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What is death to self (Luke 9:23-26, e.g.)? Who does the killing, and how? Is it the same for everyone or does it differ depending on the particular way self/sin has its stranglehold? I had this original idea back in February, found it in my journal months later, and decided to actually write it. I find it (the poem, the idea, and the way it has played out in my life) intriguing. See what you think.

(I will say that its picture, as you can guess from the title, is a sober one, and even a little graphic in one place. It might be triggering if you have the trauma of this issue (or maybe even any gunshot death) in your history. Read at your own discretion.)

LIFE BY SUICIDE
I unlock the case
And open the lid
     on gleaming black death
Today is the day
I’m finally gonna do it
I’m gonna end this ache
 
How many times I’ve opened this case
     gazed
     dreamed
     pulled it out
     and fired
 
But just as I’m about ready to hand the money to the piper
I renege
I flinch
     shattering windows
     scattering people
     sitting my neighbors bolt upright
         in their beds
Until temple bloodied and ears ringing
Sulfur smell choking the air
I slink back
     and put back
Case closed
 
That’s the way it’s been
But today will be different
Today.
Will.
Be.
Different.
 
~~~
 
No it won’t
No I won’t
I can’t
I won’t
 
And then there he is
     at my elbow
     proffered hand
Why’s he here?
I have to do this
 
But the hand remains
The eyes steeler than the gun
     than the grave
The curious whisper of a smile playing around his lips
And that’s actually what swings me
     to loosen my grip
 
Fine
Take the damned thing
It’s all yours
 
Now this is the part I can’t believe
So sudden it feels like a dream
He pulls me close
     cheek to cheek
And the gun’s at his temple
And his head’s exploding
A spray of blood and brains and bone
     earthy and sweet
Before it takes me too
To darkness
 
~~~
 
Darkness
And … Light?
Yes
Morning light
But the ache is gone
And the head’s intact
And I see the case is on the table
    with a new lock
And his hand’s still proffered
And the grin’s way past hint
And his eyes are molten kind
And he says
Like he’s been waiting to say it
     all my life
     (his life?)
Come have breakfast

“Death to self is the condition where the fact that I do not get what I want does not surprise or offend me and has no control over me.” (Dallas Willard, Renovation of the Heart, from memory so it may not be exact haha)

From the beginning, my wife has been a helpful voice (confirmed by others) advising me not to over-explain my poems, but let them hit people how they will and provide interest according to their curiosity/liking. This is not easy for me haha.

But! In that spirit–I wrote this two mornings ago, if you have questions or thoughts, let me know, and (to quote the esteemed Mr. Gump), that’s all I have to say about that.

THE WAY OUT
The sirens sounded
And as the highways hummed like rush hour
You said pull over
Hands in the air
The alarm went off
You said ignore it
         endure it
         it’s one and the same
The cars sped up
The horns got loud
Keep your hands in the air son
The sirens whizzed by
With a piercing sideways glance
And in time the traffic slowed
And I turned uneasily onto the dusty road
That led to home

When I was praying one morning for a sorority house with some Ichthus girls in it where God has been and is clearly at work, I got a picture of the actual house encased in light–like that really strong rubber liner people get sprayed in/on their truck beds, but made of light instead. (The light then drove out the darkness within the house, and zooming up like a Google Maps view I saw that part of town and even onto campus being illuminated by the light coming from the house.) You’re welcome to pray that vision for the house as well if you’d be willing; it’s the Gamma Phi Beta house to be specific!

So the first stanza of this poem was drawn from that vision, but the poem itself isn’t about that house specifically, but is as broad as life itself and as narrow as each one of our lives.

The word HaShem is Hebrew for “the Name” and is itself a name for God. (For the most basic and a most amazing biblical revelation on God’s Name, check out Exodus 33:14-34:7. So foundational. And so powerful, ESPECIALLY when one considers the very name of Jesus.)

HASHEM
Your name is a coating of thick bright light
With effortless grace
It drives out the night

Your name is a balm from acres of jars
That heals and restores as
It murmurs of stars

Your name is a ranger uncloaking his glory
With drawn sword in hand
Embracing the story

Your name is a club with seven-inch spikes
A triune monster-slayer
That drops all the mikes

Your name’s a crescendo of salvation fire
An inferno of bliss
Rising higher and higher

Your name is ecstatic a wild dance of glee
A frenzied surrender
A life-dealing spree

Your name is a stream once pent up now loosed
That strips out the stains and
Unravels the noose

Your name is a word that once spoken runs free
And leads stormy hearts
To the most ancient tree

Your name is a Lion sitting over his court
The magnificent center
My magnificent fort

(See two posts prior for the intro.)

Also sorry for the funky format, but the only way I can get the spacing to actually do what I want is to use this ‘verse’ format. But now Mr. Enneagram One/Business Education major wants to go back and change all my posts to this format for uniformity haha. In fact, knowing me (and I do relatively well–quite a few years of acquaintance now), I probably will fairly soon. In fact, I really want to do it right now hahaha….

EVERY MEMORY DESIRES RESCUE
I sit
A shifty-eyed bandit before the interviewer
And the echoes fill my mind
     angry voices
     constant verdicts
     consuming laryngitis by day and by night
     one stuttering dance after another

I say
     Sir I’m sorry
     I feel rather dodgy
     But I feel like you asked me to do this?

He says
     Yes
     For now
     My face’d kill you
     But watching my hands’ll get you ready
          I’ve got some work to do

I say
     OK
     What sort of work exactly

And he says
     Well I do it all
     But today it’s electrical

(See previous post for the intro and concept. This one is also playfully dramatic like KK but has a more meaningful point; at least I think so.)

EUSTRESS (GOOD FRETTING)
I was just sitting there
Unremarkably minding my own business
Hidden away
Curled up
Quiet and cozy
And then some lunatic ripped my home open
Grabbed me
Shackled my feet
Tied my hands to a peg
And stretched
And pulled
And tightened

What is this torture
This pressure
Taut
Exposed
Trapped
Much more tension and I’ll snap in two
Get your hands off me
And that pointed pick
And … wait
What’s that sound?

One of the many many things I enjoy about writing poetry is hiding stuff in them. Allusions to the Bible, stuff God’s shown me, word plays, etymologies, random references to events when I was a kid, stuff I’ve been thinking about, etc… weaving stuff in (or packing as the case may be, poems vary widely in how straightforward or obscure they are). It’s sorta like each poem has a key and I’m the only one that holds it (sometimes the key gets lost in my own pocket haha, when I look back at a poem I wrote and can’t at first remember what I myself was referring to or thinking of). Naming the poems is a part I also really enjoy, one of the chief reasons being that often is a way to give clues or pointers. And then it’s fun and honoring when people have an energy to try to figure it out themselves. I’m always kinda amazed at that, actually, because truth be told I don’t read much poetry myself (except song lyrics) and feel pretty darn inept at doing it. (There’s also the situation when people see stuff that I didn’t have in mind at all, or even had something in mind that is pretty different … that’s been an interesting/fun/weird area … but that’s a subject for a later time.)

Anyway… I wrote a few poems (two in January, one in April) that ended up being sorta riddle or puzzle poems … more than just hiding stuff, these actually are more like an invitation to figure out what they’re about. They have some meaning on the poem level, but it’s only when you figure out what they’re about that they can then help inform that very level. Well, two of them. One of them (the one below) I got pretty goofy/dramatic with and was mostly writing for fun–the juxtaposition between the tone and the actual subject matter made me laugh out loud.

So here’s the first one!

KK
I was born into bondage
Shoved and pounded from earliest recall
Until I came of age

Then came the day
That gruesome day
When they took the blade to my core
And everyone around me
     Everyone who made it that is
     Those who fell were cast away
Then the ride
Through agonizing undulations of southern heat
And down the ramp to hell

I’ll never forget the sizzle of cooking flesh
My flesh
My shred of relief at a side untouched
Itself shredded in a moment’s flip
An unbearable loop of pain
My crisp body unfeeling
Unrecognizable
Marched to the deluge
Choking my body
Drowning my voice
As the bystanders leered
     (the monsters even brought their children)
Then falling motionless
On wicked steel grates
Where tormentors with sticks
     and dispassionate eyes
Shoved us like cattle in boxes
     The livers that is
     Again
     Those who crumpled were swept away

Who am I?
Can anyone deliver?
What have I done to deserve this?
When will it end
And how?
The truth’s as dark as my countenance
Some dream of freedom
But all I hear are further terrors
Rumors of naked display
And sale like commodities
To ravenous giants who paw and drool
The dawning horror
Bred and raised to be consumed

Why, God, why?
Kan you hear my kry?

I was working in our shared Ichthus office down at The Well most days in August 2018 … and one day a co-worker, Matt Cantril, shared an article with me entitled “Christ Altogether Lovely,” written in the 17th century by a man named John Flavel. I read it, and loved it, and wrote this poem. To be honest, I don’t have a lot of pleasant memories from that particular time, as it was a season of significant forging and discipline from the Lord, but that day with Flavel was one of them.

Here’s a link if you’d like to read it for yourself:

https://www.gracegems.org/SERMONS2/Flavel%20altogether_lovely.htm

ALTOGETHER LOVELY
I love your name
I love your way
I love your face
I will obey

I love your light
so warm and clear
I love your blood
that draws me near
I love your power
to save and slash
This office party
you let me crash

I love your freedom
open door
I love your passion
true paramour
I love your friendship
tender, true
We have relations
can this be true?

I love you now
I’ll love you then
I love your heart
I will not sin

Oh Jesus, Jesus
Lovely one
Receive this poem
I’m undone

Kate Spade took her life on June 5, 2018 — Jeanette’s and my 25th wedding anniversary. Hearing that news made me sad … and inspired this poem. (I chose this one as my selection to share in my small group at the Songwriters’ Workshop put on by Sara Groves in August 2019, which was a vulnerable and fun experience. They were kind and complimentary, and the group leader suggested a change that I’ve integrated — and I think made the poem better. Thanks Michael.)

The quote near the end is from a scene in a C. S. Lewis book that I find particularly poignant. Recognize it? Comment or email me if you’re curious about it.

KATE AND I
Aching
So much pain
Spade separated from heart
Spade separated from life
The ruined soul
All around me
And I know it too
The lemming flow
The groaning
The unbearable burden of creativity
     when it’s not tethered to the Creator
     life must have a source
     were Adam and Eve artists?
          of course
Oh they hid
Oh we hide
I want to stop hiding
These sins are unwelcome flatmates
Who keep brandishing a rental contract
     three and four generations
Can I tear it up?

Oh light of the world
Oh gentle sweet breeze
I want out of this contract
Will you pay the termination fee
     it is unaffordable
Please draw these blinds
     they’re made of lead
Please lift the sash
     it’s swollen stuck
Musty and coughing room
“Oh don’t don’t let me go back into it
Don’t, don’t”
I’m down to my last card
It sure ain’t a diamond
All I deserve is a club
But for your Name’s sake let it be a heart
My heart
Guard it
Surpass mind
Thank you …
Oh thank you

I really, really like this one. An Easter poem. Just wrote it yesterday morning and it fills me with holy energy and makes me giggle. I’m calling it by a subtitle here which alludes to a scene in Perelandra by C. S. Lewis; the actual title is R-rated and I don’t know my audience so I toned it down a bit haha. The last line is a quote from a movie that if you recognize the scene should also make you chuckle.

The painting above is another one by my friend Steven Moser (see my first poem post “Danforth”) … it is called “Resurrection and the Life” from a series of paintings called “I am…” I love it when a poem I write ties with a painting he has done. I think I’d like to try to write some poems just inspired from his paintings — that would be a good exercise for me…

WHAT HATRED WAS MADE FOR
The ground shakes
The stone rolls
And the arms emerge
An eagle on one hand
A dove on the other
The double bird

Now the face
Flashing eyes
Explosive grin
The light of a billion suns
It is finished
And can’t be undone

And the demon turns
And says
You arrogant ass
You’ve killed us

Haven’t posted in 2 1/2 months. Not positive anyone reads these haha. (If you do and you’d like to see more, shoot me an email at john@ichthusmhk.org.)

So my poetry writing output has slowed WAY down from when I first started in November 2017. I wrote 165 poems in the first seven months, but in the last seven, just over 30. Various reasons for that–some valid, some that reflect the constant resistance on the creative process that artists told me about. But I still love to do it. And I have thought happily a number of times of how fun it would be to take a retreat just focused on writing poems.

So I finally did it! Well, sorta. I came to KC yesterday for about a 24-hour period (scrunched some by having to take insurance claim pictures of my daughter’s vehicle that got speared by a Leawood snowplow recently–there is always something!) and decided to take maybe half of my productive hours to do poetry-related things. Not exactly a long retreat–but certainly better than nothing!

Anyway, I got tired yesterday before I’d done much, so I decided to take a nap at 4pm. Yeah, I then woke up at 10:30pm. I guess I was tired, eh? (I won’t even tell you about the bizarre dream I had. I did write a poem about it, but it probably won’t make it here LOL.) Anyway, I grabbed some lovely QT coffee and worked til about 5 am … and I had a ball. Such fun. Wrote about 6 1/2 poems, including one I collaborated with some friends on in the brainstorming process about a month ago, and I thought I’d share a short one inspired by a recent movie I saw. Enjoy!

LIVING WITH THE ACCOUNTANT
I like incongruity
He said with one of his seven smiles
If he’s willing he could like himself
These tender Mr Darcys
how do you pluralize that
please don’t say it’s an apostrophe
but I digress
Foreboding gray waters
Teeming with life
A world unseen
Awaiting a lover’s eye
Lest it die denied
Or dormant lie