Photo by Hernan Pauccara on

Seas, they come 
& they go
Over my head
& around my arms
I feel
As my heart begins
To reel

A living Spirit also
Every movement, 
Every thought
In its power, 
This Spirit’s sea
Do I feel caught

Within this moving
Your joy, Your glee
As I watch, see
Causes my heart to sing
Your Name

Always, ever
Yet alive 
Is most impervious
To the loud demands
Of a world most resistant
Around its darkness 
Also swirls

Your tides You send
Always coming only to cleanse!

Spring’s Trumpets

KODAK Digital Still Camera
KODAK Digital Still Camera
KODAK Digital Still Camera
KODAK Digital Still Camera
Spring’s Trumpets

Orange & yellow
Your colored voices ring 
So clearly
Displayed for all to see
Piercing thru to my heart’s senses
Oh the purity in your joy-filled glee!

Trumpets splashed, splayed
Spreading further outward
Declaring that beauty again of 
One more of our God’s filled days

I stand absorbing your attractions
So welcome from this world’s distractions
Down leafy vines toward the earth
You throw yourself, never hesitant
Oh, to sleep as you in a bed 
So deep & green & pleasant

So, I rejoice as on my way
I am allowed to watch
Your graceful heads sway
Within each passing breeze

Thank you, God, again
For the beauty of your earth
My day I am allowed to begin
Watching as You bring back spring
And the joy which only that can bring
Reminds not only of a physical rebirth
but that in each new reborn spirit 
lies Your own unspeakable worth!!

Nothings to Something

Nothings to Something

People say I am a survivor
Really something
But I say no
To you I would like to show 
The Only Something

I am almost nothing
Held together
My skin & bones
As on this planet I roam
Only by the Someone

By whose hand I was
By whom all our sin & death was

This living, breathing God
Is the Great Someone
At whose pleasure I exist
In whose hands joy never desists
& from whom will I never run

We live at His Pleasure
We serve at His Pleasure
At the end all heartbeats
For His Pleasure
All at once &
At last will be gathered!!

Fine Tune

Photo by Tom Swinnen on
Photo by Clem Onojeghuo on
Fine Tune

Fine tune me like a fiddle
Carve me, shape me
In your hands may you whittle
Until I sing, resonate
And to your tunes vibrate

Play me all day long
Projecting, singing
Only your songs
Of Your Joy, Love,
Glory, Stupendousness
And may I only in your hands,
Lord God,
Sound out the songs
Upon which others may dance!

A Potter’s Clay

A Potter’s Clay

Once soft & compliant
Lying now
Resistant, hard
On a cold, sterile ground
in broken shards
pieces of shattered
clay, damaged jars

Then comes those Potter’s Hands
Warm & ready
Full of good plans
They reach out to lift
And return to brokenness 
The challenging gift
Of to serve a purpose

Adding water to soften
A dried-out skin
Once more He slowly
begins to win
A softened compliance
Using His own Strength & Will
Slowly is He able to fill
Restore to a fresh new life
Each worn out, damaged pot 

From the roughened, sharp edges
He may receive bruises, a few cuts
Lose some drops of blood
But in the midst of His pain
Will come forth a deeper flood
Of love, mercy, compassion
For the brokenness He repairs

So now with newly scarred hands
He removes a crusty dirt’s thick layers
Revealing at last a clean new creation
Returning to it an original beauty
& of its dark uselessness, an ablation!