The Tree (Spoken Word)

Gondor Tree

Here’s a few things to know.

  • The “lyrics” are posted below the video.
  • You can find other poetry I’ve done by selecting the “Poems” category at the bottom of the page.
  • This is the first poem I have recorded. I know I have a lot of room to improve but you have to start somewhere!
  • I’m finding that spoken word is way easier than rapping (but still not easy).
  • Even though I haven’t been posting a lot, I have been writing (although not quite daily).
  • I am working on some larger projects.
  • Sort of unrelated: John Owen is dope.
The Tree

Good soil
because no matter the toil
it comes down to the earth 
touched by royal hands.
Acres in the king's lands
anchored within the lord's plans.
Elected, predestined and tested to withstand
the present trials and meant for a future return from exile
that is the difference between the narrow path and the paved road.
Seeds sown here are the ones that grow.

in what you know. 
What you can't change, what's ever present,
effervescent in the core of the mind and heart of the soul and you know.
You exist.
There's no room in cogito ero sum to say you can't think
and therefore you are.
God exists. 
Or gods, or ten thousand things, as nature has imprinted this idea
on your mind and if you don't mind mine is fixed on one divine.
Yahweh? Yeah, way above anything you dream the precious Elohim
El Shaddai or should I say a bridge in the great divide the almighty.
And for God to be God and for me to me 
I'd say it's safe to say he created me
and is greater for he's the creator and that leaves a crater
in a landscape of worldview
because if God made you
then this life through and through is
a relationship between him and you.

Planted by water
Receiving streams of mercy from the father
Listen for his voice, you hear it? 
That's the flow of the spirit
so come near it 
and no amount of heat or drought can ever
defeat or knock out the lifeline of communication
for praise, thanks, and supplication.

With a trunk that rings true of who you say you
belong to. An interior authentic to its exterior,
and though the bark may be a thick hide 
inside there's nothing to hide
because salt and light have made no room for parasites
and this wood isn't rotten because on that wood lay the begotten
and no matter size or make no matter how this tree might shake
it will stand strong and not break.

Branches, that reach out and reach high,
arms that reach to the sun and the sky and tendrils that
extend til they rest with ease at its side.

And these many faceted limbs bear leaves
boasting of colors that hail a glory not its own.
The first sight that anyone sees is the vibrancy 
that comes no matter the season,
however life changes for whatever reason,
those who see the leaves leave them
thinking of beautiful words and the one who breathes them
even in the winter when the leaves leave them
the branches hold a beauty for whomever sees them.

The utility of these branches and these leaves,
the life that might find rest in the treetops
and the shade and shelter for the one who stops and
leans against or lies beneath and enjoys a reprieve to hear
the wind gently rustle the canopy and give rest to the weary.

Storms will come and winds will howl.
Lightning will strike, and the rains won't fall,
the trunk will creak and the boughs will bow
but this tree will endure it all.

And not only that, but it will bear fruit.
The signs of righteousness and holiness,
the return of the spirit's work,
love joy peace patience kindness
and others of their kind it's
the honorable output of a healthy
well watered being living in the warmth of the sun.
Fruit that leaves a seed a legacy
of gloria deo soli.

That's my prayer for you. It's my prayer for me.
From seed and sapling, that you'll find true roots in fertile soil,
drinking the only water that satisfies, healthy through the core,
reaching high, with beautiful leaves and good fruit,
no matter the storm or season.
God loves us,
Christ is the reason.
This is my prayer.
For you, for me.
Grow tall, live free.
Praise Jesus.
Be a tree.

A Man to His Cat

A Man to His Cat

It was the fullest of days
     he said as he took a drink.
Waking up into the stillness of the morning
quickly struck by the gusts of yesterday's winds
blowing me into today's troubled waters.
There I lay, paralyzed, unable and afraid
to throw off the welcome dullness of sleep for
the too real certainties of the day,
too poisoned by the smaug of indolence
to face the monster waiting in the hall.
     He took another drink.
I finally got out of bed, to the protest of my joints
and stood up as my creaky body came into form
and my weary spirit filled the vestiges of my soul.
At that very moment my old enemy started to whisper in my ear
as he breathed venomous words into my mind,
a searing seer with a forked tongue
blurring truth and untruth
and hissing everything I didn't want to hear.
He followed me all the way out of the house and down the road,
hoping I might quit on the day just to stop and listen.
     He drank a long drink.
And when I got to work my rival was there,
and as always he roared a fearsome roar at me
and bared his teeth and flashed his claws
and challenged me to combat. 
Like every day I had no choice but to roll up my sleeves and fight.
We struggled for hours and hours
bruising and battering each other in a relentless struggle,
until finally I bashed his head with a paper weight
and he collapsed.
     He drank.
Then I went and visited her grave. 
The walk up the winding path was a mountain to me,
and the day was windy and the rain started to fall
and my flowers looked awful.
I cried a lot this time.
I hoped that I might just sink into the earth next to her
and fall asleep with her one more time forever.
     He looked about to drink, but didn't.
I got home and sat down, but I heard the dragon in the next room
breathing deeply and snorting fire.
I thought it might stay away this time but it had come back
and it wasn't going to go anywhere.
So I grabbed my biggest kitchen knife and we did battle.
He is so strong, his skin is so tough, and his strikes so fierce.
His blasts of flame burned and threatened to melt my flesh from my bones,
the air I breathed was a hot and choking mass of sulfur.
We crashed throughout the house making a mess of everything
until we were on the rooftop and he lunged at me full force.
I screamed in rage and plunged my knife into his heart.
I staggered back into the house as he quickly died.
     He drank.
Exhausted, I sat down and rested.
But the two-headed snake came back, like always.
It slithered about me, impetuously seeking to provoke me,
hissing and sliding around as it grew bigger and bigger.
I could not ignore it forever,
so I grabbed it below one of the heads and squeezed.
The other head bit me on the wrist, latching on and filling me with poison.
We sat like that for some time
waiting for the other to die.
And that's when you showed up and scared it off, my beloved friend.
That brings us here, to the end of the day, so long as my enemy doesn't 
try to tell me too much before I fall asleep tonight.
     What are you going to do tomorrow?
     He drank and finished his glass.
The same thing.



The bat swoops and wheels and dives in the yard
churning the air with furious wings
voicing slight eeks as it finds its way
snatching bugs from the air
a fearsome raptor in the insect world.

A wraith to you.
Maybe you fear it, or even hate.
Too much talk of rabies and vampires
nocturnal hunters with wings and claws and teeth.
And you may stand and whimper in the yard
as you hear the flap of wings
and the slight piercing of calls
as it darts past you in the blackness.
And as you look frantically for a winged body
it might seem that only when it flits between
the moon and your retina that the bat
ceases to be a phantom for a moment
as it is laid out ever so briefly 
against a night light.
You only trust in that tunnel of vision.

But what you must remember
is that the bat
is always
in the moon.

Black Squirrel

Black Squirrel

I had not seen one in a very long time.
Its color blurring its form and figure
the most undefined of silhouettes
the only shadow on a cloudy day
a smoky cloud of fur trailed by
the swishing tail of black flame
gliding through the grass
weaving through the bamboo stalks
darting along the low wooden fence.

In its dérive it leaps into the lilac tree.
     The mauve flowers are bright in the overcast palette
     and the boughs are wet and black from morning rain
     limbs hanging loosely with full blossoms
     weighted with the water and the matured petals
     the aura of the violet snowflakes in the still afternoon
     subdued vibrancy suspended in the courses of nature.
It lands in the cosmic clouds of the lilac
and its features focus to show clearly the legs and paws
the lithe body long deft tail and the unmistakably squirrel head
all brought into clarity within the purple petals
balancing on the dark and crooked branch.

The inscrutable mystery of an obvious outlier
in a moment was made so clear in the midst
of a complementary beauty.
Crossing through the stillness of the gray landscape
into brighter arms no less welcoming.
Very noticeable.
And totally at home.