Poetry

I had a professor in college who appreciated poetry more than any other person I've ever met.  He said that poetry is "the best words in the best order."  Not saying I'm a natural Frost, Dickinson, or Hughes, but I have written a few poems in my day.  I'm not sure why, but I felt like I should post some of them today.  So--here they are.  Disclaimer:  Poetry analysts can shove their criticisms up their butts.  I already told you I'm not a professional.

The Process

What do you do when you feel out of place,

like the seasons have left you behind?
That there are blessings deserved and promises made,
But some that you still can't quite find?
Postponing and patience and waiting,
the lessons you thought you had learned
are present and ever reminding
of some things which you thought you had earned.

What do you do when the challenge or choice

is something you don't understand?

When you don't feel the guidance or loving support,
Yet you've prayed and done all that you can?
Confusing and empty and lonely,
Wandering around as one mentally blind.
Is it righteous to act without knowing
the consequences or results you might find?


What do you do when you're striving
to serve and to make the world right?
When your back, from the pressure, is breaking
and you're running out of that internal light.
Blessings and justice and mercy,
knocked off balance like an out-of-tune song.
Beginning to consider telling the Lord how
His purposes and placements are wrong.


Shallow is the heart without trouble.
Selfish is the untested soul.
It's best that we live and face trial
as the Carpenter builds to make whole.
Breaking and tearing and mending,
with His skillful and crucified hand.
And so the faithful will let Him continue,
until they've become as “I am.”

Attributed to Him
I’ve never tried to move a mountain,
Never tried to calm the sea,
But I have tried to move myself
And calm the storms in me.


For life and time have come to show
That I don’t always get my way,
But patience shows that there’s a purpose
When I wait and grow and pray.


It’s obedience that keeps me happy
Knowledge that sets me free
It’s virtue that guides my choices
To be who He needs me to be.


It’s faith that keeps me moving
And it’s charity that heals.
It’s diligence to walk His footsteps
To feel a part of what He feels.


I’m not saying that I’m perfect
Or never doubted what I know
But that hope that creates miracles
Rests deeply in my soul.


So when it’s time to move a mountain
Or it’s time to calm the sea
He’ll be there to help me go and do
In the strength of humility.


The Widow's Gift
My Master once spoke of a widow among
All the riches and wealth of the world.
And she being humble and lowly in heart
O’er a mite all her fingers were curled.
Her gift didn’t shine as brightly
As the silver and gold on the shrine
Yet inside she whispered and knew she was right,
“What I have to give is all mine.”
She cast in the mite and glided away
Lest the crowd make a mock of her giving
But He who sees all was impressed by the coin
A payment of true wealth and living.
And so we see that the items of worth
Are neither the gold nor the mite.
The treasures of value, the widow, her heart,
Are the most precious gifts in His sight.


Fly
He asked me to go
He asked me to fly,
to spread my wings
and take the sky.


I falter to start,
I imagine I'll fail,
locked in myself,
my self-imposed jail.


I turn to the Word,
the source of all light,
the source of all peace,
the source of all right.


"Consider the lilies,"
His voice enters in,
"I am thy source,
thy guide, and thy wind."


"I made the sparrow,
and I know its fall.
Art thou not greater?
The greatest of all?"


I think on the pages,
those things which I feel.
He said it is so.
It has to be real.


He knows His creations,
and He cannot lie.
I gather myself.
I'm ready to fly.