Poetry For The Lesser Minded

poetry for the lesser minded
a crayola box for the color blinded
they searched all over but couldn't find it
yet this is where we hide it

a secret place set in plain sight
to store our power, display our might
to soothe our fears we bottle up tight
taking our fraternity to a higher height

knowing the truth, they won't get behind it
the authorities have classified it
no dictionary would dare define it
this poetry of the greater minded

The Awful Slayer

her skin is smooth and perfect
her hair, like fine silk, shining
her hand's gentle effect
is me uncontrollably smiling

i wish that I could steal her
& from desirous men protect
i've become the awful slayer
eliminating every threat

100 men are insufficient
1000 men won't do
10000 are most deficient
in keeping me away from you...MY girl!

The Book of My Life

Life is a series of transitions. It is nothing more than an author writing a book. We are all the authors of our own lives. We have a definite say in which way our lives go. We choose. When we don't choose or refuse to choose, we choose still.

Chapters open in our lives and they close. You may have noticed that leaving high school, you had a realization that this was it. This is the end of the road. It is now time for me to enter adult life. We were novices who thought we knew it all.

This was me 17 years ago. The longer I live the more I realize that I am crossing threshold after threshold, ending chapter after chapter and I cannot help but wonder, what is it that I am going to publish about myself.

These words cannot be unwritten, edited for mature audiences, or banned from any reading list. It cannot be undone because it is the truth. The truth is the truth. Sometimes I love the truth and sometimes truth gets ugly and I dare not face it. Yet it stands there waiting for my acknowledgement.

One truth I am realizing now is this, I am concerned. Things are changing at such a rapid rate that I can not fathom the real speed at which I am traveling. As I look back at the pages upon pages, chapters upon chapters of my life written by my choices with the ink of purpose, forming characters of memories whose jots and tittles remind me of the good times and haunt me with the bad, I cannot help but wonder what is in the next chapter?

Will it be the final chapter? Will I attain novel status as did my grandmother? Or will the ancient field-hand claim me with his sharp scythe, whose blade cuts steadily and indiscriminately. What, I wonder, will the Great Critic of mankind say concerning what I have written?

The Lord, the Pleading Man, & the Game Room

I had a dream last night. I was with an Angel. He stood 5’ 7” with dark curly hair. He even spoke in a jovial, upbeat, and wise cracking manner. He seemed like any other guy with a job to do. I got to tag along as an observer. We met with a new arrival. When he spoke to the angel he was kind of defensive and quick to justify himself. “I lived a good life”, he said pointedly. The angel did not get mad or upset as the guy seemed to be the “in your face’ type. He simply told him, “Okay, we’ll see what kind of life you lived.” Then he warned, “I WILL find out too.”

Then the angel and I left. We reviewed the man’s life. It was not like watching a television show. It was like scene around us dissipated and reformed and we were in his life. We watched him live. We saw the good and the bad. We eventually watched him commit a crime against another human being. He had no love whatsoever! What a selfish thing to do.

After that last scene, I believe the Angel saw enough, or at least all He could stomach. We went back. We stood with the man in question in a room with white floors and walls. In this room were people playing all sorts of games. The games were strange to me and all different. Yet, I understood the premise of each one like an inherited knowledge from just being there. One of the games closely resembled chess only the pieces were red and white…possibly and the board was triangle shaped with raised half inch borders. Some people were winning, and some people were losing badly. The ones who were losing were loud and seemed to shout in unison, but over all they were happy.

The Angel sat with His leg crossed and His desk/table to His back. He was obviously in charge. The man stood in front of him waiting to listen. I stood off to the side of the Angel, still observing. He opened his mouth and spoke to the man. “You tried to deceive me!” He said pointedly. “No, I … let me explain” are the effect of what the man on trial said. “I SAW what you did!” The Angel said effectively shutting the man’s protesting and arguments down. He gestured to the people playing games around the room and said to the man, “Do you see all of these people playing here? You are EVERYONE who is losing. This is your sentence to be carried out immediately.” There was no joy in this decision nor it’s decree.

There was nothing else the man could say. He stood silent and non-argumentative. The Angel turned around to His desk. Though I stood there fearing, I asked, “Is he going to Hell now”? The Angel did not answer. Then I thought on the Angel’s words … “You tried to deceive me!” It was then that I realized that this was no mere angel. This was Jesus Himself. The man tried to lie to Jesus and failed miserably. Did he think he would get away? Did he think that God would just overlook his “indiscretions”? No matter what he thought, his beliefs were met with disappointment.

As I stood before the Angel who seemed to ignore my presence, I realized that one day, I too would have to stand before Him. I also realized that He would not overlook my “indiscretions”. My mind was flooded with this sobering thought and I think myself privileged to receive such a serious warning. My dream of the Lord, the pleading man, and the game room began to cloud over and I awoke in my bed … with my mind on Jesus and my heart in awe.

Mom In Retrospect

She made me go places I didn't want to
& to say I'm sorry. She made me eat
food that I thought so nasty, and to
go to bed early.

She made me carry the heavy stuff,
after all I'm a strong man! Whenever
we crossed the street she made me hold
her hand.

I couldn't go to party's though I went
when she didn't know, but she just had
to ask the question, "Last night, where
did you go"?

It's half as cruel to beat me as to
make me get my own switch. “An attitude
adjustment tool”, I believe that was
her pitch.

Through all of life's ups and downs
retrospect reveals its ebb and flow.
I am the man I am today because of her,
you know.

If I should be a dad one day I’ll make
sure my kids understand, what a wonderful
woman you are, and you filled your role
in God’s plan.

The Chosen Ones

The book of Matthew 22:14 says, "...For many are called, but few are chosen..." These are Jesus' words after telling a parable concerning the King throwing a wedding feast for his son. The thought concerning being called and chosen came to me as I was driving down Hardy Street.

I am not one of those persons that exclaim every now and then, "I think I have missed my calling"! I know without a shadow of a doubt that God has called me to be a preacher. I have not missed my calling. The problem is MANY are called. Wonderful, I am one of the many that have been called! FEW are chosen. Here is where I'm taking issue or am concerned. Will I be chosen? Am I doing what it takes to be chosen? What lack I yet?

I feel preaching is just one level up from being a Christian and if that is so, what is the next level? Those few that are chosen, what did they do to become chosen and what are they chosen to do? Thoughts anyone?

The Farmer, The Car, And The Cornfield

This story is a result of a dream I had Saturday night and woke up Sunday morning reeling over. Written by Rynal Grant (THR) 2/6/11…Sunday morning.

I had a dream that I was in my home town. I walked around with my mother and we discussed how they were tearing down different buildings and building new ones.
She told me of how years ago this old man was given a car. In the trunk of the car was millions of dollars. He took the money and built himself a house, and started a farm.

Then I had an idea for a product that would make the world a better place. It was drinking water. But as the dream progressed, I wanted to improve upon that idea.
I went out and recruited a few folks that I believed could help me realize this dream. Among them a high school friend and a guy from India. We were in a room with an expansive view of our town fast becoming a city.

I asked them spreading my arms abroad, look around and tell me what you see? They answered but did not get it. I told them the answer, “No! Things (times) are changing.”

We proceeded to build our business. I had them recruit others (college students) to help. Then I got another idea for a small powdered packet that would add flavor to the drink while simultaneously making it cool. I got the idea thinking about people in other countries living under sweltering heat.

With all of the college students assembled in the classroom (slowly becoming a cornfield) I had the stage floor. I told them that this is the beginning of a company! I started to tell them what they had to do to help this come about. Simultaneously they disagreed and got up to leave.

After my failure I was walking through town and thinking to myself, I’m going to get with the Indian (from India) and see if we could still go forward with my cool water idea. I was walking with my friend down this dusty raod flanked by a cornfield and an older man, a farmer must have heard us talking and approached us. He told us, boys years ago someone gave me some money in a car, and I want to share it with you. I began to thank the man profusely. My friend began the descent down the steep embankment. I found myself on top of an old semi.

I told the old farmer that I’ll find another way down to the car. He seemed to agree that that was fine. As I searched for a safe way down another older man began to talk with him.

They spoke about the national anthem and hos someone sang it today. The farmer said with all seriousness, something about “they ought not to let him sing it! Sing about my America! I’d get up there and sing it myself!

It was then that I realized that these men were WWII veterans and my respect for them grew immensely.

The End.

In the beginning of the dream, the sky was obviously cloudy and dark. Towards the end of the dream, the sky was a bright golden color. I do not even remember seeing the blue of the sky. I never actually made it to the car that contained the money.
This dream was still so strongly in my mind when I work, I knew immediately that I needed to write about it before it went away. I did my best to accurately describe the story. I wanted to present to you the main parts or points.

Specific details of the city and the faces of people on down to the Indian, the farmer, and even my high school friend are very sketchy as I do not really recall ever seeing the details of their faces. It was as if I was dreaming out of my peripherals, only in reverse. Meaning the faces was more visible if I did not look at them directly.

Weird dream … huh?