DAD

Back when the earth was newly made,

And man had just breathed in.

Before the devil told us lies,

Before the start of sin.
God walked with Adam and with Eve,

As sun was sinking low.

Within that time He told them much,

So Him they grew to know.
Although the Bible doesn’t say,

What name they called Him then,

I’m sure He said to call Him Dad,

Each time He spoke with them.
A day had barely passed on by,

When sin walked through the door,

And bonds that had begun to form,

Lay broken on the floor.
For years God tried to call them back,

But few would hear His voice.

If not for one, we’d all be drowned,

Because of our own choice.
He came on down in smoke and flame,

To those from Abraham,

And though He parted seas for them,

They would not take His hand.
As years went by, they preferred rules,

And gods from other lands,

And would not even say His name,

Or try to understand.
Then after kings and lands were gone,

But temple was once more,

He came on down in human form,

To let us know for sure.
“My Father,” Jesus did explain,

“Just wants to love you more,

He wants your heart and mind and soul,

But not your rules and law.”
Too few came forward to learn that God,

Just wants relationship.

He wants a Father / child connect,

Not a dictatorship.
But those who flew religions flag,

Hung Jesus on a cross.

They hoped His tale would die with Him,

When He had breathed His last.
But day three brought a great surprise,

When stone was rolled away,

And Jesus rose, with death now crushed,

To show us all the way.
But now, as time for Christ’s return,

Is nearing day by day,

Too many will not call His name,

And cling to their own way.
Too many seek religion’s rules,

Which make their hearts so sad.

Too few are calling out to Him,

As children to their Dad.
© Rod Loader 2017

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Passing Rage

A style of poetry I like to write is, here in Australia, called Bush Poetry. This is poetry about life and events in rural areas.

For my non-Australian friends Wattle and Ghost Gums are Australian native trees.

I hope you enjoy it.

Passing Rage

The Wattle sees storm clouds boil,
As evening time draws nigh.
And colours change to darker hues,
As sunlight leaves the sky.

The Ghost Gums turn from brilliant white,
To pale and frightened grey.
As sunset hides behind the hills,
And takes its light away.

But storm clouds came prepared for dark,
And charge on undeterred.
As blinding slashes split the sky,
Like stockwhips ‘cross the herd.

Then rising deep within the mass,
A rumble grows to roar.
A stampede of ten thousand hooves,
Rolls ’round inside the storm.

As stockwhips strike the earth all round,
To hoof-beats roar reply.
The night-time picks her darkest cloak,
And pulls it tight to hide.

Then on the tail of thunders roll,
Once lightning’s passed on clear.
A million tears fall to the ground,
From sadness for the fear.

As raindrops wash away the pain,
And brings back life once more.
Night-time sheds her inky cloak,
And spreads her wings to soar.

Then starlight watches o’er the earth,
That’s washed clean for the day.
And moonbeams dance among the trees,
In childlike joyous play.

© Rod Loader

Claim

We split the land with barbs on line,
Taking it as our own.
But all our claims are stale old wine,
Poured from a beggar’s throne.

He plant the seed of hate and lies,
Reaping them in our need.
And take a spouse to please our eyes,
Conceived by lust and greed.

We take the gifts of youth and love,
Rolling them with a dice.
And won’t believe that life above,
Must come with such a price.

We dye the grey staining our hair,
Fearing old winter’s sin.
And wonder how we’ll breathe the air,
If Heaven took us in.

© Rod Loader

From The Ashes

The ashes all fall through his fingers as fast as the flames through the trees.
And a lifetime of loving and laughter has gone with the smoke on the breeze.
The air still tastes of destruction and he can’t chase the chill from his bones.
The tears of a man are now falling as he stands in this world all alone

His neighbours can’t come to console him, for they stayed to fight off the flames.
Now police tape that hangs on their boundary, reminds him of all that remains.
Where once strong walls stood around him, now he struggles to see and believe.
But no bones will lie in his ashes.  How he’s thankful he won’t have to grieve. 

He will leave here as darkness approaches, as the sun rests its eyes from the sight.
In the night-time that follows his visit, he will think of what’s wrong and what’s right.
He will talk with the other survivors, to the sorry, the sore and the sad.
And will share with a voice of compassion of those who gave all they had

There is talk in the air of rebuilding, of laying foundations again.
Although his head may be willing, his hearts still gripped by the pain.
But the gifts and the money that’s given, by the many who witnessed the grief,
Comes like rain to the scorched and the thirsty, giving hope as a salve of relief.

He will venture again to his ashes, to a memory of a chapter that’s closed.
And will vow to never be defeated, or to fall under weight of the blows.
He will stand once again at his mailbox, as dust blows across his baked land.
And he’ll claim the ultimate victory, with a vision of a house that will stand.

© Rod Loader