Yehsus

Surely… I tell you…

today—

I am with Yehsus,

in Paradise Unlost—

always…

to the very End
of Not Yet.

I tell you…

today—

not one day;
not if I pray:

now, in my madness;
now, in my sadness;

in my badness—

now, in my gladness;
today…

I am with Yehsus.

Yeh!
HE-IS!

Yes, He was…
and yes, He will be…
but so too, He is—I-AM…

HE-IS.

…now!

...with me.

Yehsus…

HE-IS… saves.

not me—
not if I plea—
HE!

HE-IS He
who saves
my very me!

—

He does.

He has.
He is.
He will.

…and still—
today—
this very “will”—

He saves.

I am His…

In Paradise Unlost…

In this world of cost—
in this hostage impost—
in these tears appearing—

…He is here.

In this Holy of Holies—
in this Eden rebreathing…
it is reappearing…

His garden…
before me—
in my waking bed—

just as He said…
He is with me… now!

Always.

not “more” days—
not “if-I-don’t-ignore” days—

in all ways;

on the sore days;
on poor days;

He is the one who prays.

—

always.

in my foibles…
in my failures…
in my faithlessness…

and in my fractures…

I am with HE-IS!

To the very end…

the End of Not Yet:

this pretending will stop;
this bemoaning will cease…

My being will be peace!

and this world, unwounded—
though now unseen…
already, “it is finished!”…

…because the End is Him—

it is Him!

HE-IS already Him.

Surely… I tell you…

today—

I am with Yehsus,

in Paradise Unlost—

always…

to the very End
of Not Yet.

---

Postscript

“Yehsus”:

“Yeh” evokes Yehoshua (often shortened to Yeshua), meaning YHWH saves, linking it to the divine name YHWH

(Yeh being a theophoric prefix from YHWH) = HE-IS.

“sus” retains the recognisable ending from Iesous, grounding it in the familiar name Jesus = YHWH saves (from yasha / shua); that is, HE-IS saves.

The full shape “Yehsus” invites the hearer or reader to pause and reflect—and carries the meaning:

HE-IS saves.

My gnoxic gnoggen

Bother me bored!

I'm as bored as a board.

But I can't be moored:

I'm a bore with a LORD!

But bother bemoan!

My bothered bucked teeth!

Beneath my block:

My empty sock!

I’m a barracouta;

I’m a total goose!—

All my cookies,

are on the loose!

We need to move!

Stop sitting around!

You dinkum poop!

Stop running aground!

And use the skoop—

You party flute!

My goodness me!

I'm a factory!

Without trickers or treats;

without picnics or beats—

no beats with a rhyme;

no rhyme with a rhythm!

But this treason of boredom,

doesn't reason me a snoredom!

My gnose won't goes;

like my hoes won't suppose!

My gnows that my knows,

that my gnosis is gnoxic!

My nose won't propose,

what my soul won't dispose.

But dingle bats and bottom flies!

My fried and flappy fat,

in my tubby tanned thighs!

Remnant

Come out!
I’m not asking,
—you who have ears to hear.

The Glistening Green

Her pain sings in window stains,

Framed by tears of lead-glass pain,

With colours red as well as blue,

Over greens and white with golden dew.

UFObjectilists—and UFObjectifists

The universe is the UFO—
the UnFoiled Oh!
That’s what we know:
the UFO as the universe
is what’s proposed—
an UnFolding O!
(as in, zero). 

Inclusion is Exclusion

Silly Sod said to Blinky Bill,
"Let’s exclude exclusion."
Blinky Bill said to Silly Sod,
"First include illusion."
Said Silly Sod to Blinky Bill,
"That would be allusion."
Said Blinky Bill to Silly Sod,
"Exclude then my intrusion."
Silly replied to Blinky,
"Everyone excuses a Koala, Billy,
if they blink and nod!"

Becky Ann

Intro:
| G | C |
Who are we when we always change;
| Em | D |
What are we when we don’t remain?

This Man

Joseph Rex of Tasmania,
son of Kevin Wayne,
and Susan Joan,
of Hobart Towns,

on this Day of all days,
do you take this man—

Jesus Rex of Nazareth,
seed of Abraham,
descended from David,
offspring of the Holy Spirit,
born of the virgin Mary,

Dozens & Doesn’ts

A dozen doesn’t equate to 12—
don’t be absurd; it is only a word.

In the Finishing—And in Beginning

It was time:—

There were heavens:
space and heat and gas—

There was earth:
solid matter and mass—

There were waters:
molten deeps and seas—

There was time:
to create and finish and make complete:

---

No The in Beginning

The Beginning did not occur;

nor is it Written within the Word—
that there is no the “In Beginning”
means God began with His Own Being.

The Word and Order—From Before Day One

Of Genesis—as Literally Begun

In beginning,

Elohim creates
the heavens,

and the earth.

And the earth is
waste and emptiness,

and darkness is
on the face of the deep,

and fluttering is
—on the face of the waters—
Spirit of Elohim.

On the Hole—Of the Whole

In the hole,
in the whole,
there was something;

Behold:—
not untold,
not unsolved,
not a Hobbit in a home—
older than hills.

It was there,
and is there still—
more ancient than old,
staring us cold—

If the whole there be,
and its hole unfold.

Of Womb-worm and Her Work

It became what were words;
like tape worms in a person,
and poison to the brain—
and Womb-worm I name her,
and she worked like disdain.

Pray thus

Our Dearest Dad above;
My Abba Father God—

Who in the heavens
Your Name is feared—

Above all,
may Your fame be
yet more revered!

Nothing

Something is upheld by nothing.
All of matter is empty space;
Even the minute minuscule of matter we call particles of mass
Are no more than mere drag nets on moments of change
In a field of vacuum energy;
This is the quantum reality.

Satori Dear

My Dearest Satori,
It was so sweet to meet you;
I was so glad to greet you.
I am now sad to leave you;
I still seem to see you—
and still tend to flee you.

Dear my dear

A new year appears.
May this day, may this year;
May this world and its fear—
Its lives and our minds,
Its people of all kinds,
Be new; be made new—
Renewed in its hope,
Fulfilled in all joy,
Flooding our minds
With the love of our lives.

I Understand—What It Means

All of it.

The ground bleeds, pouring—feeding the hungry seas;
Draining like semen, seeding their fertile ovum.

They dance drunk on the blood of the mountains,
Foaming, frothing at the mouth—even as they conceive,
And their womb, pregnant once again,
Rolls, kicks, and leaps for joy.

Feast

Feast, my dear Lord, on my rotting flesh;

My putrid decay, my stenching corpse.

Pray, pulse me with maggots as I lay,

Leaking sin, staining this pure, pure spring.

I'm Robbed

I've been burgled by two—no, three.

Three women looted and plundered me.

They took not what I had—I gave.

They took me, and took me, depraved.

Why worry?

Beyond belief—

Beyond knowing, and knowledge not trust,

God is—our God.

Nothing is, there is nothing we can do,

But by Him, and through Him, and to Him.

Will I?

I am not. Nor am I. Or am I?

Who am I? Who will I be?

Or become? Will I come?

I never am. We never are.

The distance

One.

One is what we call the distance

between nothing and the first—

the first of something, anything,

before the one that comes next.

Thine

Taylor, Hudson, I longed to be. 

His work, the weight, I sought for me. 

A heavy yoke, I wore; not free, 

Until I saw his rest in Thee. 

The Crux and the Chrysalis

Meaning is excruciating. Reality is crucified.

The pain, "the Scroll of Life of the Lamb Slain," before the world came, is plain in existence.

Existence is suffering. Death is destiny.

Resurrection is written in blood, "in the blood of the eternal covenant".

Solochosis

Like a gelded brumby, I fence-pace and spend long hours staring into the corner of this well-trodden mind.

I am captured and separated from my undomesticated kind.

Soul’stice roots

This wet winter soul’stice, drenched by this incessant dripping; torrential memories of a million moments lost: the company of companions I used to hold, not dear enough; new acquaintances without the notice nor need to want us.

Droubt

I'd unknow water writer bout

I done no war to right a droubt

Inexplicable

I am a raft on the dark wading for land

I am adrift in this rift trying to plan

I row in my hope making a way

On a draft that parts where I hold no sway

Two Tails

Mickey Duck was dux of luck, with a head of ears and size.
His shorts of extroverted red, and yellow boots, were prized.
His gloves of white were cleaned at night, much like his feathered back.
His Big Black Book and iconic look brought cheers from zealous eyes.

Dollatry

Eye doll a tree that seeming wise

Is good for life and pleasing eyes

I know it good inverted vile

Evil in virtue I defile

With A Little Help From Hattie

What would you think if I wrote out of rhyme?

Would you stand up and walk out on me?

Lend me your ears and I'll write you a poem

And I'll try not to verse absent-lee...

Forgone

I dreamt of a home with a wife and a cot

I knew of no host with strife and a lot

I longed for a house with a love and a knot

I knew of no hole with a life and a clot

Tribulation

Got to go down to turn and go up

My roller coaster no people line up

The remnant will fall about-face and refine

The test of the gold is the fire unkind

Yusuf

Something's not right, though it's more than a thing

Some things aren't right, though there are more than just some

This thing's got tight, though it's more than a sting

These things can't shiet, though there are some that just did

Sedimentary

Envy the bodily igneous

Born of red and river rock
I'm no island black or genius
They weighty wear with hardened care

Dirt

The dust does not know
Though it desires to grow
The stone that will be
Or the sand by the sea

Chide

I'm not the poet, I am a poem

Loan behold I'm bought and sold

It's old to me this poetry

Mystery hides what history abides

I resign

Waking in a wake

Walking to a wave

Weeping in a lake

Waiting on a lathe

Alex Graham McNulty

Alex-amber Rock-stone 

You stopped me with a start

I saw your name upon a bench

Without your beating heart

You-vee

Sunfalls on my balding skin

Soothing my autumn May within

Thinning idly away I be

Viz. visibly vis-à-vis me

Property

I feel my fingers fiercely

Folding, clenching tight

On naught besides myself

And these fists full of fright

What’s her name?

I walk beside my quiet brook 

And look and see what shapes she took 

Her movements shift each moment’s grace 

Each nook and bend, her peace and pace 

The Eel-Eagle One

It is not told that in after days

When of olde YHWH God made the heaven

And it is not written that following the beginning

And its seven

When began the rest of which all creatures sang—

Drowning Potsherds

If I pot this precious potoroo

Drenched it is with tears

Will this cursed ground release it

In the Jubilee of Years?

One Sol

I missed my midday Summer skies

In the noon-grey of my long Julys

When days stopped short and dark dragged on

And I'd stay yet hide, though my leaves had died

Joe-Peep

Papa Joe-peep has missed his sheep

And doesn’t know where to mind them

Make a new home and stay not alone

Awaiting their turns beside them

River Time

No sorries. No worries

Just joeys. Just Chloe's

It’s okay. It’s today

Tomorrow’s past will never last