Category: Poetry

Mere Words Are Not Enough

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Sometimes words are not enough.

So desperate are we to be understood,

So dependent on identity…

It feels like without it, we are nothing.

Sometimes words are not enough.

Offering condolence feels so cliché.

Encouraging might appear condescending.

Our words are likely some overdone chatter.

Sometimes words are not enough.

Contributing to the think tank…

It’s a race to offer the best, the most valuable idea.

Someone is always left feeling like an idiot.

But maybe sometimes MERE words are not enough.

What if expression is exhibited without an audience?

What if kindness and sympathy were unique to the giver?

What if ideas contributed to the collective art and philosophy of God’s image?

Might then our words be enough? Might then we consider ourselves independent of the opinion of others?

Susan’s Song

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In Memory of my dear wife’s mother, Susan Simmone, who departed from us to be with Jesus on February 6, 2015

Susan’s Song

Be not there a sullen cryDSC01584
Despairing now for me.
Many wonder why,
Afraid of passing by,
And yet the time is nigh,
For precious memories.

In youth I played and grew
Ne’er missing childhood joy.
Each day was bright and true,
Regrets were but a few,
For my heart was made anew,
By my Savior Jesus Christ.

I lived and laughed with you.002Baby Daphne & Mom
We sang, we worked, we cried.
Ever mindful to imbue,
A love, which was the glue,
Our friendship always knew,
That no one could deride.

T’was then He granted me,
My precious little girl.
And I was blessed to see,
Her grow and love so deeply.
I am so proud of my Daphne,
More than anything in the world.

So be not there a sullen cry
Despairing now for me.
I do not wonder why,
Eternity is mine,
And yet the time is nigh,
For precious memories.

 

Timid Heart

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Oh my timid heart,
Tis passion you command.
For better or for worse,
My attention you demand.
For reason governs logic
Guiding A to B to C,
But a tug of the nostalgic
Will bend reason to its knee.
And so my timid heart
Forget not what you are.
Though you incur the hurts,
You also set the bar
For how long you shall endure
The intensity of offense,
You have power to move on
From the pains you can diminish.
So look to the horizon.
You were never meant to be
Confined, stalled, or stagnant
Go forth, my heart, run free.

A Child’s Hope

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She came into my arms,
Eyes red and full of tears.
I queried with alarm,
Oblivious to the harm
Inflicted by her peers.
They wouldn’t play with her.
She was crushed and quite dejected.
My heart began to stir
For what I once endured
When young and first rejected.
But how could I reply
Except by warm embrace?
I couldn’t tell her why.
Her age was merely five
And words had seemed a waste.
She wiped her face and ran away
At once, without a care.
Determined, she returned to play,
Forgetting their maligning way,
Choosing hope and not despair.

Broken China

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No longer shall I tarry
In fearful wilderness,
Afraid, alarmed, and wary
By the burdens that I carry,
Perspective quite contrary
To desirable bliss.
I let the china fall,
Having want to be reformed.
It shatters in the hall.
I’m judged and shunned by all.
I brace against the wall,
Enduring the great storm.
I peek a careful squint
To see if I survived,
And maybe catch a glimpse
Or possibly a hint,
A life beyond incident,
Where peace may be derived.
And I’m pleasantly greeted
By a warm and tranquil scene,
No scoffers have entreated,
No ambulance is needed,
Nor am I impeded
From existing as I deem.
So I gather up the pieces
Of the shattered, broken idol.
My confidence increases
As practicality releases,
My consternation ceases
And frees my timid soul.

That Precious Laugh

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That precious laugh has caught my ear,
Interrupting my endeavor.
I rise, move closer, perchance to hear
New sounds you may deliver.
IMG_1146And hark! Again, a jubilant cackle
emits from your sweet face.
The task I’d meant to formerly tackle
Is easily replaced
By the impetus to lift you high
And twirl you all around,
And the joy of watching as you try
To articulate your sounds.
Oh precious child you have me.
Your joy shall be my plight,
And nothing will deter me
From engaging in your life.
IMG_1143I’ll applaud your successes
And cry with you in pain,
Watching as God blesses
Amidst the pouring rain.
For nothing less compels me
Than to see your joy fulfilled.
Your laugh, a start before me,
From here, our love, we’ll build.

A Rising Tide

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Do you feel it in the air,
A sense of something coming?
The likes of which you can’t compare,
An insatiable longing?
A growing wave forms steadily,
Just breaking the horizon.
The tide comes in readily
Beyond the bounds of reason.
Oh beckoning breeze, you welcome me
Preemptive of fruition.
Anticipation builds frantically,
A mix of hope and tension.
Some may dread and fear unknown
Recourse of such submission.
They hide away all alone,
Afraid of vain delusion.
But no, not I, my purpose forms.
I’ll hope for nothing less
Than providence amidst the storms.
My life, my King shall bless.

Reflection of the Dark

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Past the veil are shadows known,
Alive despite intention.
Without denial they exist,
Beyond mere recognition.
Yet these dark imprints signal not,
Imperative malevolence.
Sometimes darkness is the impetus,
Of serene nostalgic silence.
And while discerning which of these,
Awaits us at the thought,
We may find solace knowing that,
Villains tarry not,
In queries of the should-haves,
Or repentant genuflect,
Our heart exposed, amidst our woes,
A longing to be blessed.

Oh The Road Familiar Known

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Oh the road familiar known,
I glance in recollection.
A wanderer strides alone,
Intent in his reflection.
I ask in haste, “Are you the one?”
He nods in affirmation.
My shoulders sink in bitter relief,
At odds with each sensation.
“Oh the road familiar known.”
I cry to my companion.
With half a smile, he nods again,
Suggesting his compassion.
I wait with longing for a word,
Some response to trepidation,
He simply stands in front of me,
Not changing his expression.
“What will you?” I ask, with irritation,
To break his piercing gaze,
“Let go,” he says with forlorn caution,
Then points the opposite way.
“But, oh the road familiar known,”
I cry again in earnest.
“Tis the past, the seeds are sown,
Before you lies your interests.
For if you tarry any longer,
You will not be fit to see,
The difference between what’s behind you,
And what you’re meant to seek.”
“But oh, the road familiar known.”
I meekly say in sorrow.
He shakes his head and turns away,
Heading for the morrow.
I’m left alone, now knowing truth,
Confined and pertinacious,
Hoping for some validation,
So vainly efficacious.

The Meaning of Christmas

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A cup of Hot Chocolate,
With a rich, yummy scent,
Cookies in the oven,
Anticipation of the event.
“Baby, It’s Cold Outside,”
Has just come on cue,
The Elf on the Shelf,
Watches all in his view.
DSC04184The lights twinkle faithfully,
Upon the great tree,
With ornaments representing,
Fond and precious memories.
The stockings dangle,
Waiting to be filled,
The spirit of Christmas,
Continues to build.
And across the room,
Upon a velvet-dressed table,11277255464_32db648228_z
Is a manger depicting,
A worn, crowded stable.
And within, all the pieces,
Pale at the sight,
Of the baby, Immanuel,
Our Lord Jesus Christ.
There are so many joys,
Christmas can bring,
But at the heart must remain,
Thankful praise to our King.
For with Him, the season,
Ends not in the Spring
The joy of His birth,
Lasts for all eternity.