by J. Randal Matheny © 2011

The gospel arrow travels true and straight,
It bends for none, will tarry for none nor wait;

Altars, works, and goodness don’t impress
The God who owns it all, who came to bless.

The truth shines no truer in a crowd,
Nor is God better praised when praise is loud,

A bloodied frenzy does not gain his ear,
As if, without it, he’d refuse to hear.

Our Lord dismissed the throngs, held scribes at bay,
They could not see nor would they follow the Way.

He called them one by one and trained a few,
From them the message went, the gospel grew;

But fervor and love grow cold, and passion burns:
Will Christ find faith on earth when he returns?

Where people think that truth is relative, all coordinates are lost on the moral and religious compass. I’ve been working with a few items lately, around the topics of postmoderism and new age religion. Perhaps those caused this poem to bubble up from the depths. That, and watching some swirling fog seemed to suggest the idea for the poem, “Upon the Fickle Tide.”

The rhyme scheme and meter are different from what I usually do, but it seemed to work for me here. Here’s the first stanza, the whole poem shared only on the closed email list.

Lost in the formless world of turning mist,
Where none go north and muddied waters twist,
No leading lines exist.

Only subscribers to the Cloudburst Poetry email list get the whole pot of beans. If you want today’s poem, let me know below, and I’ll email it to you.

And here’s a freebie in the same style, but different approach, with no title, but if I had to give it one, would be something like, “Any Ill but Mine.” Continue reading

Truth is the strong thing. Let man’s life be true! —Robert Browning

Ours is the Age of Relativity, in which something may or not be true, in which your truth may not be mine, in which the sign of the age is the question mark.

As ignored and deplored as truth may be, however, it still runs under the foundation of the world, still sits enthroned on the heights of the mountains, still whistles in the forest, still beckons from the cold light of the stars.

As God’s presence is above and beneath, far and near, so his truth pervades the world, and man chooses to invent his personal version and bump into the corners of truth never knowing his bruises and contusions and breaks (and death!) all come from his brushes with truth.

The Bible is the perennial bestseller, the most translated document, and the least read and followed.

Power is in the truth and those who follow it and buy it and refuse to sell it have real and lasting strength.

Do you care about truth?