The Twitterer Poem – in 140 characters of less…

Not sure where this came from – possibly inspired by a few spoken word poets i follow on the Twitterer [@brettfisha] but was lying in bed this morning and suddenly started writing a poem on the Twitterer which means line after line of 140 characters or less, trying to make each line complete  and full, while also creating a whole completed piece.

This is what emerged:

Deep breath. Reset. New day. New ways. To breathe in. And live out. To fling faith in the face of doubt. Tension. Mention. The wrestling.

The holding of different ideas that seem to contradict. Yet somehow cannot inflict. The killer blow to the other. Could it be? Harmony?

Can you see? This thing in me. That cries out. Hoping to not die out. Struggling to find out. If it is indeed the Truth you seek?

Questioning the questions. That arm wrestle. Grappling for traction. An attraction. Looking for satisfaction. Working towards an action.

Hoping to reach a conclusion. That holds some solution. Might you view it as an intrusion. Some sort of infraction on my behalf?

Or will you consider the possibility? Within this apparent impossibility. That the light I hold out may just be. A distinct opportunity.

Something to reach out for. To cast your doubt aside for. To satiate your thirst for more. Is this the thing you’re looking for? Is it more?

Will you take this chance? To transform your very circumstance? To lift yourself from your chair and join this dance?

Risk a fall to gain it all. Step closer to the precipice. Or hold back in safety and give this a miss? Watch from afar. Spectate.

But never step in. Cheer on but never quite win. Desire, dream and hope, but always remain there on the periphery. Able to look but not see.

To imagine, but never quite taste or smell. To sit with the tip of the tongueness that is a constant reminder of what might have been…

Had you taken the chance to leap? #TwitterPoem

 

Why don’t you give it a try and share yours with me?

[For other non Twitterer poems i have written over the last few years, click over here] 

a pome: march of the ants

 

 

the lines were drawn

the call was made

their colours prominent displayed

it was the battle that would decide

the end to this tumultuous ride

for after this impending fight

they’d surely know who’s wrong and right

 

each one arrived and looked around

and so as to avoid the shame

they checked again to make quite sure

[tis tricky when you look the same]

 

first up it was Axe Ept platoon

this ant squad took their place

their recent swell of numbers

from deserters to their base

who more and more were making claims

that this was their team all along

their papers must have got mixed up

or maybe they’d just read them wrong

 

immediately welcomed in they’d been

and assigned their place to stand

soon they were marching in formation

to line up as had all been planned

 

meanwhile on the other side

the Toller squad had just arrived

their numbers had indeed receded

but they have not yet been defeated

in fact they took a moment’s pause

to meditate upon their cause

concluding that they still hold strong

believing that they are not wrong

despite the peer pressure to defect

they still hold that they are correct

 

Axe Ept fired first by stating that,

“It’s not enough to treat us well.

If you won’t believe the things we do,

then we will load another shell.”

 

Toller responded with their shot,

by saying, “Look, we love you lot.

We really do not want to fight.

But also can’t agree you’re right.”

 

the battle raged on long and hard

with neither group conceding

the conflict seemed semantical

the premise self-defeating

 

and as the camera pans away

other squads come into view

it seems this isn’t a two ant fight

in fact, of ants, there’s quite a few

 

O’Beady soldiers grappling with

the ants from squad D Phi

Comp Lai have all but given up

as Re Luct just stand by

 

and if you were a lonesome ant

who’d simply stumbled upon this fray

how would you choose which side to join

or would you simply sneak away?

 

 

blog me

blogging

blog in

be the log in

be the log in your own eye

dictating what you write

and who and how and why you want to impress those looking in

who are these audients you seem to seek so hard to impress?

 

and cajole and coax

into liking and retweeting

posting and sharing

and gushing over all your stuff?

who are all these spectators?

 

speck takers?

who you care about so highly as to write so closely between the lines of what they are wanting  to read?

to the exclusion of what you know you should be writing?

or would know you should be writing

were you giving more attention to the still small voice.

or any attention at all, really.

but no, there is no time

you. are. on. the. move. (really! i’m certainly not lion here)

 

checking on site stats,

on page hits,

on follows, on retweets,

on comments, on Comet,

“On Cupid, On Donner, On Blitzen… Did I leave anyone out?”

do you leave anyone out?

 

have you made your list and checked it twice?

the liberals, the feminists, the Anabaptists, the gays?

the pre-reformed post-apocalyptic millennial calvinist pentecostal

resaved revirgined unconfirmed church-of-the-toxic-writhing-defanged-serpent brethren?

thou. shalt. not. offend. anyone.

 

except God.

 

oh, you can offend Him alright.

But He is thick-skinned, so don’t worry about Him

He’ll get over it quickly

He is, after all, all about Love, right?

He is, after all, about inclusion?

He is after all. Right?

 

and so it kinda makes sense that you are as well…

 

after all, the attention

after all, the followers

after all, the applause

after all.

 

but the word must get out

the word will get out

this word will not return void

this Word will not return void

the Word and the words will be spoken

if not by you, then by someone else

someone who is not all concerned about those who are watching

who are listening in

who are waiting for a word to be written out of line

out of the lines

that they have drawn

someone who will speak the words that need to be spoken

no matter what the consequence might be to themself

no matter what backlash might present itself

or be thrown mercilessly at them

or hungrily devoured and spewed out again by some comment-heavy troll

someone who will not simply speak the words that the itching ears of the crowds want to hear

that make them feel good, or fall neatly within their confines of what is allowed

of what they allow

someone who will do that which needs to be done

because it needs to be done

needs to be said or written or pronounced

and if that person does not exist

if that person needing to say that thing that needs to be said

share that thought that needs to be passed on

or pronounce that politically incorrect notion of a handed down Truth

if they do not raise their hand

or step up to the keyboard

or make themselves known

what then?

 

well, if that were to happen

if no-one was to be found who could deliver the message

no one at all

in any place, at any time

then the very words would write themselves

the very Word would write, Himself

this Word will not return void

this Word will.

it’s not going to be stopped!

 

so really the question just becomes to you

what will you do?

who will you be?

who will you be for?

and to what extent will you change any of that for those who don’t really matter

really

and just start writing for you

and from you

and for Him

and that’s all.

 

a pome: what the judge meant

as i stand so close to the flames

that the tiny hairs on my arms start to catch alight

filling my nostrils with that pungent, burning hair smell

i catch the silhouette of my reflected outline

quietly nodding my silent assent

to those who by their righteous actions tonight

have ensured that this clinic’s business

for the immediate future at least

has been violently aborted

 

as i stand to the far edge of the back of this lively and passionate crowd

i am caught up by the exuberance with which our leaders

are delivering today’s heartfelt message of righteous anger and God’s judgment

on those who would exchange normal relations

for these abominations

not quite confident that God does indeed hate fags as has been so eloquently declared

through the intimacy of a well-intended loud speaker

or the letters lovingly painted onto an otherwise pure white poster

i at least choose to hold my focus

on all those who will be set free

as a result of us gaily presenting our well-crafted sermon

as we came out here today

Lovingly Gesturing Biblical Truths

 

back at home i spend some time online

catching up on the news

all the time dodging the vitriolic and caustic comments

of fellow christian brothers and sisters

resolutely aligning themselves with either camp

and how could you possibly hold THAT opinion

if you have given any attention at all to THIS specific verse?

(“You fool!”… understood.)

 

another moment, yet another person caught in a crime

this time i bend down to pick up my stone

but am stopped in my tracks

by the sound of his voice

speaking these words

so lovingly

‘let the person who is without sin throw the first stone.’

 

and i pause for just a minute

 

as i think it over to myself…

a ticking watch nervously counts down this moment of interruption

my heavy breathing bears testimony to the wrestling that’s going on within my head

as i roll his words around in my mind, this way and that way, looking for the answer

but then suddenly it comes to me in a flash

as i remember that he has already paid for my sin

when he died on the cross

he took all my guilt and shame

and the sin penalty that should have been mine to pay

and he paid for it in my place

and so that makes me sin-free, right?

 

that makes me the one able to throw the first stone…

just like he said.

 

my hand finds a suitably jagged edged piece of stone

closes tightly around it

i can feel its rough edges digging into my skin

i stand to my feet in a single motion

powered up by all the holy righteous anger i can muster

and with every muscle in my body giving assent to my actions

i hurl that stone with all my might and watch as it hits its target

watch as you slump quickly to the ground

 

and, as if the dam wall has been burst

i watch as my just action unleashes the rest of the frenzied crowd

some who had already started to let their personalised rocks fall to the ground

 

again and again the rocks smash against their intended victim

your cries have long since passed

blood and bits of skin and bone fly hideously around

and within moments you are no longer a person

but a grotesque mass of broken body and blood

 

broken body

and blood?

 

as if in a pitch black tunnel just noticing a faint hint of a light up ahead

something starts to swirl within my mind

a recollection, a mass of thoughts, something is trying to be heard

and i try to focus in on what is being said, as my stomach fights against gagging from the smell that is rising up from your body

your dead body

broken by me… broken for me?

no, broken by me.

 

i glance up.

struggling to see clearly with these beams of wood protruding from each one of my eyes

i manage to finally catch a glimpse of him

his face displaying so obviously that this is not the way he was hoping it would end

as if something has gone wrong

gone horribly wrong

but what is it? i did what you said. i did what you have to have wanted. right?

 

and there it is

off to the side, faint and very much in the distance

but there is no mistaking the call of the farm bird sounding the beginning of a new day

or is it the end of one?

nope, there it is again.

and one more time.

 

i realise that the first crow has labelled me a resounding gong, a clanging cymbal

the second told me i am nothing

the third plays out that i have gained nothing

all three signifying that i have failed in this,

in this, my virtuous enacting of your justice

and if that is true, if i have failed in this

that surely means that no part of this was truly Love

 

what is the first commandment? obey the rules

what is the most important? don’t step outside of the lines

what is the gospel? don’t do this long and complicated list of things

GODHATESFAGSGODHATESPEOPLEWHOHAVEABORTIONSGODHATESTERRORISTSGODHATES

wait, what?

 

 

 

 

i stand close to the flames

trying to massage some warmth back into my hands

no-one needs to come up to me and ask if i know Him?

i know my actions have already answered that one

and as i catch my reflection in a nearby piece of glass

i notice the flames, licking at my feet.

 

disappointment/disappointed (a pome, by brettfish)

where are you now?

you, who promised you’d never leave and never forsake

you, who stood to your feet and declared

with both your body and mouth

that you were in this thing for keeps

till death do us part?

where are you now?

you, who fought against the older generation

so that you could be guaranteed your voice

so that you could play your music

on your instruments

in the process chasing some of them away

where are you now?

now that many of them are long gone

some of them dead

never to be argued with or fought with any more

now that you got your way

just exactly where are you?

you who signed up for almost every thing

who joined ever group

went on each and every single missions trip

helped out with setup and breakdown for every single event

for a time anyways.

we could sure use that passion now

we could certainly use some of that commitment

it would be incredible if some of you would suddenly walk right back through that door again…

where are you now?

did you get tired?

did you find it all a little too boring?

was it a failure to entertain?

DID WE NOT ENTERTAIN?

 

where are you now?

did someone manage to talk you out of that lifetime commitment you made?

was it one of your professors who maybe convinced you it was all a bunch of made-up stories?

did you become too cool to believe in any of it any more?

was it no longer convenient for you perhaps?

too comfortable?

of maybe not comfortable enough.

or was it maybe that you outgrew this stuff?

that you just got a little busy?

that life just happened or something?

that you settled?

gave up, gave in, threw in the towel, walked away

packed it away, packed it in, packed it off, over there, to the side, out of harm’s way

out of your way?

was it any of this?

i was sorry to see you go.

i am sad that you never made it back.

i can’t say I’m not a little disappointed. a little sad.

it is not the same without you, you know.

you are missed.

by me.

and by Him.

how to be a man by Rudyard Kipling

well, actually, this pome is titled ‘If’ but po-tay-to, po-tah-to… my wife linked to this the other day and i remembered what a powerful read it was… hope you enjoy [especially if this is your first time… and it works for women too by the way!]

‘If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!’

Source: A Choice of Kipling’s Verse (1943)

new pome: Oh

Oh.

Oh? As in really? You… you’re sure? Certain?

All-powerful. Oh?

Faithful. Oh?

All-loving. Unconditionally so.

Even me?

Even my stuff?

Me? Oh?

Oh really? As in ‘really really?’

Like real miracles? Actual miraculous occurances?

Blind seeing, deaf hearing, lame walking?

Dead being raised?

Oh. I get it. It’s a metaphoric death.

An inner blindness.

Deaf to the words of the Holy Scriptures speaking to my disobedient ears.

Able to walk tall in the knowledge that i’m ok.

That i’m going to make it.

Is that all?

Because if it is, then “oh!”

Oh.

Oh?

O

As in zero

As in no more response to that do i have.

IS that really all you’ve got?

If it’s only metaphorical

Some kind of greeting card sentiment

A cartooned caricature

Then “oh” is all i have.

Awe has turned to oh.

Owe.

As in You owe me.

All the time i put in

All the energy

All of that, believing…

Owe

For a life given

Lived

Dedicated

Surrendered? Well, where i could.

Oh.

O.

Owe.

Unless. One less. Own-less. Oh’ness.

Unless… there really was more.

Is more.

of You. to You. about… You?

Because if there was more, is more

Then it would be different

It would have to be different

I would have to be different

Oh so completely different

If you were shown to be so much more

Or maybe even just all i was told you were, are.

Not metaphoric, but real.

Not imaginary or fabled or wishfully thought up

But real. Alive. Involved.

Interested.

In me.

In us. In all this. In all that is and has been going on.

Oh?

Oh.

Oh!

And once more, the awe consumes the “oh?”