G-Poppers … July 20th, 2018

G-Pop was nine years old when Bobby moved into the village and started attending the little elementary school.

At first the parents thought he might be a Negro, since he had skin a couple of shades darker, and curly hair. But on careful inspection and tracking down some details, it was confirmed that he was Italian. This allowed him to be suitable for playtime and interaction.

But Bobby was different.

He wasn’t like all the scared children from our burg who were frightened to death to displease the grownups who held the key to play-time and candy. Bobby didn’t care.

When the teacher came into the room, the rest of the students fell silent–like attending a funeral. But Bobby just kept chattering, glancing up at the teacher and smiling back at all the other terrified third-graders.

He was the same way during recess. He played hard, rough and mean. But at the same time, he was sweet-talking to the girls, so they liked him. In no time at all, he developed a reputation among the teachers, staff and some of the parents of being a brat.

Yes. Bobby the Brat.

What concerned them most of all was that there seemed to be a breakdown of discipline across the board–because other students began to feel the liberty to be curt, selfish and overly aggressive.

There was so much pressure on Bobby that when the time to begin fourth grade rolled around, he was gone. His parents left town.

Bobby the Brat had departed, so things went back to being orderly. Even though we all denounce the blandness of being orderly, disorderly comes with a nastiness which spews out poison which has been deposited in our “mad hole.”

Yes. All God’s children got a mad hole.

It’s a space deep inside where we stuff all of our frustration, misgiving and prejudice, thinking it’s a garbage can–but really, it’s just a container where our bigotries decay.

And then one day, we reach a point of rage when this poison is vomited out of our mouths.

It’s a mad hole.

It’s never cleaned out–ignored.

People try to freshen it–try to put a lid on it, so to speak, but as long as it exists, it will eventually erupt.

G-Pop wants his children to know that the truth is, you can’t get provoked unless you’re already pissed.

Nobody pissed you off. They just provoked you until you finally spilled all the putrid contents of your mad hole.

Often all it takes is for Bobby the Brat to come along and tease us with the notion that we aren’t crazy and we should speak out our stupidities loud and clear, for everyone to hear.

So we do.

Civility dies, kindness is mocked, being nice is deemed weak and the only distinction we have seems to be in the horror of our mad hole.

Mad hole

In my soul

Take it in

Make it sin

First the hate

Of your fate

Rots your brain

With things insane

It’s begun

Load your gun

Me against you

Us against them

Don’t wonder if it’s true

Repeat it again

Mad hole

Leaves a space

For me to despise

The human race

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PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant … June 20th, 2018

 Jonathots Daily Blog

(3709)

Fly Girl

by Jonathan Richard Cring

I want to apologize to you

For feeling so sorry for me

It’s just that everything is new

Not used to being free

 

Do I enjoy feeling pain

So I can nurse the sore?

Flirting with a hurtful insane

Sitting in the dark on the floor

 

Do I understand I was wrong

Remember the twist in my mind?

I finally feel like I belong

With a heart, generous and kind

 

My hands are strong

My mind is clear

It took so long

To calm my fear

 

Yet I yearn for grace once again

Embarrassed to feel so weak

At the mercy of my lingering sin

Still inheriting with the meek

 

As a girl I dreamed of flying

Across the sky, crystal blue

Lying, sighing, trying and crying

A seeker without a clue

 

Lord, give me wings like a bird

So I can finally see

The beauty of your heart and word

And all your love for me

 

Fly… fly… fly

Try… try… try

Fly girl.

Our guest reader is Angy, entrepreneur, wife, mother of two daughters, from Fort Lauderdale, Florida

 

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PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant … February 14th, 2018

 Jonathots Daily Blog

(3583) 

Hand of Love

Music is how I heal my heart

When my soul can’t touch my brain

Mercy is what I grant to you

To escape from going insane

Grace is the hand of love

Caressing what’s condemned

The law, drenched in kindness

Ready to amend

Laughter, the way I dry my tears

Compassion the pathway, allay my fears

Faith my only substantial hope

To bolster my trust, learn to cope

This morning I continued my personal story

Another day blessed this side of Glory

Do this, do that, do nothing at all

Catch my breath, cushion the fall

Inhaling the truth, made so free

Find my peace

With me…then thee.Donate Button

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PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant … October 5th, 2016

 Jonathots Daily Blog

(3085)

pohymn-if-i-think-i-be

 If I Think, I Be

In the beginning God created

Shortly thereafter, we mated

To birth our little tykes

With likes, trikes and bikes

We teach a gentle platitude

To counter their nasty attitude

Hoping to become one

A family having fun

But busy they are with the school

Treating us like the doddering fool

They possess all the things

Suburban living brings

And stare at a screen

We pray it’s not obscene

As the time doth truly pass

They grow like weeds in grass

But refuse to mow the lawn

Occupied from dusk ’til dawn

We wait for a while

Just to view a little smile

And yearn for some chatter

The subject doesn’t matter

Then one day they are grown

Launching on their own

Will they make a courtesy call,

Showing care for us at all?

Or retreat to romantic meditation,

To pursue their own procreation?

Yea, the cycle is kept alive

So our species can survive

Yet here we are, your founders

Time slips away, then flounders

But complaining is a tumble to insane

Unleashing grim ghosts and clogging the brain

Therefore if I think, I be

And this be–is truly me.

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PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant … August 17th, 2016

 Jonathots Daily Blog

(3036)

PoHymn The Cost

The Cost

Ferocious mini-mongols

Topple my waning empire

Soggy dreams of nonsense

Dripping, can’t catch fire

Blinded eyes, hear the scream

Enlightened words, swell the dream

Cankered sores, leprous pain

Sense the brain become insane.

Sucking swill, peace be still

Lie in wait for my fate

Scattered pins across my mind

When I seek what will I find?

Scared to life, a deadly threat

Cast my lot. place my bet

Woven within the tapestry

A golden thread of what is me

Yet frightened to lose my sense of will

Listening for comfort, bombarded by shrill

Colossal failure, limited success

Cleaning the cup, leaving a mess

Precious is not the price, you see

But rather, the cost in evolving me.

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Jonathan’s Latest Book Release!

PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant

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PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant … January 20th, 2016

 Jonathots Daily Blog

(2819)

PoHymn Jan 20

Plain Joe

Plain Joe awoke today

Went to earn his pay

Finding what he can

To become a better man

Avoiding the nasty fray.

But others push on Joe

To join the to-and-fro

And believe the common thought

Purchase what they’ve bought

And get inside the flow.

Yet Joe is a me

A creature who is free

To use his blessed brain

To avoid the furious insane

And find who he can be.

But pressure comes to bear

As the bullies never care

What path Joe might choose

Disagree and he will lose

A chance to be treated fair.

So Joe learns his cues

Although he gets the blues

He laughs extra loud

With the crudeness of the crowd

Hoping for better news.

Then one day he’s laid off

With nickels and pennies, he’s paid off

Left without the job

Separated from the mob

Stuck with his meaningless trade-off.

What will it prosper the Common Joe

To gain approval, then lose his dough

Stuck with a soul he didn’t make

Feeling like a stupid fake

With no place left to grow.

So Joseph made a decision

To escape the bigoted division

And join the human race

Allowing the smile upon his face

To

Shine

Yes

To

Shine

 

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Me, Shelled from the Nut … February 9, 2012

In Houston, Texas

(1,419) 

 

I am as old as I am willing to learn

I am as young as I choose to believe

I am as wise as the width of my heart

I am as smart as the depth of my brain

I am as talented as the level of my use

I am as loving as the vacating of my fear

I am as attractive as I decide to attract

I am as ugly as I persist to repel

I am as giving as I am grateful for what I have

I am as funny as I relax to laugh

I am a worker as I discover the cause

I am lazy as I resort to “because…”

I cry as I feel the pain

I rejoice as I reject the insane

I whisper as I need to be heard

I shout as I ascend to the housetop

I am secure as I build on the rock

I am nervous as I feel the sand beneath my feet

I am American as I grant freedom to others

I am Christin as I search for Jesus

I am Godly as I comprehend His humanity

I am human as I see my possibility as Godly

I am at my best as I escape the rut

I am me, shelled from the nut

**************

Jonathan wrote the gospel/blues anthem, Spent This Time, in 1985, in Guaymas, Mexico. Take a listen:

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