Tag Archives: poem

Fire in the woods

War! War! (a poem)

A poem from the ever-lyrical Jon Jon Hilton. It’s an old un’ and a good un’.

Still we love to call ‘passion,’
What produces nothing lasting.
Only short-term feel good now transactions.
And the enemy was laughing.
Because no investments were happening.
Just good clean, fun, Middle-class distractions.
But who will sever their attachments
To the thrills they hold so dear?
Find on earth no satisfaction
Unfilled by her affairs?
For it seems, only a fraction,
Flee ambition’s subtle snare.
And it seems only a fraction
Put a sword to their careers.
– “Peace! Peace!” You hear them cry,
(When peace, of course, was nowhere near).
“Don’t sing your songs of revolution!
Don’t sing of war and violence here!
Just lift your hands and close your eyes,
And dance your dance and love your lives,
Let gentle breeze and compromise
Replace the need for sacrifice.”
-But “War! War!” Is passion’s cry
When fire burns up every fear,
We sing the song of sacrifice,
We sing of death to old life here.

“Chill, Chill,”
The cowards cry,
(At threat of battle, soldiers ran)
The rest amused themselves to death
On DVD’s and Christian bands.
Where are the youth with martyr spirits,
Who bid their God to ruin plans?
Who scorn the good to gain what’s higher,
With broken wills and emptied hands,
Who stand against their own desires,
And do not dream the dreams of man,
Who put an end to their agendas
At the sound of His command.
When there’s no call to kneel and pray allured
by sweet and gentle song,
No friendly arm to soothe and sway
They still maintain the fear of God.
And ruthless love for Jesus’ Cause
Makes passion real and wild and deep.
Each to his sword, to put to death
All inward rivals that compete.
Because ….you are what you eat.
And you become what you feed.
So brethren, learn to shut doors,
Endure and, learn to delete
Those numbers from your phone
Because he’d love to keep you home,
In silence and in comfort
At ease and alone
But “War! War!” Our passion’s cry,
Let fire burn up every fear
We lay our lives down for tomorrow,
At the cost of all that’s dear.

Poems of the Last Few Years

I thought I’d introduce you to eight of my poems, all written over the last few years.

 

Jesu’ calls

Simon the nationalist bigot : April 2010

This one was inspired by a single line from the Jesus Army blog:

Jesus’ original followers were a ragged crowd – illiterate bumpkins mainly. Life’s rejects; the wrong sort of people.

I chose to write to several of the ‘rejects’ in this ‘ragged crowd’, narrating their responses to Jesus’ call to them and how they variously responded.

And me? How should I respond?

 

Jesus Ran Away

Jesus is in the ghetto : May 2010

I was captured by the power of Jesus’ metaphor (Matthew 25) when he said that whatever we do (good or ill) for people in need is done for him. I imagined Jesus already working today in the mess of this spuffed-up world through his Spirit, calling his people into the dark places to meet him there in them and join him in his work.

 

Thank God; they nearly died

A poem about a couple of friends : June 2010

Shock. Do you know the feeling? The cold shiver down the spine when you hear the sudden bad news. The best poetry comes from the heart and is about things that matter.

 

I Refuse

Life is staggering : July 2010

 

Lucky Are The Unlucky

Blesséd you who can’t pay the rent : September 2010

Philip Yancey in his book The Jesus I Never Knew talks about the staggeringly revolutionary and counter-intuitive paradoxes that Jesus came out with. A lot of these are in sound-bite form in the beatitudes, which Yancey says seem to pretty much say “lucky are the unlucky and unlucky are the lucky”.

 

Maranatha

A glimpse of real life on the other side of death, on the New Earth : August 2012

This poem was inspired by a Jesus Army track called Flowers Fade.

Oddly I very rarely consider a poem to be finished. I think this is my most ‘incomplete’ poem though, as I decided to not put any more work in to it as it’s incompleteness spoke to me; it’s impossible for any expression of the other side of glory to come anywhere near that great reality, it all falls short of the sombre brazen joy to come.

 

Not Poor Enough

May I be rich enough to know my poverty : January 2013

One of those poems that says a lot with little.

 

We are too safe

Dreams… January 2013

The poem We Are Too Safe was the first fiery burden, the first thread of a wider envisioned tapestry, the start of a conviction that grew and continues to grow. I wrote it in several sittings, each time having to overcome a reluctance and a lump in my throat. What I wrote scared me. Sorry to sound arrogant, but if it doesn’t scare you you probably haven’t read it properly. Read it again and consider its implications.

For some reason I don’t consider the poem finished. Maybe it needs an older brother or sister to write the old patriarch’s response? All submissions welcome.