My Only Book

An Anthology of Poems & Prose Penned by a Protestant Poetaster ~With the Best of Inspired Others~


Ponder, Mourn, the Haitian Earthquake

Posted on July 14, 2010 at 11:52 PM Comments comments (0)

                              Haiti’s crying wind blew in yesterday,

                              and un-nerved the souls of America;

                              and blew right thru my own heart-way.


                              Across the blasted rusty mill creek it fell —

                              A tree: already dead, the wind ‘snapped,’

                              and lay it’s splintered torso FLAT.


                              All day each leaden hued face I met,

                              was stunned in look and tones of grief.

                              What else can be said in so sad regret?

                              O pray for the living Haitian’s relief.


                              Tens of thousands of souls are dead,

                              and tens of thousands more  ‘sigh’

                              and ask— “O GOD! Are you dead?!”

                              (How sad to thus mournfully cry!)


                              A tree, if green, stands head erect.

                              It drives it’s limbs heaven-ward,

                              as if light from above calls to direct.

                              A man is a tree, and green—if he elects,

                              but his choices own him and are free.

                              Overall, heaven wills (or not) to intersect.

                             Given to all is the willful choice that’s free.

                              There a man finds his rightful person,

                              and finds equal the STAND of other trees,

                              where most agree God’s “no respecter of person.”

                              So, heaven must judge the ‘created,’

                              and we all (for yea or nay) will agree

                              until ‘sin’ be no more respected,

                              and GOD be seen AS GOD,

                              when all eyes HIM will see.

                              For now one must ponder the dilemma.

                              Was Haite already the deadened tree?

                              So, when her splintered torso lay flat,

                              By the crying wind of yesterday’s deed

                              she answered to her mournful lying rap—

                              “O GOD! You are really dead!”

                              (They awayed His grace, tis the cold-hard fact.)

                              Ponder the thought I’ve now just penned.

                              How many trees snapped before God

                              in that yesterday’s cause of wind

                              — and were they already ‘snapped’—

                              splintered torsos because already dead?!

                              And how many Christians today stand like that—

                              Dead trees, already dead, ready to snap,

                              when the crying wind comes to blow?

                              Who can really really know?

                              The thought is in my own lap.

                              A thought, an idea, can be a tree, but it too

                              Can be already dead, and ‘snapped,’

                              Laying ‘it’s splintered torso flat,’

                              Hence a meaningful image of two

                             (or more, if you’ll think about that.)    


The Otherside of Tomorrow

Posted on July 14, 2010 at 11:08 PM Comments comments (0)

The Otherside of Tomorrow

          What is on the other-side of tomorrow’s edgeless frames

          When recon’d in heart or mind, even unto a soulful disdain,

          As life in its glory grinds down with joyless pain,

          Only those gripped in silent depression must need refrain.

          For on the other-side of tomorrow’s hidden-away views

          We watch the hopes of precious things hearkening to renew

          As death and its disturb-less sleep rises high above the main

          Only these looking faith-wise are poised, divinely sustained.

          But if what is on the other-side of the morrow’s transcend

          We loose all we see or not to mortally defend

          As “dust we are and dust we shall return” (to end)

          And only these “at peace with God” can soulfully remand.

          So patient-await this long other-side of tomorrow’s row

          We cannot ‘one man alone’ his soul save from the foe —

          And it is the mind of a suffering one alone know tis so

          For God himself can alone decide the end of any soul.

          What’s on the other-side of tomorrow’s near-future day

          As we roll the burdens up and down life’s roughened freeway

          Cannot at all end the soul’s repose from God’s eternal rays

          Which gladden the hearts and minds of these he wills away!

          But if on the other-side of the morrow’s edgeless frames

          We beacon all lights and hear the soundful, joyful arrays,

          And find all darkness, clouds, and greys have passed away,

          Then Rejoice! Sing and Praise God the more!

                                        For comes the Eternal Day!  

Romans 14:8,7,9    


O' How Does a Dumb man Pray to the Lord? (In words or not)

Posted on March 17, 2010 at 7:50 PM Comments comments (0)

O’ how does a dumb man pray to the Lord,

with tongue benumbed and heart forlorn?

He sorely groans his grievous sins, until,

Alas, the poor man’s tongue cleaves within!

In his fumbled thoughts he pleads aloud:

Why fill I my mouth with confessing clouds?

Who makes the deaf, or the seeing, or the blind?

Tis the Lord of Creation! Why not Him confide?’


O’ the dumb man opens his tightened mouth,

his soundings rise to the north, they sink to the south.

He utters his complaints and praises unseen.

He mutters and faints with tears a-stream.

The tenses arise in the circles of an oratory,

in a physical depository containing his history,

never ushered out, but crushed with his teeth.

He passes his hours away pleading for relief.

The dumb man’s solace is in words drowned,

in prayers unbroken, reproofs to be found

upon the solitary roof of a toothless round,

in supplicating pleas in all silent sounds.


O’ who hears emanations of a "maimed" creation?

God alone his hope, hears the dumb-ful orations;

the quiet stays upon imaginations all sedentary,

or bold arrays of inspirations all laudatory.


O’ this dumb man cry’s for heaven’s consideration,

is numbed with silence, seeking peaceful cognition,

or pained the same, with sorrows most stirred.

Ah! he holds back his best —a paralyzed word.


O’ God, am I the dumb man because Thou did smote?

Shall a feeble mortal be removed from Thy stroke

knowing he’s consumed by the blow of thy hand---

your love coming forth in rebuke to his inner man?

Can any beauty shine thru aphonic atrophy,

when a maimed in tongue speaks but idiocy?

What glory is there consumes like a moth---

for the vanity arises in every man’s mouth!


Ah, I see it now! Though my tongue’s still numb—

the cause of all who to demon sins have succumbed;

they’re set to the controversy and it’s destruction,

for there is “the sting” of the impenitent corruption!

In silence or out-spoken a man’s words present to testify,

it matter’s not if dumb or orating aloud to self-justify;

each thought’s a word, whether heard or stayed,

and by every word men live—or die un-saved.


So how does a dumb man pray to the Lord?

With tongue all numb and his heart forlorn?

The same as the tongued man prays to the Lord.

It issues from the heart, every thought-word forged.

Every man’s speech whether aural or not,

by the Lord of Glory is evenly heard, fairly sought;

for the JUDGMENT WILL SIT and every soul portray,

the manner minds thought, the actions displayed;

in the deeds done or undone, in the dark or light,

in every word whispered, unspoken, and loudly piped.

Listen, Look, Stop, Think, Confess


And how does the deaf man pray to the Lord?

ALL will be found speechless before the Infinite glory.

Words can’t be spoken at the threshold of that day’s door.

Neither will deaf ears comprehend redemption’s story.


And how does the blind man pray to the Lord?

His eyes are firmly shut but he hears so much more —

He’ll be accountable to things the deaf and dumb

never in their life-time ever once explored.


And how did the bloody-red ESAU pray to the Lord?

With mournful painful grief, crying tears all alone,

he supplicated heaven for help, for divine relief,

yet he was wholly despised—he was rejected in grief.

Think of this...

Has your mouth been the mouth of them who’ve spoken lies?

Well, if that is the case your mouth shall surely be stopped,

and ALL dumb men you shall duplicate—forever set aside,

til the earth be no more and the dust your chosen lot.

And lastly think of this...

These are all things to ponder very seriously about,

for the hours turn to minutes and in seconds ALL will STOP.

The End will come more quickly then men generally have thought.

Every knee shall bow—what words confessed will you have sought?

"And I say unto you, that every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment. For by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned." Matthew 12:36-37

Lawrence Scott

Friend, lately I heard HIM saying...

Posted on March 9, 2010 at 3:41 AM Comments comments (0)

Friend, lately I heard HIM saying...

I've been silent now in My long patient waiting;

for it's because of the holy assembling.

"As it was in the days of Noah’s" boating

very few heeded the final warning,

so the door has been through the closing

and the gathering phase I am now gaining.

Lately I heard the Lowly One, meekly saying...

I choose not to SEE the pain---yet am fainting

in My own divine-human omniscient framing;

please remember My crucifixion, the sacred pavings,

no death of the sinner by sin’s repented washing---

MY BLOOD at the incense altar I AM sprinkling.

Lately I heard Him plainly saying...

If you love Me you’ll keep My ten words or sayings

because OUR commandments are earthly fraying

and I need sons and daughters them a' hailing.

Lately I heard Him straitly saying...

The whole creation is truly crashing and swaying,

awaiting the joining of the alive and remaining---

from the dead to My glorious raising.

Lately I heard Him sincerely saying...

Now ALL is for the specialty of My Holy trainings.

My “called and chosen” few are straining,

in earth’s final travails they are fading,

while all worldly and plagued one’s go on confusing,

hurting, sinning, debasing and wholly crazing.

Lately I heard Him pointedly saying...

There are no more years, but hours for the waiting

to see ME coming in the clouds---heaven fully reigning.

MY angels anxiously watch the signs in the stars celestial

while satan’s evil one’s work his stars of the terrestrial.

Friend, lately I heard HIM marvelously saying...

I’VE heard those who are truly fervently praying,

who meditate upon and believe MY Words!

I’VE heard those who are truly seeking MY SWORD,

above all affections of this "present evil world."

I’VE heard those who are praying and studying Daniel

12, opened to the Revelation [13-19] manual.

I’VE heard those who are seeking to be like ME [JESUS],

resisting the "Mark of the beast" of worldly money Caesars.

I’VE heard those who are lately sighing, crying, and praying,

they are looking away from all men’s worldly wise sayings

and heartily digging down deep into the holy scripture of truth.

I”VE heard those who are lately fervently at work praying,

with tears weeping in travailing supplication almost, mute.

I’VE heard those who love ME more than any thing:

the world, the flesh, sin, and all self’s deathly stings.

Friend, lately I’ve heard Him sharply saying...

Revelation 16's 7 Last Plagues are verily pouring, emptying out,

Believe ME [Jesus,] drawn close, obey, and do not dreadful doubt.

My Psalm 91 protection shadows over My “little children,"

as life is closing by the endurance race for all Bunyan’s Pilgrims,

who receive heaven’s light and direction as My holy brands,

“plucked out of the fire” and with fired faithful love stand,

and stay themselves upon ME, praying without demands.

Lawrence Scott 2010

Life is a Poem [2]

Posted on March 7, 2010 at 4:49 AM Comments comments (0)

Life is a poem filled with lots of candy n' cream n’ butterscotch flavored rum.

Life is a poem for wordy souls who write nonsense and call it sagely wisdom.

Life is a poem filled with darkness n' sadness n’ all mysteries lost in time.

Life is a poem of worldly dread one day at a time, one thread at a time.

Life is a poetic dream in cadences of that or this, n' aromas of this or that.

Life is a poem mounting with sin *"heaped upon heap" next to all forgiving facts.

Life is a poem arising in the artful heart seeking to get heard, seeking to get read.

Life is a poem-ful, come to it’s end

n’ the little or much that is said,

in the little or much that is said.

Lawrence Scott 2010

*Therefore, it is written, "Be consoled, be consoled, my people..." (Isaiah 40:1), and Chazal said, "Just as Israel heaped sin upon sin, so their consolation will come, heaped upon heap." In Masechet Makot (24b) The TORAH Lawrence Scott

"Filled with Metal"

Posted on March 3, 2010 at 6:22 PM Comments comments (0)

{I once WAS!} :roll:

Me head all *be-fuzzed.

Me poor liver sick!

Me poor kidney’s - ick!

{I once WAS!} :dry:

My nerves all bent.

My smile lost, Oh!

My poor head, woe!

I once WAS!...

“Toxic from teeth!”

Now I have NONE!...

What, Sweet relief!!!

T’was all d’Metals!

Amalgams n’ more!

Fake porcelain crowns!

And bridges galore!

I once WAS!...

“Filled with METALS!”

Wherefore? Because...

I trusted my dentists!

They “loved” my teeth!

But alas, were remiss -

“informed consent's sheath” ...

For gross Root Canals

and those vain “Cover Ups”;

Of Silver Amalgam fillings,

For the Golden money cup!

I once WAS!...

“Filled with Metals!”


In your own body,

It's sure to unsettle!

It’s poisons goeth deep

To the cavernous pits;

Where the “ooze” seeps

In “Cavitational” zits.

I once WAS!...

“Filled with Metals”

I’ve the toxins no more,

As my DENTURES settle!


Learn now the lesson!

Don’t be “dental mental!”

Ask your dentist questions!!!

Nay!? It’s extremely detrimental!


Through the Oral Cavity!

Defend IT as your ministry!

Lest you find sickening misery!


[And , O’ - the POST SCRIPT! >

BEWARE the Devil’s new “implants”

Yes, use your witty-wit-wit!

Or in the Grave you he'll IMPLANT!!!]

*be-fuzzed is an invented word.

This poem was written to reflect the sore and painful struggles with dental pains and problems I've had most of my life.

Lawrence Scott

Life is a Poem

Posted on February 21, 2010 at 11:32 PM Comments comments (0)

Life is a poem filled with

lots of candy and cream,

n’ butterscotch tasting rum.

Life is a poem for fools

who write nonsense

and call it “wise.”

Life is a poem filled with

darkness and sadness,

n’ mysteries lost in time.

Life is a poetic dream,

a cadence of that or this,

an aroma of this or that.

Life is a poem full of fun,

"heaped upon heap,"

and filled with fun.

Life is a poem of dread,

one day at a time,

one at a time.

Life is a poem lost,

upon an aching heart,

tossed about “to n' fro.”

Life is a poem-ful,

come to it’s end,

n’ little or much said.

Lawrence Scott 2010