The Vertedero

Smoke drifts my way painting the sky with a small ghoulish streak
   revealing the path to your fire
It's a cold morning and breezy adding to the chill,
   the chill that you've grown to call normal
As you sit outside your tattered and faded patchwork tent, if you can call it that,
   your simple home here in The Vertedero
The fire isn't just to fight off the icy blasts of wind,
   but it's your functional stove to cook the drugs you'll consume minutes later
Your body wastes away as broken dreams and shattered love cling to your skin
   like the caked on, muddy and foul smelling clothes you wear
You're brown attire is accessorized with a piece of rope knotted around your waist, your belt,
   and two shoes that don't match, one encased in plastic bags, both of which are several sizes too big
The police enter now, they circle but do absolutely nothing on this patrol run
   Other cars come and go quickly, stopping in this war zone for drugs and prostitution
Though they come here often, there are no friends in this world,
   merely takers and users and selfish gain
I watch beside the locked and silent whitewashed church
   as four men sit exchanging needles inside the car parked next to me
Sanity flees and hysteria from heroin arises as needles hang from limbs and crack vapor arises
   Within steps of your dementia I stand offering tangible help, food and drink and the hope of Christ
But you blind your eyes with fiendish drugs and devilish lies
   Thus, the battle goes on in this neglected war zone for your soul and life
Mere steps from the exit road filled with life and hopeful opportunity

Sparked in Sparkhill

I:
I touched your beard, soft and long,
    like nimble threads woven together,
And wondered if my accident became your sin
    because I know you're a Muslim by the way you dress
I wish we could talk again outside of this grocery setting
    though I'm sure I'd be called an adulterer and stoned
Were this interaction to occur in other countries
 
In truth it makes me smile both outwardly and inwardly
    that you speak to me now with flirtation in your voice
I'm mutually attracted to your mocha and cappuccino complexions
    but I value my liberty and education, mindfully appreciating them often
I will not belittle my sex or shackle myself simply
    because God in His perfect will chose to create me female
There are so many questions I wish to ask you
    such as, "What do you call this hat you wear?
What is that kind of garment known as?"

II:
Clothed in black, I see only your eyes and hands
Yet, through your veil I see your smiling eyes
I notice the little, carefully sewn sparkles and beads that distinguish your burka from others
A woman in her 40s or 50s passes by
She speaks not a word, her hands covered with gloves
Others come through wearing saris, modern and conservative,
The mixture continues
More women walk past clothed by religion
While their husbands and children dress to blend with the rest of society
Can I enter your sexistly segregated world over many cups of tea?

III:
She stands at the door, head bent low, eyes to the ground, while you enter our shop.
You've been here many times, bought from us before.
"I'm shopping for what she likes," you say.  Are you really?
Is it truly her that desires this minuscule, sheer, flaming red thong for sexual pleasures?
Do you control every aspect of her life or can she speak out devoid of fear?
Now you stand before us saying you need to return them.
You say she didn't like them.  My mind wonders as to the reason.
Did she reject you sexually, or is it simply your gift she rejected?
Will you cause her harm if those be the reasons?

IV:
Little children passing by,
sometimes answering back when I say "hi"
Modern dress, they blend in with others
Contrasting sharply with their religiously dressed mothers
I notice the fathers dressed either way
No time for asking why, they all leave without delay

From Whence Does My Help Come From? (Song)

From whence does my help come from?

My help comes from you

You are my light, my guide, my hope

You are my king, my love, my strength


From whence does my victory come?

My victory comes from you

You are my light, my guide, my hope

You are my king, my love, my strength


When the mighty tides rise against me

When they seek to overwhelm me

I will trust You, my faith shall not be moved

Because You are love, You are hope, You are strength


You are my light, my guide, my hope

You are my king, my love, my strength

For Easter 2012

I have risen from the ashes
Not in my power or my own strength
But through Your blood and the Hope you spoke into my life

You made manifest Your presence and shook off the Devil's lies
When You reached down into my pit and scooped me into Your arms
Nursing me to health with merciful grace

The enemy fled because You said, "No more! He is mine.
I have bought him. I have forgiven her.
They are my children, my righteous beloveds."

Though the enemy fled, he returns with enchanting vices time and time again
I look down upon my arms and see the visible scars
The memories of past pains rise to the surface

And in these dark nights of the soul, these times of doubt
You compel my mind to see my scars upon Your Son Jesus
His painful stripes piercing to the bone, unrecognizable to mankind,
    blood pouring forth showering humanity with forgiveness and love

Exchanged wounds, I live in You, live because of You
My never-ending liberty paid on the cross, my life anew
Rising up like Your body was revived in three days time

Oh Jesus, be our hope eternal, unconditional, and fill us with Your love
Let our humbled, repentant hearts walk forward in You
    loosing shackled brothers and sisters
We cry out for humanity's resuscitation and well-being. Amen.