Poems, Personal Stories, and Observations

Silent Hours

The streets silent and still.
Families away: spring holiday –
Or is it a resurrection?

No shouting voices,
Nor school buses.
No parents patiently waiting
For school to get out.

I meet more people
Out for walks.
Perhaps they’ll
Take the time
To smell the flowers.

How healing
Are the flowers
And the silent hours.

Beyond the hills,
I sense the ocean,
Miles away.

Fish frolic in rolling waves,
Sun glances off glassy waters,
Seagulls wheel recklessly in cyan skies.

How do the mermaids feel?
Are they free as the wind,
Though beneath it?

Deep, deep down,
There are no waves –
Maybe God is like that –
Unruffled by the world
Above / below Him.

Woman at the Well

No one else could make me see,
My faults, my failings,
Without embarrassing me.

I suddenly
Came face to face
With my selfishness.

I still don’t know
If I see it all.

Breath of the Spirit,
Refreshment so deep.
Sanctified waters,
‘Midst noonday heat.

Sharpening dullness,
Bright’ning the dark.
Lifting the lowly,
Humbling hearts.

Without the Spirit,
There’s naught we can do.
Please fill us, dear Jesus;
Make hearts one with You.

There’s a Reason

There’s a reason for your suffering,
A purpose for your pain.
God’s forging new beginnings;
Your hurt is not in vain.

You may be in confusion,
Be tempted by despair,
But if you’ll keep on trusting,
No comfort can compare.

Your life is God’s creation;
His plan, it has no flaw.
And when His work is over,
You’ll stand in humble awe.

Remember you are clay now,
Or liquid metal made.
Each person finely crafted,
A creature now remade.

 

 

 

The picture is blurry,
The end is unclear.
The boat, it is leaking.
The vultures draw near.

But this is where
Faith comes in,
Faith comes in,
This is where faith comes in.

The rope, it is fraying;
Your hands getting weak.
You don’t see an opening,
Some comfort you seek.

And this is where
Faith comes in,
Faith comes in,
This is where faith comes in.

The last pennies jingling,
The bills left unpaid.
The doc’s diagnosis
Has made you afraid.

You drive in the darkness,
The rain pouring down,
Dear Jesus, please help me
Get back into town.

Your friends, they have left you,
Or so it can seem.
You’ve used all your options,
Might give up your dreams.

But you need to let
Faith come in,
Faith come in,
You need to let faith come in.

There may not be answers,
You just need to trust … and let
Faith come in,
Faith come in.
You need to let faith come in.

Storm’s a Comin’

 

Storm’s a comin’
Wind’s a whippin’
Air is chillin’

Leaves a blowin’
Wind’s a moanin’
Tree branches groanin’

Life’s a flowin’
People are growin’
Eternity beckoning

All I Have to Offer

All I have to offer
Are these poor rags,
My poor attempts
To “be somebody”.

All You ever wanted
Was for me to be happy
Just for being alive,
For being created by You.

Redemption has transformed
My rags into riches.

My thread is woven
Into the beautiful tapestry
Of Your creation.

Still, I sigh and moan
While on this earth.
But all will be well.


[Memories from my teenage years…
I hope people can relate it to their own unique identity struggles,
whatever your ethnicity, religion, or other unique characteristics.
We all have them, and they are all valuable.]

Playing hooky from Biology class,
I walked on broken sidewalks,
The weeds poking through the cracks.

I passed white picket fences
And Victorian houses.
The old immigrants lived there —
the Portuguese, the Italians.
I felt the oldness of it all,
The vines growing on creaky fences.

The sidewalks broken —
like my old life.

I confessed to the Biology teacher.
He forgave me; he was a kindly man.

It was a town of immigrants —
But not my own people —  then.
(Didn’t realize I was an American!)
I spoke Hungarian —
not Italian, nor Portuguese, nor Gaelic —
No other Hungarians in town.

Lord, where do I belong?

You are my Rock and my Anchor;
You knew me all the time.

I’ll forever be an exile on earth —
But I’ll come home to You.