These are a few of my original poems, some serious, some silly and some “just because.” I trust they will be both a blessing and an amusement to you, the reader. Thank you so much for the honor of letting me share these thoughts with you.
My mother’s a patchwork stitched over the years,
Connecting my grandma to me.
A tangent of love joining both of our lives
Who for distance and years could not see.
Mom quilted her likeness one piece at a time,
Sewn so gently and lovingly in.
Her portrait is formed in the depths of my mind,
Precious handwork, her image within.
This daughter remembers a few cherished thoughts
Of the one who was grandma to me,
Warm deep blue eyes, softer tender heart,
Tales of hobos to dinner and tea.
I try to pass on this fine quilter’s art,
To my girl as mom did to me,
Sewing choice swatches of grandma to child,
So a wee bit of grandma she’ll be.
She knows certain things that her grandmother loves,
Learned through stories I’ve pointedly told.
She cherishes knowing her grandmother’s ways,
How like grandma she is to behold!
I’m hoping that someday in God’s grand design,
A mother and grandma she’ll be,
And want to pass on some old quilter’s designs
To the little ones perched on her knee.
© May 1992
Pick a rhythm, any rhythm,
Write a silly poem.
Find a word and squeeze it in
If it has the perfect tone.
The meter’s just a poor excuse
for making silly rhyme.
The writing’s for the fun of it,
As long as you keep time.
A fun-filled poem might slip right out
when you expect it least,
and catch you rather unaware
when poem has been released.
You never quite intended to
write as a metered poet.
But, when the phrase rolled off your pen,
the next lines flowed below it.
The last line of the last verse
is always hardest found,
to end it with finality,
and a definite closing sound!
© December 1994
Morning clouds my thoughts and it’s hard to muse,
And dullness is my portion while I wake.
Emotion stirs no prayers within my soul.
Mere thinking is an exercise of faith.
Awake enough to feel my aching head,
I’m tempted to slip back beneath the sheets.
But, duty pulls me onward to the day,
I rise to greet the morning with a sigh.
Lord, quicken now my tired weary limbs.
Give zest as my emotion for the day.
Now stir Your Spirit deep within my heart,
Now, gladdened with remembrance of Your grace.
I’ll face this day despite my fleshly frame
Emboldened by the presence of Your power.
Renewed by grace, I’ve strength to rise, and go.
Enabled now to think, and feel, and praise.
I step out now, rejoicing that I am Yours!
Your mercy transforms all my feeble self.
Creator touching what His hand has made
A mere lump of clay, infused with breath of Life.
© June 1992
His Way, My Path
There is way that’s right to man, but the way it leads is death,
So, the Lord explains to hearts and cautions of the path,
He calls the souls of men to yield and seek His holy way,
and search with all their might-less strength and daily to Him pray.
My heart has wandered far from Him and seeks its lonely own,
Confused, myopic, aimless steps while fruitless seed is sown,
My empty selfish goals are naught, I repent again of them,
While Savior gently beckons sure to clear my sight again.
If only I’d more faithful be, to always walk His way,
and search for Him with all my heart and ceaselessly to pray!
My joy would never wane again and I would joyful be,
And this my prayer, my hope, my aim, `till God’s own face I see.
© January 1994
Our Heart’s Mighty Defender
God Himself is our Mighty Warrior,
He is our defender and our gracious Friend!
He alone can battle all our foes
And keep us sure and safe to the end!
Jesus Christ our Only Savior!
How He longs to reconcile our heart,
To His Father, God, our Holy Creator,
And close the gulf that keeps us apart.
Calvary’s blood was offered once,
Paying sin’s price we never could meet!
Freely it flows for sinners now,
And Holy God forgives at His mercy seat.
Accept His boundless love to save you,
Walk in this love and courageous be!
For He alone walks near and with you,
For now, tomorrow, and eternity.
So raise your head you child of grace!
Trust in Christ’s almighty power,
Turn your eyes to Jesus’ face,
And He will guard your heart and mind each hour!
He alone is mighty to deliver,
Christ can keep our enemies at bay!
He alone can battle all our foes.
While He comforts and keeps us safe today.
© February 1999
Investing in Resting
No room in my life for visits and mirth,
I’ve given my all, for what it is worth!
Just doing and going and being a part,
Are all I can handle with my weary heart.
You see, I am sick in an invisible way,
If I’ve used up myself I can’t come out to play.
Now is the time for my rest and repair,
I’m explaining this to you, because I know you care.
So, don’t think me boring or stick in the mud,
It’s just that this Lupus brings on “creeping crud.”
I have to say, no, so please don’t be offended,
And simply accept it in the spirit intended.
Thank you for seeing my limits and need,
As for me, to Jesus our Savior, you plead.
So now I will rest and be sleeping at length,
And when I am finished, I’ll have some new strength!
© July 23, 2000
Wee Hours of Wakefulness
In the wee morning hours of wakefulness,
when my aches steal away precious sleep
I’ll sit and converse with my Lord, and a lonely vigil keep.
I speak to Him of my weariness,
and my longing for healthier days.
I seek for His tender mercies now,
while my heart in fatigue humbly prays.
This is the hour of all quietness,
when the household in slumbering rest
Unaware of my sleeplessness, snores on.
But as for me, I make for the best.
I light a candle for peaceful light,
and then pick up my Bible to read.
Curled in a chair I read Words of Life,
with time now to ponder and heed.
So, perhaps there are thanks to be given,
when my body in painfulness fails
to pass through the night without waking me.
The alarm is my persistent ails.
In pursuit of distraction from hurt,
my mind turns to my Savior imploring.
Sweet fellowship exchanged for my misery,
while these ills I succeed in ignoring.
So bodily misery yields to sweet fellowship,
while I do something better than moaning.
I turn to my God and enjoy quiet thoughts,
and my faith supersedes every groaning.
Yes, I thank God for my illness,
for perhaps it allows me to see
Momentary glimpses of Jesus,
that in daylight hours might never be.
So dear Jesus, I pray to you now,
seeking strength for the day that is ahead.
And those others I know who are hurting,
please comfort and keep them from dread.
Please bless my loved ones that are sleeping,
and enable me to care for their needs.
Help me in this frail body to glorify to You,
and to follow where Your Spirit leads.
© January 2001
Altered Skyline (9-11-2001)
Viewing images of horror, I stand mesmerized and watch.
Is this an accident, I wonder as the details unfold?
Like a weapon of mass destruction the airplane strikes,
while concrete, steel, glass and human bodies explode.
Unable to pull myself away from the television, I stand.
And then, another flaming assault strikes the towering pair.
Billows of smoke and fire spew forth from the buildings.
My mind anguishes in thoughts of carnage and despair.
I wonder, “there is no accident, how could that be?”
This is no mere coincidence of fate or chance.
Evil mechanization surely planned this vile attack!
How unthinkable, this monstrous terrorist advance.
Awaking, the household stands still in shock and horror.
Morning, time and schedule pause for a time, while we absorb the news.
Hijacked planes, carnage, smoke and more attacks,
My senses are stunned by statements the commentators use.
My racing mind ponders war, isolated attack or madman’s out-lash?
What end could motivate such horrific deeds of death, I ask?
My heart anguishes with thoughts of suffering hundreds, no surely thousands!
These horrified souls sucked together into the whirlwind of eternity’s grasp.
Oh, dear holy God I cry out to you standing right here, right now!
Intervene somehow in the smouldering mayhem, I implore you and beg!
Please let Your tender comf0rting hand reach through this myriad death.
Won’t You surely comfort and gently gather your horrified children from this carnage?
I don’t begin to understand what they face trying now to respond, but You do.
Dear Father, would You lend Your strength and insight to those who help and lead?
Guide each of those who serve and grieve through wreckage, surgery and global politics.
Please be gracious and hear us, as our nation drops humbly together to our knees.
Where do we go from here? There are so many confusing thoughts!
We pray You will grant our leaders uncommon wisdom and strength of heart,
As they must choose to do difficult and hard-wrought things in this trying hour.
Deliver my own heart from the grasp of fear, affirming faith that You alone impart.
© September 11, 2001
God’s Gift, My Friend
My dear friend is so much like a sister,
More than I had ever hoped to find.
She listens to my dragging “woe-is-me”isms
and somehow seems to never really mind.
She calls me up to hear just how I’m feeling,
and listens when the answer’s still the same.
She somehow makes me feel that I am special,
And doesn’t run each time she hears my name.
Once again today she showed her friendship,
when I needed a safe place to stop and rest.
She welcomed my intrusion in her home life,
And fed my hungry soul, I am so blessed!
God gives more than I’d ever ask or hope for,
much better than I’d manufacture on my own.
He fashions precious friends in His goodness
Placed in our path so we won’t be alone!
Peace in the Tumult
In the midst of trial and struggle,
abides sweet peace from Christ alone.
None can hush the roar of gnashing,
save the grace flowing from God’s throne.
There is now no noise of battle,
but my remembrance clear and sure,
that He fought beside and near me,
and only through Him, did I endure.
Oh, that when more trials overcome me,
I would recollect the humble means
for coping in the hour of terror,
and cry out to Christ when it first begins.
For I am unequipped for fighting,
what I cannot see nor hear,
while all around there are unknown dangers,
but my God shelters me from fear.
So I borrow what I cannot muster,
without Him I could not stand.
For on God’s mighty Arm I lean,
and turn my eyes to Him, as He planned.
One Perfect Lamb
Down from the glory of eternity’s home,
a baby was born as a carpenter’s Son.
Willing so humbly to enter our world,
Creator and Master, the Savior did come.
History splitting, prophecy fulfilling, sin forgiving,
life transforming man,
Jesus Christ, both Son of God and son of Joseph and Mary,
a miraculous plan.
Three decades passed without one wrong or sin,
lived as the One Perfect Lamb.
He offered Himself, life and blood for man’s sin.
Buried three days, He arose up again!
Overcoming sin, death, sickness and the grave,
giving life unto all reborn men he would save.
Accepting His gift, true forgiveness is found,
New life, new joy, and truest Christmas blessings abound!
© December 2010
Lupus Hairs and Beauty Chairs
Lupus hairs that frame my face are finally growing in!
Before, they fell out by the handfuls, on the bathroom floor and drain.
Its great to see that baby growth, all stubby short and spry,
Standing straight around my struggling ‘do, refusing to comply.
Yet, I’d rather have them growing there, in straight defiance to my curls,
than have them missing still, and gone, because of lupus ills.
So, to make them feel at home, its time for a short hair crop,
an appointment in the stylist chair and trip to the beauty shop.
The scalp massage is always great, then the drippy toweling dry.
Next, her scissors fly and comb is at dance, her work is a noble try.
Scrunch, fluff and toss, a “beauty” transformation miracle is done,
A new hairdo, matched to new front hairs. Hair-victory is won!
Lupus Steals Her Dawn
Once, she was a morning person,
arising before every dawn.
The morning light was a welcoming sight,
viewed with curtains expectantly drawn.
Cool morning air, and lovely bird songs
wafted through her open window sill.
The early hours were her favorite place,
before lupus made her so ill.
Now she rises much later each morn,
just seeking clarity of thought,
and wonders about her former zest,
and the fleeting dawns she sought.
She never watches the morning rise,
for she slumbers on at that hour,
Sleeping much deeper and longer in rest,
to build her strength and power.
She misses the morning’s cheerfulness
that once was her daily blithe joy,
and looks far deeper for meaning now,
for perspectives to wisely employ.
Understanding sun’s rays bear a transient glow,
she pursues after light from above,
Seeking a dawn that will not pass away,
and warmth from her Savior’s great love.
© February 2011
Lupus, and Undoing My Overdoing
Many days are expended in chores, work and more.
After a long commute home, there’s a stop at the store.
We rush to our house, to a waiting hungry brood,
and zap up a meal to give our family some food.
After working all week, and then Saturday comes,
but more chores await once the weekend’s begun.
Laundry, and clean up, and dusting and such,
Before very long we have done way too much!
Pacing ourselves through busy weeks is tough,
and saying no, or wait, to important needs is rough.
In retrospect, its clear that we’ve continued overdoing,
and lupus has flared with no easy path to undoing!
So, unwelcome limits have imposed a new plan,
to slow down and rest over several days’ span.
Recovery of strength can be slow, a real pain,
’til we finally get back to our old strength again.
So carefully seek to find balance, dear friend,
saving some energy for fun at weeks’ end.
Lupus-imposed limits are respected by the wise,
heeded and followed by a patient who complies.
© May 2011
Lupus Alone – Haiku
Lupus walks alone
Through the storms of our monsoon
No one knows but us
© August 2011
I sit here eating dinner,
contemplating tomorrow’s big test,
wondering if I’ll pass or fail.
I’ll plan to give it my best.
Three more hours to go
until “light’s out!” for mental rest,
then an early start tomorrow,
and a flight out toward the west.
Flash cards in transit, a prayer for God’s help,
and THEN it will be time!
Four hours of testing, if successfully passed,
and certification will be mine.
Lupus has challenged the efforts I’ve made,
but despite limits, I won’t be undone!
Yes, it’s been hard, and the effort severe,
but how else can true victory be won?
© September 2011
Breeze from the Lemons
On this quiet sunny morning, a breeze of spring does blow,
through the branches of the lemon tree with a steadiness, and slow.
It winds its way across the beds of spring flowers in early bloom,
then scrubs the mustiness of winter from the corners of my room.
It’s fragrance is refreshing as it swirls around me here,
with a gentle touch of sweetness from the garden that is near.
A spiciness of citrus, with the pungency of earth,
combined with floral essence, it has rare perfumer’s worth.
As I lay convalescing of this illness in my lungs,
I am encouraged and invigorated as dreariness is expunged.
It’s fragrance turns thoughts outward to future healthier days,
and brings a gentle smile and solace, to weary sickroom ways.
© March 2012
Lupus and Me, the Short and Sweet
In only six sentences the challenge shall be
to tell you a story about lupus and me.
Well, all of my life they suspected and tested,
after a long string of docs, SLE was detected.
There’s been lots of medicine, chemo and stuff,
to quiet the lupus has always been rough.
I need exercise to strengthen, nutrition’s a must,
and lots of support from dear souls I can trust.
Always seeking to be a victor, and not a victim,
I look to the Lord and His strengthening within.
For this autoimmune illness, they still have no cure,
so, I advocate as part of my lupus adventure.
© May, 2012
How to Shake My Hand
I am so glad to greet you, and want to know your name!
But, when we meet, don’t hurt me. My joints might be inflamed!
Please do extend your hand, in a solid gentle way,
but just don’t squeeze too hard, or I will ache throughout the day.
If you forget and squeeze too firmly, remembered you will be!
And the next time that we meet, I won’t shake so willingly.
I’ll remember my last wince while gazing at your grin
And pull my hand away from you to shelter it from pain.
So you can shake my hand, but remember I might be sore
and I’ll let you shake it again, and trust you so much more.
I won’t shrink back or shudder at the thought of your hello,
and I’ll gladly shake your hand each time we come and go.
© June 2012
Being a Grandma is a Wonderful Thing!
Being a grandma is a wonderful thing, much better than success or fame
Children reward in such genuine ways, just by saying “grandma” as your name!
Traveling miles upon miles in one day, just to collect several tiny embraces,
is worth every hour and effort expended, the minute I gaze on their faces.
A week of vacation with several grand kids is far better than resorts or cruises.
I’d rather read books on the couch with some tikes, and collect several “climb-on-me” bruises!
Coloring books and crayons in array, would cover the kitchen table for hours,
as grandma and kids colored inside-the-lines of countless puppies, kittens and flowers.
Mealtime began with tiny hands holding around that same table all set with food,
as a sweet little voice offered thanks to their Creator, (and reminded us that everyone should!)
Tiny fingers picking up bites off of small plastic plates is quite beautiful,
as they daintily grasp each tidbit with skill and grin with glee as they taste each new morsel!
Grandchildren give grandma’s a very rare gift, and remind us of joy in what’s simple.
Politics, troubles, crime, bosses and budgets don’t keep little children from being joyful!
Instead, they focus on which toy they will carry, or which color of crayon to use,
Or, they delight in pink polka-dots on their dress, or the bright cheerful color of their shoes.
© August 2012
Love stands beside me all through life,
his care protects me from oncoming strife.
Love walks before me, making a way,
for unobstructed progress through every day.
Love underneath me upholds my stance,
and cheers me on with his every glance.
Love nearby shows me warmth and grace,
with each smile, he shows it on his face.
These many years we have walked along,
sharing many a blessing, singing many a song.
We share His love outwardly, we pray
as we look to Him to show us the way.
So now we forward continue to go,
as between us now we still watch love grow.
Together we move toward new goals ahead,
As we follow God’s lead and do as He said.
So, sweetheart to you I so gratefully turn,
as beside you we both continue to learn.
We walk closer together and closer to God,
as under His hand we move on over earth’s sod.
The blessings of faith still flow through our love,
as God’s mercy and grace come unto us from above.
A new year ahead we expectantly see,
new adventures, new paths with your arm around me.
© October 15, 2013
Prosperity, Plowshares, Pilgrims and Praise
Prosperity unparalleled in our country is known,
since centuries before, seeds of blessing were sown.
Foundations yielded fruit from her genesis years,
cultivated by courage, harvested through tears.
Brave men before us had great vision and zeal,
for a shining republic where freedom was real.
Laying down a plowshare, picking up a sword,
defending the truths they believed from God’s word.
Across long years that followed, blessings endured,
although freedom yet stands, our memories are blurred.
What is the purpose for Thanksgiving Day?
To humbly thank God for those blessings, and pray.
Do we still remember, does original purpose stand?
Does thankfulness echo across a still blessed land?
Each anniversary brings opportunity anew
to repeat pilgrims’ example. What they did, we will do!
When family has gathered at our home that day,
long before watching gridiron men play,
we’ll each bow our heads, joining hearts heavenward,
thanking God for His grace, offering praise He deserves.
© November 25, 2013
Three Foggy Mornings
Thick blinding fog at awakening, a cloud seems to fill all my room.
Fog starts to rise with my breakfast, and then, a little bit more while I groom.
Exercise chases away some more mist, and my neurons are beginning to click.
Starting to feel like a human again, encouraged, today I’m not sick!
Not every day works according to plan, on the days murky fog just won’t clear.
Fogginess lingers, hanging heavy and dense, taking away inclinations of cheer.
Those days are distinctively slower and rough, mere thinking is especially hard.
Schedules abandoned and work set aside, “going out” becomes a stroll in the yard.
And then there are days faith finds a way to rebound before it becomes noon.
A half-day is better than losing the whole, spent redeeming the whole afternoon.
Heading out late, not truly uncommon, at least not for auto-immune me.
Trusting the Lord, begging daily for grace, past the foggiest morn — I can see!
© January 27, 2014
Sunshine My Enemy, Sunshine My Friend
In our sky a yellow orb emits its brilliant light,
its hues combined, a streaming beam so powerful and bright.
Traversing space and vast expanse, illumining earthly day,
in eight minutes’ time arriving here, from a hundred million miles away.
The rays arrive in many types, some harmful and some good,
the earth responds from warmth it makes to yield our needed food.
Our bodies need its help to make Vitamin D we truly need,
produced by sunlight’s UVB, the sun performs a necessary deed.
Sunshine is my friend, its true, and an enemy at times, as well,
those same productive rays of light can cause my joints to swell.
Within my skin an autoimmune reaction to UVA and B,
Burning, wrinkling skin over time, and triggering lupus flares in me.
Sunshine is my enemy, but sunshine is also my friend,
In doses small enough it’s good, if exposure can quickly end.
With sunscreen on, long sleeves and hat, I’m ready for some fun,
Cautiously I head outdoors for brief encounters with the sun!
© March 26, 2014
Awestruck At This Thought
Creator, Maker, Holy God, He loves mankind He made,
with broken heart and His selfless act, coming to our aid.
Lost and broken fellowship, once briefly shared with man,
Now has a way to be restored within God’s wondrous plan.
Jesus Christ, both human child and Son from God above,
To bridge sin’s gap, he took on flesh in humble perfect love.
Come to fulfill what prophets told of why He’d visit earth,
He bore our sin, and shed His blood to bring us second birth.
Upon a cross of wood He died, on Calvary’s lonely hill,
To open Heaven’s door to all, to the humble “whosoever will.”
Christ came to seek and save the lost, not willing to lose one,
Suffering beneath the weight of our sin, redemption was begun.
In the grave three days and then, arisen as He said He would,
He paid sin’s debt and took our place, now His mercy is understood.
Christ did for us what we couldn’t do, He washed our sin away.
Call on His name, confess your sin, and believe He lives today.
New life in Christ starts humbly, too, just like His did that day,
Humbly accept God’s merciful gift, He is only one prayer away.
This marvelous offer, unmerited grace, we’re awestruck at this thought,
That by Christ’s priceless outpoured blood, our eternal life was bought!
© April 20, 2014
Mother’s Day Hope
Once again, its Mother’s Day, with my mom no longer here,
to hug, to hold or walk arm in arm, as we did in yesteryear.
Her love stays with me, in my heart, as I fondly think and pause,
giving thanks to God for making her! As a mom, she had few flaws.
Her loving soul was rare and deep, she thought where few do go,
to ponder what lies underneath, seek truth, understand and know.
Her loving voice so genuine when she coaxed, cajoled or taught
her children to be wise and good, and live life as they ought.
God formed me from a speck of her, mystery silent and so deep,
and placed me in her womb and arms, her babe to gently keep.
She nurtured as I grew each day, stood behind me, always near,
encouraged during childhood trials, wiped away each woeful tear.
Last words will long remembered be, long after they were said.
We spoke of God and his love for man, and verses I’d just read.
My turn to urge, cajole and plead for mom to grasp this thought:
just seek the Lord with all your heart, in His death, your soul He sought.
Unsecured, she knew the Creator was real, but never knew for sure,
exactly what and who Christ was, whether man or God so pure.
So, a hope alone was all she held, but no assurance for her soul,
that Christ could wash all sin away, and make her spiritually whole.
So, now for me, there’s a humble hope, that scriptures that I shared
were used by God to help her see how much Christ Jesus cared.
Our good works alone are not enough to cleanse a sinful heart,
we must call on Christ to save our soul and eternal life impart.
© May 11, 2014
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