The Father’s Love – spoken word & mime

“I hold a shield of condemnation and a sword of betrayal.
I travel on the train of trust that has finally been derailed.
I know the pain of loss as if it were my very veil and I accept my lot to never succeed but always fail.
This is my creed the motive of my being.
I never set my roots, I’m in constant fleeing cause I’m constantly seeing the destruction I cause.
A force to be reckoned with and yet I reckon it comes from deep within, some dark place drenched with sin.
I attempt to wrench the thing out and yet I start to understand what it’s about as it whispers sweet nothings in my ear.
Year after year I listen to this fear, this comforting security that’s appeared seems to drag my soul to depths unknown whether sitting on the bus or in an empty bath, fully clothed at home.

Alone.

With only my thoughts and voices bringing forth all my wrong choices, my mistakes.
If only I could forsake my past and take up a new path I would see this farce before it got too far but no, I do not.
I cannot relinquish this cold deathly kiss of the dark, inconsolable abyss, this clenched fist around my heart, this dark, dart of despair that has become my comfort and the defining feature in my conceptual lair.
A fair beauty in my eyes but others behold deception and lies.

Is it true that I’m blind?
Blinded by my own misery and shame, made lame by this self made rod of pain.
Why do I punish my inner being for being in or for seeing the truth?
For not being aloof but for making me see that my comfort is false.

For it’s the Holy Spirit in me that keeps my head focused, He exhibits the love needed to vanquish the locusts that have bred and multiplied leading me to believe my life is too defiled for God to accept any offering, other than sing and maybe dance.
And so I run from God.

But running from God just enhances the disasters plaguing my life.
I could choose to wallow in strife or run to God and receive love and life.

So I run to my Father, God, when I’ve had enough of my lies and selfishness, when I accept my mess is too big for me and I stop trying to dig myself free.
You see, that is how my disasters become dissolved.
Now I must resolve my heart to stay on things true, like love, joy and hope, even through the depression and self-hate I find the ability to demonstrate the elated spirit that comes from running to God.
Not forced but over-flowing, fully knowing God is there holding onto me.

He cares more than I dare to believe and it humbles me, how time and again He can be such a faithful Father and Friend.
When I lose sight He tells me “everything’s gonna be alright, every thing’s gonna be okay” cause that’s His way.
Day after day after day He is the Unchangeable, the Unmistakable Creator of Love, not sitting in the heavens above staring down but through His Son walks with us on this very ground.
Love abounds whenever He is near but don’t fear cause He’s always near when we’re here.
His Love is in us.
No matter our circumstance or situation He’s patiently waiting for us to realise He wants to show us His Love.
I have found nothing more accepting, nothing more directing, nothing more perforating than the Father’s Love.

And for that I am glad.

God’s Dreams – Slam Poem

Some of us dream big.

We have big dreams of big scenes involving nice things like a wife that sings our praises when our pay cheque raises, afford her diamond rings and brings home the extra nice bacon.

We reckon pursuing big dreams like having too much financial security in times of economic need is worth us letting others fight and bleed for a scrap of day old bread. I mean who cares when they’re already considered dead to the world?

We dream of having three holidays a year to cruise the world or snuggle up curled on the beach in Dubai, you know the city still being built by forced labour or ‘slaves’ as they were called in the good old days when the world made sense.

We dream of a massive garden surrounded by an electric fence to show off our immense variety of beautiful flowers but at a good distance. Only those who like us dream big can smell the fragrance those flowers produce.

We dream of our houses topped with roofs that reach for the skies, like a high-five to the sun who seems to always ruin our fun when we daydream of parading down Oxford street in London looking for the next fashionable item to buy. Because as we all know rain ruins everything.

But as we all really know it’s big dreams like these that ruin everything.

There once was a man who walked this earth and he dreamed big but his dreams didn’t involve suckled pig or unending dishes of caviar, truffles and fig, no, his dreams involved the dead and the dying. Those who were crying out ’cause they were riddled with cancerous doubt about the worth of their existence.¬†You see, His insistence was love.

His dreams were born from above and included those left fighting for a scrap of day old bread.

He dreamt of social injustice being turned on its head, when a man would give up his bed for a stranger down on his luck.

He dreamt of a time when the phrase ‘buck up your ideas’ didn’t mean knuckling down at school but meant willing to look a fool befriending the ‘reject’ no-one else would call friend.

He dreamt of big things like bringing food to the hungry, drink to the thirsty, clothes to the naked, love to the lonely, hope to the hopeless, breath to the lifeless and he didn’t just dream as big dreamers dream but he lived as big lovers live, living out his life for others to give every ounce of his substance for the bettering of his brothers, sisters, fathers and mothers.

His dreams weren’t selfish.

His dreams didn’t vanish with the morning mist.

His dreams didn’t stay in his age but have been being dreamt since the beginning of time, by men and women believing in their time it was time their precious time was spent on others. When barren women would claim orphan children as their own, when men would call those without a home ‘brothers’ and help them on their feet, when sisters would treat outcasts with love and care and when fathers would father a generation whose fathers weren’t there.

I tell you, these aren’t just big dreams.

These are God’s dreams.

Christ Is Risen

I love it when excellent artists of disparate mediums work together, subtly blending their arts. It creates something that often has more depth than a single song or video, and it’s always fresh.

The following is a highly effective and affecting mashup of music and slam, on the most exhilarating subject possible, the resurrection of Jesus.

If you’re interested watch the full version which includes the Christ Is Risen song and a crowd of oh-so-christian worshippers!