To begin is to hear
the crunch of sneakers against morning dew pavement
to spread good like misty perfume and
carry joy as an anchor and paddle
a moment is the sum of action and intention
where our hearts rest, is where we will wake up
place a few alarm clocks within the boxes on your calender
this way of living needs a tune up
to change is to rip out and regrow
deep roots are chains
a new beginning is the lines on our fingertips
always there if we look close enough.
-n.J.bellacicco
@njb.poetry
Three years ago, my book of poetry “Pouring Echoes” was released.
Here is a poem from my book:
be broken.
don’t be a working vending machine
where people give to you, so you give to them.
be a broken vending machine.
the kind that spit out change from the bottom
for no reason.
be that.
-n.J.bellacicco
Check out Pouring Echoes on Amazon!
I looked under the rocks but found nothing there
I looked beneath the sea and through the ocean air
I searched the tree tops and across the jungle floors
I searched the wheat covered fields and behind wooden doors
I went into new towns and across state lines
I walked for miles and miles and saw no signs
I ran marathons in all different directions
I scoured my memory for any recollection
I rowed across lakes and from river to river
I climbed icy mountains and was filled with shivers
I made it through dark caves and volcanos ready to burst
I crawled through deserts dying of thirst
Then one day I felt hope no longer
My legs gave out, my lungs no stronger
I could not look anymore, time to give up the fight
The world told me I was crazy, maybe they were right
I sat still for the first time in years, and listened to the sound
Of Him who was always with me
And never needed to be found.
-nJb
The sweat is pouring down your back. You feel like the fight is never going to end. One minute you think you have it pinned but a second later you are trying to break free. You break out of the choke hold but a minute later you are caught in it again. You fling it off of you and run as fast as you can to the edge of the ring. You tag out by tapping His hand. You slide under the ropes. You walk passed the stands. You leave the arena.
And never look back.
Why?
Because He will handle it.
In life we are all fighting something. This is your “it.” I don’t know what it is but I know you have an “it.” It may be a bad habit. It may be a sinful desire. It may be struggles with anxiety and depression. It may be a painful past. It may be a fearful future.
The reality of this fight is you cannot win by fighting. Weird right. But, isn’t that how victories happen? When the going gets tough keep fighting?
The fact of the matter is you are too weak to fight. You need to tag out. In “tag team” wrestling there is another fighter on your team. You have given it your all but unfortunately its just not going to work. The opponent is just too much for you. But you have your Teammate waiting. You have Christ’s outstretched hand. The same hand that picked Peter up as he sunk into the stormy sea. The same hand that lifted up bread and wine and gave you His body and blood. The same hand that was pierced for your sins out of love for you. The same hand that cured the blind and raised the dead.
What are you waiting for. Tag out of the fight. Look to your Teammate.
Tell Him, “Jesus You will Handle this.”
And leave the arena. You don’t need to watch. Leave the arena.
And you may need to do this everyday. You may need to do this every five minutes.
But eventually you won’t go back into the ring.
You will find someone in the parking lot, and tell them all about the fight your Teammate is winning inside.
Why do I ache deep
And love weakly?
Why do I carry the rain
Like drooping petals
Where are my hands;
lassoed to my chest.
God is right here.
And there
And here.
Yet, I see only my mind.
a child on the teeter toter of
Guilt and Hope
Trusting in Him, sandpaper,
my soul a rusty maple.
-nJb
Check out my book “Pouring Echoes” on Amazon!
I was born a Sunday man
with a Church bell in my soul
and a steeple coming from my chest
a journey to God’s house in each step
my voice drowned by angel’s choir
I remember the way I used to be
before taking part in His Supper
before allowing myself
to rest easy in the pew
I was a shaky man
a child tossed by the tide
a kite thrashed by the wind
It took time for the ink of the Book
to tattoo itself within my mind
to bury itself into the marrow of my actions
Sometimes I find myself hit by the tide
with my face dragging along the shore
shrapnel of shells causing me to bleed out
a bit of the Sunday man
But I am unafraid
I am not timid anymore
Because I was told not to be
And all humility rests in obedience
So as the people flood in
to praise God for all that is
I give God who I am
For He will make me a Sunday man.
-nJb
I used to pray for a path
that made sense to me
I used to pray for a road
that only I could see
I used to pray for a future
where I would be free
Now I pray for the way
that leads me close to Thee.
-nJb
Follow my poetry account on Instagram for more @njb.poetry
If I had 60 seconds left here is what I would say. I have my stop watch ready.
3…….2…….1…….go
Strive to make this world a better place for everyone. Look at the stranger in the eye. Hold the hand of a friend. Let the world know you care more than they think you do. Never quit. Always remain in zeal. Strive to show the world of the presence of God. Live to love.
and….60 seconds is up.
I encourage you. Time yourself for 60 seconds.
See what words spring from your heart.
