Category: Poetry

Poetry

The Wise Man

I threw away my fish one day,
And walked behind a man.
His steps were clear and deep and sure
Upon the burning sand.
He walked right by, spoke scant a word,
But drew me still somehow.
I followed close behind the man
As wonder would allow.
It wasn’t long before I saw
The depth and breadth inside
This man who took his steady hand
And touched another’s eyes.
Then turned a bit and cupped an ear
And turned and felt a tongue.
Then turned once more with outstretched hand
And lifted up someone.
My eyes were wide, my jaw was dropped
As I could not believe
The things I saw with my own eyes
That this man could achieve.
And further on he walked again,
Speaking as he went.
And one by one, the people came
With sleeping roll and tent.
It was me who was with he
The night I nearly drowned.
It was I to whom he cried
To make his children found.
I was there when angels came
And covered him in light.
I was there in that girl’s house
When her dawn stopped her night.
I felt his hand upon my head,
His hair around my feet.
I felt the angels pry the locks.
I was almost complete.
I was there when he had prayed
And closed my eyes to sleep.
I was there behind the woods
While they walked that street.
Even then I did not know
All that he had told.
Some things strange and not quite clear,
My mind could not enfold.
Yet then I heard the rooster crow,
And then again twice more.
It was then I realised that
There was so much more.
And though my will was quick to go
My flesh stayed still behind.
I took some time and found my fish
And thought some things behind.
My life had changed these last few years
I was not quite the same.
And there he was, the man I loved,
Calling me by name.
Days went by, and soon I came
Upon the temple gates,
And looked upon a beggar there
And saw his lonely state.
“Look on us,” I called to him
And so he cast his eyes.
“We have no coins, but this we have:
In Jesus’ name, arise.”
And as I took him by the arm
And lifted him to stand.
I felt the spirit pierce my heart
And power leave my hand.
He stood steadfast, with solid feet,
And then I felt anew.
For now my faith was full, a stone,
And now it all I knew.

Poetry

Tokens of a Tired Man

There was a man of youth and such who wore the dress of teens,
Of T-shirts, runners, baseball caps, and endless pairs of jeans.
His skin was smooth; his hands were fresh, just dirty from some play.
Energetic, so he was, and full of zest each day.
His hair was wild, and quite untamed; his face was still a babe’s;
His eyes – they sparkled with sprite and vim, and a smile upon his face.
His chin was bare, yet held out firm, his shoulders held up high
His feet with strength and longevity, his arms reached for the sky.
One Hallowe’en, he travelled far, separated from his home.
Few days went by, his parents gone, and now he was alone.
There he stood, his hair slicked back, and a tie around his neck.
His runners now were polished shoes, and his suit without a speck.
His shirt and pants were pressed and creased, not a wrinkle anywhere.
His socks were bought just yesterday. His books were free from tear.
He was the same – his clothing changed. New adventures laid ahead.
His energy seemed that much more. His nervousness was dead.
The day before Remembrance Day, a couple years gone by,
Found this man returning home, in an aeroplane did he fly.
His hands now rough and dark with tan, his knuckles scarred and raw,
His hair was bleached from the blaring sun; And bristles were on his jaw.
His face was sharp and weathered well, his eyes were closed in sleep
His shoulders drooped with weariness, his mouth did not peep.
His shoes were dull and scuffed with age, the soles were worn right through.
His pants were thin in the knees, and held a stitch or two.
His books laid down next to his side were worn and taped and marked
His vim was gone, but was replaced with strength found in his heart.
The tokens of this man were strange to outsiders looking in,
It seemed to them he was unkempt and far from being thin.
But there were some who, wise enough, ’pon looking on this man
Would often see similarities of One from a different land.
Hands all scarred and worn with work, tired and sapped of strength
Reminded them of wounded palms and arms stretched at length.
Hands that blessed; hands that worked; and hands that knocked on doors;
Hands that shook; hands that clasped along with prayers he bore.
Tired feet and worn out shoes bore resemblance just the same
To sandalled feet on beaten paths of whom he bore His name.
Feet that walked; feet that stood in courage as he spake;
Feet that gave to knees that bowed as his voice did quake.
Tears that fell from his eyes and trickled down his cheek,
Reminded them of drops of blood shed by Him not weak.
Foolish men see what they’re not and hope they don’t become.
Wise men see what they’re not, but hope they do become.

Poetry

Ode to Mary

Honey sweet, cotton soft,
Snowy fair, mountain top,
Ocean blue, angel song,
Evening still, sunset long.
Springtime red, summer green,
Autumn cool, winter clean,
Sunshine warm, coastal breeze,
Maple shade, swaying trees.
Blackened brown, hazel eyes,
Snowy skin, quite the prize,
Warming heart, thinking of,
Never hurt, ever love.

Poetry

Victoria Day

My mind was clear as I think back to a still morn in May.
A darkened morn it was to me, to others, a hol’day.
The day was new and touched by dew. Not a sound upon the ear.
A mother’s voice, a trembling hand awoke me to my fears;
Fears I had the day before, and e’en throughout the week,
And now they woke me from my sleep and wouldn’t let me speak.
Just thrice the bell had struck that morn, my worstest fears come true.
The love of two fin’lly made three, but now the three was two.

Poetry

Dreams Are Small

In land of stars the blackness rules and light is slave to dark.
A land where stars are forced to stay where night has e’er them parked.
The stars are small, their skies are broad, the space above us vast,
Yet we on earth are small as sand and brittle as the glass.
Our hopes and dreams are big to us, and joy inside us felt
When we wish upon them much and look to them for help.
But dreams get broke and hopes do shatter and wishes don’t come true.
They’re all br’ttle, ’cuz they’re all small when they’re looked in view.

Poetry

A Poem For Mary

There was a time within my life whence I was but alone;
Whence all the love giv’n to me was ne’er in my heart sown.
My heart was open but ever empty, for love ne’er knew me then,
And might I try to op’n it more I’d never find a mend.
For much a time I trav’ll’d through life with a heavy heart inside;
A heart weighed down, not b’ excess love, but loneliness within abide.
For years I tried to compensate with the things I had around me,
My eyes, my ears, my nose, my tongue thought that they had found thee.
The things they found were substitute, and tried to trick my heart:
My eyes would view the seas of grain and give my love a start —
They’d see the ocean up above, blue as m’ spirit inside,
And then at night the sea was black and pocketed w’ specs of light;
My ears would hear the beautiful song of spring birds in a tree,
And the whisper of the brooks and wind would once again be thee;
My nose would smell the sugar rose and the fragr’nce o’ fallen rain,
And these two things w’ innocence were ye t’ me again;
The taste of sweetness upon m’ tongue were joys that would exclaim,
That you were here, though you were not, and for a time would keep me sane.
And all these things would fill my heart, tho’ ne’er would stay that long,
For they were not love, but took the place when I did not hear the song
Of a voice from Heav’n that would fill my ears, my mind, my soul, my heart
And change the love I felt back then for one that was my part
Years went by and still no sign of the love I want’d for me —
She had to be the perfect one for my eyes to even see.
The beauty of her hair surpass the golden waves of grain,
The darkness richer than the eve and darker than its reign;
The voice of her must angelic be and fill my mind with peace,
Be honey smooth and sunny soothe and soft as fragrant fleece;
Her scent of flow’rs and fallen rain must fill my heart each day;
And the taste of precious lips must too engulf me when they may.
That was the love I wanted for; the love my heart would need;
The love my eyes kept searching for; the love my ears would heed;
The love my mind kept yearning for; the love my spirit missed;
The love my soul was aching for; ’twas what made me amiss.
Time did not bend and was not friend and kept her from my sight,
But then I knew that once’d come soon and then I’d be full o’ light.
The time soon came after years’d gone by, and my mind had ne’er thought
Nor dreamed the sight of beauty such would have been my lot.
But the richness of her hair was more than midnight in the woods,
And the eyes of her were deep with green yet mingled w’ brown o’ wood.
The voice I heard was sweet like heav’n, and her song was more than birds
And the beauty of her entire soul was brighter than the earth.
It was not long b’fore I fell in love and my heart was full once more
With a joy that stretched throughout my soul and warmed my spirit’s core.
She soothes my soul when it is troubled or filled with worldly cares,
And she calms my mind of busy days and all my stress she bears.
And now I know that it’s her love that will keep me warm forever,
And the time I’ve wait’d for her love will escape my mind in never.

Poetry

A Mountain Journey

A metal box encased by forest
Held treasure deep inside.
Dark as night and cold as steel
Yet something did abide.
Something big, something warm,
And round just like the moon.
Something quiet, something known,
And like an angel’s tune.
And then it’s opened amid the cries
And darkness flees away.
The humble treasure so deep and soft
Touched a heart that day
It wasn’t long ’til that pure gift
Grew and begat two more.
It wasn’t long ’til its pure owner
Rushed on out the door.
The night before was spent so slow
Trying hard to relax
And now, just dawn, it was time to meet
With out a ne’er glance back.
And there they knelt upon the mount
With forever in their eyes
Shining bright with radiant light
Not seeing th’others die.
Others gone, where they now stood,
Two lives not seen again.
Two lives which now replaced by one
Were on the road again.