.
My praise is empty, as thoughts of God go rushing
By, ignored by one too caught up in comfort,
Self, content to live a life, not God’s, but my
Empty own.
So, each morn, a drudgery ensues, such little joy,
Wondering why this emptiness threatens to
Fill, to overwhelm a God-sized call, a purpose
That is mine.
One more day, one more tick of eternity drawing
Near; a spiritual zombie I become, no
Breath of life, no joy, such little presence, daily,
Of the Divine.
He draws me close, in love-filled rage, hurting for my
Soul, as it wanders once again, far from His
Presence of life and joy, grace and love, He
Wishes to display.
My life, it is my own. No, it is His—He has paid the
Price, poured out His wrath upon the Son,
Covered in my sin; my life is forfeit, He has
Given me His own.
I hear now the voices—the voices of the dead, the
Unredeemed—crying out for life as Spirit
Divine begins a work from beginning of time,
To draw to Him.
I am made for more than drudgery of world,
Each day awake, to share with those
Who are dead in sin—of life, of joy—to
Share the grace that comes only from
Him.
--To come alive
--to break the chains of sin
--to live forevermore in Him.
I am made for more than drudgery of world.
I am made for Him!
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 8:24 AM UTC
Pain's accretion--black snaked with royal purple--
therewith and more of, in cold case of less--
pain inexorable.
Fear's favorite pet spoilt with handling.
Pain's redemptive quality is repulsed by plain
sight, it must mobilize malignancy, purloin the
jury, condemn, palm hope to hopelessness.
Fixity--its host must remain in firm attendance.
Enough is ready...a ripened type of monologue...
the crosshairs of silence.
To grow demented from overstimulation,
breaking the same news to what needs dying.
Fetal position suffices...warm, a spinning vinyl
record scratching toward dawn.
The woodwork calls a name--as a woman hoarse...
with labor pain...rebirth.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 2:02 PM UTC
God’s heavenly desires and ways
are much higher than our own.
Spiritual maturity is required
to reach towards His holy throne.
Hidden within the Scriptures
is a common, universal theme –
Application of Biblical principles
is needed to achieve our earthly dreams.
Under guidance of the Spirit,
prophets captured God’s intended plan;
laid out to see was Yahweh’s vision –
for the true success of Man.
The written Word of God
can be our scriptural soap;
regular cleansing of the mind
reveals the promise of our hope.
This collection of ‘love letters’
is connected by a ‘scarlet thread’;
Christ’s fulfillment of the Law was sealed
by the redemptive blood that He shed.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Isaiah 55:8-9; Isaiah 11:2; Proverbs 3:1-26; Romans 12:12; Ephesians 4:22-23;
1 Corinthians 1:18-25
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2010, All rights reserved.
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 6:53 AM UTC
I've lived the dark nights of the soul,
When darkness creeps as black as coal,
The fear wraps thick around my skin,
I crawl and scream for dawn's bright grin.
The day brings peace and I soon forget,
How in the night lives my regret,
Yet the bell, I know, will ring again,
The night will show my fears—my sins.
Relief I seek yet never find,
The years, the fears, control my mind.
And if a God there truly be
Will he ever set me free?
The dark it comes like thick black smoke,
Across the floor—my demons float,
And in my bed I sit and stare,
It grips my mind and claims its lair.
So until when the sun will rise,
The fear and pain will scar my eyes,
And if a prayer I do not sing,
Will Gods redemptive bells still ring?
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 3:40 PM UTC
The innocence of the sun in the morning, thick
clouds casting shadows like daylight apparitions,
civilians running away from intermittent drizzles,
religions conflicting in the mire of broken
promises, the fall of mankind in the dusk and
reviving with lucifer at dawn of enlightenment,
these are universal norms, we are overwhelmed
by strange powers from parallel world, and
commuting poverty into lust for money, this evil
life has hit hard, hard enough to cause spiritual
concussion, we are tamed, living life in a web of
hardship, the price of life is on a hike, now
mankind has to embrace spiritual benefits, to set
himself free from the redemptive suffering, chug
the holy wine, forsake alien gods and be worthy
of reverential praise.
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 8:25 AM UTC
I am a lone wolf, cursed to roam the rocky hills
A silent brook you are, cool, placid, grace in the move,
My wounded soul gets healed, for a while by your touch,
Immersion in you is my only redemptive pilgrimage.
Aug 18, 2012
Aug 18, 2012 at 11:59 PM UTC
*"I live, each and everyday to the fullest, not fully knowing if the decisions I'm making, are wrong or right.
However, I live, because with each new day, brings a chance to turn those wrong decisions into redemptive rights.
Not all in life is as sweet and delicious as apple pie. There may be bitter batches at times. Though always remember, everyday upon waking, be infinitely grateful you've been granted a chance at new life.
Don't waste it, make your mark. Grace the world with your imaginative mind. Regardless if the world disagrees with what you've done so far.
Always remember and never forget, that it is your life. Live it in kindness, and always be mindful of your words. Have a voice, be confident, spread your wings and soar"
© 2013 Christina Jackson*
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 3:38 AM UTC
What an amazing sight, it must be!
Seeing Christ seated on His throne,
as He offers a continual covering on behalf
of those that He considers His own.
Many have often wondered ‘why’,
as observed in the following question:
If Christ’s mission on Earth was fulfilled,
then ‘Why does He make for us daily intercession?’
Beside Jehovah, robed in holy righteousness,
Christ, our personal defender, pleads our case;
for Jesus is uniquely qualified; He provides the grace
that allows us to humbly come before God’s face.
These selfless actions of The Advocate
are simply part of His redemptive plan;
against the backdrop of the glassy sea,
He ‘stands in the gap’ as the lawyer of man.
Freely, we can go before Jehovah -
with the burdens of our broken hearts;
sacred utterances from the depths of our soul
comes from revelation knowledge He’s imparted.
Christ experienced the sting of Death
and felt the pain of Godly separation.
Can the impetus of His having been forsaken,
truly serve as His underlying motivation?
Author Notes:
Loosely based on: Hebrews 7:25, I John 2:1, Job 16;19-21, Rev 4:6, Mark 13:34
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2010, All rights reserved.
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 6:05 AM UTC
It’s getting to be that
I gotta get ****** just to go
Super market shopping these days.
Medication de rigueur,
Just to brave the dazed & demolished
Faces of forlorn fiends,
Those 400 SAT score & scoured souls
Stuck all this time in the
Lower middle classes.
Down for the count,
A toothpaste tube-squeezing cohort,
Squishing out the last dollop
Of Colgate Optic White
From their menial, un-redemptive misery;
Caught on a crumbling ledge,
Soon to fall even lower--
Darwin’s social Ziggurat
Still happily-ever-crazy,
After-all-these-years.
Meanwhile, the rich,
The few, that lucky few,
Get ever more clever, ever more rich,
Devising sinister tricks & subterfuges,
To wit: exterminate inflation
While simultaneously jacking prices,
Higher prices weekly.
Double-digit inflation:
The Obama Administration’s
Best kept Official Secret.
Meanwhile the poor know better,
Grow more bitter each day.
It's not even subtle anymore.
Everything costs more.
Everything is expensive
When you have no money to buy.
Roaming the grocery aisles,
Predator packs,
Reminiscing the good old days,
When a job seemed a birthright,
Apple pie: no longer as American as . . .
Dazed and ragged like Zombies,
They roam the cornucopia,
Carnal grins on ravenous lips,
“Clean-up on Aisle 5,”
Screams the cashier.
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 1:18 AM UTC
Burn the skin of acquisition, the taste must be forbidden your masterpiece waiting to be written. Accountance of the mind to be smitten by false pretension. Your redemptive views are the daggers filling up your sides, those silent whispers that trigger unsuspecting fear of self demise, but lingering suspicions are overlooked by addiction. And you're lieing in your own filthy position. Remission are unbalanced and you won't listen, imprisoned in your own decision. Tattered feelings pushing all your strength away. Hoping it find it in that lie someday. And you've displaced me so well, it's hard to tell whos face it is, just once more.
Jun 28, 2011
Jun 28, 2011 at 9:05 PM UTC
Logic to the dissonant, confetti into flames
watch it turn to ash.
The disquieted don’t want comfort,
they want to protect their definition of purity
and simply, for the complexities of the universe
to serve them solely.
Dissatisfaction becomes identity,
a vice to sate,
just one more redemptive hit
and they’ll sleep
dreaming of their idyllic reconstruction of reality.
Everyone’s a visionary
blind to the piteous state
of their mass-conformist unity fantasy,
forgetting that autonomy isn’t only in the mind of the beholder.
Aug 11, 2020
Aug 11, 2020 at 12:21 PM UTC
The ineffaceable stain
Allegorical refrain
Dictates the wily antidotes for a newfound sane
They hector from a distance
Muted but militant resistance
magical hobgoblins the lifeblood of their persistence
Heterodoxy enters the stage
Cognizant of ignominy, a potent repressed rage
Succor sought, corporate media bought
A pyrrhic limelight is certainly not what was sought
I defer to dignified exemplars
I confer with callous company at vapid bars
Concluding thereby the inverse proportionality of authenticity to success
The articulations of divinity imply rigidity
sweltering soul burgeoning with light sweating an evanescent humidity
If blind before, partial and total sight reconstitute the core
omnipresent paparazzi deplores
Past pities insuperable even with pithy witty
Future pieties irrelevant to ineradicable ignominy and purported dignity
Cupid and cupidity must be related
because gold-diggers alerted to my fair share would be elated
Begrudged at every tick, tantalized by a slow torture lurid flit
I cast my ambitions into the fathomless depths
I amass provisions for a restive hibernation, enduring schlep
Redemptive powers yet articulated
Should ease the prospects of being matriculated
But is cloistered suffering an inexcusable plight
When the deep coffers derelict a modest gesture of making grievous inequities once again right?
Must I swim to distant shores
Past the barnacles beneath and the urchins on submerged sand, very sore
Landmines at the beach, pantomimes and their garbled preach
Past scattershot invective fortified by intransigent misers of conscience, the balmy resort out of reach.
Bleak bleats, meek feats, good eats
I think it is about time for a tyrannical psychology to let me off the incapacitating leash, letting me focus on actions rather than on incomprehensible speech
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 7:49 PM UTC
How sweet the sound of amazing grace that saves filthy sinners like me.
Who are not even close to worthy of accepting the gift of God's love that is
Relentless;
Unwaivering;
No strings attached.
He died a painful death upon the cross to save lives like mine.
Ones that can't even resist the smallest temptations put before us, though we know the extent of the evil one.
Why is it that we cling to the things of this world that are
Evil;
Destructive;
Corruptive;
Instead of holding onto the everlasting promises of our Lord Jesus that are
Hopeful;
Redemptive;
Life changing.
He took a lost, broken, depressed drug addict, and chose me to do His mighty work; to build up His kingdom.
Not once has He said you're not good enough and you'll never be.
But he took the
Lost me;
Angry me;
Addiction based me;
And said "I'm going to use your story, for my glory, and I'll make you strong enough to resist those things."
For when I am weak, that's when He is strong.
Stronger than any temptation ivs ever faced.
And just like Nehemiah, "I am doing a great work and I cannot come down."
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 9:53 AM UTC
a statue the envy of Michelangelo
destiny unknown, the medium—perfection,
growing with age and process,
moulded by the hands of an unworthy artist
the sculptor a paragon of ambition to be,
with enamoured eyes the living stone watching me
a selfish chisel striking cruel and careless,
driven by a hammer of regret, tears resultant
unknowing confused questioning and blameless
staining the surface as sadness' garment
the err of inexpert hands curse by
marks impossible to be unmade despite
a love absolute for the victim of his craft
a father undeserving his son
mouth to match heart, hands to mirror soul
my failure
to see through promise made in
reply to infant breath
by youth's eye the world so meagre
my blessing to be king by innocent observer
a man, by title defective
an artist in whom little may be redemptive
words a patchwork of reparation
futile to hide errant strike, reclamation of relation
so daunting subsequent degeneration
your each tear
my sorrow's weight
my son, forgive me—
forgive
your father's abate
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 7:42 PM UTC
I didn't know "calling you beautiful" was considered invective.
"worshiping your body" was considered abusive.
"smiling in your direction" was considered repulsive.
"telling you the truth" was considered deceptive.
"saying I love you" was considered offensive.
"holding your hand" was considered aggressive.
"agreeing with you" was considered preemptive.
"my love for you" was considered subjective.
But...
I know now "your level of ignorance" is excessive.
"Your personality" is unimpressive.
"Your actions" are irrespective.
"Your feelings" are insensitive.
"Your loyalty" is selective.
"Your presence" is oppressive.
Also...
"Realizing, letting go and moving on" is redemptive, progressive and effective.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 5:28 AM UTC
Tell me of a day without struggle, a day without pain
If there be such a day, let it remain a secret to no man
Let it fill our ears and tremble in our own throats
For such a day is a gift from the universe
Bequeathed upon the masses
An approximated apology, focused on redeeming malice
The brightly shining sun would focus its strength on its object
Taking aim at his soul, meaning to warm it, looking to extract it
Taking from him all that was harmful from tarrying seconds
Replacing cruelty and hatred with thoughts that resemble forgiveness
But in themselves they are not forgiveness
Forgiveness, being but a specter, usurped by memories grown grainy
Forgiveness is so sallow and downtrodden, unconvincing
No, the thoughts projected by the early year’s sun are not so
They are empty of reminisces, void of meaning
Shining and new, redemptive and rejuvenating
Yet we approach them with a quiver of arrows fastened from our past
Expending ourselves in fighting its gaze and retreating to our caves
Where our memories are sheltered
To ponder what it means that this intruder has returned
Stroking the identities it tried to quell and weeping until overtaken by slumber
If ever there has been a day without pain and without struggle
Verily, the night which followed has it cast asunder
Mar 26, 2010
Mar 26, 2010 at 11:15 PM UTC
In the clearing stands the garden,
one made beautiful by you.
There is laurel, here is Holly,
and scents of lavender and rue.
In the center of the garden;
a rock that was your Poet's chair.
Sadly it is empty,
Paddy, you've been gone two years.
Your refuge and your metaphor
both in this secret bower.
Here you shared your wisdom
about Love's redemptive power.
This beauty were impossible
without your patient toil.
Your mind knew well which plants would
grow in this type of soil.
In your absence can your garden thrive
without the Gardener's care?
Perhaps within this place of peace
your shade yet lingers there?
Though we still grieve your passing
we mustn't seek you in the dust.
You are present in your flowers;
in your verse you bide with us
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 9:38 PM UTC