Category Archives: Poems

It Is Quite A Mystery (poem)

It is quite a mystery
Why He bled and died for me.
Why from heav’n to earth He came,
All to take my sin and shame.

And not only did He take
My sin and die for my sake,
But He also made me be
Righteous before God, as He.

Now He as I, and I, He.
This is the great mystery.
One with Him forevermore,
Makes me wonder why? What for?

Why would He give up so much
To become a filthy wretch?
And why give me all for free,
All the stuff of royalty?

What He says is pretty clear,
If you have the ears to hear.
Love for us is why He came;
To the glory of His name.

For greater love hath no man,
Than He who came by the plan
Of the Father, and who gave
His life for my soul to save.

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This Life Is Like A Wedding Cake (poem)

This life is like a wedding cake;
It’s all thought through before you bake.
And every detail must be right
Or one mistake could kill the night.
But then the wedding roles around
Where everyone is gathered round
And no one seems to care at all
Or even notice one small flaw
About the cake, which was before
Examined so intently for
The proper look, and feel, and taste,
Even the texture of the paste!
But now the guests don’t seem to care;
They eat it the thing with joy to spare.
The bride and groom, and the planner,
Even they have lost the manner
They once displayed about the cake,
Which now they all at once forsake,
And act as though they never cared,
About the cake or how it fared.
Yet if they’d known that what they feared
Would come to pass (the cake was smeared!)
They surely would have raised some hell
And moved both heav’n and earth as well,
To guarantee the perfect sight,
To make for sure the cake was right.
And so it is with what we see
In life and sociology.
The thing performed is not the same
As what was planned before the game.
Yet those around don’t seem to care;
They only know of what is there
Before their face and all the rest,
So just get up and do your best.

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Come To Me My Savior Said (poem)

Come to me, my Savior said

Lift your eyes and lift your head

What you think needs help or care

It won’t last, don’t waste a prayer

 

But what about this thing right here

This, He says, is it – draw near

This is the thing that matters most

Forget your lot, your mind, your boast

 

My Glory, son, matters most of all

In this pursuit you’ll find your call

Perhaps your lot may fall in line

But only here will you be mine

 

And so it goes, the toil of life

So much confusion, so often strife

But in the end, it matters not

Forget your self, your life, your lot

 

There’s another story being told

Of Creator God, the One of old

Of time and space, the universe

Of a garden rich, but then a curse

 

Of an evil world, destroyed in wrath

Of a remnant saved, a glorious bath

Of a man called out, by faith traveled west

Of a family through whom all will be blessed

 

Of bondage and slavery, captive then free

Of law from the mountain, of sorrow and glee

Of a king who ruled, mighty and just

Of wisdom and wealth, of fairness and trust

 

Of a man born lowly, in a dirty cattle stall

Of a servant by choice, the Lord of all

Of Satan and demons, temptation and strife

Of water and blood, of beauty and life

 

Of the Spirit Himself, here now with us

Of grace and mercy, of One who is just

Of a people called out to reflect His glory

Of a God who saves, this is the story

 

So in this life, whenever you get down

Consider His glory to remove your frown

Not that your problems will just go away

But by pondering Him, they lose their great sway

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God of Wonder, Love and Might (poem)

God of wonder, love and might;

In this hour be my delight.

Search and know me, through and through;

Move my heart to worship you.

God in flesh, the Word made man;

Be to me the great I Am.

By your death, my death you beat;

Let me be your hands and feet.

Holy Spirit, strong and true;

Fill me up with only You.

Take from me all selfish pride,

Let me in your love abide.

Abba Father, up above;

Grant me now your peace in love.

Take each thought, my mind renew;

Captivate it all to you.

Now to the great Three in One:

Father, Holy Spirit, Son.

Til that day when all is right,

Let us only trust Your might.

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To Poetry My Newfound Love (poem)

Here’s something I wrote a couple weeks ago.  I read it in Little Rock & Hot Springs.

To poetry,

My newfound love.

Sent down to me,

From up above.

 

You far surpass my time with prose,

In helping to defeat my foes.

In you I find a peace of mind,

The kind I cannot leave behind.

 

When up I feel empow’red to share,

My optimistic soul laid bare.

When down you give a warm safe place,

From which to vent and hide my face.

 

You let me play with words again,

And bring me back where I began,

To where I first found love of pun,

Before I’d met my friend, John Donne.

 

For poetry is real to me,

With paradox and irony.

Like simple truth conveyed in words,

Yet patterned after singing birds.

 

Sometimes a crow, that wretched noise.

As if alerting all the boys,

To some new meal or hawk to fight,

Now show some courage, prove your might.

 

At other times a lonely sound,

As if a dove were to be found,

Behind these lines of rhyming verse.

Where ev’ry turn reveals a curse.

 

Yet here’s the one true poet bird,

Above all others, she is heard.

Observing well, she makes her call.

The mockingbird, the best of all!

 

Taking what she sees in culture,

Loudly she proclaims her sculpture.

At other times she just don’t care,

Mocking all with pomp and flare.

 

Yet don’t ignore her chosen words,

For even though from other birds,

They come to her by her own choice,

And in this way she finds her voice.

 

She doesn’t mock to scorn or hate,

But for a larger point to make.

In mixing words in time with rhyme,

She feels set free and in her prime.

 

So when you hear, to get the gist,

You must observe each subtle twist.

For even words you’ve heard before,

Her mouth may make to mean much more.

 

Now let me speak just one more time,

To this love of rhythm and rhyme.

To the queen of complex notion,

Who sings aloud with pure devotion.

 

To Poetry, I’m glad we’ve met.

I think our love may blossom yet,

Into the sweetest smelling rose,

Much sweeter than forgotten prose.

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