Thoughts on the Republican Convention and John McCain’s acceptance speech.

Obama’s wussy response to Palin. (Hat Tip: Patterico.)

The Media v. Sarah Palin:

The Washington Post misrepresents Palin’s record on funding for teen pregnancies. (Hat Tip: Michelle Malkin.) while CNN uses Daily Kos to misrepresent her record on Special Education.

Several PUMAs knew about a potential Palin pick in June.

The media sends Joe Biden friendly hints to be hard on Palin.

CNN’s Campbell Brown may be in the tank for Obama, but Fox’s Chairman tells Obama to his face how it’s going to be. (Hat Tip: Don Surber.)

Obama/Biden: bringing America together by prosecuting the heck out of the last Bush Administration.

Democratic Mayor Kwame Kirkpatrick’s (Detroit) graceless exit.

Plus which is better? Vouchers or tax credits? (Hat Tip: Right Mind.)

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Trackposted to The Virtuous Republic, Diary of the Mad Pigeon, Rosemary’s Thoughts, Allie is Wired, third world county, Woman Honor Thyself, Right Truth, The World According to Carl, The Pink Flamingo, Leaning Straight Up, and Democrat=Socialist, thanks to Linkfest Haven Deluxe.

It’s a gas:
We’re dying of thirst
Two feet from the reservoir.
One hundred and thirty billion
Barrels of oil sit untapped
Within our borders
And off our shores,
As the working man is strung up
By green red tape.

It’s a gas:
The Donkey party brays
Against the oil companies,
Making them the scapegoats
For our pain at the pump,
And plan to increase their taxes,
As if increasing the cost of making gas
Will make it more affordable
For the working class. .

It’s a gas:
Great men made the world smaller,
Bringing us closer together.
Freedom for the common man to travel
Where he pleases on any highway or street.
But a few fools can take us back
To the 19th Century.
Now our urban planners dream and scheme
Of a rising cost of freedom,
To squeeze as many people
As they can onto cramped buses,
Herded like cattle,
Moving at the schedule of government
Rather than their own speed.

It’s a gas:
I got a letter the other day from a Senator,
Who self-righteously preened and posed
As he was hugged by the Sierra Club
For his obstructionism of an Arctic Oil venture
That could have helped alleviate this crisis.
He asked me to reach into my gas-strained pocket,
To help his campaign.
He even kindly suggested amounts:
$25, $50, $100, $250, or even $2300!
Now that’s a gas.

Podcast:

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Trackposted to The Pink Flamingo, third world county, Democrat=Socialist, Right Truth, Conservative Cat, Right Voices, and Walls of the City, thanks to Linkfest Haven Deluxe.

In Boise you can attend a poetry slam just about every week, with the VAC Poetry Slam at the Visual Arts Collective on April 7 (7 p.m.), a slam featuring spoken word performer Jared Paul at the Hatch Ballroom on April 17 (6:30 p.m.), and the Boise Poetry Slam at the Neurolux on April 21 (7:30 p.m.).

I’ve got very mixed feelings about poetry. I love to write it. I’d love it if I had the opportunity to perform it. (I did oral interpretation in College.) The Slam Poet is a true artist, even if I don’t always care for the art. Yet, it seems very much a closed society in terms of politics. I’ve tried disc golf (another thing that’s stereotypically not conservative.) But many slam poets seem be anx-ridden left-wingers filled with angry contempt and arrogance, particularly people on the right. Not that all poetry should be political. Most of it, thankfully is not. However, it seems politics seems to play a big role in slam.

Perhaps, I’m wrong, but I seriously doubt it. I think there are few if any conservative (and probably not even Republican) slam poets. If you happen to be out there, I’d love to hear about your experience.

A punishment is a new child,
Says a man who claims to be mild,
Pro-Lifers he gets,
Its fine he admits,
To show the kindess of animals wild.

Trackposted to third world county, Right Truth, DragonLady’s World, Pirate’s Cove, The Pink Flamingo, , Conservative Cat, Tilting At Windmill Farms, Adeline and Hazel, and D equals S, thanks to Linkfest Haven Deluxe.

Bio

Stephen Todd Jones is a writer and poet from Virginia Beach, Virginia.

While a sophomore at Liberty University, he sustained injuries in a car crash that left him in a wheelchair, and this perspective forms the basis for much of his writing. Through his poetry, he gives us a window into his world and his faith.

We Dream Still

-Stephen Jones

Only some dreams
Are God’s will
For us to obtain here;
We dream still.

Some are contrary to
His loving fill
Of events for our life.
We dream still.

Some are meant to be
Ours though until
Comes the proper moment,
We dream still.

Some of our dreams
God will not fulfill
For He knows better than we;
We dream still.

We think we know better
From our clouded sill,
Facing what we see dimly;
We dream still.

Through a glass darkly,
We see and we will
What may be impossible;
We dream still.

God, may dreams sifted
Be like wheat until
Chaff is winnowed out;
We dream still.

Blessing

This was such a wonderful poem that really spoke to me.

It is my prayer that that through the difficulties he faces, he will feel God’s strength to endure and overcome. I pray that God uses him as an instrument to bless others through his writing and poetry, and that God fulfils the dreams that he’s willed to occur in Stephen’s life.

His unbridled quest for power,
Made wives widows,
He though he could hide His sin,
But the Lord God saw
And the horror of his crimes
Was made plain to the whole Earth.
Though, he lived as a king,
He died as any other criminal.

Take no joy in the death
Of the wicked,
For the Lord does not.
Look on that dangling corpse
And behold one created
In the Image of God
Who chose to become a devil.
Take up lamentation for Saddam:

For a life’s opportunity squandered,
For a soul destroyed.
Let it fill our hearts with dread and fear
For the evil in man.

What was done
Had to be done,
But let no one rejoice,
For Justice brings no joy,

Only a restful calm,
And vengeance is a devouring flame
That cuts off the soul of man.

Poetry

—–

We believe in Marxfreudanddarwin
We believe everything is OK
as long as you don’t hurt anyone,
to the best of your definition of hurt,
and to the best of your knowledge.

We believe in sex before, during, and after marriage.
We believe in the therapy of sin.
We believe that adultery is fun.
We believe that sodomy is OK.
We believe that taboos are taboo…

We believe that all religions are basically the same–
at least the one that we read was.

They all believe in love and goodness.
They only differ on matters of
creation, sin, heaven, hell, God, and salvation.

We believe that after death comes the Nothing
Because when you ask the dead what happens they say nothing.
If death is not the end, if the dead have lied,
then it’s compulsory heaven for all
excepting perhaps Hitler, Stalin, and Genghis Khan.

Click here to read the rest.

—–

Its not going to be a big check, but its a dream come true to actually get paid for this and hopefully one paying publication will open the door to another.

I’ve been rewarded evil for good,
And been mistreated and scorned,
By those who’ve I shown kindness to,
I’ve poured out and they’ve filled up,
I’ve given blessings,
And their mouths have been asps,
Biting secretly,
Hugging like pythons,
Who squeeze only to destroy.

At times, I feel like a man in a desert,
I weep tears of the bitter and spurned,
With the words of false friendship
And broken promises still fresh in my ear.

Oh God, will the fools
Stand in the place of the powerful,
Shall deaf shepherds be praised?
Shall the profane
Glory over your servants?
Shall sin be blessed more than holiness?

But the Lord shall judge,
For he is righteous and holy,
He is gracious and patient, slow to wrath,
And full of mercy.
The mocker thinks him weak,
But truly the rod was made for the fools back.
The Lord of righteousness will
Make all things right,
And bring blessings on the despised,
And peace on the House of His servants.

—–

Like most of the adults,
I sat in the crowd and stood briefly,
Not wanting to look silly,
My mind jogs to the Master
Talking to his disciples in Galilee,
As the waves dashed against the sea,
Answering their question of
Who would be the greatest with a challenge:
“Unless you be converted as little children,
You will not enter the Kingdom of heaven.”

-Adam Graham

—–

Yet, immortal its not,
You see the old place
Being torn down or renovated,
The bathroom stall is sent
To a garbage dump
Where it languishes,
Nature blows against their petty monuments,
As it does the great ones.

If lust, anger, and rage
Will fade away,
Killed by the elements,
As both you and the objects
Of your emotions disappear
Into the great sea of dead humanity,
Forgotten to this world,
To be spoken again no more,
Where is the glory
In the words crudely
Carved into metal.

Amen is more than a period,
It is the faithful end
Of a prayer,
Words honestly spoken,
Now turned to the God
Who can answer them.
Burdens we can’t bear alone
Are left with the One who can.
Amen and amen.

As seen on Random Yak

Poetry, Christian Poetry

God looks upon our fashions,
And our foolish fancies,
Our vain philosophies
That come from time to time,
He sees them all
And yet His Will is still accomplished,
The days of our folly are short,
For at the end of our attempts
To dethrone God
Or find some new Utopia,
We pass away, yet he abides.
The man who fights God loses,
As God was before him and will
Be after him.
God’s Kingdom stands forever,
Let the people
Seek the wisdom of the ancient of days,
And trust in the Solid Rock
That will stand through Eternity.

As seen on Bloggin’ Out Loud

Poetry, Christian Poetry

Nature testifies of the Glory of God,
His awesomeness is manifested
In the geyser’s eruption,
The eagle in flight,
And the intricite design of our body.
There’s no place you can go,
Where you can’t find the Glory of God.

Its easy to find
The Glory of God
In the songs sung
At beautiful cathedrals,
Or in a great forest,
Or in the river.
Climb a mountain,
Or travel to
A Rain forest or jungle
And you can see
The Glory of the Lord.

Yet, in our day to day
City life, its hard to see.
Through noise and crowds,
We can lose sight of it,
Yet, we can still find it,
Yet, we can find the glory
Of the Lord by looking
In the mirror.

Behold the image and likeness of God,
Fashioned with God’s hands,
Planned by God before the womb,
His steps are ordered by the Lord,
His very hairs numbered,
His every prayer heard,
Behold a creation with free will,
The only one able to become a son of God.

You needn’t go to the mountains
To find the Beauty of the Lord,
Nor the sea to behold
His Glory,
Its all around you
In the faces of all men,
Whether holy or profane,
For all mankind
Proclaims his glory with every step,
And every breath.

Poetry, Christian Poetry

—–

Nietsche thought God was dead,
Yet Nietsche is dead and God still lives,
A thousand fools have risen to fight God,
To obliterate His name from among the People
And take away his remembrance from among the nations,
They’ve thought they could kill Him
Or reason Him away,
Yet they are gone and He remains.

Satan mocks and claims this world
For his own,
People believe him and tremble,
Yet the Earth is the Lord’s
And the fullness thereof,
And all those who dot the face
Of the World.
God reigns from Heaven.
He sits upon his throne
And judges the Earth.

When injustices asail us,
The Righteous Judge sees it,
And He will repay
With perfect justice
When we are besieged by our enemies,
The King of Heaven stands
Ready to send help
And to pardon.

Cast your eyes from
Con men and charlatans,
Egotists and false Messiahs,
And look up to the throne
Of righteousness,
The solid rock that
Does not erode
To man’s changing tides.

Poetry, Christian Poetry

Some will look at a rabbit foot,
Or wish upon a star,
Others will depend on luck and fortune,
Some will hope in hope itself,
Or believe in the power
Of their own personal superstition.

Yet, nothing will save,
The stars are balls of gases,
Burning in the night,
The rabbits foot wasn’t so lucky for the rabbit,
And our imaginations are vain,
Yet it is the Lord that is The Power.

He’s not a Power,
Or the greatest Power,
But he possesses the Power
Before which all others must bow,
It is the Lord who can cast down Kingdoms
With a word,
It is the Lord who can exalt in a moment.
It is the Lord who is able
To create in us
Things of which we’ve never dreamed.

We turn to You,
For before You all Heaven and Earth
Must bow,
For you have the Power
To do wonders,
The greatest of which is that you love us.

-Adam Graham

Christian Poetry Poetry

—–

Our Father

I want to be forgiven,
But you don’t know what they did to me.
Those lying backstabbers,
Those false friends,
The chickenhearted failures,
That no-good double dealing con man,
They’ve hurt me
And wounded me.

They owe me,
And they’re going to pay,
Yet, I owed God,
Must I now pay?
Am I not the fool
Who holds to a ticking
Time bomb
Like a toddler to his
Favorite teddy bear.

Strength me to forgive
My debtors,
No matter how great
The pain they’ve inflicted,
For it is nothing
Compared to what you bore
On Calvary.
Free me from anger,
And let me trust you
To make all things right
In accodrance with
Your judgment and perfect love.

Christian Poetry, Poetry

—–

Yet, as I lay in bed,
I dream of something else,
I dream of a hug and love
From the people who’ve hurt me.
I dream of love,
I dream of peace,
Of a picnic where we get together
And bury the hatchet,
And dwell together like
People of God

Yet, I awake to reality,
And find the dreams
As phony as the people in them are,
Fantasies of a moment,
Dreams of a better world,
Quickly shattering
As I melt into reality,
And feel the chill of the cold morning
And remember that you can only
Go some places in your dreams.

-Adam Graham

Poetry, Christian Poetry

—–

Our Father

I come to you owing so much,
Yet you forgive me freely,
Time and time again,
I fail myself,
I’m beset by own guilt and failings,
By anger unjustified,
By unkindness and bitterness that
Finds its way into my heart.

Yet, for reasons
I can never understand,
You forgive.
You don’t say go climb a mountain
Or slay a giant and then I’ll forgive you.
You don’t make me work it off,
You just forgive me freely.
You have every right to demand of me
More than I could pay.
I’ve earned it,
But you let me go
With that challeng to sin no more.

Forgive me my debts,
But help me to have less to forgive,
Lord, let me be not like the wastrel,
But help me to learn,
Grant me that I might live in holiness
Before you,
Cleanse my mind, my heart,
Remove any deceit from my lips,
That I might walk in your light.

As We Forgive Our Debtors

Christian Poetry

Like a roaring lion,
The devil goes about,
Seeking to destroy our souls,
To ensnare us in the net
Of Sin.
Walking around this world
Are evil vacant men,
Full of the devil,
Hearts black as coal.

Deliver us from evil,
Keep us safe from Satan’s traps,
Deliver us from evil,
Let no weapon prosper,
Deliver us from evil,
Guard our soul day and night,
Deliver us from evil,
From that which shuns the light.

-Adam Graham

And Forgive Us our Debts

Poetry, Christian Poetry

—–

Our Father

We want to be Holy,
We want to serve You,
Dear Father, guide us
Beside still waters,
Pure streams of holiness,
Keep our feet on straight paths.

Let your light guide us
To stand firmly
On that highway of holiness,
And not to wonder off
To the right and the left.
Keep us from wandering,
May our ways be righteousness
And truth before you.

-Adam Graham

Christian Poetry, Poetry

Our Father

Daily bread,
It seems so base,
Of all the things
To ask for
In the midst of coming
Kingdoms and Heaven on Earth,
Why ask for daily bread?

Because God cares about simple things,
Like an empty belly,
Or the hairs on your head,
To the tiniest detail,
He takes notice,
And He wants to help us
With our smallest needs.
When we come into his presence
We know he cares about
Our daily bread.

It also keeps us humble,
For Christ doesn’t say
To ask for great riches,
Or fantastic material possessions,
Just for daily bread,
That little bit of stuff
To sustain you
Day by day,
If we get our daily bread,
Everything else can be taken
Care of another day.

Thank You for my daily bread,
For taking care of me day by day,
Through good times and bad,
You have been my provider,
And ever will be.

-Adam Graham

LeadUs Not Into Temptation

Christian Poetry, Poetry

—–

Our Father

On Earth as It is Heaven

Many dream of Heaven
On Earth, but who will
Do anything about it.
We ruin our lives
By acting like fools,
We wink at evil,
And ignore the wisdom of old.
And then when tragedy strikes
We shake our fist at God,
Demanding how a just and loving
God could have allowed us to ruin
Our own lives.

We’re the men
Who always blame others
For our own failings
Because of idiotic pride,
We are the men
Who carry our grudges
Around like Linus
Carried his security blanket.
We care about ourselves,
Focus on our needs,
And wonder why we don’t
Have a world full of altruism.

Heaven is not full of love
And beauty because of a society,
But because each soul is part of Heaven,
Each soul radiates with the light of God
That shines so bright through New Jerusalem
That the sun is redundant
And the moon is obselete.
Lord, create in us
A little bit of Heaven
In this hellish world.

Give Us This Day Our Daily Bread

Christian Poetry, Poetry

—–

Our Father

It is the hardest part of prayer,
It is that moment of utmost faith
To say ‘Thy Will be Done’
A thousand tremors of terror
Fill our heart
At what that Will might be,
For in Garden, it was Christ’s
Surrender to His Father’s Will
Thy Will be Done.

It is all that is truly Faith,
For without it,
The praying man is no different
Than the one who wishes upon a star,
Hoping that he might have his wish,
Yet when the sacred words are spoken,
God ceases to be our genie
And becomes our Lord.

All a man can do
Is be righteousness
And then with a simple prayer,
Leave the rest in the hands of God.
Thy will be done.

Poetry, Christian Poetry

—–

Thy Kingdom Come

It is the greatest prayer of all,
Peace that lasts forever,
Justice throughout all our lands,
Uncorrupted by our human failings,
An end to hunger, an end to thirst,
The lion playing with the lamb.
That’s what it means to say
Thy Kingdom Come

Eye has not seen,
Nor ear heard,
Nor can we in our wildest
Imgaginations conjure
Up the beauty of the majesty
Of the Lord of Glory
Reigning from Mount Zion

Search out the land of the Lord
And find injustice,
Or a child crying for a father departed,
Search for bigotry and hatred,
War or strife,
And you’ll find none of it.
The devil himself
Will not be found on the Earth.

For the Lord shall bring what
A thousand governments,
A million philosophers
Have failed to bring,
We shall know glory,
And we shall know beauty,
With the fulfillment
Of a prayer said
Countless times
In thousands of languages
From every corner of the globe.

Its a prayer we say
Thought we can never
Fully understand
What we ask,
Yet the answer will change our
World forever.
Thy Kingdom Come.

Poetry, Christian Poetry

Our Father

Your creation proclaims your majesty,
At your word, the Earth quakes,
No one is like you,
Baal and Molech, Ashteroth,
And the Greek Panteon have passed
Into history,
But you live and breathe
Though they wax and wane.

You are the true God,
Who reigns in Heaven,
You are the one who saves,
The only one who is Worthy
Of all Praise and Glory, and Honor.

Your name is Holy and Sacred,
Powerful and mighty,
At which the demons tremble
And mortal souls take heart.
Though profane men curse,
Curses can’t lessen the holiness
Of Your name,
It only degrades
The Soul who curses you.

You are perfect holiness,
There is no way by human art,
To lessen or extenuate it,
The only thing we can do
Is worship you for it.

Thy Kingdom Come

Poetry

—–

He looks down upon us
And sees our wickedness
But yet he loves us
For he knows our frame
And sees that we are dust.
He sits upon his throne,
And holds everything
In this world in His Power.

He alone can save
When all else has turned against us,
He alone can deliver us,
He alone can give us strength to endure.
He is the One who is reaching out,
Always reaching out a Hand
Of love and mercy.
Always giving us more than we deserve.

When I look up to Heaven,
I look to Him,
When I look down in
Fear, sadness, guilt
Remorse, or discouragement,
He is looking at me
Eyes full of love.

Hallowed Be Thy Name

Poetry

—–

Our Father
loves us with an everlasting love,
a love that stretches beyond our
weak imaginations to give us
His Holy Son
That we might live with Him.

Our Father chastens us
for our own good,
allows adversity in our life
to make us strong,
so that we rise up
to become mature.

Our Father
cares for us
in every detail.
He knows every scar
and what caused them.
He marks the falling of every hair
and is concerned
with the most seemingly unimportant
aspects of our lives.

Our Father
weeps for his children,
those who are lost or destroyed
from the Earth through
lack of care or violence.

Our Father
loves us all,
despite our faults,
And he knows us all.
He knows every secret,
Yet He loves us still

Our Father
is there for us
when no one else is.
though our parents abandon us,
or our mothers try to destroy
Us as the Ostrich,
yet the Lord will take us up.

Our Father
is waiting for us
to come home.
We don’t need to climb
a mountain to find him
or do some great task,
only head for home,
And he’ll meet us in the way.

Which Art in Heaven

Linked to TMH Bacon Bits

Those who saw Moses,
Knew he was destined to be great
Someday he’d sit in the Pharoh’s Seat,
Judging the land of Egypt,
Yet he abandonned it all
To suffer with his people
Rather than dallying in momentary pleasures,
He followed God through pain and sorrow
To a better dream

A young couple
Up and coming,
With a big house
Living the yuppy life.
Yet, in a moment they left
It all behind
To spend their prime
In Africa serving their God
And a people not their own,
And in scarcity and danger,
They found a better dream.

Sometimes our plans change,
And our lives are turned around,
But never stop dreaming
Believing and listening,
For our dreams rest in the Hands
Of the one who formed the World,
And he’ll help us find
Our better dream.

Poem,Christian Poetry

—–
——–

Poetry is a thing of beauty. Its also a quite personal thing. Some of these poems may not be your cup of cake (yes, I know normal people say cup of tea, but poets are weird. however they are presented in appreciation to the poets who wrote them. For, it is their heart and imagination on the page. It is their dreams and visions, their nightmares and pictures that drive their poetry.

As this is the first Carnival of 2006, these poems centered around the theme of first poems. Some submitted their first poem on their blog, their first poem of 2006, etc. As experienced Blog Carnival veterans, I know that good Carnivals have posts in some order. Chronological order of posts generally makes no sense. So the poems are listed in order of length from shortest to longest.

I briefly introduce each poem with a link and then include the poets self-selected excerpt and description in a:

blockquote

Now that the preliminaries are out of the way. on to the Carnival.

=> Read more!

Mr. Williams Burns is a good poet and we love good poetry here at Adam’s Blog. He’s got three great Christmas poems to share, so enjoy the poetry of William Burns.

Christmas at the Beach Haiku Sequence

amber winter sky
yellow russet tan and grey
leaf-sewn path to dusk

the wild rose
winters on the banister
awaiting awakening

rain-kissed sands ripple
long after summer’s leaving
a child’s plastic spoon

unforeseen warm breeze
tiny lights dance a promise
children’s laughter

=> Read more!

—–

Christmas tree on display,
Stockings with little babies inside,
Looking at the tree,
She’s haunted,
She sees the face of the child,
That cold, dark face,
The dreaded specter of judgment.
She drops her gym bag to the floor,
And bolts for the nearest door,
See you on New Years.

She’s running from the child,
Hiding from her sin,
She’s running from the child,
Trying to get away from him,
She’s running from the child,
And that feeling of regret,
She’s running from the child,
She just wants to forget.

=> Read more!

It happened one day at the year’s white end,
Two neighbours called on an old-time friend
And they found his shop so meager and mean,
Made gay with a thousand boughs of green,
And Conrad was sitting with face a-shine
When he suddenly stopped as he stitched a twine
And said, “Old friends, at dawn today,
When the cock was crowing the night away,
The Lord appeared in a dream to me
And said, “I am coming your guest to be”.
So I’ve been busy with feet astir,
Strewing my shop with branches of fir,
The table is spread and the kettle is shined
And over the rafters the holly is twined.
And now I will wait for my Lord to appear
And listen closely so I will hear
His step as He nears my humble place
And I open the door and look in His face”

So his friends went home and left Conrad alone,
For this was the happiest day he had known,
For, long since, his family had passed away
And Conrad had spent many a sad Christmas Day
But he knew with the Lord as his Christmas guest
This Christmas would be the dearest and best.
So he listened with only joy in his heart,
And with every sound he would rise with a start
And look for the Lord to be standing there
In answer to his earnest prayer…

So he ran to the window after hearing a sound,
But all that he saw on the snow-covered ground
Was a shabby beggar whose shoes were torn
And all of his clothes were ragged and worn.
Conrad was touched and went to the door
And he said, “Your feet must be frozen and sore,
I may have some shoes in my shop for you
And a coat that will keep you warmer, too”.
So with grateful heart the man went away,
But as Conrad noticed the time of day
He wondered what made the dear Lord so late
And how much longer he’d have to wait.
Then he heard a knock and ran to the door,
But again it was only a stranger once more,
A bent, old woman with a shawl of black
A bundle of branches piled on her back.
She asked for only a place to rest,
But that was reserved for Conrad’s Great Guest.
Yet her voice seemed to plead, “Don’t send me away
Let me rest for awhile on Christmas Day”.
So Conrad brewed her a steaming cup
And told her to sit at the table and sup
But after she left he was filled with dismay
For he saw that the hours were passing away,
And the Lord had not come as He said He would,
Conrad felt sure he had misunderstood.

When out of the stillness he heard a cry,
“Please help me and tell me, where am I”.
So again he opened his friendly door
And stood disappointed as twice before,
It was only a child who had wandered away
And was lost from her family on Christmas Day.
Again Conrad’s heart was heavy and sad,
But he knew he should make this little child glad,
So he called her in and wiped her tears
And quieted all her childish fears
Then he led her back to her home once more
But as he entered his own darkened door,
He knew that the Lord was not coming today
For the hours of Christmas had passed away.

So he went to his room and knelt down to pray
And he said, “Dear Lord, why did You delay,
What kept you from coming to call on me,
For I wanted so much Your face to see”.
Then soft in the silence a voice he heard,
“Lift up your head, my son, for I kept my word
Three times My shadow crossed your floor
Three times I came to your lonely door
For I was the beggar with bruised, cold feet,
I was the woman you gave to eat,
And I was the child that was lost in the street.”

As seen on Michelle Malkin

—–

For every day is God’s creation
And God makes everything new
The earth will shake
The dead will rise
The blind will see
And the sun will break through,
For God makes everything new

=> Read more!

Music takes you on a journey
Without taking a single step,
But be warned,
Dear traveler, for the journey
Isn’t always pleasant,
Satan is a music master,
But God is the author of the art,
Be careful what you allow into your heart.

“Thank God I’m a Country Boy”

Travel with John Denver,
Up the mountains, down into the valleys,
See the beauty of creation
In the West, those quiet places
Where rarely a soul is seen,
The eagle is your neighbor,
As you sit under nature’s sky,
You, God, and the mountains.
Bathe in the glory of it all,
Leave behind city life,
And let that part of you that longs
For quiet, that longs for peace
Find it in the beauty of a song,
In the endless continuity of
A CD Player looping,
Keeping the dream alive,
And the beauty everlasting.

“Cop Killer”

Hear the sounds of hate
And violence,
Feel the cold steel of a Saturday night special
Up against your throat,
Hear the open sewer that flows
Through the words of the song,
The hateful sound of despair,
Echoing through the night air,
See in the distance the widow grieving,
And the gangster thug believing,
The world is his for the taking,
With a gun and some hate.
Hear the footsteps approaching,
Look in horror as the punk
Finds that there’s always someone with a bigger gun,
Watch the blood trickle dow his face,
And he’s laid an unmarked grave,
Too young to die,
Too stupid to live,
As vultures devour his substance
And he becomes but a bad memory,
A nightmare that won’t go away.

“Little Did She Know She Kissed a Hero”

Come with me and walk the path
That heroes walked,
Sit in that cell with the indomitable Jeremiah Denton,
Dive with the Green Berets as they fight for America,
See old Glory fly through the air at Fort McHenry,
Full of bullet holes yet standing firm,
Look at those who gave all that we might be free,
Then step on board Flight 93,
And remember those who perished on that awful September day,
Let the tears fall fresh for you can never forget.
Go back and see the martyrs killed for the Faith,
See the horrific beauty of Christ on Calvary two thousand years ago,
As he paid the price for our sins,
Then when the music stops, know that you must journey forth
To help your fellow man
For love your neighbor
Is the call to us all.

“The Man Comes Around”

Take a round trip from Heaven to Hell and back again,
The Man in Black will be your guide,
He’ll lead you through tawdry taverns,
Tales of murder and mayhem,
To fine Churches and Cathedrals,
The family dinner table,
And loving kindness to friends and strangers,
See the working man struggle,
See him succeed and fail,
See the love for the downtrodden,
See a loving Saviour,
And brawling hatred,
Lose yourself in Johnny’s lostness,
But watch him find his way home
Every time, no matter how much
Darkness engulfed him,
He always found his way back to the light.
Take one more journey to the end of time,
See Armageddon unfold,
Be haunted by the questions
He asks, let it chill you to the bone,
“Will you disappear into the potter’s ground?”

These are the journeys of music,
It can take you anywhere or nowhere at all,
It can heal you or rip you apart,
Its a dangerous journey,
So be careful as you travel.

Poetry, Music

I don’t write it to be cool,
I don’t write it to be a fool.

It comes in a moment,

In an instant, in a flash,
It comes without warning,

And it demands written down.

It happens in anger or sadness,
It happens in perspiration,

Sometimes, when it happens,
Its divine inspiration.

I’ll write hundred lines

Or maybe just two,
Depends on the flow of my heart’s river,

Maybe it’ll be happy,
Maybe it’ll be dark.

So, I write it and it comes out,

Maybe I share it, maybe I don’t,
However its written,

So I can get back to life.

Moons ago,
With friends and family near,

Love was in the air.

There, I see them
Those I never see,

I feel my mother’s hand
On my shoulder,

But turn to see its but a shadow.

Two brothers of three,
Standing with me,

As we pose,
A smile, a joke,

A teasing comment,
Its all but a shadow.

The three men are singing,

And one of them is me,
Harmony comes from years

Of singing that same song,
Week after week,

Year after year,
But we sing it no more.

Quietly the tape ends,

And there I sit in
The editing room,

Tears in my eyes,
Haunted by the shadow of love.

tag: Poetry

—–

In a hurry to go nowhere,
Risking life and limb.

My job is to survive the madness
And return home alive again.

–Adam Graham

tag:Poetry

—–

Trying to say ya’ll like a southerner
But sounding like a wannabe.

I walked past him

As I had a dozen times before,
Music came over the speaker,

And when I heard him sing along,
I knew he’d missed his calling.

–Adam Graham

tag:Poetry

—–

False charges,
I thought I’d argue cases for

Righteousness before the Supreme Court,
Yet something happened.

I’m disgusted with the law,

With lawyers who cheat and lie
Helping the criminal scum

Back on the street
To rob and kill,

Driving small businesses
Out of business,

And taking money
Out of all of our pockets

With their litigiousness

I fancied myself a reporter,
Who’d find out truth and falsehood,

Uncover corruption
And make the public more informed

About the World they live in.

I’m nauseated by the press,
Which takes good people

Who seek political office,
And rip them apart like

The lions did the Christians,
Wallowing in rumors,

Rejoicing in muck,
Feasting on human misery,

Like a dung beetle in a sewer,
So is the media in its

Sorry sordid tales that it tells.

So I didn’t grow up to be lawyer,
And I didn’t become a reporter,

Yet one question lingers in my mind,
What will I grow up to be?

Poetry, Coming of Age

—–

He won’t be carrying a pitchfork,
But a ten pound Bible in his hand,

He’ll be in the hearts of those
Who praise the name of the Lord,

Beware of the Devil’s hand.

The Devil’s hand’s an undertaker,
Taking the dying churches to the grave,

The Devil’s hand’s a killer,
Slaying those that are alive,

The Devil’s hand’s a divider,
Out of one church, he’ll make five.

The Devil’s hand speaks of prayer,

But whispers rumors that wound,
The Devil’s hand searches for what’s wrong,

Asking the pastor just where he gets off,
The Devil’s hand is bold,

Speaking for its view,
Seeking to rip apart the brotherhood

Between me and you.

The Devil’s hand is malice,
Speaking out lies,

Accuser of the brethren
Destroyer of lives,

The Devil’s hand is successful,
Driving some away for good,

“With so much backbiting and argument,
I’d rather watch Congress debate.”

Are you the Devil’s hand?

That puts the knife in your sister’s back.
Are you the judge and jury

Who decides your brother’s fate?
Are you the one who demands your pastor

See everything your way
And won’t learn to disagree,

And Pray about it, or simply go away.

Beware of your adversary,
Who like a hungry lion

Is hunting for prey.
Walk, eyes open,

Watching for the Devil’s hand,
Moving in the church

And moving in your heart,
Humility is your self-defense

And prayer is your shield
From the Devil’s hand.

Poetry, Church

—–

It is the human quest
The word we think will restore,

But the answer to the question
Often wounds more than it heals.

tags:Poetry

Bradley’s poetry and style’s not for everybody, as it tends to be a bit more edgy. However, he knows how to draw you in with his choice of words and then surprise you with the way the poem turns. In three of his four sample MP3s the poem takes a sudden and surprising turn so if you listen to it, listen ALL the way through or you’ll miss the point.

I’m impressed he’s been able to make a living on this. I’d love to do something like this with my oral interp. background. I just wouldn’t want to get my lip pierced!

—–

And make a scapegoat of others,
You had no mercy on grieving families,

You condemned the guiltless,

So that you could be justified,

Yet God sees your sin.

On the last day,
Shall God judge the quick and the dead,

And woe to those who gave no mercy,
For by what measure

They gave out,
They shall be judged.

—–

Also, what’s up with me tonight? I think the right words to express my feelings, but these are some heavy poems tonight.

—–

Headed for our destination,
No God nor Priest to control us.

If they wish to speak,
Let it be in church.

Make them stay away from us,
For they are a danger.

Moses, go away,

No one needs the rules
You claimed to bring

From the hand of God,
Though they may have succored

Our fathers for generation

Upon generation,

We need them no more.

Be gone, Solomon,
You rich hypocritical polygamist,

Don’t lecture us about
The virtue of work

Or the value of children,
You may have lightened the steps

Of our ancestors but away
With you, we need your words no more.

We’re on our journey

And we’ll make it there
Without Moses or Solomon,

For we are wise men
Who can find our way

To our destination.

Get out of here, Jesus
And take that cross with you,

A symbol of division and shame,
We want to see in no public place,

Stricken from all art,
And removed even from the persons

Of government employees.

Depart, Washington,

Though father of our Country,

We divorce from you,
We don’t need your religion and morality

That you think is so right.
We fear not the government

And will ignore you, you fool.

We’re on our journey
And we’ll make it there

Without Christ or Washington,
For we are wise men

Who can find our way
To our destination.

Thomas Jefferson, we’ll use

Some of your quotes,
But how dare you talk so

Bad about the wonderful courts!

You were weak when

You trembled for Fear of God,
We are not possessed of such

Base doubts.

And Ben Franklin,
We can even do without you,

Oh, you may have been
A perfect infidel

But still you clung

To prayer as a hope,

And believed that speaking to God
Had actual power, so bah on you, too.

We will discard the counsels of old

And march on
To our destination for we are wise men

Who can find our way without
The lights of old.

So, let us onward march

To our destinations:
To Sodom!

To Gomorrah!
To the Roman Coliseum!

To Auschwitz!
Onward, we march for we

Will surely arrive!

—–

Who they are.
They don’t have guns,

Not today, but perhaps someday.

As the teacher speaks, their minds
Begin to wander,

Are their heads now filled
With dreams of violence?

Do they imagine the
Joy of strangling someone to death.

As they sit in their anonymous row.

As they do addition and subtraction,
There’s a future murderer in the midst,

Perhaps two and we know not

When violence will occur

And someone will be left dead upon the floor.

Amoral teachers at home
And on the television

Fill their minds with nothingness,
And leave them as a ship without

A sail or rudder,
Family’s gone, homes are broken,

Children parented by children who
Refuse to say a word on right and wrong,

Yet teach great lessons by example:

If it feels good, its okay,
Take care of yourself first,

People are disposable if they stand
In the way of your happiness.

In the class is a time bomb,

That will explode in a week,
A month, maybe a decade,

But it will explode,
As the anger and hurt

Spew forth in a murder no one will understand.

The timer’s running,
The bombs will explode

By the thousands across this land,

And where shall we hide,

For we’ve thrown out eternal law
For pop psychology.

Having sown the wind
In a thousand acts of disobedience,

Who shall protect us from
The coming tornado

Of death and violence?

—–

When are we going to find the words for such grievous acts. When are we going to realize what’s going on all around us? That’s my struggle, as well as that of every American of conscience.

—–