Society’s Darts

A young man toys with a hand made joint,
revolutions at a boiling point.
A mother cries, why don’t the children?
The Eagle flies with a broken wing.
Some flowers bloom and others wilt,
some children grow strait, and some of them tilt.
We can’t blame the, there is a tide,
that ponders if our Nation’s died.
A young man sits to study his books,
but he sees the world, he sees the crooks.
He can’t go on there’s something wrong,
he can’t get up, he’s not that strong.
Another man looks outside his cell,
he stares at the world and wishes it hell.
But he’ll never know, he’ll never see,
he feels as though he’ll never be free.
An old man stands with a dollar bill,
he may be old, but he’s human still.
Standing without a hat on his head,
society wishes he were dead.
A young boy kneels at night to pray,
he cries LORD won’t you save us this day?
The pews are full, but no one hears,
and a man in the pew sits, full of fears.
Weeds and waste gather ’round the brain,
distortion of truth leaves society’s stain.
Some try to run, but it does no good,
If think they’d change, if they thought they should.
I’ve been around most everywhere,
I’ve seen loneliness, I’ve seen despair.
I’ve looked inside of lonely hearts,
I’ve seen the scars of society’s darts.

 

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Are You A Good Listener?

Listening to others seems to be a lost art for most of us these days. It seems we’re all very interested in getting our point of view across to others, but seldom take the time to hear what others might be thinking.

Have you ever found yourself in the middle of a conversation just waiting for the person talking to take a breath so you can jump in and share your point of view? Have you ever listened to your children with your ears closed already knowing what you’re going to say before you’ve even heard them out?

Half of being a good conversationalist is having the ability to be a good listener. If all you do when conversing with others is try to put forth your point of view, you will eventually find your words having the same effect on you as theirs have had on you; “none”.

Conversation is a big part of developing relationships with others, and is a give and take proposition. If you do all the talking and constantly dominate the conversation, you may have the greatest advice or ideas in the world; and will find that they fall on deaf ears.

When you don’t take the time to listen to others, you make them feel as if they and their ideas aren’t very important to you; therefore they’re not very important to you. Not only is that a conversation killer, but a relationship killer as well.

For some of us who seem to always have something to say and a strong desire to say it, listening can be a challenge. But, if we are to be great communicators, we need to learn to slow down and be open to what others have to say. Remember, speaking is only half of being a good conversationalist, the other half is listening.

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The Warrior Poet

Gazing unto the great expanse,
unsure and vexed at heart.
Stepping forward knowing not,
uncertainty all around.
Voices, voices everywhere voices;
pulling, gnawing, lies, deceit.
Crooked and crippled men abound.
Their unfettered actions cry out loud,
no shame, no shame, no shame.

And the Warrior Poet stands alone;
one hand to heaven, and one to earth.
A single tear upon his cheek;
his life with the seasons
ebb and flow, ebb and flow, ebb and flow.
And the Warrior Poet
he stands alone, stands alone, stands alone.

The fruit is sweet if you come this way,
why fight me son of man.
Fragrant pleasures soft embrace.
Oh let life be life and question not,
the temptress vain and sultry sound.
Upon her breast she gathers round.
The fool who fears not God or man.
The fool who’s mind and spirit vain;
does eat destruction in the end, in the end, in the end.

And the Warrior Poet stands alone;
one hand to heaven, and one to earth.
A single tear upon his cheek;
his life with the seasons
ebb and flow, ebb and flow, ebb and flow.
And the Warrior Poet
he stands alone, stands alone, stands alone.

And the man of God found his way,
a fork to left or right.
Simplicity, please come my way,
or ego folly the prideful brutes.
But the man of God moved straight ahead,
through thorn and thistle, bush and brier.
He chose the unworn path, so hard,
bloodied flesh, beat and bruised.
There is, he thought, an easier way;
broad and wide and tranquil filled.
The way to death, way to death, way to death.

And the Warrior Poet stands alone;
one hand to heaven, and one to earth.
A single tear upon his cheek;
his life with the seasons
ebb and flow, ebb and flow, ebb and flow.
And the Warrior Poet
he stands alone, stands alone, stands alone.

And dreams at sleep of different days,
Oh days of great and chivalrous men.
Shields mighty with scabbard swords,
they staved the evil by night that came.
And chaste their hearts with all their might,
lest fear or folly choke their life.
And death of more than life should come,
their oath they swore by blood of death.
Uphold the truth the virtuous men, virtuous men, virtuous men.

And the Warrior Poet stands alone;
one hand to heaven, and one to earth.
A single tear upon his cheek;
his life with the seasons
ebb and flow, ebb and flow, ebb and flow.
And the Warrior Poet
he stands alone, stands alone, stands alone.

The book he holds most tender near,
embraced like love’s most tender dear.
It’s words are strength like tempered steal,
it’s warmth a glowing ember deep.
Verbum of Deus you strengthen him,
for weak without, and dust his end.
Dark now light and light now dark.
Right now wrong and wrong now right.
So he draw’s his scabbard sword to pierce,
the heart of blasphemy shame amidst.
The deadly mongrels that prey by night, prey by night, prey by night.

And the Warrior Poet stands alone;
one hand to heaven, and one to earth.
A single tear upon his cheek;
his life with the seasons
ebb and flow, ebb and flow, ebb and flow.
And the Warrior Poet
he stands alone, stands alone, stands alone.

Deep within the dessert barren,
the man of God does suffer thirst.
And another fork lies before him,
temptation, lies, death and jeers;
or weak and faithless haunted fears.
But the man of God moves straight ahead,
though parched and dry as dessert sand.
He thirsts and cries with anguished heart,
but wavers not the standard carried.
The ancient ways must be preserved;
if not he, than who will carry, who will carry, who will carry?

And the Warrior Poet stands alone;
one hand to heaven, and one to earth.
A single tear upon his cheek;
his life with the seasons
ebb and flow, ebb and flow, ebb and flow.
And the Warrior Poet
he stands alone, stands alone, stands alone.

Scarred and tattered, bruised throughout,
with years gone by and wisdom grown.
He stood before a precipice deep,
with many tears upon his cheek.
Could this be it, was it but folly,
to bear this standard and fight the foe?
All these years I’ve stood alone,
while wayward men lost the meaning.
And I, upon their lips a fool,
must I bear this all alone?
My sons and brothers will you not follow me, follow me, follow me?

And the Warrior Poet stands alone;
one hand to heaven, and one to earth.
A single tear upon his cheek;
his life with the seasons
ebb and flow, ebb and flow, ebb and flow.
And the Warrior Poet
he stands alone, stands alone, stands alone.

Thunderous stillness filled the land,
a small still voice spoke to the man.
When weak and weary and at death’s door,
I bore your spirit and carried your load.
And preserved have I, many a man,
with scabbard swords and standards held.
Men of muse and strength of might,
men I’ve chosen of the light.
All sworn to follow where you have been,
resisting life of ease and sin.
A brotherhood of mighty men,
Warrior Poets all of them, all of them, all of them.

And the Warrior Poet stands alone;
one hand to heaven, and one to earth.
A tear of joy upon his cheek.
His life with the seasons
ebb and flow, ebb and flow, ebb and flow.
And the Warrior Poet is
no longer alone, no longer alone, no longer alone.

Please visit my blog Your Spirit Mind and Body for some Christian inspiration

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It’s going to be an amazing day!

Well, yesterday I took a beef brisket and gave it a mustard rub down and totally covered it in a sweet and spicy rub, wrapped it in plastic wrap and put it in the fridge where it has been absorbing said flavors while waiting to do its think on the smoker. I also soaked two chickens in a brine for about four hours before rinsing, drying and rubbing down with some bbq sauce and a little mustard and then a generous amount of a rub I put together. There are also about 16 good sized burgers seasoned to perfection that are chomping at the bits to get onto my smoker. All in good time burgers, you’ll get your chance.

The very colorful salad is prepared, the homemade garlic bread is put together and only needs a little time in the oven. Let’s see, the home brewed Pale Ale is chillin’ in the fridge waiting for this evening as well. I have a feeling a few of them might volunteer to be consumed before this evening since who can spend a day smoking meat and not enjoy a few?

With all the bad going on in the world, the economy in shambles we can spend our days moaning and complaining about all that’s wrong. Or we can recognize there is problems, do our part to make sure we are not a part of that problem; then move on and share a wonderful meal with family and friends and focus on the good things in life.

Let me ask you, what is better than sharing a meal filled with conversation, laughter and smiles with family and friends?

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An Allusive Dream

Once upon an illusive dream
I happened upon a mystic
with a wave of his magical wand
he produced a spectrum of vivid colors
colors which could never be seen
by the mortal eye.
I then witnessed a maiden,
laced in gold and seated
on a thrown of sweet myrrh.
She was the scent of wild flowers,
and her hair flowed ever so gently
in the breeze.
I’m suddenly awakened by the jailer!
for it’s time to take my last walk
down this corridor of death.
My doom awaits me
within this icy cold room,
and I sit upon this wooden chair,
weeping!

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Prayer

Sweet the fragrant smoke of prayer
cried from broken contrite hearts
Vanity washed and scrubbed away
and crushed upon the brutal shores
For all the ways of man are vain
self-hope becomes a loathing cry
and still most hope in their own strength
till stillborn hope does crush their heart
and all their ways of vanity die
but till that time their prayer is stench
upon the nostrils of our saddened God
But a smile and lighted swollen heart
for the sweet and fragrant smoke of prayer
cried from the broken contrite heart
laid prostrate before the God of all!

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Mothers, a Gift From God

Blessed are those that call her mother,
for they ride upon the crest of life.
With tireless strength she pushes onward,
as arbiter, doctor, mother and wife.
Her time is rarely hers alone,
for a mother never rests.
Busy serving all around,
by her we are most blessed.
A gentle spirit of selfless labor,
a comforting hand she bare.
This most amazing creature which God did make,
with kindness and love so fair.

We are by you most blessed!
Thank you!!!

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