Category Archives: Poetry

Father’s Day 54

It was 10 AM on Father’s Day when my Father told you bye,
Just two years and a day before I was born.
We never met yet I’ve tried to beget your spirit flying by
Through photographs and books that time has worn.

Dad was dating Mom and life had only just begun.
He wore that saintly name you shared with your Dad.
Now he’s 76 and he’s still slaying dragons.
And I sure love all the adventures we have had.

My oldest boy bears the middle name your wife gave to my Dad,
And they’re both taller than us now that he’s grown.
You’d be proud to know he also became an Eagle Scout,
And at 32, he has two kids of his own.

Little George was Christened today on Father’s day,
Sharing his Grandfather’s name, both first and last.
He’s so smart, you’d love His heart and his love of sports
And how at just two, he rides his bike so fast.

I’m the age you were when you went home to meet the Lord,
But God’s given me a mission yet to lead.
So on this Father’s day, I honor you and Him more
Adding weight to you from all His glorious deeds.

Predator’s View (Warrior of Light)

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In view of his mercies
New every morning
New every minute
Knew before forming

Wisely choose sacrifice
Renewing your mind
Transforming lives
Redeeming in kind

There’s no waste in grace
Though faith may seem blind
It finds glory someplace
It abides for all time

Rule o’er your enemies
For greater is He
Surrender your life
Pure intimacy

Neither good nor bad
Morality
Subtracts or adds
True Nobility

Hear now his call
And lift up your voice
Conform no longer
Commit to real choice.

Our enemies never
Brothers and sisters
But demons whoever
Speak fear when it whispers

Run fast and hunt
Fulfill your birthright
Child of the King
Warrior of Light

Dawn’s Revelation

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August 16, 2001

You moved me to move to witness the morning
as you whispered your music in my mind’s ear.
I drank the airy moist wind singing your song
filling my heart with fresh revelations of you.

But ’twas nothing compared to the bright morning star
that lead the open-handed crescent moon into the day
as the clouds were transforming from dark to light
like the gradual molding of our hearts in your hands.

Your pure blue light crescendo in the heavens
and the undercurrent of dim orange and yellow
hinted at promises of the majestic arrival of the sun
in the moment between Eden and the last battle.

I was in awe of the moment until you took me into your glory
and I knew this day was as coal to a diamond
reflections in dark glass for those with weak eyes,
for those just waking can’t stand the strength of daylight

And I was ashamed of my weakness and fell on your grace
With sweet surrender to your constant presence
for I couldn’t imagine why I should ever be dismayed —
or how I could ever doubt your good or forget your love.

How could I, insignificant receiver of glorious dawn,
forget or doubt you, author of all the universes,
Whose glory is more radiant a billion times this moment
after you have made Him to dwell in me as my very life?

Dawn's Revelation

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August 16, 2001

You moved me to move to witness the morning
as you whispered your music in my mind’s ear.
I drank the airy moist wind singing your song
filling my heart with fresh revelations of you.

Your pure blue light crescendo in the heavens
and the undercurrent of dim orange and yellow
hinted at promises of the majestic arrival of the sun
in the moment between Eden and the last battle.

Point of Rest

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June 18, 2001

Viewed Mercies

Exploring God's Wonders and Blessings.

Category Archives: Poetry

Father’s Day 54

Predator’s View (Warrior of Light)

Dawn’s Revelation

Dawn's Revelation

Point of Rest

There are those days we’re on the edge
Barely clinging to the ledge
With blood and sweat and painful wounds
With tears of anguish, tired, consumed.

There are those days of summer green
Of golden light and silver stream
Walking in the cool of day
Absorbing beauty, lithe and gay.

Yet on the days near Eden’s gate
We all too soon do demonstrate
Forgotten purpose of the rest
Accepting this must be the best.

But the scars the journey scribed before
Still linger in the flesh, what’s more,
The arrows lodged below the skin
Do scar our soul and burn within.

Yet pure the silver water flows
Where the patient surgeon waits for those
Ready to trust his steady hand
To cut out the stone beneath the brand

And cleanse in water feet and head
And all between the stains of red
Then to anoint with holy oil
And feed on manna that won’t spoil.

As our old clothes are cast away
We’re newly dressed in the King’s array
Finally in armor, with shield and sword
Complete by final, eternal word

Able to alter the very past
Where, on the ledge, the wounds were cast
And divide asunder flesh and soul
Forgetting the false and making whole.

So now the ledge where we were small
Has become a place of triumph’s call
To praise the awesome mercies wild
That use the wound to heal the child.

Listen to the wind; Fear not!
It does no good to scratch the spot.
Child, come down to the water living
And surrender all to the healer’s giving.

There are those days we’re on the edge Barely clinging to the ledge With blood and sweat and painful wounds With tears of anguish, tired, consumed.

There are those days of summer green Of golden light and silver stream Walking in the cool of day Absorbing beauty, lithe and gay.

Yet on the days near Eden’s gate We all too soon do demonstrate Forgotten purpose of the rest Accepting this must be the best.

But the scars the journey scribed before Still linger in the flesh, what’s more, The arrows lodged below the skin Do scar our soul and burn within.

Yet pure the silver water flows Where the patient surgeon waits for those Ready to trust his steady hand To cut out the stone beneath the brand

And cleanse in water feet and head And all between the stains of red Then to anoint with holy oil And feed on manna that won’t spoil.

As our old clothes are cast away We’re newly dressed in the King’s array Finally in armor, with shield and sword Complete by final, eternal word

Able to alter the very past Where, on the ledge, the wounds were cast And divide asunder flesh and soul Forgetting the false and making whole.

So now the ledge where we were small Has become a place of triumph’s call To praise the awesome mercies wild That use the wound to heal the child.

Listen to the wind; Fear not! It does no good to scratch the spot. Child, come down to the water living And surrender all to the healer’s giving.

There are those days we’re on the edge
Barely clinging to the ledge
With blood and sweat and painful wounds
With tears of anguish, tired, consumed.

There are those days of summer green
Of golden light and silver stream
Walking in the cool of day
Absorbing beauty, lithe and gay.

Yet on the days near Eden’s gate
We all too soon do demonstrate
Forgotten purpose of the rest
Accepting this must be the best.

But the scars the journey scribed before
Still linger in the flesh, what’s more,
The arrows lodged below the skin
Do scar our soul and burn within.

Yet pure the silver water flows
Where the patient surgeon waits for those
Ready to trust his steady hand
To cut out the stone beneath the brand

And cleanse in water feet and head
And all between the stains of red
Then to anoint with holy oil
And feed on manna that won’t spoil.

As our old clothes are cast away
We’re newly dressed in the King’s array
Finally in armor, with shield and sword
Complete by final, eternal word

Able to alter the very past
Where, on the ledge, the wounds were cast
And divide asunder flesh and soul
Forgetting the false and making whole.

So now the ledge where we were small
Has become a place of triumph’s call
To praise the awesome mercies wild
That use the wound to heal the child.

Listen to the wind; Fear not!
It does no good to scratch the spot.
Child, come down to the water living
And surrender all to the healer’s giving.