To have just one true friend
who can be trusted to understand.
To not breath a word or hint
to any other.
Just one who is true and faithful
who keeps even the unspoken confidence,
however sensational or sad
to their self.
To know just one
with whom secrets and things are safe.
Honest and pure, or ordinary.
The Raven screeches, “No Refuge!”,
and winter blows cold bleakness.
The Hawk dives in for the kill,
as night coats all in dark aloneness.
The Shark shows no mercy to feed himself.
Deep water swirls over, cutting off hope and breath.
The black Snake hisses slander and gossip
to those who feel bloatedly proud to “know”.
The Pharisee executes “judgement!, Shunning!”
Those sticks and stones wound, and kill faith.
The one who causes others to trip and stumble,
t’would be better he have a large millstone around his neck
and be drowned in the depths of the sea.
Do not nurse a hurt that isn’t yours.
Becomes a false crusade to march, but why?
Rules of battle engagement are ignored,
And bitterness is used to justify.
A grudge is just a hurt that festers wide;
A failure to ameliorate the pain.
Always taken, though denied; a side.
Endeavored absolution is in vain.
– – –
If you have a hurt that is your own,
Give it up and let it roll away,
or even if it’s deep you will be prone,
to hold the festering dear, without allay.
It’s known – it isn’t easy to forget.
Forgive it, even if they didn’t ask.
And though it may be an expensive debt,
let it go, that is your reasonable task.
The rich man was not damned because of wealth,
nor was Lazarus’ lack of it his choice.
That Dives gained his money and power by stealth
and did not listen to poor Lazarus’ voice.
His comfort and enjoyment was in life,
all striving for himself and for his vice.
Sadly, all that Lazarus saw was strife,
though after his short life was paradise.
The rich man was a sorry, stingy man,
and would not help the one whose life was grim.
He simply didn’t do those things he can
to help the ones more vulnerable than him.
This tale (or real life story, not sure which)
is not about us being rich or poor;
but rather what we do with what we have,
and what kind of treasure that you store.
He will be gracious to me when
The voice of my cry hears.
He says that He will answer me then,
and not wait for years.
And though adversity’s my bread
and water of affliction.
Yet teachers shall not be removed;
My eyes shall see conviction.
My ears can hear the words behind me:
“Here’s the way walk in it.
Right or left hand you will be
led rightly”. I’ll submit it.
Distill all of my motives Lord
and bring me forth as gold.
On my own it is too hard,
I want Christ as my mold.
©2007 P. Johnson
How much coffee does it take
to, during church keep me awake?
I thought that I had had enough,
to open keep my eyes
I’m pretty sure that that is where
the whole defiency lies…
©Pam Johnson 2011
Each Spring is winter’s absolution
Past winters long forgotten
those things that winter killed are laid to rest.
Survivors bloom with graciousness;
holding no grudges,
keeping back nothing for vengeance’ sake.
As I age before my very eyes
I find myself superfluous and blue.
And with this notice, I hereby apprise
you: do not worry, as I am in queue.
Not silence, but restraint is my “new” aim.
It may not look so different to some
who see the surface and inside the same.
They wonder where this bother cometh from.
But words do not come from no place at all,
though outwardly they seem such little things.
To casual observer – even banal,
or possibly – of cabbages and kings.
From that deep place this eidolon keeps on;
laughs and cries and listens as a sage,
re-reading of the Snark, or Kubla Khan,
and all the things that now become my age.
Glorious jewel studded crosses keep
reminding some, of something deep
What He gave or what we get?
Do we think that it’s well met?
with how the Savior really died
on gilded cross? No. They lied.
The heavy, rough, degrading, crude and lowly,
that caused committed criminals to walk slowly,
with the object of their punishment, it gave
deep slivers whether cowardly or brave.
ex crux. Out of the cross. Excruciation.
by the King, the Lord of all creation,
who refused to deaden His suffering and pain
with vinegar and gall, while being slain.
Can we remember truly then
without the gilded icon’s ken?
We take the vinegar and the gall
because to guilt, we are in thrall.
Unless we believe in the truth;
that ancient promise, from Earth’s youth.
I forgot the word today
that one that I know so well
it didn’t seem like my usual forgetting
though you tried my fears to quell
The insistent uneasiness about
the stuck word and its route
yes I did remember it eventually
it was obvious and stout
So if I forget how to rhyme
and if my thoughts turn away
and if I cannot speak things sublime
and forgetfulness takes over to stay
I want you to know that my heart
deep inside never forgot for a minute
and though gone will be wordcrafting art
I still love, though my memory’s not in it
I can only say this on before
that I loved you all deeply through life
so before I pass through that dark door
I’ve so loved you through sunshine and strife
I cannot make you to understand
how I never meant for anything bad
standing now on that movable strand
I hope you will not feel too sad
But do not forget what I say
though soon a new minute’s a new dawn
that I loved you with such fervent joy
and now I say goodbye – mind is gone.
©July 2014 pam johnson