Christmas: A Different View

Merry Christmas to you all! And since this is the last blogpost this year, Happy New Year as well. My Christmas was great, it went on all month, gift-wise... but I loved giving to the people I gave to much better, and spending good time with family and friends. As I write this, it is still the 25th, but by the time I post, it won't be. Small point being: this post counts as a holiday post, especially with the poem here. It's about the birth of Jesus... only this time, it's from Joseph's perspective on being a prospective father (something I don't hear in today's Christmas media, so I thought I'd take a whack at it). It's meant to be a monologue to God from him, and also moves to the death and resurrection of Jesus. (For more dramatic effect, put in a full orchestra in the background, and throw in a bit of tone from Fiddler on the Roof. This poem is also meant to be sung, but i don't have the equipment to record that and put it on here.)

"Joseph's Monologue"
by Neil Mullins

Why did he have to be born... here?
Why did he have to be born... now?
Why did it have to be him,
To which all knees might bow?

Just... why?...

Couldn't it have been at home?
Couldn't it have been later?
I shouldn't have promised her,
We shouldn't have come,
I can break this,
I still have the cha-ance!

But... no.
I still love her
I can't do that
To disobey
The Will of God

He will show him
He will lead him
Guide him everywhere
His feet will trod!

Yet... tell me why... why do I feel so alone?
~~~~~~~
How did it come... to this?
How could they kill... my son?
The one who I saw become a man
And was to be... the anointed one?

Just... how?...

You told me to call him Yeshua
Such a common name, at the time
And now this name hangs on a cross,
Tell me, how could this death... be called "sublime"?
~~~~~~~
Wait... what's this I hear?...
Shouts of joy and acclamation!
He embraces me, saying, "No tears...
I truly have come back,
To save this nation!

Now I realize it,
And for this my knees do bow:
Since I know this new Life,
I understand the why... and the how.

The Musings of a Single Young Man, Part 4

4th out of 5 in this poetic suite...

"Seasons of Attraction: Summer"
by Neil Mullins

It is twilight; a Summer's eve soft and clear
An orchestra full of stars is out to play
I lean my ear towards them; oh sweet music!
I stand and wait for my muse, I know she is near.

Though my toes touch the ground, I do not feel it
A golden season, and a drunken heart, I must admit
Though the drink is not wine; it is hope and love
Feeling endless; as sweet, warm winds from above.

I will run o'er the shore, seeking the one who eludes me
To find her... beyond the sunset, hold hands, and be free.
The heat wont bother us, we shant be found
And the love we share will be strong, as waves unbound.

The Musings of a Single Young Man, Part 3

Poem #3 of the suite of 5...

"Seasons of Attraction: Spring"
by Neil Mullins

Well into the Spring morn, I walk through sunbeams
And scattered showers enhance the path I'm on
I look all around me, and though all has bloomed
I see no airy love, no one in my daydreams.

Granted, I feel strong from my head to my heels
But in the Springtime, with every new fantasy, my heart reels
For I am tempted to run with winged feet
Through verdant fields, chasing that kindred spirit.

Sometimes I like to wander with the birds and the flowers
They will fly and blow and mate and pollinate for hours.
I would like to find such warmth in me too,
Perhaps hope is found in the next grass-covered view?

The Musings of a Single Young Man, Part 2

Second poem in the suite...

"Seasons of Attraction: Winter"
by Neil Mullins

Dawn is gray, and the Winter sun is still below
It will rise clear over a stillborn landscape
I look out over the cold, silent stillness
My eyes search for warmth, in vain, on this plateau.

The bleak longing of my soul touches my bones
During the Winter I accept my reality alone
And I soar over lit windows and smoke;
The North wind ruffles through my wings evermore.

And yet I also observe from above this snowy waste
New growths of grass and leaves are springing up, with due haste.
Could it be, that from frozen streams and ground
Warmth in abundance, which melts the snow, can be found?

The Musings of a Single Young Man, Part 1

I've decided to post my most recent poetry project, which, due to the demands and attitudes caused by school, has taken over 2 months to do, and is still not complete. It is a suite of five poems, and... well, you'll see what it's about. One poem left to write for it, and maybe by the end of the week that one will be out, too.

Comments and questions are welcome.

"Seasons of Attraction: Autumn"
by Neil Mullins

On a cool Autumn day, when the sun settles down
And the clouds are scattered on the horizon
I look off to where the paint meets the canvas
But my mind is not where my eyes gaze upon.

No, it is where my heart looks that my mind thinks
And during Fall I often wonder if I am on the brink
Of becoming the only stone in the yard
To weather the gales and rain for years to come.

And yet I also ponder amidst the hues in the trees
If it is not too late to try and harness the breeze,
To fly down closer to the source of warmth,
Even though, with each passing day, it is fading?

Mullins Bullets, Part 1

I think it's time I took a short break from posting poetry on this blog (but I have not stopped writing poetry, of course).
Most people of college age will "find themselves" during this time in life. I am no exception to this. As such, I would like to share with you all some of the points of what I have learned in this process, from God, through the experiences He has given me. I call them "Mullins Bullets" (nice ring to it, yes?). Please pardon how crude and unformed these points may sound in form, and rather try and focus on their content. I'm trying to go for profundity in as short a space as possible, instead of writing a book and becoming long-winded and losing track of the point. (It is a hard thing to strike a balance for, and right now it feels like I'm going to fail miserably. But I'm gonna try this anyways.) Also, these points are mostly based on observations from the ministry of Jesus' life (or so I would like to think), so they seem to me to be good ways of living one's life.

If you have feedback, it is surely welcome. Comments, encouragement, questions, etc. Especially if you want more explanation (though I would rather we talk in person about that). There is no priority system to these points; it is unorganized.

• The best way to combat fear is not with more fear, but with love.
• Human beings have as much a capacity for love as they do for depravity.
• Do not make religion out of politics, and do not make politics in religion.
• There is always hope in the Lord for those who seek it; hope only in God and the things of God, not in false things.
• Use metaphor sparingly, but use analogy generously.
• The point of evangelism is to keep the conversation going.
• Sharing of faith is also sharing of love. Love is a two-way street. Therefore, sharing of faith must involve a mutual exchange of sharing beliefs.

I do hope this encourages someone, somehow. For this whole entry feels rough.

But since when has the subject of Jesus' love and sharing it ever been ultimately about eloquence of speech?

Turn that TV off. Spend time with real people.

New poem.
Or at least one I'm willing to post.
Selfish and kind of a downer, I know.
Just bear with me.
I'm sure you've felt like this, too, at times.

"The Bad News Song"
by Neil Mullins

Well I'm listening to songs
In minor key, obbligatos
And the news on the TV's all wrong,
Please hear me, my ostinato:

I never get any good news
I never get any good news
I never get any good news
At all...

Don't be mistaken
I'm happy for y'all
But the good news you've given
Is yours, read my scrawl:

I never get any good news
I never get any good news
I never get any good news
At all...

Would you change the channel?
Cuz I don't wanna see anymore
Don't need a control panel
To see this me, for the record:

I never get any good news
I never get any good news
I never get any good news
At all...

Modern Phileo

30th post! Cool.

Anyways... it sure has been an interesting first seven days of school. Pomona Crusade has gotten off to a good start, and there are many freshmen and transfers interested in involvement here.

However, some of my friends at other schools have been under spiritual attack or in ugly situations, and it grieves me that they suffer these things... especially when those who are in trouble are my sisters in Christ. Now, in my experience, since I consider my relationship with my own sister to be pretty good, I treat my sisters in Christ like I treat her: with love, respect, sensitivity and more importantly, help. Help in listening to their problem and letting God work through me to advise them on it, whether that means finding them other sisters to help them out or working through them with it, if the situation is within my understanding. Of course, this happens with my brothers too, but more often lately it has been happening with my sisters. And... it just wounds my heart, to see them in pain like that; and because of Christ's love for the lost, even those temporarily lost, even for me... it wells up in me a response of:
1. Shock that it is happening
2. Sorrow at the pain
3. Compassion
4. Slight anger at the enemy (a big brother's classic response)
5. A showing of love, a pouring out of myself because of Him and because of the warmth and lovingkindness that they have shown me in my times of trouble.

It's an odd mix, I know, but I just can't break it down for you in any other way. It has gotten me to wondering lately, "I don't understand... why do they have to be in pain? And why did God give me all this love to pour out?" I don't feel worthy for it often, and sometimes I'm very tired when I first hear of a given situation. But for some reason, God gives me the strength and wisdom to respond, and to try and help them out of harm's way.

I don't mean to sound like the hero here, and I don't mean to boast either. I'm just telling it like it is. And I also know the answers to those wonderings: it's because God intends for me to be the brother to them at those times, and to show them His grace and love. But not just at these times, either. Being a brother is a full time job.

If that doesn't make it clear to you out of the sheer fact of redundancy, then perhaps this poem will.

"My Rose"
by Neil Mullins

You, my rose, are beautiful;
You, my rose, are deep.
And you, my rose, have petals
Soft, through which the Light seeps.
You, my rose, smell lovely;
You, my rose, are a flirt.
But you, my rose, have thorns
Sharp, which make my hands hurt.
You, my rose, are colorful;
You, my rose, are young.
For you, my rose, capture my
Gaze, and my heart is flung.
A rose is as love, both pretty and stinging
Yet I will let my hands drip blood whilst I am singing.
----------------
Now playing: Jars of Clay - Something Beautiful
via FoxyTunes

POST-RACE REPORT: FONTANA

Wow. What a race!

Yesterday’s Sharp Aquos 500 was my first-ever live NASCAR race. I went with my dad and my uncle to the California Speedway in Fontana, CA. It was such an invigorating experience and one I’ll never forget. I had a lot of fun and I learned a lot too; not just about NASCAR (which I am still only a first-year fan of), but also life as well. I read in a book lately (Chicken Soup for the NASCAR Soul) that one of the main reasons that people watch and enjoy the sport (or, as we fans say, “our sport”) is that it can draw many parallels to life’s experiences. And while some non-fans will say it’s just a Southern sport, you can’t deny that its influence and spectacle have moved across the whole country. (Logic follows: if you’ve heard of it, and haven’t traveled to those states, then its influence covers more than just that region.) While I did take notes on the race to help me keep my thoughts down for this report, however, I just can’t write a bland story out of this experience onto paper. No, for my words to have more effect, more impact, they must take the form of a poem. Perhaps if you read this, and you don’t understand why so many people watch NASCAR, you might change your mind after reading it. Or so I hope.

“Ode to the Stock-Car Race”
by Neil Mullins

It’s not every day you get to see stealth fighters
It’s not every day you come so far
Along with thousands of people to watch forty-three drivers
Cram themselves inside their respective cars.

The startup of the motors and the whirring of air wrenches
Immediately becomes symphonic to your ears
And the smell of burnt tires and gas beyond the fences
Is alluring both to your nostrils and those of your peers.

To see the field move with such efficiency
And yet also to see some be so brash
Makes you wonder, in life, if that’s why some are bold and crazy
Enough, so it seems, to even dare to crash.

You root for your driver and I’ll root for mine,
And we’ll both boo and laugh about it and be just fine;
But when the race is over at Victory Lane
Its not just the drivers, but also the fans, who get the fame.

In leaving the stands, this vision becomes true:
You don’t just become part of the race...
It becomes part of you.

(End Poem)

PS: I found out after i got home from last night's race that I have the opportunity to go to another one before the season is out! This time, it'll be in Phoenix. I'll be meeting friends there, and it won't cost too much to go. Plus, you get my knowledge personally to help you during the race in order to understand it better. Who could ask for more? Let me know if you want to go; planning is currently only in early stages.

Coming Out Seeing

This is Neil Mullins, comin' at ya live from SANTA MONICA!

Yes, you heard right, I am here in SaMo (short name for the city) for Campus Crusade for Christ's Summer Project here. It is only the 4th year that they have held it here (it replaced the Newport Beach location), so it's a pretty young project, and it definitely has a "cutting edge" feeling to it. We are in the 2nd full week of it, and a lot has happened; there is still yet more to come in the next 6 weeks though. I am having a blast here; my support goal was achieved and then some, and I also got the required job at, yep, you guessed it... Staples! But not the branch in SaMo, the one in Venice, about a 10-minute drive south from the Palm Motel. One of the greatest things about this project, however, is that even though it's 8 weeks compared to the 1o in Tahoe last summer, the community here has been built incredibly fast. This became quite clear to me last night when we were having the debriefing from our weekly sharing session (which was amazing because we got to experiment with some new evangelism tools). Ken Virzi (Project Director) was giving a bit of talk but also leaving the discussion open to the rest of the group, and while he was saying these things, I was nearly overcome with joy at the sense of family I felt just by looking around at the group. I could see the unity in Christ in everybody's eyes, and well, I just can't say it enough: I LOVE THIS PROJECT FAMILY!!!

Anyhoo, here's this week's poem...

"Not in Kansas Anymore"
by Neil Mullins

Her life has been turned
Upside-down
And her love for it has been spurned
Different world, though same town

See, it's funny how I see the same thing
My house has been tossed
But like her I still find a way to sing
Perhaps for us, not all is lost

But we're not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy
This world is similar but not the same
And we can try to change it in any way we want
Yet our surroundings, by far, will never be tamed.

To Finish Well

I am done with another school year. Huzzah! Have a good summer everyone!
Go SMSP 2007!
God bless.

"Finish Line"
by Neil Mullins

One white stripe
Is all that separates him
From the awaiting taste of victory
(And consequential hype).

His lungs, how they strain,
His heart, how it aches at this;
But his arms and legs
Are like a well-oiled machine.

And then it's ten strides,
Five strides, two strides, none,
With the snap of the finish tape
No looking back, he's done.

The roar of the crowd
Feels like an ovation from heaven
Yet, to the spectators' dismay
They cannot find the runner from lane seven.

Where is the runner?
Look past the faces of glee
To find that he is on his bed, at home
Knowing he is finally free.

A Flooded Imagination

Yeah, the mind of a poet can get flooded, from time to time, with things to write about. Key words... random phrases... whole concepts, even. But most of the time they just stay up there in the brew, and thankfully, God sorts it out for me and tells me exactly what to write and how, even when.

This week's been kinda busy... but it's been pretty good. Bunch of good news that I would tell ya if you walked up to me on the street and asked how I was doing, but I think it's insignificant for this post. Here's the "weekly" poem...

"Talkin' With My God"
by Neil Mullins

When I talk with people-
With my friends-
The speech seems feeble,
Talking about means, but not ends.

Don't get me wrong now-
My friends are great-
But talkin' with my God, wow,
It fills me so much as of late.

Because when I talk with my God,
His name gets the fame
And when I share Him with others
I'm never put to shame.

Constant Vigil of Grace

Well, today marks my 25th post on this blog. Actually I didn't know that until I looked at my post count today. Now, if I had known, maybe I could have written some celebratory poem or something. But, especially in light of Monday's tragedy, I think something a bit more sober (and somber) comes to mind... but it is not all blackened and bruised...

"The Face Factory"
by Neil Mullins

I came into the factory today
To put smiles on some faces
But my boss told me, to my dismay
Those smiles wouldn't have cases.

"We're making frowns today," says he,
And when pressed for a reason, he replied,
"Because this week, tragedy struck:
Someone went out and made a killing spree."

This I just could not believe,
All I did in shock was stare
And tears rolled as I grieved
To kneel down humbly in prayer...

"Oh Lord, how can this be?
That so many innocents
Were taken so violently?

Where will the colors run now?
And the frowns coming off the line
How will they stop, Lord? How?"

And as I knelt in patience and despair
I felt my soul lifted in His loving care
God said to me, "Fear not for the orange and maroon;
As for the smiles, get ready...
Demand will be heavy for them soon."

(Dedicated in memory of the lives lost
at Virginia Tech on April 16, 2007)

A Pendant of Love?...

Well, I am 21 years old now... though that doesn't seem to change much, aside from the fact that I can now drink alcoholic beverages (I like Chardonnay as far as wines go, and beer is OK). In other news...

I have been accepted to Santa Monica Summer Project 2007, and am now raising support for it

Classes are going well

And my job at Staples is just fine too.

Here's this week's poem...

"Heart of Gold"
by Neil Mullins

I saw a girl once
With a chain around her neck
And the pendant
At the bottom of it
Begged me to check...

She had this heart of gold, you see
One I thought was pure and true
But the funny thing about it was,
When you looked in her eyes,
You could see right through (...her)

And it made me wonder
Where my own heart was
If it wasn't tarnished
If it had lost its shine
Even though it's been washed
In Holy wine

I have this heart of gold, you see
One I think is pure and true
But the funny thing about it is,
When You look in my eyes
You can see right through (...me)

Light and Steam Through the Tunnel

So, this poem is actually a song, meaning that when I wrote the words last week (during Spring Break), a tune came along with them. That's never happened before. Anyhoo, here is my first song. Naturally, it's about trains, my lifelong interest.

"Hear That Whistle Blow"
by Neil Mullins

Now back in the day
We didn't have any horns.
And the rift that they caused
Hadn't yet been torn.

And we knew back then
Who was king of the rails.
And we never did think
That he ever would fail.

Chorus:
Oh won't you hear that whistle blow?
Won't you hear that whistle blow?
Oh, the pistons are achin'
And the pressure is makin'
So won't you hear that whistle blow?

Now every time at the crossin'
That whistle would blow
And you knew just to stay there
Or to heaven you'd go.

And someone would ask you,
"Why'd the king have to die?"
And then you'd say to them,
(Pre-chorus) "Well boy, here's why but first won't you tell me...

Chorus

Now the whistle's long gone
Been replaced by the horn.
And the steam by the diesel
With the last too forlorn.

And many a man do cry
At the railroader's loss
But don't you wor-rie
'Cuz it's still an iron horse.

Chorus

...and won't you hear that whistle... blow?

Like the Elephant's... Wrinkles

So yeah I'm a little Tahoesick right now... and this time, a poem came out of it I think. I think those from LTSP 2006 and also those who know me well and read this will probably understand where I'm coming from with some of this language.

"An Old Man's Face"
by Neil Mullins

These lines...
...have not felt the joy
of a woman's smile
in what seems like months.

These eyes...
...have not seen the company
of past friends
for what seems like years.

These ears...
...have not heard the rousing commands
of battle's glory
since what seems like decades ago.

These lips...
...have not spoken the desires
of the beating heart
in what seems like forever.

These features of an old man's face
Whom he would love for someone
To awake and embrace
Are, in fact, my own... at the tender age of twenty-one.

Moats and Drawbridges

To those of you out there who read this, sorry for the gap in the number of poems per week. This past week was finals week, and even though I was done on Tuesday, my artistic efforts were focused elsewhere (I was designing t-shirts for PomonaCru).

Today has been interesting. I went to visit my grandfather in the hospital, who has suffered a stroke after an operation on one of his major arteries. He's getting better, but the experience was very hard for me, much harder than I expected. This is the man responsible for furthering my interests trains, planes, and many other things, and is the grandparent that I am the closest to. So if you could keep him in your prayers, that would be a huge help.

But the day is not over yet. Off to adventure, dinner, and a show! My family and I will be dining at Medieval Times tonight, because we've never done it, so that will be a lot of fun. Here's a poem I wrote today about modern-day castles.

"A House With No Fences"
by Neil Mullins

"A man's house is his castle,"
Says someone with a cry
And the stubborn lines on his face
Lead me to wonder, why?

There's a myriad of reasons, to be sure:
Television, cars, pets, family and tenure
But I think the reason his expression was so tense
Is because he built too big and too tall a fence.

Yes, fences are built with good intentions
To keep out robbers, vermin, and the occasional wild car
Though sadly, what happens with such prevention
Is that we keep out our neighbors and friends, as if in a war.

So give me a house with no fences
And a tree with lots of shade
So we can sit and enjoy the sunsets
And trust others not to raid.

Oy vey...

OK, so even after a hectic Week 9 (out of 10), with a 10-page research paper done in 2 days (which was due this Friday, not last Friday), you'd think this Week 10 would be nice and easy so I could focus on my finals, right? Nooo... instead of schoolwork, it was actual work that bogged me down. That, and a wedding (high point), and Tahoesickness (low point) have made this week just as busy.

"Stop the Presses"
by Neil Mullins

Construction all around me
But destruction here too
Of a life once serene
By this noisome darkness
Splittin' my ears right through

And it's all for this Pavlovian struggle
Over who's controlling who
This work for the sake of reward
It's insane; I can't take it anymore
Can't I just work to be right with You?

Of course I can...
Because You're what it's all about
But the world won't stop the presses
So I can sort my life out
Will You show me where the mess is?...

Don't Deny It!

Now, this next poem could receive some flak... but pay attention to the third stanza and you'll see what I mean.

"Can't Put Down Disco"
by Neil Mullins

Well you can badmouth rock'n'roll
And heck no won't listen to techno
Some people can't swing to save their lives
But when the DJ brings out the ball, you know

You can't put down disco
Because it starts right in your shoes
You can't help but break out your moves
Every time that record rolls

Anyone can do it, just tap your feet, get the beat
Stroll out on that lighted floor and strut your stuff
Make up your own moves, become one of the elite
Do it smooth, get in the groove, and even if you start out rough

You can't put down disco...

American West Romance...

Is what this next poem is about... I had the phrase "Will you pull the trigger" stuck in my mind for about a week before I wrote this... and no, I was not contemplating suicide.

"Bar Fight"
by Neil Mullins

'Ya got a gun in your hand there, son,
Pulled it straight from the hip
And you've had it up to here with his run
Yer not gonna take anymore o' his lip.

Y'all had a few drinks in a row
Right after you tied your horses
And then he starts sayin' things 'bout your woman, real low
Takin' you right past the point of throwing punches.

So now you're both outside, pistols drawn
And you could stand out there 'til the break of next dawn...

Will you pull the trigger,
And let that bullet fly?
Or will you be a coward, walk up to him
And just spit in his eye?

All Aboard for the Dark History Tour! Step right this way.

Well, I must say that this weekend has been quite eventful. Probably the best thing about it (and it took up the most time) was the fact that my dad and I got to go on a field trip. We joined up with the CPP Geo Club for a walking tour of Downtown Los Angeles, and it was a pretty good experience for me. Shot about 60 photos, got in a lot of exercise (along with some great Persian Kebabs from the Grand Central Market) and a lot of railfanning action as well (we took the Metrolink from Claremont to Union Station, saw the Santa Fe and Pacific Electric Buildings, etc.) And I say "Dark History Tour" because I got to learn a ton of stuff about the darker side of L.A.'s "history". Like the fact that the inconvenient parts have been covered up with tastier tidbits stolen from other histories, and how the L.A. Times used to be the real guns in town... it was cool, made me think critically quite a bit, and I always like that. And plus, I'd always wanted to do a tour of my own urban backyard! (I know, I'm from Long Beach, but L.A. is the county seat.) ANYHOO... I hadn't been on a real train in a considerable while... 3 years to be exact (Portland's metro doesnt count as a "train" in my book, it's "light train/rail"), and stepping on a train for me is quite an experience for me. Here, then, is a poem about it. Written on Metrolink #366, coming back from L.A.

"That First Step"
by Neil Mullins

I stood out on the platform, one day,
My eyes brimming with anticipation
And a sight so simple, so bold, a train
Filled me with inspiration.

Yet I was also afraid
To embark upon this moving mass
That moved on steel rails laid,
Those tracks like sinewy long ribbons of silver glass.

To where would I go? And to when?
To places and times, far-off and untold,
Over mountains and rivers, and through fields,
My gaze glued to the window as steel wheels rolled.

The conductor took me out of my thoughts as he snapped,
"Climb aboard so we can leave, son"
And as my foot to aluminum steps tapped,
I knew that first step... was where I'd won.

I'm not gone yet... not even fading out

So um yeah, I've still been writing poetry at an average rate of 2 poems a week... but last week's poems were for certain people and the occasions surrounding them, so I didn't post.
Anyhoo, I've been going through a healing process of sorts lately, and I've definitely learned some things from God about it. If you want the real story, contact me in another way, I'd rather not say it here (besides, it would take over this blog entry). Some of you who read this, and you know who you are, know what's been up with me lately, and to let y'all know what happened, it was a no-go. That's it. Still, though I'm healing, it takes awhile for the pain to go away, and the pain sucks more if salt is added to the wound (but I think it makes the wound heal faster? I don't know.). I wrote a poem about it tonight. Sounds kind of emo, I know. And maybe I'll release some other stuff I wrote a while back on this situation, not sure. Without further ado, here it is.

"A Sad Song"
by Neil Mullins

Play me... a sad song
Play it clear and blue
Or play it purple, for all I care
So long as you're sad too

Had a chance and took it
Stepped out on the right foot
But I broke it
And yeah it's healin' (but the pain's still there)

With the pain comes tears of sadness
As well as irritation
But while I'm waiting for the cast to come off
I take strength in my salvation

Se l'amo, se la vie. (That's love, that's life)
Se la vie, se l'amo. (That's life, that's love)
Se la vie, dangit! Haha...
I guess that's how things go, my feelings come down like snow

So play me a sad song
Play it clear and blue
And if you're as down as I am,
You can sing along, too.

Isaiah 64

Yep, that's what I was reading when I wrote this following poem. More of a prayer, actually, but anyways, as I read that passage today, it felt as though I were watching the words being written down for it in the Prophet Isaiah's hand over 2,000 years ago.

"Silent Letters"
by Neil Mullins


These silent letters
form the words
that form the sentences
that form the verses
written down from Heaven
from the voice of God.

Oh God, I pray to You,
I ask You, please instill Your Word in me...
let me drink in these passages
like water from an oasis,
and do not beseech me
when I set my eyes upon them.

Show me where I have erred from Your ways
and show me where I can take comfort in Your grace
let not my heart interpret where it wishes
but speak to it and heal it, restore it
with these silent letters
that form the words from the mouth of God.

Divine Wrath

OK, so I was listening to a track on the Matrix Reloaded album called "Furious Angels", a techno/orchestral mix by Rob Dougan. Pretty good stuff, and it inspired me to write a poem on the subject...

Angels' Fury
by Neil Mullins

i can imagine it all now
a sight too awesome for my eyes to behold
a multitude of angels dressed in light and glory
their eyes aflame and their hearts so bold

they are all standing ready to do one thing
to receive God's orders for the outpouring of wrath
upon those who have gone in favor of undermining
the faithful ones on earth, these who are on His path

and yet i also see opposite this vision another sight
of angels fallen and ready to fight
though certainly not to death, for they're already dead inside
no, they fight for our souls to which they have lied

the head of God's army, Michael, receives the call
from the Son, who is now the Lion and not the Lamb
and so the ranks, so massive and tall
proceed forward, with swords drawn, over the land

the battle (already won) begins...

Kinda Morbid I Suppose

This following poem could be considered to be morbid. And I would tell you the story behind it, but that story is still in progress, and I consider it to be a hot situation, currently (though it is rapidly cooling). If you really want the full story, contact me in a different way other than through this blog. Thanks.

"Stillborn Hope"
by Neil Mullins

An out-of-pace heart
Once found something new in the mind
And, taking hold of it, it seduced this thing...
Then, it started to produce hope, started to pine...

But this thing, not being based
In the Real Truth that the heart believed at the core
When this thing was traced...
Still, the hope came, but it was, and is stillborn.

False white hopes
They plague our hearts so much
And when they are found
It's like a punch in the face, a kick in the head

In all truth and actuality
This heart of which I speak was mine
And though everything else was A-O.K.
It was when I started to pine... that I felt far from God

But then my saved soul reached out
And found His hand, and I found
The real, true, and great wondrous Hope
In His Love, and Mercy that lasts to the end.

Cosmic Bowling

I went cosmic bowling last night... it was a lot of fun, even though I sucked major (60, 59, and 54). But I really got a kick out of seeing one of the guys in the study I lead play... Randy did very well, taking the top score for the group that night, 202. Good job, man. (It's a leadership thing; to take pride in your guys, you know?) Anyhoo, I'd been wanting to write a poem this week about several things, and I really wanted to write it last night at the bowling alley, but God didn't have that in mind for me. It all came together this morning, though. Here it is.

"Cosmos"
by Neil Mullins

Have you ever seen a mountain,
shrouded in cloud,
and looking at its base, wondered aloud,
"Why can't I see the peak,
in all of its white glory?"

Or have you ever stared at the heavens
during the night
and searching for an end (or beginning) of light, asked God,
"Why can't I see you,
in all of your ultimate glory?"

And yet, after asking these questions,
it's true, I've found
that the glory of God is everywhere, all around,
in this grand chaos that is the cosmos
and He will not abandon us, for we are made
in His glory.

Jazz on Brown Paper

Yesterday I picked up a new soundtrack album to one of my favorite movies, Finding Forrester. It is mainly a compilation of compositions by Miles Davis and a few other jazz artists. I had never sat down and listened to jazz music just for the sake of listening to it before, and well... its effect on me was quite interesting. I found it to be mysteriously entrancing, and yet it had a familiar groove to it. Well, some words and phrases started coming to mind about it and I wrote a poem about it on a piece of a brown paper bag that holds tortilla chips from Chipotle. Here is the poem:

"Tell Me, Jazz Player"
by Neil Mullins

I see a man with a trumpet
Sitting down to a clarinet and bass
He lets out a long sigh
From whatever mood he's in...
I know he's a Jazz Player. Mmm-hm!

Tell me, o Jazz Player,
Why does your music sound so wise,
Yet foolish at times as well?
And how can you play simultaneously
For Heaven, Earth, and Hell?

Tell me, o Jazz Player,
Why your notes are so blue
When the atmosphere they create is so red?
And how do you let your measures flow
As mere thoughts from your head?

The group finishes their set
And the trumpeter goes away
The bassist sticks around...
I ask him why he do what he do
As the question lingers, I hear him say,

"Cuz' jazz is for everyone, man...
Great and small
Rich and poor
Me and you."

Rescued

I wrote this poem yesterday. The mental images in the poem have been in my head for a long while... probably two to three years.

"The Pit"
by Neil Mullins

This hole...
This dark, unending hole
Becomes this heated chasm
Known as the abyss...

Standing on the edge
And fear is drawing me in
The earth crumbles 'neath my feet
I fall...

Falling...
Flailing and thrashing out
My eyes turn upward to where I once was
A crag finds my hand...

Holding on for my life...
I'm at the lowest of my low
Feel this burning sensation in my feet
Thinking the end is near...

But a had of light...
Reaches down for my sweaty palms
A voice telling me to grab on
I risk it all and take hold...

To find myself...
Being lifted up out of the pit
Becoming restored
And looking at He who is my savior...

Watts

No, I'm not talking about units of power. I'm talking about the city of Watts, located in South Central Los Angeles. A couple of friends and I went there today to visit the Watts Towers of Simon Rodia, which is, in fact, a State Historic Park operated by L.A. County Parks Dept. It was quite an experience, to say the least. Nice little amphitheater in the park for us to sit down in and just view the Towers from there. Plenty of time for pictures, drawing, and writing; despite the fact that when I got out my camera, I found out that the viewfinder glass had broke... dangit. But anywho, I got to sit down and write a poem that I had come up with the idea for several weeks back... and here it is. A little more secular than my last two entries, but I like it anyhow. All in all we had a worthwhile adventure today.

"Nothing Like Hollywood"
by Neil Mullins

Los Angeles...

L.A.'s not what you think it is
Ain't glamour, movie stars, or fame...
Ain't about the money, either
Even though some play the bling game

Life here is like life anywhere
Street baseball in the 'burbs
Traffic jams all over the place
And kids eatin' PBJ on the curb

So when you come down to the Basin
Check your reality and don't let it blur
'Cuz when you do that you'll see the real beauty of L.A.
Not the materials, but the people inside her

L.A.'s nothin' like Hollywood, no
Ain't no false love here
Our love for this city and our roots in it is deep
Just ekin' out a life with God and no fear... can be good.

Raining...

The following is a poem I wrote tonight (Jan. 4) at PomonaCrusade's local hangout on Thursday nights, a place simply known as "Coffee" (yes, it's a coffee shop, and way better than Charbuck's...); and on a further note, most of the poems I post here could probably be turned into songs, but I have no music for them, like I said before...

"Rain"
by Neil Mullins

Rain...
Sweet, innocent rain...
They say grace falls down like it
Oh, rain...

Rain...
Falling down on everyone
Those who deserve it and those who don't
Oh, rain...

Fall down on me!
Soak me through to the core!
Of my innermost being, my soul
For I have grown weary of this drought
Here on the floor... of this wilderness

Oh, rain, rain, rain...
The sweet smell of that which takes away my pain...

Waiting...

The following is a poem that I wrote while stuck in a broken jet at the gate at OC's John Wayne Airport... (last Thursday, 12/28/06) kind of like a song, except I have no tune in my head for it...

"Waiting"
by Neil Mullins

I'm stuck here on this airliner
On the tarmac
You'd think a bird that is able to fly
Could get off the ground

I'm stuck here in life, too
Though I never thought I'd get this far
But now there's decisions to make
Life changes aren't that hard

So I'm waiting (for what?)
I'm waiting to jump
Yes, I'm waiting (for what?)
I'm waiting for God to move me

Like a pawn on a chess board
I take life one step at a time
It's not like the army's "hurry up and wait"
So much as it is being you in line

So I'm waiting...