THE LADYBUG AND THE FLY

THE LADYBUG AND THE FLY

(c) 2011 Leah Randelle


The ladybug and the fly,
Vying for respective dominance,
Were buzzing and bouncing against
The outer glass dome encasing the light.

The zzzz’s and bumps and bonks
Spelled out a buggy dance,
In the dark of early morning, both entranced
Trying to break into the on-switched light.

The ladybug, dressed in her finery,
Red wings and elegant approach
Striking the glass, with force to broach!
Her beetle shell clicked the code of her glee.

The fly, a black buggy buzzing mess,
Clearly lost and out of his element,
He knew only one thing, however inefficient,
Even if bruised, he had to get at the light!

The ladybug and the fly,
Vying for respective enter-ince,
The ladybug content to warm herself thence,

The fly pursuing to his last buzzing breath,
Though he die in the trying, busted and bereft!

She, content on the outside with her pretty shell aright,
He, spent and spent till consumed by the light.

The Brightness of Your Glory

The Brightness of Your Glory
~Leah Randelle, (C) 2011


Let my eyes become accustomed
To what they could not before see,
The brightness of your glory
Above the crystal canopy

Four magnificent, unearthly creatures
With the angelic host surrounding
Your blazing throne to proclaim
With wings in beat, Thundering

That you are holy, holy, holy!
And the whole earth is full
Of your glory, though veiled
From our eyes as through glass dull

Lord God! We gaze intently into
Your perfect Law of freedom,
Hearts Hungering and Seeking
Your presence, our Need from

Ages long before, now increasing!
As revelation, wave upon wave
From past to present to Eternity
Making known your Power to Save!

Promised first in the Garden
A Champion who would defeat
The serpent Enemy of our souls
The root of Sin which suffocates

Though your glory not diminished
You came as Servant into this world
From beyond the Crystal Expanse, and Throne
By an Emerald Rainbow encircled

A veil of flesh, a Son of man
We could not see, lest you would give
New Eyes, New Heart, and Open Ears
Champion born to die so we would live?

Your life, poured out to fill jars
Of clay, earthen vessels not fit!
What myst'ry! You make holy the profane!
What sin crucifies, you Resurrect!

Let our eyes become accustomed
To what they couldn't See before,
The Brightness of your Glory
Ravishing! Revealed! for the veil's been torn!

To Heights of a Growing, Glowing Purple Tinge

To Heights of a Growing, Glowing Purple Tinge
(c)2011, Leah Randelle Page


Snowy disaster crushing by its weight
To isolate each resident entrapped
Each wrapped in drifting, white sand art
Imparting heat from within each snugged
Sweet hug of houses glowing, firelight
With smokestack height, the signs of life
Winding skyward from strife - to show,
Through hope exercising its patience
Whence feet of white siege be dug out,
There be, about, a sense of expectancy
As entrancing drip drip drip from the eaves
Believe tomorrow's sun shall yet come

So it's begun in darkness hovering
The new day discovering the ravages of
Yesterday's savaged, swallowed and broken,
Unveiled branches pokin' through at dim horizon
As the sun's a'risin' with interminable pace
To smile it's face, so the buried we survey
The storm's remains....Shock! for nature's duel
Over jewel-encrusted, silver trees has climbed
To heights of a growing, glowing purple tinge,
A subtle singe - a morning mercy unfurled
Over winter-weary world, and shadows tracing
From top branches down as the sun goes up

So stops each of us, and we be still and know
That so is the warmth of grace and God

YER A BOLTIN’ WILL-WILD COLT

YER A BOLTIN’ WILL-WILD COLT
(c)2011, Leah Randelle Page

Yer a boltin’ will-wild colt
Bravado on yer sleeve cuz it’s yer main reprieve,
Defense against the invader,
That shadow nightmare violator
Hoof him under his chin, so his pretext can’t get in
And break yer spirit from within
Cuz it’s been had before, though there ain’t a soul that’s been told

Yer a hidin’ hermit hermaphrodite
By the force of yer broken voiced relief
As if you had a choice, but now
Yer wired from the inside out
Claw yer way to the sages, but you’ve been lost for ages
Amidst all those stolen embraces
And you can’t make tomorrow without letting go of yesterday

Yer a smokin’ silky seductress
The evil so interwoven with yer own longed-for-loving
That you can’t defend yerself
From yer shadow nightmare self
You can’t see his face, so you’ll cut his portrait
In yer own skin and use the blood
To rouge yer cheeks for weeks, to win the hope of just one chance

Yer a startin’ over again, you rover
Left that footprint in their sand, so now it’s off to Neverland,
Shake the dust off yer shoes
Though the nightmare always shadows
Maybe here will be the end where some sword will defend
So yer heart and soul can mend
Because all you know to wish for now is just a good night’s sleep



*Started reading new book "Rid of My DisGRACE" last night ~ recently published by Re-Lit, the "literary" arm of ministry coming out of Mars Hill Church, Seattle WA. So far, it has been a terribly good book. I bought this book to equip myself as I have more than one friend who has been sexually traumatized in one way or another - and after starting this book, I think I would also, by virtue of some past experiences, qualify as a victim of this kind of sin. But I am increasingly wondering if there will be any of us left in this coming world who WON'T have been violated, broken, stolen in some way. I can only pray the ministry of the Gospel of Jesus will bring redemption and healing and restoration for ALL of us who carry Shame.

OUT BUT NOT FREE

OUT BUT NOT FREE
(c) 2010 Leah Randelle
(updated Jan., 2011)

The guilt was real' real;
Ain’t no complainin’ ‘bout the deal
I got; no question I deserve to be here.
They’s a debt on my record and it smears
What I coulda been,

Though it’s not like my mama beat me
Or daddy showed me how to do it.
And what if I told you ain’t no daddy
Except the men mamma trotted
Day in and day out?

Wouldn’t matter one bit.

Sure I saw things, broken messed up things;
Who doesn’t, after all?
I coulda had this ugliness from the get go
But it’s not like it matters now,
I dunno.

Besides, how’s it help to start over
Or lookin’ back when I can’t undo?
I got no question. I deserve to be here.
And the grounds stink, and so do the men
Surroundin' me.

But who am I kidding? I’m just such a man.

I could complain; I see the sun but one hour a day
In the best of days, when it ain’t rainin’
Or when they’s no snow, but my favorite
Is the sun on the snow, like a sword
It cuts through all the shit.

Starts me over, like a promise spring’s comin’.
Even if the yard is muddy and
Can’t play ball, and ain’t nothing left
But to beat each other to death, and we do,
Still, snow’s clean and sun’s sharp.

Icicles in your nostrils. Makes you feel alive.

Watchful eyes of guards,
It’s been my normal, for better or worse
And tomorrow, my spring’s comin’
It’s over, I done served my time.
I’ll be out but not free.

Inside we got structure and rules
And even the inequalities make us equals
So I know who I am though I’m not me
But I still got that ugliness
And can’t shake my stink.

Only difference is I’ll get more than one hour of sun.
But I’ll also get more days of rain.
And live on the outside with
The Inside on my inside.
I can only pray for some sun on the snow,

Maybe cover me and make me clean.



*heard an announcement on Moody Radio this morning on my drive in to work concerning the ministry of Prison Fellowship, and plans for Chuck Colson to visit West Michigan this weekend to bring the Gospel message to inmates for the Easter weekend. It gripped my heart, and I plan to pray for these events tomorrow and Sunday!, and the above is the resulting expression of that .... longing for the broken to receive mercy.*

In a Moment

~In a Moment~
(for anyone who has thought to himself "but, I DESERVE a break!")

Needing a Reprieve, he leaves
Without regard for Gardens crushed
Encroaching greenery Obscene
chokes out, behind him, blooms still plush -
Weeds and Thistles and Thorns!
Without regard for tending Guard,
His plot thickens, all because
He went out for a cigarette.

~L. Page
(c) 2009

make a path, o sunshine!

make a path, o sunshine!
~for the weary pilgrim~

I.
Make a path, o sunshine!
Light a lane, repair this winding way;
My feet have hit the rocks
and bends obscure and blind;
Where snagged and roughed array
of thorns and briars and dragons' frocks
Have contrived a choking hedge.
With flaming tongues they mock my pledge
and steal away my hope.

II.
Yesterday, the violent sea
and before that the desert;
A journey all the world around.
But today, pressed in by thickened trees
and predators haunt, for blood athirst
Heat and wetness gagging, gasping sound
Of my own breath in my ears drying
Is this the last? Softer mournful crying;
Will tomorrow return to me my hope?

III.
My straining, grasping gaze
To see but once the crowning crest
and there the face of Rapture....
So far already traveled;
haze and dark and blistered, festering;
This only trail to my heart's Captor
Fraught with travail and waiting
It will be worth all sorrows, fading
There in the light of my Hope.

~L. Page
(c) 2009 Leah Randelle