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Wednesday, April 1, 2015

On Remaining Silent

Are only children in our midst
To be seen, not heard?
A child would not blaspheme
Or vilify The Word.

When we become adults,
Within the age of reason,
It might be better to be silent
Than be charged with treason.

But there are those who wait
For you to break your quiet,
Looking for the chance to say,
“Your words have caused a riot.”

Remaining silent is a ploy
That might be all in vain.
The judges wants more than that -
They want what’s in your brain.

    by Benny Bell

lifeslittleverses - © 2015
all rights reserved

Tuesday, March 31, 2015

Jesus Anointed at Bethany - Mark 14:3-9

"Christ at Simon the Pharisee"
Pieter Pauwel Rubens - 1618-20

Those present were so quick to criticize
3. While he was in Bethany,
reclining at the table
in the home of Simon the Leper.
A woman came with an alabaster flask of ointment,
of pure nard, very costly,
and she broke the flask
and poured it over his head."

And they muttered under their breath
4. Why was the ointment wasted like that?

Still not giving rest they took to scolding her
5. For this ointment could have been sold for more than three hundred denarii and given to the poor.

Jesus, His patience tried, spoke out for the others:
6. Leave her alone. Why do you trouble her? She has done a beautiful thing to me.

The Anointed One reminded them of this very fact of life
7. For you always have the poor with you, and whenever you want, you can do good for them. But you will not always have me.

Then He spoke that we wished ourselves to say,
8. She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for burial.

with no better prophesy of the times ahead He said
9. And truly, I say to you, wherever the gospel is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in memory of her.

And it is remembered when Jesus was anointed in Bethany.

by Benny Bell

lifeslittleverses - © 2015
all rights reserved

Monday, March 30, 2015

The Week of Passion

Sit by me my little child
I’ll tell you about The Lord.
He came here to tell us all
Never to live by the sword.

We don’t know much about Him
When He was a lad like you.
Once at twelve He did decide
To preach to a very few.

He grew to be a Young Man.
And led a miraculous life.
Knew the Scriptures well enough
To caused a lot of strife.

His sacred earthly Master Plan
Slowly came to fruition.
In an olive garden of sleepy men
He clearly saw His Mission.

Come close to me my little child,
This is the Week of Passion.
You’re too young to understand
And I’m too old to fashion.

If I’m around another day
And you’re still willing to listen.
Maybe we can both figure out
What it takes to be a Christian.

    by Benny Bell

lifeslittleverses - © 2015
all rights reserved

Sunday, March 29, 2015

Palms on the Wall

A path was paved with palms
The way it would be for a king.
Palms waved wildly in the air,
Oh the rancor it would bring.

The crowd they loved Him so.
Their praise was second nature.
He was the Holy King on earth
With bonds to The Creator.

But stately powers that ruled
Would not have two kings or three.
This open show of love for Him
Did not bring the royals glee.

The Chief Priests huddled,
Awaiting the traitor’s palm
Plucked from the parade path
As if an unholy psalm.

The traitor came to ply his wares
Bartered in exchange for gold.
So many more came after him,
The Holy Story forever told.

Then accounts were written,
Changing the world forever.
Palms on your wall remind you
Traitors are not so clever.

by Benny Bell

lifeslittleverses - © 2015
all rights reserved

Saturday, March 28, 2015

Where Do Dreams Go?

Where do Dreams go
When you wake in the morn?
Do they waft in the air,
Looking to be reborn?

When you pass in the night,
Where do Dreams hide?
Do they linger at the Gate
Thinking you’ve died.

When you pass in daylight,
Where do Dreams sleep?
Do they take to a cloud
Piled in a heap?

Are there Dreams in Heaven?
Are they happier there?
Or is the question moot,
Good only for prayer.

If Dreams are a fleeting
Figment of thought,
Before they take flight
Assure they are caught.

          by benny bell

lifeslittleverses - © 2015
all rights reserved

Wednesday, March 25, 2015


A crumb is on the table
For you and I to share.
We can cut it with a knife
Or toss it in the air.

Below the table is a penny
We can pick to bring us luck.
Honest Abe is on its face
Before things went amok.

A sunbeam on your sandal,
Then upon on your cheek.
Now dancing in your hair
Playing hide and seek.

It will not let me grab it
To toss it in the air.
Crumbs, pennies and sunbeams
Never seem to play fair.

Give me a crumb of bread,
A cent, a sky full of sun.
Your feet, your cheek, your hair.
And believe me I won’t run.

by benny bell

lifeslittleverses - © 2015
all rights reserved

A Thousand Years

I was born to live a thousand years.
It looks like less is enough.
Beyond next year is out of focus,
Thousand yard stares seem tough.

I put my hand through the glass
To touch what was in store.
Felt nothing but green apples
That were rotten to the core.

A thousand years have been
Reduced to angry epistles.
Human lives have morphed
Into random sets of pixels.

Looking back is harmful
To one’s disposition.
History is made for scholars,
The future for sedition.

I drew my hand from the window
Without slitting my wrist.
Then walked down a pathway
With the least sign of twist.

Living a thousand years
Is highly overrated.
For sooner or later
You’ll get aggravated.

by bennie bell – 2015

lifeslittleverses - © 2015
all rights reserved