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...