Lovesick

I miss you, beloved,
      I don't care who knows.
I miss you so desperately,
       honey, it shows.


I find myself searching
      your hand when I pray.
Kissing the air when
      I wake up each day.

I'm hugging a pillow
     at night all alone,
wanting your name
     to come up on my phone.

Counting the days
     and the long hours too
'til I can touch you

     and say "I missed you."

Clumsy Runners

We're clumsy runners, Jesus,
not like You.

We're preachers of weak rants,
Lords of the faceplants,
Masters of "I can'ts" . . .
But keeping our unsteady pace.

We fall when we follow,
Have water; don't swallow,
Unhappy and hollow . . .
But glad to be part of the race.

Please prod us and poke us,
Revive us and stoke us,
Sharpen our focus
On You and Your beautiful face.

We'll slowly get stronger,
Get better, go longer,
Not turn or go wrong
Earn a crown for this glorious chase.

Should Have Been . . .

It should have been a quiet nest,

A place of comfort and of rest,

A place where one is richly blessed

Instead

               where are

                                   our brothers?

It should have been the place to go,

A place of joy when all is woe,

A place to rise when all is low,

Instead,

                where are

                                     our sisters?

It should have been the place to run,

A place to fill the lonely one,

A place of love when there is none,

Instead,

                where are

                                     the Children?

When trials come, they drop away,

The troubled oft forget to pray,

The hurting off, alone, they lay,

And where

                     were all

                                     the Christians?

Our shame be great, our great disgrace

 And may we weep and hide our face,

We should have been Christ’s firm embrace

Instead

               where are

                                    our brothers?

Name Him

Ok, before you read this poem, you need to know that it is definitely not finished.  I'm still polishing it, but thought some input would be helpful.  The poem is roughly based off of Proverbs 30:1-4.  Actually, it pretty much follows the same idea all the way up to the end (rephrasing slightly to mirror events that happened to Jesus). Almost at the end, my full intention was to quote the Scripture almost exactly.  "What is his name, and who is his son?  Surely you know!"  At this point, I wanted the poem to highlight Jesus, who is the Son of God.  "I know His name!  I know His Son!" type of thing.  It started out pretty good, but it kind of falls apart at the end.  Anyway, for once in my poetic life, I'm actually taking suggestions.  I'm stumped.

Most ignorant am I-- a fool,

No famous bel esprit.

The wisdom clear in other men,

Is clearly sparse in me.

Who am I to know of Him?

And, really, who are you?

Have you gone up before His throne,

Returned when you were through?

Can you encompass every wind

Within your very palm?

Or throw your arms out and embrace

The waters; make them calm?

Can you create ex nihilo

The width and breadth of earth?

Who is he who equals GOD?

Who dares to swell his worth?

What is his name?  Who is his son?

Come, tell me if you know!

Behold our God!  Behold His Son!

Be awed and bow down low.

Is THIS What You Want?

"May I cover my eyes, Lord?" the minister cried,

"I must be confessing,

My view is distressing.

I'd rather that my eyes were dried."

"May I cover my ears, Lord?" the counselor pled,

"The wailing and crying,

Is stressful, and trying.

I'd rather have silence instead."

"May I cover my mouth, Lord?" the preacher implored,

"The message rings hollow,

And no one will follow.

I'm tired of being ignored."

So be it, you foolish, young children of stone.

Your eyesight be blinded,

Your ears be of lead,

And, lest you be minded,

Your words be unsaid.

Your limbs all be fettered,

Your heart quickly rust,

And, lest you be bettered,

Your soul turn to dust.

And when you have found

All your miseries drowned,

You hard-headed fools will have sunk, all alone.