Category Archives: poetry

Embarrassing

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At times I am embarrassed,

That I am what I am.

For I am of humanity;

That fault filled breed called man.

For as my brother’s wayward,

I too have filthy hands.

Let separation be too long,

And I need reprimand.

My brothers of flesh, are just a mirror

Of this God provoked hermit.

Staring at the Son too long,

Anoints with traits but counterfeit.

Attributing His righteousness

To all the men I meet.

I’m often disillusioned,

By filthy wayward feet.

Severity of sin not counted,

I am just like they.

By their mouths and actions;

Their refusal to obey.

Then let this shame provoke

my earnest, thoughtful hope;

And let me remember well.

As I was once like they,

Upon this revelation,

Difference is:

Much harder apart to tell.

By His Grace

You Don’t Know

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You don’t know what you’re doing

When you avoid the things of God.

When you count them as trash on Wednesday;

“Castaway! I’m glad it’s  gone”.

Somehow you think it’s your duty,

To stay God the length of your arm.

You toss away His riches,

For you think he means you harm.

Then you flounder in your poverty;

Embracing hopeless travail.

When all he wants is to lift you up;

To silence your muted wail.

How great the riches of Christ in us.

How marvelous his love.

When once, like you,

We thought little too

Of God’s gift sent down from above.

But let our soul find him near,

And there’s no dam to stop the tears.

He chases out all our frantic fears.

Unspeakable, is the way he loves.

He appears without our asking.

We find our heart free of trouble.

No longer caught up in wasting;

We are freed from all our rubble.

But you don’t know what joy you miss,

As you forsake his gentle kiss.

How can I urge you more than this?

His love is free for taking.

By His Grace

Actions Not Words

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God does not watch the words of men, to see if they desire him.

But to man’s actions his eyes are cast, to see if the man’s desire will last.

By His Grace

“The Righteous State”

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We could write about the joy and war of walking in “The Way”.

But what a waste of words for those who pleasure all the day.

The quiet joy of righteousness they know no thing about.

Just mention “Thanks through holiness”,  you’ll see them shudder and pout.

For what they need to hear will fall on plugged up ears.

They consider such great words as only from their peers.

But shall we hold the pen in place,

Though such refuse to run the race?

Perhaps tis not to them we write,

But those who seek with all their might.

The audience is not the question.

We simply write God’s clear Salvation.

They cannot say amen to such,

As love the way of man so much.

But there are those who hunger still.

We write that they may have their fill.

For none will have eternal part,

But those clean hands and purified heart.

No sin will never enter in.

Beautiful wretches!  Let them begin!

Lovely souls with hearts contrite.

Lacking hope and void of might!

Their beds awash with tears of fright,

From crying all throughout the night!

Come repentent ones and taste

Forgiveness and “The Righteous state”.

By His Grace

At the Door

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If you leave me like I am, I’ll be filthy, naked and poor.

The fear of that assails me, so I lay me at your door.

Oh wretched me!  Oh Glorious you!  The rumors MUST be true!

Or I will die a dreadful death; forsaken by even you.

Now I will to cause my hands to bleed by knocking on your door.

What great surprise comes to my eyes you demand not such a war.

“Stand tall my child, and enter in.  My body was torn for you.

Come taste and see that I AM good; my promises are true.”

Oh sweet One!  Now I find that rest my soul has so long for.

For all you ask is a broken heart, as we lay at your door.

By His Grace

Hide These Here

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Like all men did I wander, through a dusty blowing land.

Unable to know just where I go, my sight reduced to my trembling hand.

But one Great moment appeared to me, the Holy One came near.

He gave me precious things to own, and bid me “Hide these here”.

So all the days I’ve left to own, are filled with placing dearly:

The proclamation that He Is, and guides so very nearly.

By His Grace