Tag Archives: new poem

Monday Poem: “Song of youth regained”

Song of youth regained

The child within was released again tonight
By a somewhat recognizable sound.
The familiar melody paved way to
Unfettered memory free that once was bound,
Unleashed the beast
Releasing sheets of heat
And light from yonder moon.
Light and laughter grew
And sang along in tune to beats
Of unsheathed imagination,
Offering subtle indications
Of beauty untold and unearthed gold.
The child then grew.
That child is you.
Don’t send them to their room.

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Monday poem- “With fury poured out”

With fury poured out

They say the jury is out
But as His fury pours out
God disagrees…

Nature crafts
With fury poured out,
I sit inside and wait for the weather.
Aggressively beautiful
This rain does more
Than any genius in his lab or
Other type of work.
The rain stops and I go outside,
I breathe in the air
And newness holds me there.
My senses are engaged,
My patience has been paid
And I now hold onto
This priceless precious wage-
The air I share with now,
Too valuable to gauge.

The jury is out
Is what we get told
But with fury poured out
The verdict is gold.

Monday Poem – “Alive to dead to having life”

Alive to dead to having life

I shivered
Then quivered
Then ummmed and ahhhed,
I couldn’t find a way to start,
I didn’t have the words to say
But like a child asked something anyway-
“How do I remember this moment?
Lord, how do I own it?
Good sir, I want to know it-
How do I make life a friend, not an opponent?”

He replied
“My little child-
Death to pride,
Death to lies,
And death to self!
This moment’s ripples will be felt
Through all the generations-
Beyond all imagination
But you have to die first (death to self).
This moment’s offspring will be plentiful
But first you have to die.
You see,
A child must die to silly things
And rise to the changes happening,
Then a bachelor dies on his wedding night,
To become a husband to his wife.
Then as a husband put himself away
And serve his queen both night and day.
Each and every sacrifice
Is a rite of passage ordained by Christ.
And that is how to love your life
To give up your ‘needs’, your ‘wants’ and ‘rights’”

I wanted to cry,
My Lord said I had to die?
I wanted to argue, crow and fight
But of course I could see my Lord was right
And besides, He had died the first death for me
When His naked Son lay on that tree.
He has obliterated my debt,
He has died that first death.
He has taken me into Him, now I am blessed!
He has laid my arguments to rest.
And may they rest in pieces on the floor,
May this moment last forever more.
From boy to man to child,
From alive to dead to having life.
From the lowest lows to highest heights.
From dying to self to living for Christ.

Monday Poem: “Politics”

Politics

Caesar was loved by the masses
But stabbed in the back by his friends,
Who’d want to be a politician
And meet such a horrible end?
Caesar did what was right in his own eyes,
And that had just a small perk or two,
He knew how to defend
His ideas to all men
And how to tick off more than a few.

That’s just politics though, isn’t it?

Brutus (the coward)
Wasn’t brave, smart or proud,
Was not really anyone.
He went from being like a son
Then hardened to become
Just another hired gun.
Marc Antony was next
And quickly made a mess,
He did not have success
Before he followed in Caesars steps.

And the disc keeps turning,
Stuck on repeat.
That’s just politics though, isn’t it?

Monday Poem: “Old grey gardener”

Old grey gardener

She is dressed to impress
The 50’s while living in the now,
She seems to make her world make sense
Although I can’t imagine how.
Sullen and sad
But sometimes
Suddenly glad
She is around to see the destruction of the world.

80
Years
Old.
An investigator of time,
An observer of crimes against her fellow man:
A sleuth,
A solver,
A spreader of lies
And in her private moments alone at home
An unrequited lover of sin.

The old grey gardener waits to die
Or for a better offer,
She decomposes (the end is nigh)
Oh, won’t anybody stop her.
All it’ll take is a few kind words
To stop her tired old heart from bleeding,
She’s been waiting 80 years
For something to believe in.
All it’ll take is one kind soul
To stop her tired old heart from aching
She’s been there for 80 years
Just
Pruning,
Mowing,
Raking.

Monday Poem: “Couta Rocks 5”

Couta Rocks 5

Exploring the rocks
With my dog and my pop
And a bag to collect what we find-
A rope tied in knots
And a broken cray-pot
And some shells of all sizes and kinds,
An indigenous tool
(Ill put it back, that’s the rule)
And some junk off a Japanese ship,
This bait-saver looks good,
I’d take it home I could
But my pop tells me we already have six.

I gained a lot from those days
In my bag and my brain
As we’d talk, or explore, or just laugh.
I had a fine looking hound
And all the things that we found
But what I gained most was what Pop placed in my heart.

Monday Poem- “Patchwork Quilt”

Patchwork Quilt

Not like clockwork but like patchwork
The old man pulls together
His last remaining
And fastly draining days.
Each stitch he’s sewing
Is quickly slowing
His rhythm and timing
But he keeps on stitching
(Keeps on shining)
Because he knows he ain’t got long
And who wants a tightly-wound-up old clock?
Isn’t that boring
Compared to this quilt?
Isn’t his story,
Patched from scraps that he’s been dealt,
Still imploring
An exchange of knowledge
For what can be experienced and felt?

So this old man
Will add patches
Thread by thread
By thread by thread
Until the clock runs out
And this patchwork-man is dead,
But the life he lives will keep going
Long after he stops sewing
Because the patchwork quilt gives warmth to all who know him.