Tag Archives: Lent

Dark Saturday

Your disciples all hid away
terrified that dark Saturday
Not knowing what to do
now that men had crucified You

Hope that day was hidden too
doubting what You said was true
Wondering if You would really rise
or if Friday proved Your demise

I think I know just how they felt
as with hopelessness I have dealt
Mired in the Saturday of depression
in need of Your intercession

As the disciples on Sunday found
You as King would clearly be crowned
I have found Your promises true
of eternal hope to help me through

Although Saturday may seem quite dark
Sunday’s resurrection is Your hallmark

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Nails of Love

Jesus came to give from above
His love
On the cross mercy wins
My sins
that are told in sordid tales
were nails
no longer tip the justice scales
He surely paid the price
as soldiers rolled the dice
His love, my sins were nails

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Servant King

Jesus became a servant King
When He washed His disciples feet
This act of love was oh so sweet

Forgiveness His mighty wellspring
As He did sup and share the cup
And with the disciples He’d sing

Earned the right to the judgment seat
When He became a servant King


At dVerse Poets Pub today Victoria is reviving the Octain Refrain for Meeting the Bar. It is a perfect form for my Maundy Thursday poem.


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Holy Week

On Sunday He was lauded as King
Hosanna the crowd did sing to Him

On Monday He taught in the temple square
in parables of sons and tenants and wedding feasts

On Tuesday His authority was questioned
by those clinging desperately to their own

On Wednesday He taught the greatest commandment
was love of God, and love of one’s neighbor was second

On Thursday He supped with His disciples
washed their feet and prayed His Father’s will

On Friday they crucified Him, we crucified Him
with the multitude of sins He willingly paid for

On Saturday His followers hid away afraid
grieving a loss they didn’t at all understand

On Sunday, oh sweet Sunday
He rose again, He is risen indeed

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It Was Murder

It was murder, pure and simple
He was an innocent man
the perfect spotless Lamb
and they murdered Him

If it weren’t for Nicodemus
and Joseph of Arimathea
His body would have been
devoured by a murder of crows


The Poetics prompt at dVerse Poets Pub today is “for the birds.” De wants us to write poetry using one or more of the many names for flocks of birds. I decided to write about a murder, a murder of crows, that is.


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Buried Memories

Just below the surface
Not buried all that deep
Are memories once forgotten
Now remembered so I weep

Though I know they’re past
Each painful memory
Leaves my poor soul downcast
Engulfed in reverie

My only source of hope
Is knowing God’s compassion
With His love I can cope
Remembering His passion

He knows the pain I’ve endured
That surfaces out of the blue
Grace and comfort He’s assured
And abundant life anew

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Palm Sunday Prayer

O, Precious Jesus, Lord of lords and King of kings
We cry Hosanna, blessed be Your holy name

Together with creation and the angels sing
Rejoicing in Your promises of holiness we claim

All our praise and worship to You alone we bring
Your sovereign rule and goodness we proclaim

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Light in the Corners

My story shines bright
When Christ is the light within
His merciful torch
Exposing darkness and sin
Spirit heals my brokenness


This Tanka was inspired by experience at the Faith & Culture Writers’ Connection I attended last night. Our guest speaker was Paul J. Pastor whose book The Face of the Deep was recently released. All parts of the evening spoke to the Holy Spirit’s healing power in the dark places of our hearts.

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Doubting Thomas

Do you insist that you must see
the nail-scarred hands before you believe

Do you doubt the evidence before your eyes
of daily miracles, intricate life, blue skies

Then let me point to the change in me
from angry and mean to kind as can be

Once I cared only for myself
hopelessness prowled in me like a wolf

Then the hands of my Savior picked me up
He drank for me of death’s vile cup

I am evidence loud and clear
of grace and mercy that God holds dear

So if you insist nail-scarred hands you must see
look closely at the scarred heart in me


I decided to write a second poem involving hands in response to the Tuesday Poetics prompt at dVerse Poets Pub, since I needed to write a Lent poem for today anyway.


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Clinging firmly
tight-fisted grip
on meager things
valueless things
won’t let go

Missing out
on the costly blessings
God would bestow

Do you not realize
you are empty
of needful treasures
of love and grace
because you cherish
nothing that lasts


For the Poetics prompt at dVerse Poets Pub today Mish is calling for poems about hands. I decided to write one without actually using the word “hands.”


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