Jack Pelham

One of the most endearing qualities
Of the dear Earth beneath us
Though many will likely
Never take note of it
Is that it generally
Does not move
Except in the most
Delightfully mundane
And predictable of ways.

Many wish to hide
From the scrutiny of others
And to this end
Some quite ironically
Take to the stage
As it were
Metaphorically speaking
At once putting themselves forward
While hiding behind the mask
Of their own voluntary charades
Hiding out in the open
As they say
Hoping to be taken by all
For what they pretend to be
Rather than for
What they are
When they might have
Just stayed home
Minding to
More authentic business.

No one cares
Until someone does.

If you were to ask me
Whether I like disorder,
I’d tell you immediately
That I dislike it quite strongly.

But I realize that this
Is merely my impression of myself,
Though I feel it strongly.

And if the truth be told,
I have no idea where to start
Surveying what all disorder
There may be in my routines
And thoughts and surroundings,
And how much of it I seem
To accept quite readily.

There’s a lot of talk about whatever’s going on at Asbury these days. And I haven’t followed the story enough to have formed any opinion. I do note, however, that—quite predictably—there seem to be a lot of people who want to believe in it, and a lot who do not.

I just heard a particularly mindless quote on Christian radio. It went something like this (best I remember):

“The point of Christianity is neither in self-improvement nor gaining knowledge, but in Christ-likeness.”

Source Forgotten

You are not done
Finding out the
Many great things
That can be found out
From the Bible.

But I should tell you
That some will want you
To have the impression
That you are, so as to
To keep you from digging further—
Where you will discover that
They don’t know what they’re talking about
And that you didn’t, either.To have that impression, so as to
To keep you from digging further—
Where you will discover that
They don’t know what they’re talking about
And that you didn’t, either.

When the worries of this world
Have grown too strong and woe’s unfurled
And drives me from my normal place
In search of some relief,

He’s got a burr under his saddle,
And it makes him grumpy by himself
And with the other horses.

They go after something that is not for them
While neglecting something that is.
So they come up short.
Twice.