GOD IS LOVE

The Bible is my Teacher; and the chalk-board, my heart

GOD IS LOVE by Alexander, the great poet!

It is, to any sentient being, versed at all in What it is, a self-evident fact my poems are vastly superior to any random sample selection that may be culled from the innards of some of these federally approved, so-called literature textbooks..surveying bunches of thin, rubber-stamped, multi-culturalistic explorations, by, and for the divers; and geared for use in public education..explaining why mediocrity is great! This is a factual fact. I know it because, of necessity, we home-school and I have the books. But let us not dwell there, but rather, move to investigate the clues as to why I am a poet and not,NOT! a news-journalist..at least not per se. Whereas, in journalism, this thing called news (sigh), one must stick fast to the readily verifiable, the absolute, and the salient dysinformations one is passing along to the ravenous readership’s, without swerving! to the left, nor to the right; in poetry, though, object and subject being indivisible, that is, they are one..one in concept one in truth - poetic truth - and one poet under God (as the case might be).

Truth: I am subject to the laws of God, first; and man a faraway second. True, speaking as a poet, one must occasionally bend rules a little,—eh! a smidgeon, shall we say? this, after all is the nature of the poetry-beast..my gosh! and pounding on the feathers of a gaggle of venerable, tenured academics & professors lurking behind their ivy walls, jig-saw pieces of pseudo-intellectualistic respect & honour, fitted - or FORCED, rather (to be more exact) - in the visor of a new world order coming on fast is one thing, and a thing highly to be desired; but another thing entirely to ruffle the feathers of the Almighty, under Whose wings all are safe through life’s storms,—from drought and temptation, pestilence and death..a mortal tendency to sin. (Psalm 91)

In this, who will call me out? that is, this, my better understanding of literary grandness, counter-balanced in the light of His great love for me, shown when He placed His blood upon me, so that in Him I could be reborn to Life everlasting..set free once and for all from the wages of sin; which is death. (Romans 6)

In any case, school in a sense, nowadays, is death; in every case, for those under the sentence..and a school-teacher, perhaps, the executioner. Death by elocution. Evolve does not once appear in the Bible, the Word..sent by God - did you know it? Like, on the back-side universe of the equation..in a late college-level biology text tied to a smattering of dot-www’s(.gov/dunces) for the new millennium I am now holding in my hand as evidence in support of my claim,—twenty-five cents at a thrift-shop (know what text-books cost these days?), I find no,NO! reference whatsoever appearing in its index, in any form of a word that might percolate in an impressionable mind to bubble-up the sensible idea that we are created beings, created in the image of a creator. Not even a ‘create’ or ‘creation’ appears in its pages..not ‘genesis’ as in the genesis of a thought, or an idea..or indeed, a species; as though some uncanny force were unrestrainedly at work to blot out any hint of Jesus, and the faith of Him, with the motive to bar His entering in a class-room discussion and overturn best-laid plans for our eternal destruction; and damnation..for from the beginning he was a liar, a murderer, and a thief. He even tried to deceive and trick the Son of God, Who IS God. Beware of false teachers! for many shall come in My Name..(Matthew 24)

Thank you, Jesus, for the victory! all honor, power, and glory to you!

While a poet is yet on this earth, he may glory in his own dictums; or share in God’s riches: “The LORD is my shepherd..” spreading abroad the things that are of God, for the salvation of many..be a winner of souls. Poetry and purpose, then, becoming one..prosaic words pretending; but inspired words given in earnest from the heart..upon my word, a firey sword,—this then, is the poet’s true calling, his job..opportunity to call to order that which was in disarray; to seek the lost that’s went astray. Nothing else more or less matters. Of a truth, what could be so exceeding precious to hold in one’s arms, but a sheep which was lost, and is now found? (Matthew 12)

For now I am here; and when I reach heaven, I will be in my true home school. Until then, the Bible is my Teacher; and the chalk-board, my heart. (Proverbs 3)
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By Chris Robinson