Category: Poems

I watched the news today

and heard the world spinning round.

 

I did my work today

and put my shoulder to the ground.

 

I earned and spent and

kept the world going round.

 

But in my mind,

as work ground me into the ground—

 

my thoughts kept spinning,

round and round:

 

leaving me with little sense

of what’s up and what’s down.

 

Like a botox injection

to the inner man,

our worldly lives

living worldly plans.

 

Hearts paralyzed by fear and debt

with no recourse but to worry and to fret.

 

There is an antidote to

worldliness however,

an inoculation given

by Christ our deliverer.

 

Nursing us back

to wholeness,

with the medicine

of blessedness.

 

By faith and hope

within our hearts

we forge a union

that love imparts.

 

Our thoughts may swirl

like an epic tornado

but a peace will rise up

as a conquering hero.

 

We think we are alone

in this world,

yet in our hearts

we will find that pearl—

 

the one for which we

sell all we possess,

to live in peaceful

holiness.

 

~FS

Incense coils upward

in long argentine strands

Angelic voices sing a joyous refrain:

“Receive the body of Christ

Taste the fountain of immortality.”

 

The hands of Christ serve

the body of Christ

from a golden chalice.

Each member called by name,

singular and unique.

 

Forming a line in quiet expectation

of the gift of eternal blessings;

a body numerous are

the servants of The King,

multiform, and manifesting His

infinite creativity.

 

Let us each put on

the eyes of thanksgiving

and the ears of obedience

and praise.

 

Laying aside all earthly cares,

let us settle into that peace

which reveals things

as they truly are;

without judgement

or condemnation,

but in the simplicity

of Godly revelation.

 

The Body and the Blood–

we receive,

and Christ receives us.

We are glorified by His glory

and deified by His divinity.

 

We come to the King empty-handed

and He gives us everything.

 

~FS

Fly away dear one.

Shed this world

and enter dreams

of tomorrow.

 

Lift your thoughts

upon the wind,

and let the sun’s rays

carry them, and you

to unknown places.

 

There is a home

made especially for you

in that celestial land.

 

We will gather

and wonder.

Our thoughts also drifting,

here among the silent spaces

within ourselves.

 

As the clock’s rhythmic

ticking calls us back

to remembrance

of our own beating hearts.

 

We look gratefully

into each other’s eyes

while remembering,

and appreciating all

that you are to us.

 

~FS

Poppies

 

See the poppies grow

by the wayside.

Announcing summer’s joy

against a passing snow.

 

Their glistening ruby

red infusing blooms,

do tame the stark and bitter

winds, each flower to obey.

 

As love’s messengers

they dance before our eyes,

with warm vitality

and hope which long endures.

 

Hear them sing

of coming days so bright,

an end to frigid winter’s night,

a balm to sooth the dreary.

 

See the poppies grow,

within their petals healing,

and marvel at their beauty

against the snow.

 

~FS

This, for those afraid of the grave–

and who among us isn’t?

 

(moldy, wet and dark with images of worms,

and creepy things)

 

But what of light, and breezes:

imagine the grave, up in the air—

 

a crystal-lined prism cut into the sky,

rectangular and brimming with brightness.

 

Up into this portal we are raised,

from which our souls emerge,

resplendent, on the other side.

 

Passing through this open door

we enter into the vastness

of our new home.

 

Perhaps this is so–

as we are lowered into the earth,

we are also lifted up,

through the crystal doorway.

 

Grave and doorway–

mirror images,

reflected about this life

on Earth.

 

~FS

Everything

begins its life veiled

beneath the surface

and hidden from view.

 

Cultivate your inner soil

through prayer–

before the plant is seen,

roots are growing

below the surface.

 

The field that appears fallow,

or barren,

will bloom in time—

the persistent farmer

eventually harvests his reward.

 

Words are the clothing

our thoughts,

and motives wear

when visiting others.

 

But we disrobe entirely

in the presence of

The One who made us.

There are no clothes

to hide our thoughts

from Him.

 

Our forebearers

picked forbidden fruits,

but we through prayer

will bear the hidden fruits.

 

~FS

Pray first

and pray always–

every good thing

springs forth from the fertile soil

of prayer.

 

Prayer is the mother

of all virtues,

and the womb

of all noble thoughts.

 

In prayer

we reach out to the Spirit,

and His Fruits

are placed in our hands.

 

There is no thievery

in prayer.

It is supplication,

and a gift of mercy—

freely given.

 

Prayer is a fertile field,

filled with wheat,

flowing in waves,

sun-drenched and golden.

 

The very Bread

of Life

is risen in the ovens

of prayer.

 

Pray first

and pray always.

 

~FS

Am I the spider,

or am I the fly?

 

Busily making my webs,

or being trapped by them?

 

Layer upon layer of silky threads,

wrapping, encasing, and hardening.

 

Ambitious and industrious,

dizzy and nauseous.

 

Round, round and round,

spinning, spinning and spinning.

 

Am I the spinner,

or am I the spun?

 

~FS

Like longtime friends,

these habitual sins,

again and again,

make their home within.

Closer than family,

they know us innately,

fond of their company,

we invite them to stay.

 

We know that we shouldn’t,

we said that we wouldn’t,

we may act like we couldn’t,

yet we’ve made them co-tenants.

They people our thoughts,

doing away with all oughts,

we gave, and they got

to scheme and to plot.

 

How long will they stay?

At least they should pay,

here day after day,

but what can I say?

We’re housemates you know,

‘round the fires warm glow,

these sins and I show,

that we’re friends here below.

 

All greasy and comfortable,

neck deep in our meals,

gluttons ‘round the table,

we like how we feel.

In the basement with despair,

sucking out all the air,

while I play solitaire,

through dirty windows we stare.

 

In the pool, on the patios,

my lusts dance and carouse.

Images from daydreams,

let out giggles and screams.

Feeling popular and famous,

these crowds intravenous,

with raised glasses they cheer me,

in my mind it’s a party.

 

Overhead and around me,

pride’s my structural framing.

With self-love as my floor,

vanity’s my front door.

Mine is a tower on a hill,

flashy and glittery-gilt.

Specters of fame and of stars,

fill this house made of cards.

 

My guests are all clamorous,

freeloaders and odorous.

They are having a ball,

while I trip and I fall.

And of vice these are many,

each one costing me plenty.

Though their promises generous,

my debt’s growing more onerous.

 

I’ll kick them to the curb,

where they’ll no longer perturb.

But oh how entirely absurd,

that I find I’m immured.

The need here is great,

I should not hesitate.

My house is unsound,

but I find myself bound.

 

Looking for an ally,

to crash this mad party,

a Spiritual Strongman

to put this intrusion to an end.

He’ll send them off packing,

with a thorough tongue-lashing,

give my house a clean sweep,

then I’ll have a sound sleep.

 

Once my house is set right,

from its devilish plight,

and my mind is set free,

from this demonic jamboree;

I’ll give my house a remodel,

with thoughts godly and noble,

and through self-discipline and prayer,

this fixer-upper I will repair.

 

~FS

How can we possibly hear

the quiet and still voice of God

and understand the promise of eternity

amidst the shrill cacophony of death?

 

My senses are tumbled and my mind reels

at the constant, steady drip drip drip

of the loves I have lost lost lost.

 

While the hope of eternal reunion is an image

seen darkly at best through a clouded glass,

I see clearly the path and trajectory of this life,

slipping away, and all I hold dear dying before my eyes.

 

Prayer binds the wounds and soothes the pain

for a time, but then the misery of death marches on.

 

I’m a child with little true understanding

and I cannot pretend to understand,

nor can I play games to distract me

from what I see or from what I feel;

snacks and funny movies don’t help me forget.

 

What recourse do I have here

if I am honest with myself?

Just time, and the passage of time?

 

There may very well be a future hope

and a life eternal, I do believe it.

But flesh and emotion are howling now.

Perseverance and patience

through the suffering, I can feel it.

 

Within the ashes of my loss

there remains an ember of love

a small heat with potential to reignite.

 

I need God’s breath to blow across me again

to bring resurrection and renewed conflagration,

to bring a fire of love that enkindles my limbs,

and enlightens my life while I live.

 

~FS