Baptism

Arm in arm,
Hand in hand.
Friendship through love,
Without command.
Here today,
United we stand,
Embracing the power;
We savour this hour.
As sisters of a greater movement,
Together we rise,
Grapple with the stars,
Shake the swollen skies, and
Let the droplets fall,
Cleanse and calm,
Heal and disarm;
Raining tears of joy,
Upon the sands of time.
Toil and sweat,
Patience and perseverance,
Promise, trust and love,
His tender nurturing from above.
Anointed with peace, grace and care;
An amazing moment in Earthly time to share.
My sisters I'm glad you were there,
On that very day,
When we bore our past grievances away,
To then belong,
As one, and
Together we grew,
Rising anew.

Blind I

Life is only
Blind enough
To see
Visions of
Human reality.
Does the truth reside
In dreams;
Slaves are we,
Unnecessarily
To our daily lives?

Blind II

What of seen
Is real,
When human eyes
Can only see
Imperfect reality
Through an ignorant mind,
And the mind so readily finds
Comfort in the endorsement
Of Earthly lies.

Clarifying Power of Time

Through presently unclear,
In many years and possibly long miles from here,
When now is then, and
All the fragments,
Previously placed insecurely
(With jagged edges — how to make them knit?),
Over the years have come to fit
Together to yield the bigger picture.
Then it will all be made clear —
I'll be sitting next to you dear
(Whom ever you may pass to be), and
We'll surely begin to see,
That every thing when said and done,
Or redone, or even undone,
Has its purpose in the plan.
Founded with our love for eternity,
For each other and our family,
To also guide when youthful paths to traverse are unclear, and
Promise that the truth of time will be near.
Because, after us, we surely know,
The places they must, surely, go.

Consumable

Golden hills of rising Canola dreams,
Purple valleys of jade-filled streams,
An ocean glade of daisies white,
All the memories of childhood wonderment sight.

Years fleshed with ample good
Dreams could and would...

Like a fine vintage crop,
A fine drop matured in long, careful years,
Harvested my tears into something valuable,
Milked for adult need;
Baked a fill of greed.

Consumable, you take and break,
I'm used up, and
Concept of
What matters
Is suddenly
Shattered.

End of My Time

With the death of this internal clock,
Life on Earth will instantly stop
Just for me ...
But will the clock of the world,
Strike 12 and clang,
Tolling my passing?
Or will apathy toll?
As time strolls on nonchalantly by
Without even missing a single beat —
The clock tick continuing to propel
Hands routinely around the face,
Massaging tired etchings all over the place,
With multiple heads to pillow,
Aside from mine,
Leaving only fading memories behind —
To also pass with time, transparency blind.
Is the current controlling pace of the clock a sign  
Of the count-down of the grime of this modern time?
Will the world die before me,
Or will death be my only victory?

Excerpt from AGAIN

I'll river the past, with strength to flow with the never,
subsiding rush downstream.
Knowledge; yes I do know better than to ever,
battle upstream again.
I can't fix the past, can't fear and avoid,
The world, the future, just in case it's null and void.
I'll take control, won't flip the coin for inspiration and guidance.
I'll stop looking to others for answers I already know,
I'll trust myself, and take time instead to learn and to grow.
I could read every book, transverse every land,
Read the palm of every stranger's hand.
I could be anything I ever wanted, achieve every goal ever set,
Touch the stars, claim the heavens,
and yet,
I still wouldn't know why?
The hardest lesson learnt,
to let the question with no answer
pass unattended by ... bye.

False God

And another
Shattered person
Joins the discarded factory stock,
Just staring vacantly into the busy distance,
Beyond the looking glass into someone else's lot,
Desired for own.

Yet, your world was an oyster,
And you didn't share the pearl;
Stashed it away for your rainy day,
When others' had long ago arrived.
And the cries of the deprived,
Fell on deafened ears.
The tears spilt,
Could not be seen.
The fears,
Were never felt.
And all the while you knelt at night,
With your false god…

As death knocks ever loudly,
And comfort needs its share,
Turmoil, suffering and despair
Reign their claim.
At this, very last human hour,
Tell me, where is your false god now?

Follow Me?

Why do you run hot and cold
when the warmth of my enduring love
is forever persistent, forever persevering?
Why are you as light as a feather in faith,
blown about so easily, so readily
by the least of stormy winds?
Why do you look so longing
to humans for praise and worthiness,
whilst your toilful activities
remain unworthy of the Kingdom?
Why do you continue to stake your claim
at wordly desires and place
all of Earth before me?
Why do you still fear the future,
When you have my word
of what is to come?

Don't you know that I am with you always;
I reach out to clothe you when cold,
Temper you when hot?
Don't you know that I will guide you always
Through testing times,
Even when you are lost, when you are weary, and
the path may seem unconquerable, insurmountable?
Don't you know that my love for you is always
Unsurpassed,
That the love I made for us to share
is greater than any wonder of the Earth,
which I also made for you?
Don't you know that I know always
What is best for you and
This will be clear with time,
as time I made also,
but not even this will conquer my love,
shall you seek it in faith?
Don't you know that all I joy in always
is your faithful love and following;
for come what may through your unknown years,
I have given you the end,
my endless love.

For the Wrongful Masters

Masters rarely love:
Life is an endless game;
A timeless battle to be fought, then
Discarded with boredom unless won.
And when one competition is
Over and finally done,
Another has only just begun,
Though more intense than the last —
More "achievement" to be surpassed,
More blinkered,
More pointless?
When battling on unstable ground,
Only sorrow will remain to be found.
Competing now only
For a disinterested crowd.

Forever

There are man's 'jobs'
Then there is God's 'Work'.
One will secure fame & fortune on Earth,
And serve lust,
Whilst the other, the gift of eternal Life,
And love.
The former is not much to sacrifice,
When mortal life and suffering,
Is such short-lived an offering,

Compared with forever.

Gamble I

If every action,
Every mere choice in life had a
Law, rule, equation,
Even just a meaningful reason, and a
Predictable outcome,
Then I'd fast-forward forecasted answers,
By working backwards to the most favourable decision, and
I could afford my part,
Any part,
In this life.
I'd be rationing, budgeting,
Never in the red;
Always avoiding consequence.
Yet worthy is the risk of
Pursuing true love.
Love is the only gamble
I'd always take.

Golden Sands

The golden sands fall way
To wistfully yield yet another day,
Filled with the uncertain unknown,
Much like the last cast and passed.
So far away from home
But never closer to alone;
Walking much too fast
But striding always in faith;
Though sometimes you may
Discover quicksand upon your path,
You must never dismay.
For when the storms of life
Have settled in the sweetness of grace's solace,
The golden sands of time will rain their gift upon us,
Their rainbow hues
Curving to ensue
The kingdom of God.
These grains in your clasping hand
Will never disband but withstand
The darkest of nights, the coldest winters, the wildest storms;
Loosen regret's grip,
Be thankful you've just tripped
Towards God.

Gravity

He's like the gravity of my world —
Pulling me toward,
His ever-open arms,
Holding me tight,
Preventing me from
Falling back away,
Each and every day.
 Hope's Dream

If I could just find a place,
Where a child's heart could be
At peace and with grace
Within an adult's head;
Where actions would be wed,
With a dawning conscience of humanity;
Where vanity would not exist,
Tolerance and freedom would reign, and
Finances would not be
The key to gain;
Where I wouldn't have to fight
On a daily basis,
To prove my worth,
Through worldly birth of
Knowledge, ideas,
Intellect,
That's bored beyond my years;
Where we're not frightened with fears
Of being different, unique.
I'm wishing for a world where I could speak,
The tears of real joy;
In my dream
I cried You and spoke of
All of that hope,
That You dreamt upon us.

Lies

Lies:
A clue to the
Root of Truth,
If you can see beyond
The decorations of face value,
The make-up plastered words
Of a false Society which barely exists;
Lights out,
Just fumbling around in the dark
For something of Truth, that matters.
But without morality,
Without the Father,
Lies will keep Truth at bay on Earth,
Until the final moments
When all that remains
To bump into
Will be Hell
Or Truth.

Memory

Touch of a pane of glass so cold,
A reminder of memories too old,
For too long, longing to be told.
A tear slip of pain,
Magnified with time;
A river bigger of disdain,
Impregnating the ocean bathing our life.
Drinking our shame,
Lapping the shore eagerly,
While, the eyes of the meagre
Thirst for the worst,
Taking a glance to see
The winds to bow and disband,
True words of mortal shame;
The waves to claim
Sandy swallow of time's hand,
In deft surrender
Giving way to His Holy name.

Monopoly I

Go straight to jail,
Go past home and
Don't collect.

No-one told me, as a child,
To not stake my outcome
On the Park Lane of life:
My family played too many games.
But as an adult, some-one told me
When Jesus has come back
God may say to you:
You've been so busy
With Park Lane and paper
Saving the things of this world,
The things that only perish meaninglessly,
That you've missed me,
Your eternal saviour;

Go past home
Don't collect
Instead go straight to jail
For eternity.
There's no air-conditioners there.
And a fluky roll of the dice
Will not save you.

Muddied Sky

Looking through the window
To the muddied sky:
Nothing is clear,
And nothing seeks to meet the eye,
To reveal its past or future.
Just stuck in limbo land,
To eventually disband,
And stand alone forever more;
Washing perpetually up
Onto the forbidden shore
Wave after wave,
Even after signalling
A final good-bye,
I'm still in a deathless grave.
Staring into the muddied sky,
As my feet sink further
Into the invisible quick-sand,
Dragging me deep down below,
And suddenly I finally know,
This is not the kind of place,
That my soul needs to go.

Peace to Death

Every step grounded and immersed,
Dragging in pain.
Every thought ingrained,
With the consequence of the next,
And perplexed by the inconvenience of the rest;
Abided in time with a sorrow deep and long,
Resulting only to prolong
Suffering.
But as the golden oil
Anoints the wounds of time,
Like a long lost friend
Of the most treasured kind,
Peace begins to ablate turmoil
And reinstate the simple years,
The years without unfounded fears.
And as I step onwards and upwards,
Nights pulls its curtains all around,
And like a shroud it embraces me,
Forever capturing the wonder,
That many others cannot see.
For beyond lie eternal light,
Eternal love, eternal rest,
The end of Earthly plight.

Rest my soul with a sigh,
Such a perfect night to pass on by.

Perspective

Sometimes
Even when you've bought a nice frame
A picture still looks ugly.
Sometimes
Human life
Is a little like that.
You can't decorate
The truth
For long,
If at all.

Sometimes
We have to take the fall
And it stings,
Not only because humans don't have wings,
Not just because humans feel bodily pain,
But because the human soul is so readily wounded…
Why did God just drop us?
Weren't we good?
Weren't we obedient to the brink
Of mortal limits?

When the disciples painted the scene
On days 1 & 2,
It was mournful.
No frame sufficient,
They wanted to discard the picture.
On day 3,
It was triumphant.
No frame sufficient,
They wanted to preserve the picture forever.
Remember
Heaven defies,
Where Earthly perspective
Often lies.

Pester

Blindly swatting,
slapping flesh;
we're fighting a war
on distraction today.

They're spraying, baiting
the swarms.
Every one else is deft
with practice
but me.

My war zone has many self casualties:
will-power, materialistic motivation, ignorant denial.
Pester they will.
There's more of them
on this Earth,
than any thing else that seeks to exist,
in regret.

These locusts in my brain tissue:
These dreams,
Threatening
Longevity.
These dreams will be
the death of
my worldly productivity.

Poison

As the hours cease to count
Eyes only reflect dull light
As a corpse-like reminder
Of one person's poison
Consumed through out a solitary night,
Whilst all around the music rages
With a sea of swell and surge,
Sweet fragrances well prepared,
Close bodies with the urge,
Broadcasting wanting smiles.
Then sick and churn,
Rise and burn,
Misdirected passions turned sour
At too early an awkward hour.
Now cold and alone,
Comforting thoughts only
Of a long lost warm home.
Do they really care for more
Than what they can take, then break,
For how long, and how?
And where are they now?
 

Puzzle

I live, walk, breathe, a picture book puzzle,
Once pretty and perfect;
Familiar, secure,
Infallible fit,
No corner, no turn,
Unturned, unknown.
A picture puzzle
That is slowly losing its pieces,
My world crumbling
As fast as my jaded mind
Can slot misplaced events back into place.
Now I'm not even sure where they are supposed to go,
What they are supposed to mean, if any thing.
Confused, I fall into and struggle out of
The too many holes of my new world;
The never known
Minefields of my soul.
Imprisoned in a reality
A beautiful mind jumbled
Can't find a piece of peace.
So I fumble this life,
Blind.

Simple Joys

Trying to remember the simple joys of life,
How those simple things (slowly re-emerging) could suffice,
To satisfy my needs created by others' will.
Relearning how to make me happy,
A new batch of dreams brewed to fulfil,
Fill the gaps and emptiness,
As mortar to piece together the fragments of a broken mind.

Realising that the joys of life can only be witnessed,
When there is nothing sad left to find:
When searching for the impossible bliss,
Life's simple wonders too easy to miss.

Spent Youth

A field of quivering white
Daisies cowering beneath your toes,
In reckless flight, through your golden hair,
Laden lovingly around your fair neck,
Jiggling with the merriment
Of Summer vibes in 1995.

The photos know it as true:
Dux of school,
Sporting champion,
Victor of hearts,
Surpassing reality
With every stroke of time,
Abode in me
The sweetest envy of mine.

It was just a dream, surely?
Your white ashen face
Placed so neatly amongst the stilled lilies
Withering on the cold of your cheek,
Streaking the blood persisting to touch,
A much more poignant reminder
Of the reality of finding no more land;
Disbanded from the grandeur,
Of only a season before.

How quickly can trophies turn to trash,
How quickly can materialistic dreams burn to ash,
In an angry heart of misled youth,
Yearning for, but being lost to,
The ever-elusive Truth?

Tears

Those who fear
One another:
Do we not all cry clear tears?
Do we not have the same God,
Who wants to dry those clear tears,
From the Jews and every Gentile
With His gentle caress of hope?
It is those who don't
Shed Jesus's tears,
For whom I fear.

The Adelaide I've Known

Summer nights,
The boss of
immorality delights
In a country city.
Why watch it on the telly?
Why read about it in the paper?
Why hear it on the radio?
When you can see it all for free:
The pathetic dismay display
By real time, full colour play.

The Harley's roar,
The Rev-Heads turn,
To partake in the spectacle;
To stir-crazy raise some hell.
Shiny lip paint and shiny pants
Of the women on show,
Leathered up, lathered up;
They're ready to go.
They're on every corner,
The membrane of the street,
Sealing the destiny of
Every wondering eye,
Even those just meandering on by —
I'd never ... or would I?

Shorter dresses than whores ever before,
Inviting steamy brothel doors,
Whispering something sweaty sweet,
Offering up her feed of treats,
With the mere wink of a well-trained eye;
Smarter than her drug addiction will justify.
The Crazy Horse of enticement rears its conjured head,
As a cheap but effective lure,
A raunchy forbidden cure,
To the stress of the rat-race,
Far from the dreaded 14 hour day work-place.
A joy ride catching incidental money cost,
A disease causing incidental family loss,
Apathy of heart and mind,
An incidental body on the bind.

So he's purchased the big ticket,
Like so many lemming men before.
It's a quick nasty show;
He's soon scrounging way down low,
Until his eye-ball rolls,
In more dirt than he can wash.
Ingrained, he can't see things in any other light,
And he's proclaiming,
A synergy of loss.
Is it credit or irreparable cost?
The most frightened, most tightened,
Closed shut but seeing, seeking eyes
Open upon judgement hour,
As he watches his repugnant soul,
Turn to dust and burn,
A needle debt in his wake.
A mere take on what joy he could have achieved,
That he so readily let the devil thieve.
Life readily disbands,
From open hands.

The Making of Yet Another Help All But Self Victim

So tell me
What's the prize?
The ability to sort
Truth from lies?
To harness runaway wrongs
And then tame their evil ways?
To light-bulb the dungeon stairs
And break-in better days?
Change a circle to a line;
Set a path to something better than fine?
And what about my life? My happiness? My joy?
When can I capture the time,
To make pleasure a reality of mine?

(Ownership of life:
Are we born with this freely-growing prosperity vine
Flowing richly with the red juice of being?
Or are we granted it within weary others' time.)

Time of Ages

Through a young child's eyes
Things should move faster, be wilder,
Always impatiently awaiting adult privileges
To only then discover the responsibilities
That come with a child of one's own,
Shortly followed by the emptiness when they're all grown,
Long left home ....
By then gravity has long lost its fit,
Bones ache and crunch,
A day is what you've made for lunch,
While watching your grandchildren play,
Dreaming you're young in body again,
Wishing you could let them know
That it's okay to let time pass by ever so slowly.
But of how?
Perhaps next hour.

Time's Trouble

Time has never been a friend of mine:
We've been at war,
It's struck me down,
Time and again,
Then some more,
With each time
Worse than that before.

Just when I've decided
To not let its passing
Bother me so,
Then the days fly by
Like stealth fighter jets
Ripping through the sky, unawares,
Their passage difficult to trace,
Leaving holes and an empty place
In my soldier heart.

Perhaps then, it's better to care
Than to part time,
From this veteran
Consciousness of mine?

Tomorrow of My Dreams

The tomorrow of my dreams
Hasn't happened yet,
But to forsake the tenderness
Of my passions,
To forget the threads of fire
Woven deep
(Beaded by driving desire,
Culminating in a seamless creation of
Unbreakable urge),
To deprive the fostered courage of more than an army
Fighting the war for lasting love,
Would be the biggest travesty of breathing life.
For I'm not done yet.
There's more to me than
The clothes that I bare outside;
These are the treasured secrets within
That I can only share with those who really see me,
Not overwhelmed by the sight,
Of the shining false trophies I sustain...
The gain only immeasurable weight of sorrow:
A black spider of grief
Binds my heart in suffocating embrace,
Hidden beneath
The depths of eyes' revelation which few,
Have dared share.
Most concentrating only,
All the while
On the smile held rigidly
On my face,
For the benefit of finances sake,
Over time weakening its pose
And threatening to expose
The real me.
And at this hour, they will be shocked
For the endless money chain will stop,
Releasing passion to flow
Like the life-blood of a fervent gypsy,
Who has been dancing her soul
Through wild-flower studded fields,
For far too long, in her mind,
The many, many foot-steps away
From her home confines.
Now, here I stand,
Poised to take
The forever more decision,
At the now unlocked door
Of happiness created only within.

And I must dance on, towards,
The tomorrow of my dreams.

Transfixed

I watch their flitting bodies:
They're clambering for their shove of space
Upon my window,
Whilst I struggle to make
It through yet another
Night on the take.

An exhibition of
No rules,
No waiting turn,
No consideration,
For a neighbour's fatal plight
If they should slip,
From their heighty position tonight.

They climb upwards and onwards,
Reaching their micrometer projections
Toward their goal
At the top of my window,
In hope of discovering
That the light of my world
Can be theirs too.

But it's only a mere apparition;
A position of fame, fortune and lust.
And for all creatures of the night,
All that morning brings,
Is the shameless loss of mortal wings.

Troubled?

With worry lines running deep
To furrow your never-ironed brow,
With in built ultra-sensitive trouble radar
Catching problems and not prosperity,
With just one line, hour after hour;
He can hook you all with the wrong reasoning,
Self-satisfying, materialistically pleasing.
Look past that which sparkles with superficial lustre,
Yet is dull within and tarnishes forever after;
Today is trials and tribulations of the Earth,
Tomorrow's Heavenly treasure is true worth.

Unforgivable

Stuffiness in my soul
Venting time and love,
Ebbing to then float on by...
Snagged on a sigh,
In remiss of your kiss.

A song of what will go wrong;
A player by day and night,
Compromising better judgement,
Confounding perceived plight.

Regret to wake
But scared to sleep.

Living randomly expires,
So present actions,
May impact on what transpires
Tomorrow, and therefore possibly ever more.

Yet to forgive you, of that,
What for?
 

Unlearning and Forever Undiscerning

How many times have you been here?
Too many?
Not enough?
To know better would be too simple,
Too lavishly pleasing,
Embellishing upon relief.
But instead fence-sitting of a tease,
Rocking back and forth,
This creaking way and then that creaking way, and
All around grinding in despair;
Knotted and contorted with pain,
Confused yet mechanically bemused,
A mouse-wheel around and around,  
Never touching the solid ground.
Is it cold or lukewarm down there?
Just daintily, tentatively dipping your big toe…
Deft, so reality's enigma grows.
Where this charade abides,
You aside, no-one knows.

Walk

These words are
The eyes of my
Shared soul,
Collected on the soles
Of my feet
Through my walk
With Truth,
In this world and beyond.

All content copyright,  2002-2003, Farrah Jane Tate , except Vibrocentric font by Roy Larabie