Tag Archives: Truth

Until Earth’s Last Day

One day this earth will pass away
But until then it’s ours to care
For this gift of God if we dare
We don’t know when will be the day
Because God’s Word does not say
And so the prudent thing to do
Greedy destruction all eschew
Plant and grow flowers, shrubs, and trees
Keep our garbage out of the seas
For humankind, for me, for you

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Had to write another décima for dVerse Poets Pub, but this time following the NaPoWriMo prompt for Earth Day.

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My Road

My road began bright and cheery
Birds sang sweet, lovely flowers bloomed
It would always be I assumed
Then it became dark and dreary
With each step I grew more weary
When I tried to walk all alone
Plagued by despair of being known
Oh grace, you called me back to you
Once again the skies are deep blue
Seeds of hope and forgiveness sown

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Today’s poem is a décima for dVerse Poets Pub Meeting the Bar today. (I cheated and went to Bjorn’s blog to see what the prompt was going to be before it is live at dVerse in my time zone). I’ll be linking at dVerse at noon PST. Head over there this afternoon to see what other décimas the pub folks have to offer.

This is also my Day 21 post for NaPoWriMo.

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Memories

Yesterday, Toni at Kanzen Sakura commented thanking me for writing two haibuns. I replied that I’d only written one. Apparently that’s because the second one was still in the works. So I’m posting this second haibun now for Haibun Monday at dVerse Poets Pub.

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Working on my memoir, giving in to the compulsion to communicate my story to whoever might need to read it, I decided I would have more success in actually getting the words on the page if I hand wrote. There is something about typing that makes me feel like it has to be perfect the first time, but handwriting builds in an automatic rewrite when I later type it up. So I rummage through my cloth basket of blank journals for just the right one. [This takes some time because there are probably 20 or more journals in that basket, evidence of another compulsion]. I find a 150-page spiral bound notebook with only 10 pages used up and decide that’s perfect. I peruse what’s been written and come across these words, written 18 ½ years ago:

It takes courage to write. Courage is not the same as fearlessness. Rather, courage is writing in spite of fear.

Just been reading “The Courage to Write” by Ralph Keyes. It got me thinking about writing a book about the effect being raped at the age of 14, while still a virgin, had on my life—the teen years, college, marriage, sex, life, thoughts, depression [although genetics had something to do with this as well].

I must be crazy. I can’t write such a book. Or rather I can, in that I’m sure I have enough material and could actually write it, but would I ever be willing to let anyone read it?

Crazy indeed. Yet here I am, almost two decades later, still compelled to write that book. Only now the story is complete. There is more than just the pain and suffering of trauma to tell; there is also the story of healing and redemption. Now there is courage.

Memories fester
Hidden on journal pages
Die and are reborn

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Nobody

I’ve spent my life thinking but not fully convinced
that no one really likes me
not even God, who it is said loves everyone

And I’ve often been fairly convinced
that my mom didn’t love me
though deep down I know she did

It’s not true, yet this persistent thought
has colored much of what I do
and what I don’t do

How long did I desire to be
a writer, but didn’t write
for anyone else to read

I’ve hidden away pages of prose and poetry
thoughts and feelings
that I now know others could relate to

How many opportunities to bless others
have I neglected because I undervalued
my own contribution to this world

I know I am loved
I am beloved by God
I am cherished by family

Nonetheless, even now sometimes
I think nobody really likes me
not even God

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The NaPoWriMo prompt for today is to write a poem with a line you are afraid to write. There are a few in this poem. I am afraid for others to know my doubt and fears. But this was good practice for writing my memoir, because that thing is going to include a lot of lines I’m afraid to write.

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All Things New

He who sits upon the throne
has promised one day soon
to wipe away every tear
that with Him we will commune

Some believe this earthly life
is all we’ll ever enjoy
but I look forward to the day
when all evil He will destroy

And the new heaven and earth
greater than we can envision
will be our reward with God
as our eternal provision

My heart refuses to settle
for less than He does promise
I won’t lose my eternal salvation
by being a doubting Thomas

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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

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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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Oblivious

The drunkard grins
from ear to ear

Oblivious to the pain
he inflicts on those
who love him

Numb to the pain
buried six feet under
his cold cold heart

Bartender, bring me a double
That and a grin will
drown all his troubles

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I decided to write a second Quadrille with the word “grin” for dVerse Poets Pub.

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A Heart Like Mine

Praise and thanksgiving
for my good deeds
can quite easily lead
to thinking I’m good enough
all on my own
I don’t need God’s mercy

Comparing myself
to the evil all around me
can inflate my self-esteem
just the same

But when I peel back
the layers of my heart
Peer at what’s beneath
the kindness and goodness
that on the surface reside
I see a different story

I see petty jealousy
that another should have
an opportunity for rest
that I feel I’ve been denied

Another layer and I see
anger and unforgiveness
over a recurring transgression
even though Jesus commanded
I forgive to infinity

Another layer and I see
bitterness and frustration
towards those I claim to love
Yet I hold onto this
record of wrongs
revisiting each transgression
to fuel the fire of indignation

And I see doubt
that God will ever answer
my prayers for change
my prayers for healing
I see impatience
quickness to anger

I see a heart
that wants to be
consoled with food—cookies and chips
with entertainment distractions
and all those things
that do my body and soul
no earthly or heavenly good

As I peel back the layers
I see a heart in desperate need
of a Savior and of mercy
and I wonder at His patience
with a heart that’s prone to wander
I wonder at His grace
and delay of justice
for a heart like mine

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Promises of God

Standing on Your promises
I know I’ll never fall
Because You gave Your all-in-all

Clinging to Your precious Word
I know I have Your love
Because You sent it from above

Kneeling in Your presence, Lord
I know You hear my prayer
Because You promised You are there

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