Archive for August, 2010

Pouvez-vous imaginer (French translation of ‘Can You Imagine’)

August 19th, 2010

Le Cantique des Cantiques 2:7 (Le Message)
N’incite pas l’amour – et quand tu y es prêt
Mais que serait la poésie sans l’amour.

Pour moi la poésie est comme un journal intime – une évocation des ses sentiments à un temps donné. J’ai écrit ce poème à l’âge de 14 ans et j’essayais alors de comprendre mes propres émotions et sentiments. Certains diraient qu’à 14 ans vous êtes trop jeune pour AIMER. Mais à 14 ans vous n’êtes pas trop jeune pour un chagrin d’amour!
Quand vous êtes jeune vous voulez tout immédiatement et toute attente semble une éternité.
Quand j’avais 14 ans je voulais avoir une petite amie, mais j’ai compris que cela me distrayait de mes études et des plans que Dieu avait pour moi. Mes notes d’école baissaient et je passais trop de temps sur mon portable et sur Facebook et je sentais que Dieu me disait que j’avais tort.
Ce poème est comme une prière adressée à Dieu pour lui faire part de mes sentiments. Je l’ai écrit avec toutes mes émotions – frustration, colère, bonheur et paix. Quand vous le lirez imaginez que vous devez aussi partager tous vos sentiments et émotions avec Dieu.
Je crois aussi que c’est mon meilleur poème, mais il a été le plus difficile à écrire, et je n’imaginais pas de voir, un an plus tard, mes poèmes publiés et mes notes d’école aussi bonnes. Le message est que l’on doit attendre le bon moment. Bonne lecture!

Pouvez-vous imaginer

Pouvez-vous imaginer devoir séparer le bien du mal
Quand tout semblait auparavant si clair?
Pouvez-vous imaginer devoir séparer sentiments et raison
Quand vous pouviez le faire avant de rencontrer cet être si spécial?

Pouvez-vous imaginer d’avoir à décider qui est votre vrai Dieu
Alors que vous le pouviez avant cette rencontre?
Pouvez-vous imaginer pouvoir séparer vérité et flatterie
Alors qu’auparavant les femmes vous laissaient indifférent?

Pouvez-vous imaginer de continuer à respecter les voeux de vos parents
Alors que maintenant vous ne pensez qu’à la couvrir de baisers?
Pouvez-vous imaginer d’obéir à vos parents et à votre Sauveur
Alors que de les ignorer la vie serait plus belle?

Pouvez-vous imaginer connaître l’influence de Dieu sur votre vie
Mais ne pas être sûr de pouvoir toujours en supporter les conflits?
Pouvez-vous imaginer ignorer ce qu’ils vous disent
Et penser que vous avez la force d’apprendre par vous-même?

Pouvez-vous imaginer vous agenouiller et pleurer
Et vous sentir ridicule de penser que Dieu ignorait vos mensonges?
Pouvez-vous imaginer ne savoir pourquoi Dieu vous pardonne toujours
Et savoir que vous devez être prêt à accepter les compromis?

Pouvez-vous imaginer devoir forger votre futur en suivant les conseils de Dieu,
Et de voir soudain tous ces plans balayés?
Pouvez-vous imaginer que tout ce que vous ressentez
Est un fardeau trop lourd à supporter pour un être aussi jeune?

Pouvez-vous imaginer vous demander avec qui repose votre futur
Ne sachant si elle est cette personne, et même si votre coeur lui appartient?
Pouvez-vous imaginer ne savoir d’où viennent ces sentiments
Mais d’être persuadé que toutes vos paroles lui appartiennent?

Pouvez-vous imaginer être toujours maître de soi
Mais c’est elle qui fait renaître votre âme et vous apporte plénitude?

Mais j’ai décidé, et bien que je l’aime, Dieu doit toujours être le premier
Car lui seul peut étancher ma soif.
Je remettrai mon avenir entre ses mains car ses plans sont tracés
Et il fera de moi un homme.

Can you imagine

August 16th, 2010

Can You Imagine?

Can you imagine trying to work out wrong and right,

When it used to be as clear as black and white?

Can you imagine trying to separate your heart from your head,

When before you met that special someone, it was easier to know which one lead?

Can you imagine trying to work out who’s your real God,

When before you met her, it was like the difference between a shake and a nod?

Can you imagine trying to know when to be truthful and when to flatter,

When before she came along, you weren’t interested and girls didn’t even matter?

Can you imagine trying to keep the promise to respect your parents’ wishes,

But now every moment of the day you long to caress her with kisses?

Can you imagine trying to abide by the rules of your parents’ and your Saviour,

While imagining that by ignoring them life would have more flavour?

Can you imagine knowing God’s calling on your life,

But at so many times not being sure whether you can deal with the strife?

Can you imagine thinking you didn’t care what they’d say,

That you were tough enough to learn the hard way?

Can you imagine every time ending up on your hands and knees crying,

And feeling ridiculous for thinking that God didn’t know when you were lying?

Can you imagine not knowing why God always takes you back,

And knowing you should be paying with every bit of slack?

Can you imagine planning out your own future and listening what God had to say,

But over a short period of time like a wind those plans swept away?

Can you imagine thinking that the feelings you feel inside,

Are much too big for a person your age and size?

Can you imagine wondering who your future is with,

Not being sure if she is the one, even if you have all your heart to give?

Can you imagine not knowing why these feelings occur,

But being so sure that your words belong to her?

Can you imagine always having self-control,

But she’s the one who revives your Soul and makes you feel whole?

I’ve made up my mind, and while I like her, God should always come first,

Because it’s God only that can really quench my thirst,

I’ll put my future into his hands, for he knows his plan,

And he shall shape me into being a man.

Ryan Lane 2008

Look inside yourself

August 16th, 2010

Look Inside Yourself

Look inside yourself, tell me what you see
Is it troubled waters or an opportunity?
For God to take control and to prove his might again,
Or is self pride the real root of your pain?
What is it really about; your ego or him?
Who is the real cause, that your light seems so dim?
What’s your main priority?
Is it God or personal glory?
Is He in your daily life or are you missing your role in his story?

At times life proves difficult and impossibility appears to be nigh,
Gone is the hour when you first believed so now you think all you can do is sigh,
But do not ever forget whose child you really are,
Don’t let anyone tell you that your problems stretch too far.
Praying is the art of worship so do it in troubled times,
Because God will always take you back and on the mountain of life you can continue to climb.
Ryan Lane 2009

The Calling

August 16th, 2010

The Calling

Where will I go and what will I do
In the time ahead for me and you
Will I be with someone or will I be alone
Shall I be in control of the life I thought was my own?

Will I still worship God as my king
Or will it just be a past thing
Have I got what it takes to make it through tough times
Or will I then take back the life that I mistook as mine?

Will I ever know God’s calling
The unfailing promise that shall stop me from falling
Will I conform to the pressure of my peers
Drawing away from the Church and to the world getting near?

Will I lie my way through life and never gain the trust
As well as acting on my sinful lust
Will I no longer know the difference between wrong and right
And lose the memory that I was on this Earth to shine a light?

The fact of the matter is no one can tell
If there will be consequences for the times that we fell
But no matter what we said or what we have done
Our sins will always be forgiven because God sacrificed his Son.

(Ryan Lane 2009)

You think you’re so rock n’ roll

August 11th, 2010

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep…… ARGH! Why oh why do I have to get up at bloomin’ 6:20 EVERY MORNING?! I slap my hand on the annoying alarm and take a deep breath. Sometimes I don’t see the point of life, I really don’t. In fact, the only thing keeping me going is the dream of making it big as a guitarist. Imagine that; just a stage, me and my guitar and a crowd full of millions of my fans who are there solely for the purpose of listening to me……. ah…… that just makes the morning seem that little bit less rubbish.

I pull on about the only decent clothes I have: a pair of black and white tattered skate shoes (but I’m not a skater; no way), a pair of faded denim skinny jeans despite having a few holes in them and my favourite “The Ramones” t-shirt. Just as I step onto the landing, I give myself a quick look-over at myself to check I look alright. I have always had quite a lanky build but my shoulders are fairly broad and my legs are very thin which is why Skinny Jeans look good on me (or so I think). The only thing I really don’t like about myself is the way I’m too thin. I wish I was more muscular like other boys at school. I look a complete twit because all of the other boys play American Football so are more muscular, but I’m just very lanky. I run my hands through my long, greasy brown hair, sigh, and trudge downstairs, the dust flying everywhere with each heavy step I take on the old creaky stairs.

Sitting at the small second-hand table, which is covered in Doug’s ash from his cigarettes, is Victoria, Tory for short, and Mom as usual. I don’t normally see Doug until the evening because he can never be bothered to drag his lazy butt down for breakfast time and when he does eventually get up he goes to work and doesn’t come back till late in the evening. I think a tortoise is even more active than him. Anyway, I go to the cereal cupboard, pour out some cereal and empty the rest of the milk onto my breakfast. Quick to find me doing something wrong, Mum jumps on my back quicker than an eagle hunting for its prey. And believe me, Mom’s talons are sharp. “Russell, if you want those flippin’ guitar lessons then you’d better stop wasting all of my money on milk!” Not that it would make a difference, I think to myself. ”There are other people in this family apart from you! Money doesn’t grow on trees ya know!”

“I know, you have told me one million times before” I mutter under my breath.
“Yeah, Russell, money doesn’t grow on trees!” Tory sarcastically says in a boastful manner.
“See, even Tory knows that” Mom replies proudly giving Tory that smug smile that I can’t even remember the last time I got one of those, obviously unaware of the sarcasm in Tory’s voice. Ugh what a suck up. I gulp down my breakfast as quickly as possible in order to get away from this madhouse a.s.a.p. I grab my bag and the “Guns N’ Roses November Rain” CD in a flash before my Mom can give me yet another lecture for some random reason which I can never really understand and I highly doubt I ever will.

She gives me so many telling-off’s I’ve learnt not to care anymore because whatever I do I get in trouble for. I thought that might change when Mom met Doug and he moved in, at least then there would be another man in the house so things could be a bit fairer but I’ve discovered he’s a pretty sad excuse for a man. He’s lazy, arrogant and he only cares about himself. At least when Dad was around he actually helped instead of wasting what little money we have on himself.
As I step out into the sweltering, blazing Texas sun I can see Kelly, my girlfriend, waiting in the distance for me. God, I swear she gets more beautiful every day. I ask myself each day what an angel like her is doing with a tramp like me, because we couldn’t be more different.

She’s rich I’m poor, she’s drop dead gorgeous I’m unattractive (to say the least), she’s well dressed I’m not, the list is endless. As I approach her with the dust and stones kicking out in front of me, I simply admire her perfect figure. The gazelle-like legs which she possesses are long and slender, her waist is quite petite but has a nice roundness to it, and her torso is slender but not stick-thin like some girls. But all of those flawless features can’t even compare to her face. Oh my God, I swear that I could look at it all day long. She has quite high cheek bones and her jaw is fairly square but her eyes are like a deep blue ocean of passion that every time you look into it you feel her wonderful warmth and you don’t want to look at anything else ever again. I think she could be a model one day, and I know for sure she’d ditch me then even though she always tells me she wants to stay with me forever. That’s fine by me but I’m still convinced she’ll change her mind sooner or later. But while I am going out with such a beautiful goddess I don’t care.

I have to catch myself from falling a few times because I’m hypnotized by her pure beauty, but thankfully she laughs the laugh that is the sweetest music to my ears.

As I approach her I notice she is holding the portable CD player which was her birthday present from her parents last year. Today she is wearing denim shorts that are knee length, a figure hugging blue t-shirt which goes wonderfully with her wavy long beach blonde hair, and flip flops. WOW!

“Hello handsome” she says as I approach her. Everytime she says that I think she’s talking to someone else.
“Hello you” I reply sheepishly.
“So what’ve you brought today?” she asks eagerly.
“Guns N’ Roses November Rain if you don’t mind.” I say with my head down knowing I should let her choose what we listen to, because it’s her CD player after all, but she insists I choose. That’s how brilliant she is.
“My favourite” she replies convincingly, even though I know it isn’t. We walk listening to the blasting sound of Sweet Child O’ Mine on our daily trip to school, until after about 15 minutes she turns the sound down and breaks the apparent barrier between us.
“So how’s the guitar going?”

I feel like replying ‘Well it isn’t because my sad excuse of a Step Dad is too lazy and selfish to actually use our money for us and my Mom is such an uptight cow and a pushover that she doesn’t have enough money to pay for my guitar lessons because she feeding the other child, Doug’ but I know that would just upset her. Anyway she shouldn’t have to know what goes on inside my house. “It’s going pretty well thanks. I’m still doing the same old scales and pentatonic”. Although I can’t recall ever telling her about how rubbish my home life is, she answers enthusiastically “That’s really good, Russ, keep it up” as if to keep me going despite my awful life with that affectionate smile that melts my heart every time I see it. “Thanks” I answer attempting to give back the amazing feeling she gives me whenever I am near her. I never come close, but I try. “Seriously, you will make it one day” she adds as if she can feel my pain.

Before I know it we’ve arrived at school and unfortunately I have to come down from sitting on the clouds to face the real world. I grimace at the thought of facing Mr. Stapleton first in Maths, my worst subject. I’m not exactly amazing academically, but with Maths, Mr. Stapleton can tick me off so much I have to restrain myself from punching him in the face. I think I might actually show an interest in Maths if it wasn’t for having him as a teacher. It would be even better if I could somehow break his voice box so I didn’t have to hear his patronising voice every 5 seconds. I feel myself go bright pink as Kelly gives me a kiss goodbye and says “Have a great day”. “You too” I reply with as much enthusiasm as I can summon. Then I hear the much dreaded sound of the bell and groan. It’s unreal how much I can hate just one man with a burning passion.
I walk into Maths, seeing Mr. Stapleton wearing the usual solid-framed specs, trousers pulled up so high it must hurt his crutch, the long yellow tie with the navy blue shirt and the monobrow that is about as bushy as a cat’s backside in the corner of my eye. “Hello Master Wan” he calls across the room.

I reply through clenched teeth “Hello Sir”, my eyes focused on simply getting to my desk. The room is quite small with cream paint which is peeling and old wooden desks fill pretty much all of the space except from where the blackboard is and Mr. Stapleton’s desk is.

“It’s rude not to look at people when they talk to you, Russy Wussy” he adds at the end of his condescending sentence. I feel like turning around to him and shouting in his sweaty red face “Why don’t you tell someone who gives a damn” but I know that will give him yet another reason to pick on me.

So instead I resolve by answering”Sorry sir “even though I don’t mean it. “That’s quite ok” he replies as if he’s doing me a favour by answering my reply. Eventually he stops giving me grief and actually starts doing what he is paid to do instead of picking on me. After about 20 seconds, which is probably a record for me, I switch off and start daydreaming. The dream is the usual dream of me on a stage playing song after song on a lush Sunburst Gibson Les Paul instead of my rubbish guitar which I currently possess. Before I realise what I’m doing I am interrupted from this escape from the real world by the voice of Mr. Stapleton screaming “Russell Wan, will you stop daydreaming and direct your attention to what you come to school for: LEARNING! Look, son, your never gonna make it as a guitarist so wake up and concentrate on something realistic for once while you still have a chance to make something of your life! It’s better to do it sooner rather than later, believe me.

You think you’re so rock n’ roll, but all I see is a lonely kid”. I can’t remember the rest except from the sound of my footsteps on the threadbare blue carpet walking towards him and the sound of his jaw breaking under my fist. “You go to the Headmaster’s office you troublesome brat!” I somehow make out after he has got over the initial shock and he has realised what has been done. It was hard to make out what he said, because the swelling was so big, but I did make it out eventually. “Now!” he adds. Reluctantly I take angry heavy steps towards the office of Mr. Butler, the headmaster.

Oh no, now Mom has yet another excuse to have a go at me. Great!

Ryan Lane 2010

Angie’s comment on “The Right One”

August 6th, 2010

Hi Ryan , loved reading your poem . The words really touched my heart ( shed a tear) . Young or old ,thats the kind of love we hope to find . Bless you 🙂

Can you imagine

August 6th, 2010

Just to let all my French friends know. My poem “Can you imagine is currently being translated into French 🙂