Mimicry

Mimicry

by Tim Reed

the smell of wet earth

the crack of distant thunder

signify more than an army of wedding bells

or a thousand brash headlines

What is Wisdom?

What is Wisdom? 

by Tim Reed

What is wisdom

but a collection of mugs

yellowed pages, softly waiting

tear-painted handkerchiefs

concert-tickets

a simple pane of glass looking upon paradise? 

A look that is a Library

a word that is a Painting

wisdom is like the wind

only known when its gale bends an oak

or its breeze fills a soul

its grandeur is not the gold filigree of a museum

but the heart framed in a wrinkled eye

this is wisdom, and nothing more

Slave to Someday

Slave to Someday

by Tim Reed

How blind the eyes of the slave to someday

as he stumbles past the now in tragic display

The Future Is A Blank Page

The Future is a Blank Page

by Tim Reed

rapt agony grips the blank page waiting

while, in his mind, the poet is articulating

Thinking About Thinking

Thinking About Thinking

by Tim Reed 

swift coursing river or stagnant delta crawling

deep dark springs lead to bright waters falling

Remain

Remain

by Tim Reed

He bids me to stay, to stand, to fight
while world in gaiety spins around
 Remain through day and heartless night
 to seek the seeker and in finding, be found.

To count as mere nothing a tumult of steps
 a vault of cheap smiles
 an abyss of vain words
but rather breathe fire and rend open soul
 To do more than stay - to remain.

In this way may I gain
 a shadow of that lone great form
 who, unmoved by all, sits in plain view of all the stars
 flung, fleeing
 before the glimmering eye and steady gaze
 of he who wears proudly the name
"Remain"

And I, though I be a lesser light,
bear witness to that steadfast one
though marked I am by this feeble frame
am filled to full by his unbound might

And when life as music-box winds to stop
and as the sweet melody ends refrain
 So may I wear his green laurel proud
 and show in its glory the name - "Remain"

Imputation

Imputation

by Tim Reed

you cloak with Honor

- my coward-stripes -

(as I ran from the spears)

(as I ran from the tears)

you work your Pity stronger

 - than all my vile fears -

Hands

Hands

by Tim Reed

"The closest thing I ever had to a door were these two hands.

An inglorious fusion of effort and circumstance."

"Gnarled and growing, they took hold of me like some cancerous being."

"These hands."

"These two wretched hands."

"Do you know what it is to fear yourself? To become a victim of your own M.O.?"

"Suddenly you find yourself surrounded by yourself, and at your throat: 

your own two hands."

"A door? Say more an electric chair. A noose. A vial of capital punishment."

"But this is a kangaroo court. The dishonorable judge is presiding."

A jury of pointing fingers. 

A fist around a gavel.

Twisting keys in cell doors. 

"This door has turned into a nightmare."

"These hands have become a liability."

Each joint, muscle, and sinew is a reason not to trust

these hands."

"The closest thing I had to an enemy?"

"These hands."

L | i | n | e | s

L | i | n | e | s

by Tim Reed

they | rage | against | the | lines

they / tear \ down / the \ signs

all for the gospel* of progress

My Window Faces South

My Window Faces South

by Tim Reed

My window faces South.

It always has, for as long as I can remember.

Mountain air rocked my cradle

adventure filled my lungs

Joy and surprise shod my feet - 

Innocence, the cry from my chest.

Life was good in those days,

and my window faced the South.

Next came fire and ice.

Black and white clothed my vision.

Passion and quest beset me - 

they alone held the skeleton key to my heart-doors.

Wit was my friend in that time.

Sabres of debate and humor clashed as I spoke.

Sparks of life flew back then,

and my window faced the South.

Then a cold draft of sorrow crept into my bones

a tempering grey colored my eyes

Death. . .  dogged my steps

Ashes became my robe.

I felt old, and my mind was a century

but my window faced the South. 

A new wind now brushes away cobwebs.

Ashes are replaced by tender plant-roots.

Spring's warm kiss placates Snow's gloomy stare

Perhaps the young once more effuses the air.

A red sun beckons.

Unknown voices clamor. 

I know there is life left in this frame. 

How do I know? 

My window faces the South. 

It always has, for as long as I can remember.

I was made for living.

Psalm of Gethsemane

Psalm of Gethsemane

by Tim Reed

"Arise!" they yell to me

caring nothing for my sackcloth

"Fight!" they scream

as I meekly say "I surrender"

I have been brought low

but I will remain

nothing will rob me of my sorrow

I will not arise and fight

the hand of the One I trust

I will not lift a finger to save myself

Voices adjure from all sides

to multiply my words

to amplify my cries

to command with conviction

Who am I to know all ends?

I will not be arrogant in my prayers

or be presumptuous in my requests

Rather, I ask for a heart of faith

and a servant's song

With shattered heart

I utter only four words

"Your will be done."

Musings on Creation

By Tim Reed

     We, as humans, use the creation story as a limitation to God. True, it's difficult to imagine a God who speaks the universe into existence. However, have we stopped to consider that this was by no means somehow the maximum of his ability?
     He chose to create that which is on the very border of our ability to understand, showing that his truth revealed in nature is enculturated at the deepest level imaginable - it is voluntarily limited to the pea-brained intellect of mankind. Even the creation account is at once a display of God's power as it is his pity. It is a statement of man's potential as it is his weakness.

Endurance

Endurance

by Tim Reed

with foot swift
and fiery eye
keep to the course
pace, intensify

in dark day
when sun is dead
look skyward
raise your head

through cold night
eternity long
nothing can quench
unbridled song

at last moment
looking above
sorrows dissolve
in the Savior's love

The Great Boa

The Great Boa

By Tim Reed

rope of black eyes

cold and strong

Will you rise to meet me?

Will I stumble to greet you?

Others do not see you, but those should fear.

I do not fear the coils of Hades

Nor the heat of Perdition's flames

- icy burning coals set in black orbs -

I see you, but oh

my hand is steady

my foot swift

I refuse to jump the Great Boa

but I will meet him

I refuse to jump the Great Boa

but my heel will gladly crush his head

rope of black eyes

dead and cold

the Great Boa rises no more - forever

The Spark

The Spark

by Tim Reed

A Torch feeds on flesh

the aching rebellion

against fate made behind sealed doors

footfalls scatter Embers

Golden Burning Eyes

cannot pierce the night's shawl of ink

but as a thought, a laugh of wind

above soars on eddies of revolution

a Spark

a Fire

a Deluge

Heat rising - roaring

"I Will Be Heard!"

"I Will Be Known!"

Orange fingers close around a ball of ash

but all crumbles like the hope of fading love

earth's tears tame the flaming leviathan

doors and ink again conspire

...but a Spark remains

such has it always been

Strange Schism

Strange Schism

by Tim Reed

Strange, how one idea can 

estrange two people

Strange, how two people can

split a whole family

Strange, how two families can

divide a nation

Strange, how two nations can

destroy a world

Strange, how two worlds change

existence forever

Strange, how easily it is

to divide

All for one idea

And

All for the lack of one idea

All Ends Well That Ends

All Ends Well That Ends

by Tim Reed

No one can predict the outcome of a gilded tongue

That spoken in deceit

- if planted in a field of virtue - 

may reap truth

That spoken in hatred

- if met by a heart ablaze -

may forge riches of love

That spoken to enslave

- if told to an unbound soul -

may inaugurate liberty

A shell of darkness and filth

may conceive the richest of jewels

No man curses the inglorious scythe

but they rather praise the harvest

Please

Please

by Tim Reed

Undefinable

Unstoppable

Ineffaceable

That moment when a man was reduced to one word

"Please."

How Could I Have Known?

How Could I Have Known?

by Tim Reed

How could I have known? 

Call it ignorance.

I took a step.

I said yes.

How could I have known?

Call it naïvety.

I didn't expect roses,

nor did I expect dungeons.

How could I have known?

Call it blindness.

I turned my face.

I turned my feet.

How could I have known?

My eyes saw the swells

my feet faltered

I lost your voice in the wind.

How could I have known?

when my castles fell

when my banks burned

when my advisers fled

How could I have known?

the Loving Hand could crush

the Crushing Foot could build

the Builder's plan would stand

How could I have known?

my path was paved in blood

watered with tears

lead through desolate places

How could I have known?

...but this I know.

That you love me.

That you lead me.

That you shield me.

How could I have known?

I couldn't.

I can't.

But...

I know you.

And that's enough.  

True Theology

"True theology makes its bed in the house of human need.

 

Pain drives the most profound questions of God – and God is found by the afflicted.

 

 Alienation creates the desire for reconciliation – and God reconciles the prodigal. 

 

Oppression leads mankind to question the relationship between God’s character and their practical situation – and God reveals himself to the dehumanized. "

~Tim Reed

Dreadful Privilege

Dreadful Privilege

by Tim Reed

My life drips with dreadful privilege

Hastily scrawled elegant solutions

Scars of mind from all this forward motion

Theseus' deaf ear to silent, shouting revolutions





 

Good Friday - Lady Julian's 4th Showing

     

Good Friday - Lady Julian's 4th Showing 

II Corinthians 2:14-16
 But thanks be to God, who always leads us as captives in Christ’s triumphal procession and uses us to spread the aroma of the knowledge of him everywhere. For we are to God the pleasing aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing. To the one we are an aroma that brings death; to the other, an aroma that brings life. And who is equal to such a task?

     Although I usually like to share my own work, I should like today to share an excerpt from an author that has been incredibly influential in my thinking and Christian life. Lady Julian was a 15th century English mystic, most famous for her work "Revelations of Divine Love" and a proponent of unity of will and affection with God. 

     As we enter Good Friday and the time of Christ's passion, it seems only appropriate to share this, her 4th revelation of divine love, where she sees an image of Christ on the cross and writes a humble theology about the blood of Christ. I hope that your heart takes hold of the truth presented here, though it be in somewhat archaic language. 

The Twelfth Chapter:

   After this I saw beholding the body plenteously bleeding, in seeming of the scourging, just as thus : the fair skin was broken full deep into the tender flesh, with sharp smitings, all about the sweet body : the hot blood ran out so plenteously, that there was neither seen skin, n[or] wound, but as it were all blood. And when it came where it should have fallen down, there it vanished : notwithstanding the bleeding continued a while, till it might be seen with advisement. And this was so plenteous to my sight, that me thought if it had been so in kind and in substance for that time, it should have made the bed all on blood, and have passed over all about.

    Then came to my mind, that God hath made waters plenteous in earth to our service, and to our bodily ease, for tender love that he hath to us. But yet liketh him better, that we take full [w]holsomely his blessed blood to wash us from sin, for there is no [liquid] that is made that liketh him so well to give us : for it is most plenteous, as it is most precious, and that, by the vertue of the blessed Godhead; and it is our own kind, and blessedfully overfloweth us by the vertue of his precious love.

    The dear worthy blood of our Lord Jesu Christ, also verily as it is most precious, as verily it is most plentuous. Behold and see the vertue of this precious plenty of his dear worthy blood. It descended down into hell, and brake her bonds, and delivered them all that were there which belongeth to the court of heaven.

    The precious plenty of his dear worthy blood overfloweth all earth, and is ready to wash all creatures of sin which be of good-will, have been, or shall be. The precious plenty of his dear worthy blood ascendeth up into heaven in the blessed body of our Lord Jesu Christ: and there is in him bleeding, praying for us to the Father, and is and shall be as long as us needeth. And evermore it floweth in all heaven, enjoying the salvation of all mankind that be there, and shall be fulfilling the number that faileth.

Mr. Problem

Mr. Problem

by Tim Reed

Some people have never seen him at all

Others grew up with him next door

Some people see him only once in a great while

Others seem to have a weekly appointment

Some people see him on the street and speed by

Others bury him in sports-cars, cigarette butts, cheap companionship, and glasses of wine

Some people spend their lives running

Others bury him in the closet or shed

Some people only see him at hotels or hospitals

Others as they pass a cross on the side of the road

Some people pretend he's a benign foe

Others elevate him to the role of Colossus

Some people visit him for a day or a week

Others for a month or a year

...and me? 

I know him very well

"How" you ask? 

He's the landlord

roommate 

and perpetual house-guest of whom I will never be free

27 Days of Poetry - Day XXVII

27 Days of Encounter

by Tim Reed

I: I will not be cliche

II: I am fused with those winged machines I love

III: Sincerity is something to fight for

IV: The present slips quickly to the past

V: Isolation and Adventure are often ambiguous

VI: I am too busy

VII: I desire a heart that seeks - even that which is already attained

VIII: I will not be a slave to the fear of the unknown

IX: I will embrace change in my life

X: In the twilight, many things are unclear

XI: I am in love with jazz and the universal language of music

XII: Many words do not imply wisdom

XIII: Adulthood is a complicating force in life

XIV: We are too focused on categorizing and mastering life

XV: Our hope for redemption from shame and fear is Christ

XVI: There is only one living truth

XVII: Exclusivity is a sticking point of my worldview - and I embrace it

XVIII: Communication is so often empty - why? 

XIX: There is more to life than self-image - true meaning is found in the other

XX: It is challenging to see "betterness" applied to diversity of culture - we complete a mosaic

XXI: Duty, responsibility, loyalty - all of these are at the core of who we are

XXII: I repent to God and my fellow man for not affirming their true personhood

XXIII: So much of life is made of what isn't

XXIV: Perhaps Ike would still be with us if he'd read this

XXV: No day is purposeless, regardless of how mundane it seems

XXVI: I will not be a slave to the tyranny of the urgent, nor paralyzed by the papers that try to rule over me

XXVII: There is true learning, beauty, pain, and wisdom in every day - no exceptions

27 Days of Poetry - Day XXVI

melt away

by Tim Reed

melt, melt away

snows upon the mountain

shabby lines and ink

drifts of notices and obligations

all your lifeless leaves - they leave me cold as ice

melt, melt away

snows upon the plain

your icy kiss of word and phrase

arctic floes of concept and response

I do not marvel at your tawdry appeal

melt, melt away

snows upon my life

endless blizzard of tickertape and bills

mountains of paper

who can survive your cold specificity?

melt, melt away

27 Days of Poetry - Day XXV

The Long Game

by Tim Reed

Repetition

Biding my time

Monotonous Rhyme

each day repeats

Each Day Repeats

EACH DAY REPEATS

The screaming whisper of the everyday deafens me

each day repeats

If life is a vapor, why am I in a fog-bank?

Each Day Repeats

The blazing dullness blinds my eyes

EACH DAY REPEATS

and yet...

This is the truth:

The Long Game

There is fire in every moment

There is purpose in every raindrop

 The multitude of now is the next step

Each Day Beautiful

27 Days of Poetry - Day XXIV

It's the Leeches!

by Tim Reed

Beware, my friends, the lachrymose leeches

Wait one hour, as Aunt Josephine preaches

If your hunger you cannot control, please avoid the beaches.

If you doubt their sense of smell

Regard the lighthouse warning-bell

Never try to outwit a leech - it never goes so well

Six rows of teeth and one razor-sharp nose

One is trapped, regardless of how fast he or she rows

Here's hoping you didn't need your fingers and toes

Murky, teeming violet waters beneath

Innumerable frenzied rows of waiting teeth

Is your last will ready to bequeath?

Beware, my friends, the lachrymose leeches

Wait one hour, as Aunt Josephine preaches

If your hunger you cannot control, please avoid the beaches.

Beware, my friends, the lachrymose leeches.

27 Days of Poetry - Day XXIII

Nots, Naughts, and Knots

by Tim Reed

It came to me that life is composed of

Nots, Naughts, and Knots.

Not enough time

Not enough Talent

Naught but trust

Naught but Love

Knots of the stomach

Knots of the Mind

Nots, Naughts, and Knots

27 Days of Poetry - Day XXII

The Formula

by Tim Reed

How I wish You were only a math problem

2 + 2 is much simpler to comprehend than a person

3 - 1 requires of me no change

5 X 5 removes all doubt and tension

But you never could, would, or will be

And I wouldn't love you if you were

 You wouldn't challenge me to change and grow

Forgive me for my subtractions, additions, divisions, and multiplications

You are not a formula

27 Days of Poetry - Day XXI

Fate

by Tim Reed

Fate is the gift.

Responsibility, the beautiful.

Duty is the privilege

Fealty, immutable.

27 Days of Poetry - Day XX

Inter Mundos

by Tim Reed

Reaching

Grasping

Touching

two worlds

One hand here

One hand there

One foot here 

One foot there

Joining

Fusing

Melding

two worlds

Beauty is here

Beauty is there

Life is here

Life is there

Bickering

Fighting

Killing

two worlds

The sea is not greater than the sky

The man is not greater than the woman

The dark is not greater than the light

The woman is not greater than the man

Learning

Growing

Maturing

two worlds

Each in its own kind

two worlds of exquisite otherness

two worlds ripped asunder

two worlds groaning for reunion

Striving

Straining

Stretching

two worlds

Ego sum inter mundos

27 Days of Poetry - Day XIX

ƨɿoɿɿiM & Windows

by Tim Reed

ƨɿoɿɿiM
ƨɘyɘ ɿuo ɘɿɒ ƨɿoɿɿiM
ƨɘvil ɿuo ɘɿɒ ƨɿoɿɿiM
ƨɘil ɘʜƚ ɘɿɒ ƨɿoɿɿiM
ymɘnɘ ɘʜƚ ɘɿɒ ƨɿoɿɿiM

Windows

Windows cleanse our eyes

Windows shape our lives

Windows show the truth

Windows are the light

27 Days of Poetry - Day XVIII

Mptnss

by Tim Reed

mptnss

why s thr sch fscntn wth tlkng?

ll th wrds r nly mptnss t my hrng

mpty lke blnk pges

mpty lke dstryd cty

mptnss

empty like so many hearts and minds

27 Days of Poetry - Day XVII

One

by Tim Reed

One

I am the only one

I am the only

I am the lonely one

I am the l(one)ly

Two are the one

They are greater than one

Three are one

Three in one

One

One unites us

One is the origin

One is the result

One is the controversy

Many things have I pondered, but none as schismatic as one

One truth (one real plan)

One me (not another)

One flesh (no 1-night stands)

One God (but 3 in number)

One Body (not many brands)

One life (will soon be over)

O      N     E

1

27 Days of Poetry - Day XVI

Verdad Que Vive

por Tim Reed

Verdad que Vive

Palabra que Dice

Luz que Brilla

Paso que Guía

En Vida, Bajado

En Muerto, Levantado

En Ascensión, Gozar

En Regreso, Ganar

Eres La Verdad que Vive

27 Days of Poetry - Day XV

The Limitation of Strength - the Strength of Limitation

by Tim Reed

Man of Shame

take my heart

by your flame 

make a start

clean the blame

Man of Tears

take my heart

destroy the fears

make a start

clean the blame

Man of Humility

take my heart

strengthen the frailty

make a start

clean the blame

Man of Truth

take my heart

 show your proof

make a start

clean the lies

Man of Patience

take my heart

teach the balance

make a start

clean my affections

Man of Strength

take my heart

show the length

show the breadth

show the depth

of your dear heart

27 Days of Poetry - Day XIV

What It Is Not

by Tim Reed

It is not lined

It is not boxed

It is not simple

It is not complex

It is not carefree

It is not careless

It is not ugly

It is not perfect

It is not nothing

It is not everything

It is not sad

It is not glad

It is not pain

It is not comfort

It is not reduced

It is not explained

It is not categorized

It is lived.

27 Days of Poetry - Day XIII

Life's Foreword

by Tim Reed

I once had a life most straightforward

Only one goal to move toward

Then adulthood began

And changed was my plan

Now all that I have is my foreword

27 Days of Poetry - Day XII

Too Much Noise

by Tim Reed

Words

So Many Words

(Motion)

(So Much Motion)

Assumptions

So Many Assumptions

(Inconclusive Conclusions)

Too Much Noise!

27 Days of Poetry - Day XI

The Jazz Collective
by Tim Reed

Sit down, little man, and join the jazz collective

This is a higher level of communication

 Hear the snap, feel the beat - suddenly you've become the rhythm

The sizzle of the ride and the resolute walk of the bass

Angular expressions of life, love, and groove ooze from the piano

A guitar-chord laced with 3's, 7's, 9's, and 13's takes hold of your heart

Feel yourself lose yourself as you join the process of something greater than yourself

Long, languid phrases prove the fusion of brass and soul

Mountains loom ahead at 220 beats-per-minute

Take a second and rest your bones in the shadowy place of the blues

See the man tell you everything you didn't know about yourself as you join the jazz

White - Black

 Man - Woman

Rich - Poor

Young - Old

 - all take the same blue color in the equalizing force of that rhythm

- all suddenly speak together the universal language of the human soul

This is the jazz collective

This is jazz

27 Days of Poetry - Day X

Twenty-nine Men

by Tim Reed

Grey snow smothers a dying earth

twenty-nine men walking

gnarled, black spectres on the ground

twenty-nine men walking

A blood-red moon dangles precariously from its perch

twenty-nine men walking

seemingly bent on sinister intent

twenty-nine men walking

weapons cling to their sides in the grey of twilight

twenty-nine men walking

the maleficent nebulous forms confuse me

twenty-nine men walking

 suddenly a light removes my confusion

twenty-nine pines resting

roots for motion, needles for weapons

twenty-nine pines resting

...but are they?

27 Days of Poetry - Day IX

Change

by Tim Reed

The mighty canyon began with a river

a river - and time

The great mountain began with a shift

a shift - and time

The greatest harvest began with a seed

a seed - and time

The great building began with a hole

a hole - and time

The great symphony began on a single sheet of paper

a sheet of paper - and time

The longest novel began with a thought

a thought - and time

The greatest of lives begins with a spark

a spark - and time

Some say that life is change

I'm beginning to agree

27 Days of Poetry - Day VIII

Almost

by Tim Reed

It seems the prime joy in life

to push past the almost

It seems also to bring great strife

to push past the almost

And so I stand here

one foot extended

tongue paralyzed with fear

one life extended

 Unjustified concern? 

I do not know

Averted dolor? 

I do not know

I am a slave to almost.

...almost

27 Days of Poetry - Day VII

 Ode to Lady Julian

by Tim Reed

Oh Great-heart! 

To know the cost of the cross

to see the divine love

to show the kindness of Christ

You said of noblest desire

"I saw Him, yet I sought Him"

You said in ultimate pursuit

"I had Him, yet I wanted Him"

You knew with perfect intimacy

the free and plenteous giving of His blood

You saw with newborn eyes

the willing suffering of our King

May my heart echo yours

 clarion of devotion sounding even to eternity