Had a Band

I had a band in days gone by,
One God, a rusty van and four goofy guys.
Time has passed on, haven't seen them in a while,
We made music and they made me smile.

We were loud when we spoke and loud when we played,
loud when we laughed and loudest when we prayed.
We weren't always right but not always wrong,
Alone we were nothing but together we were strong.

I had a band... and I miss the noise we made,
The brotherhood, the magic each time we played.
I miss the pounding drums and screaming guitars,
They weren't very pretty but they were ours.

I had a band... and this I truly say,
Thinking back and wondering when last we played.
Yes, we were a band... but verily in the end
I miss the music but most I miss my friends.

Firecracker Bonfire

A bitter sense of loss clouds the day we've had. (Refocus on the hugs, the laughter, shared stories of past adventure.) So quietly the time flies to surprise us at its departure. But ka is a wheel and the wheel of ka turns. Hard to turn away to the next stage in life when I would trade it all for ping pong and bonfires, hot dogs and s'mores. If the future holds all hopes and fears, then in this insomniac night, tremble I do at the distance which threatens to separate us so.


Comfort lies in the lessons of humor and compassion and spirit and dedication taught in no classroom by these stalwart companions but trailing as comet's tails on actions and words and always, always pointing toward the son.

Cold Glow

(This is a poem I wrote as a new Christian struggling with temptations from my life before Christ. I was trying to put into words the struggle to be faithful and the shame I felt when I failed. As I read it now, about 15 years later, I realize how deceitful sin can still be no matter how long you have been a Christian.)

Don’t you see it? Every night its the same. It comes when you least expect it…creeping…crawling…scraping…invading your time, your space, your mind. Sounds scary doesn’t it? No, actually it’s warm…comforting…soothing…like grandma’s kitchen or your best friend’s room on a Saturday night sleep-over. Makes you feel like you can be silly, do mischievous things and get away with it. I wait eagerly…expectantly…it makes all the world go away for awhile…then, as soon as it comes…its gone. Then its all empty, like getting lost in a large building and ending up in the boiler room. Alone…a little scared and confused. It always leaves me like this…empty and alone…hurting…ashamed. I don’t know why I let it come in, into my room, my space, my mind. I get mad, mad at myself, mad at the world, mad at God. He doesn’t want it for me…He has something better…something spectacular for me. So I start…up the hill to get where God is calling me. just over the crest of the hill where the sky meets the grass…I will get there and be at the next level. The Glory that has only another Glory after that…Glory to Glory! The road to the celestial city! I can’t wait…finally all my work, discipline…faithfulness pays off! Then it comes…I scream…shriek. Not again! Not this time! Then…just as quickly…I welcome with open arms…the warm comfort like a sparkler on the fourth of July. Lighting up your little world as bright burning bits of sulfur jump in all directions. Then it is gone and you watch the dying ember and wisp of smoke with fading smiles…until you are left panting…smothered by the dark sultry summer night air…a crusty, ashen piece of wire between your fingers…alone. (Genesis 4)

you

You creep into me when I put my guard down
Knowing where you can attack you smile
I try so hard to keep you away but the harder I try the more you gain
You try to win me over day after day
but I won't fall into your lies.
Don't try to compete with me anymore
I will win because I have one thing that keeps me above it all.
Do you know what it is?
It is one simple word that has so much power:
LOVE.
The love of Jesus in my heart keeps me above it all
You might as well stop trying
He won't let me fall.
So keep trying to creep into me but I will wash you away
like my tears in the rain.

All I Need

by Brant Bollman

Your love is my lifeline
Your touch is the air I breath
Your life is my loveline
Your breath is the air I touch

All of me is living for a peice of you
A peice of you is all I need
I am living for your peices
My peace is you

All I need...
All I need is you.

Head versus heart

"The Christianity Lewis espouses is humane, but not easy: it asks us to recognize that the great religious struggle is not fought on a spectacular battleground, but within the ordinary human heart, when every morning we awake and feel the pressures of the day crowding in on us, and we must decide what sort of immortals we wish to be."
- Kathleen Norris, preface to C.S. Lewis' "Mere Christianity"


In a flash of recognition, I see how my thoughts are subtly weaved by twisting sin in a sick tapestry. With silver-tongued whispers, my mind is led astray of my heart. I fear that this dangerous game of attrition will eventually spell my fall. Please, let not the coiling serpent corrupt that which is good in your sight, oh Lord. Strengthen me to vanquish the demon from the temple of my heart.

Your Words

Psalm 119 Nun- Msg

By your words I can see where I'm going;
they throw a beam of light on my dark path.
I've committed myself and I'll never turn back
from living by your righteous order.

Everything's falling apart on me, God;
put me together again with your Word.
Festoon me with your finest sayings, God;
teach me your holy rules.

My life is as close as my own hands,
but I don't forget what you have revealed.
The wicked do their best to throw me off track,
but I don't swerve an inch from your course.

I inherited your book on living; it's mine forever—
what a gift! And how happy it makes me!
I concentrate on doing exactly what you say—
I always have and always will.

Darkness falls, safe harbor disappears behind me,

Bitter cold envelops me, I pull my cloak tight

Deep purple fills the world and pulls my heart down

my fears become ghosts and whisper that I am lost and dying

The sounds of night haunt me

The cry of invisible beasts bring my feet to a gallop

I lose my footing, I stumble

Darkness buries me, I am lost and dying

But then the light, the light that pierces the dark

The warm yellow shaft, like a sword

Sweeps through the murk and gives sight to my blind eyes,

My feet find the ground, my heart swells

Lord you are my light

When I am trapped in the dark I look for you

Lord, your Words sooth me, they rescue me

They pick me up, they comfort me in this dark wilderness.

Lord, Your words are like a torch in the darkness

They light my way

I will not fail with you warming my world

I will carrying that light always

A New Friend

After spending two long, hard days in Denver for a mission trip, I was getting very down, not experiencing what I had longed for. Then my heart was changed when my group went to a nursing home, on Wednesday, named Villa Manor. My group leader, another girl in my group, and I gathered people for games. I approached one room and asked a sweet, little lady named Lillian Apricio, if she would like to join us. She came with a huge smile upon her face. Lillian and Elizabeth were entertained playing volleyball. I asked Lillian to join me in the garden area. Eager to go, I guided her to the sitting area in the beautiful garden. The next half hour, we spent enjoying each others company, talking to each other about our lives, and changing mine forever.

Revelation

Revelation
by John Greenleaf Whittier

"And I went into the Vale of Beavor, and as I went I preached repentance to the people. And one morning, sitting by the fire, a great cloud came over me, and a temptation beset me. And it was said: All things come by Nature; and the Elements and the Stars came over me. And as I sat still and let it alone, a living hope arose in me, and a true Voice which said: There is a living God who made all things. And immediately the cloud and the temptation vanished, and Life rose over all, and my heart was glad and I praised the Living God."

-- Journal of George Fox, 1690.

Still, as of old, in Beavor's Vale,
O man of God! our hope and faith
The Elements and Stars assail,
And the awed spirit holds its breath,
Blown over by a wind of death.

Takes Nature thought for such as we,
What place her human atom fills,
The weed-drift of her careless sea,
The mist on her unheeding hills?
What recks she of our helpless wills?

Strange god of Force, with fear, not love,
Its trembling worshipper! Can prayer
Reach the shut ear of Fate, or move
Unpitying Energy to spare?
What doth the cosmic Vastness care?

In vain to this dread Unconcern
For the All-Father's love we look;
In vain, in quest for it, we turn,
The storied leaves of Nature's book
The prints her rocky tablets took.

I pray for faith, I long to trust;
I listen with my heart, and hear
A Voice without a sound: "Be just,
Be true, Be merciful, revere
The Word within thee: God is near!

"A light to sky and earth unknown
pales all their lights: a mightier force
than theirs the powers of Nature own,
And, to its goal as at its source,
His Spirit moves the Universe.

"Believe and trust. Through stars and suns,
Through life and death, through soul and sense,
His wise, paternal purpose runs;
The darkness of his providence
Is star-lit with benign intents."

O joy supreme! I know the Voice,
Like none beside on earth or sea;
Yea, more, O soul of mine, rejoice,
By all that he requires of me,
I know what god himself must be.

No picture to my aid I call,
I shape no image in my prayer;
I only know in Him is all
Of life, light, beauty, everywhere,
Eternal Goodness here and there!

I know He is, and what He is,
Whose one great purpose is the good
Of all. I rest my soul on his
Immortal Love and Fatherhood;
And trust Him, as his children should.

I fear no more. The clouded face
Of Nature smiles; through all her things
Of time and space and sense I trace
The moving of the Spirit's wings,
And hear the song of hope she sings.


I see people 'worshipping' so many different things. What do I mean? I mean they put their trust in artificial things and plan to rest on those laurels as if they were solid ground. But money, politics, popularity, position, these all fade when the earth shakes.

I do not pray to any of these 'idols'. I focus on Him. I know Him. I find great peace in this poem by Quaker poet Whittier. I fear no more as well.

Peace be with you.

Mark 6:36

“Do not fear, but believe.”

I do believe. I pray, read and study.
My brain can spill volumes of wisdom.
I do believe. But I wake up overwhelmed by fear.
Fear of God. Fear of my sin. Fear of my guilt.
The heart is much more powerful than my head.
Energized by fear my wisdom flees.
The ‘damned thing’ won’t leave me alone!
God help my unbelief!

The Devil Wears Plaid

As we all know, the Devil wears plaid. The "Roaring Lion" does not waist time with trivial pursuit. He is either turning you against yourself or your neighbor thereby turning you against Our Father. "Deliver us from Evil!" is not about playing games but rather about warefare. God rescue us all.

Art...

"Art is what's left over after we think."

-Brant Bollman

To the 2007 Graduating Class

To the 2007 Graduating Class
By Kelli Nielsen

Life is full of expectations that we can either take for granted, or take advantage of
The choice is yours
but what you may not know is that we all have a plan set in stone for us

This plan could be short… so live life as if there is no tomorrow
Because before you know it that time has slipped away,
as sand does when you try to hold onto it.
Sometimes you hold on so tightly to someone or something and they escape,
As sand slipping through the crevasses of your fingers

Do not rush, but do not wait for the world to put your back on your feet

For this is your life RIGHT NOW and what you choose is the future
The future of tomorrow, the future of a year from now

No longer will everything stay the same
But remember there is no one to blame.

Life must go on, no matter if we tend to disagree
Time is till moving as I speak- plain to see.

Things will get better, be brighter, seem greater

Graduation
a day of tears and happiness
a stepping stone leading you one step further to your future.

We will remember this day, a memory that will stay with us and last
2007, a year I was glad to spend with and will greatly miss this graduating class.

Little Blue Shoes

Little Blue Shoes
by Amanda Robertson

All I saw looking into Hitler’s fiery eyes was a burning passion for death. He brainwashed his army so they knew only what their ears heard. Hearing about a little blue pamphlet, shoes, and pictures, from students who have previously visited the Holocaust Museum, I turn ghostly white thinking about the museum.

The senior, the junior, and the sophomore classes from Elk Horn-Kimballton Community School entered the enormous white building. As soon as all the classes enter the museum, we split into groups of about eight to ten people. The administrators of the museum hand out the pamphlets that remind me of a blue passport. My group was packed shoulder to shoulder, back to back, and front to front into an elevator. The crowding was to make us feel like we were in the cars that took us to Auschwitz. I opened my pamphlet as best I could with elbows surrounding me. Running my fingers across the lady’s wrinkled face, I was told to feel like the person in your pamphlet throughout the museum. As soon as I realize my lady was killed in Auschwitz, the shiny silver elevator doors slowly creep open.

I step into the first room. Glancing around the dim cold room, I see all the people, young and old, each with a different expression upon their face, looking at pictures. I spot in the distance a barrel about ten feet wide and about eight feet deep. My curiosity getting the best of me, I start toward the black object. I peer over the edge and the sight takes my breath away. I see small blue shoes, big black shoes, all gathered together. How could all those shoes belong to the poor, innocent people who were carelessly tossed into the crematoriums? I close my eyes and imagine what it would be like to have all my belongings ripped from my arms and wearing nothing. I open my eyes and have to walk away from those shoes because I can’t imagine what that would feel like.

As I walk away, I come upon walls and walls covered from the floor to the ceiling with photographs of families and kids, some even drawn. I take about ten minutes to look longingly at these photographs. One catches my eyes. This black-and-white photograph contains in it a little blond-haired girl playing with her little brown fluffy dog on the beach. A tear rolls down my cheek as I close my eyes to think of her crying on her mother’s shoulder while standing in line at Auschwitz. I wonder to how anybody could not care about people.

Exiting from the building, I have to take a brief moment and sit to think about what I just experienced. I think about all those scared people being tortured in ways our minds won’t even grasp, the shoes and photographs sticking out in my mind as a memory I’ll never be able to forget. If people think their life is bad they should visit the Holocaust museum and their minds will change. The little baby shoes will forever be engraved in my mind. I pray someday every individual will be able to see those little shoes with their own eyes.

Ozymandias

Ozymandias
By: Percy Shelley

I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert ... Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works ye mighty and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.


This poem begins by the author saying he heard this story from a traveler. In the middle of the desert, there is a toppled statue. All that remains of this statue is the feet on a pedestal and its head half buried in the sand. The statues face is fierce and snarling, made to scare people off. On the pedestal it warns, “My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!” But you look around and there is nothing but sand and ruins.

I think the moral of this poem is to not think of yourself as powerful and self-important. You can put all your priorities to building yourself a kingdom but it all goes to waste. You can’t defeat time, time affects us all.

Dear Jon

by Brant Bollman

Dear Jon,
I think I know who you are.
My mind is reeling… I can’t stop smiling, my arms are banners, your words slip through my lips. Oh, Jon, you are my John the Bapstist

Point me, Jon, towards the Messiah,
Lead me, Jon, away from the festering, rat-infested burrows of the city
Lead me to the wilderness… point me towards the Savior.

Dear Jon,
I haven’t been to church in far too long
The stone walls seem like Libraries to me
But here at your feet, blazing lights, sweaty crammed quarters,
Here surrounded by the thrall I find it.
There beneath your guitar I find it again.
I find CHURCH, I find Spirit…

I want more than this world has to offer, Jon.

Bathed in the light, the sound, the crush, HERE I find Jesus.
You point to him like a spotlight burning bright in the night.
Here I am washed in the fire, I am touched by the Spirit.

I’m on fire when You’re near. I’m on fire when we meet. I’m on fire burning at these mysteries.

Dear Jon,
You are my John the Baptist. Prepare the way.
Bath me in the cleansing waves of your music, your falsetto yalp filling my mind.
Baptize me in your voice and prepare my heart for the coming of the Lamb.

Dear Jon,
Thank you!

You wasted life...

Ocean Breathes Salty
Modest Mouse

Your body may be gone, I'm gonna carry you in.
In my head, in my heart, in my soul.
And maybe we'll get lucky and we'll both live again.
Well I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. Don't think so.

Well that is that and this is this.
You tell me what you want and I'll tell you what you get.
You get away from me. You get away from me.
Collected my belongings and I left the jail.
Well thanks for the time, I needed to think a spell.
I had to think awhile. I had to think awhile.


Isaac Brock, frontman of indi-band Modest Mouse pens a poem of regret and wasted chances. Inspired by the suicide of a close friend, he writes of his own mixed feelings as he says goodbye. You wasted life... why won't you waste the after life. I have had many theological debates with mixed up kids that think suicide is an answer to problems. But nowhere is the folly of this line of thought better critiqued then in this stirring song and it's surreal video.


The ocean breathes salty, won't you carry it in?
In your head, in your mouth, in your soul.
And maybe we'll get lucky and we'll both grow old.
Well I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I hope so.




Ithaca
Constantine P. Cavafy

When you set out on your journey to Ithaca,
pray that the road is long,
full of adventure, full of knowledge.

The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the angry Poseidon -- do not fear them:
You will never find such as these on your path,
if your thoughts remain lofty, if a fine
emotion touches your spirit and your body.

The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the fierce Poseidon you will never encounter,
if you do not carry them within your soul,
if your soul does not set them up before you.

Pray that the road is long.

That the summer mornings are many, when,
with such pleasure, with such joy
you will enter ports seen for the first time;
stop at Phoenician markets,
and purchase fine merchandise,
mother-of-pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
and sensual perfumes of all kinds,
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
visit many Egyptian cities,
to learn and learn from scholars.
Always keep Ithaca in your mind.
To arrive there is your ultimate goal.
But do not hurry the voyage at all.

It is better to let it last for many years;
and to anchor at the island when you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting that Ithaca will offer you riches.

Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage.
Without her you would have never set out on the road.
She has nothing more to give you.
And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not deceived you.
Wise as you have become, with so much experience,
you must already have understood what Ithacas mean.


In many ways I feel like Jon Foreman in The Beautiful Letdown. "I don't belong here." Heaven is our home. It's the return to a state of oneness with God and everyone, (everything really) it is reaching harmony. Oh to be 'home'. Oh to escape the trials of this world.

But lately I have been musing about life, how rich it is. It is truly the greatest gift God gives to us. It is short, fleeting and every moment is GOLDEN, magical, and ripe for the taking.

In his poem Ithacas, Greek poet Cavafy write of the journey to heaven, home, the end. He urges us to live life richly, not to hold back and not to give up to soon. It's a call to suck the marrow from the bone, to eat that juicy apple core and all. Yes, life is a gift,and though I am on my way to a wonderful home... nothing is better than taking advantage of this world God has given us.



Well that is that and this is this.
Will you tell me what you saw and I'll tell you what you missed,
when the ocean met the sky.
You missed when time and life shook hands and said goodbye.
When the earth folded on itself.
And said "Good luck, for your sake I hope heaven and hell
are really there, but I wouldn't hold my breath."
You wasted life, why wouldn't you waste death?
You wasted life, why wouldn't you waste death?

The ocean breathes salty, won't you carry it in?
In your head, in your mouth, in your soul.
The more we move ahead the more we're stuck in rewind.
Well I don't mind. I don't mind. How the hell could I mind?


This life isn't perfect... But it's wonderful. I am broken... But that's OK. I am focusing on something that's far greater. How do we use the opportunity- the voyage home? Do we use it on ourselves? On timidness or selfishness? Do we take chances? Do we spread joy and truth? Do we reach out to others- comfort the lonely or feed the poor?


Well that is that and this is this.
Will you tell me what you saw and I'll tell you what you missed,
when the ocean met the sky.
You wasted life, why wouldn't you waste the afterlife?


Life is precious. It's a great adventure. Let's never waste the chance that God has given us.

There's Treasure Everywhere!

Hobbes: Why are you digging a hole?
Calvin: I'm looking for buried treasure!
Hobbes: What have you found?
Calvin: A few dirty rocks, a weird root, and some disgusting grubs.
Hobbes: On your first try??
Calvin: There's treasure everywhere!

It's a Magical World by Bill Watterson



"There's treasure everywhere!" Thank you Calvin for your insurmountable optimism. I'm trying to take this mantra to heart in my day-to-day life. To find the good, the light, God's hand in each and every experience. To place all focus away from the self is the foundation of humility.

This has inspired another tattoo idea: the image of Calvin's head sticking out of a hole with shovel in hand exclaiming: "There's treasure everywhere!"


"My lungs had found their voice
And what was once routine
Was now a perfect joy"
Faust, Midas, and Myself by Switchfoot

"The Enemy wants him, in the end, to be so free from any bias in his own favour that he can rejoice in his own talents as frankly and gratefully as in his neighbour's talents - or in a sunrise, an elephant, or a waterfall. He wants each man, in the long run, to be able to recognise all creatures (even himself) as glorious and excellent things."
The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis

Fleeting Serpent

by Chris Williams

When all is madness
The tail entwines
Fear and sadness
Barbed hearts and minds

But drawn curtain no shelter
As light rends the sky
To serpent uncurling
Fleeing my mind

For fear of the herald
With tremoring crash
Announcing the presence:
God present, future, and past!


thunder and lightning
(said not the other way 'round?)
thunder and lightning
laughter in a storm

Chasing the possibilities

by Brant Bollman

We spend our life in circles
Running around and around again
chasing the possibilities
We run and run again

We chase a promise
a picture of silver and gold
richly lined pockets
things to have and hold

we huff and puff
running till we run low
slaves to our possessions
sacrificed to dough

when we pout and preach our morals
the truth is easily seen
when you stab us in the heart
we only bleed green

We are servants of money
chasers of dimes
lovers of possessions
burning our time

We we run and run again
until our dying day
chasing the possibilities
Until to dust we fade away

Rules for Posting

Thrownpoetry Posting Rules-

Post prose and poetry both original and from other sources with proper credits given to the author.

All topics are fair game... We are dwellers upon the greatest work of art of all times, the earth. As such we can experience the fruit of creation, love, laughter, adventure. We also all fail and should share the agonies of defeat, pain, guilt, shame.

If you read something and want want to share it, please post the quote, site the author and write a response. I can see myself quoting Gunslinger as frequently as I would C. S. Lewis or Kerouac.


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