My Latest Poem

Ate manna for breakfast, and manna for lunch.
What's cooking for dinner? It's more of a hunch.
Had manna last Tuesday, and Thursday before.
The menu says Manna — can't take anymore!

— Excerpt from no wanna no manna no mo

Completed: June 2, 2020

Poem

Welcome to my Poetry Site

This website provides me an opportunity to share the Gospel with a broader audience than I could ever hope to entertain. I trust you'll be blessed as you read these lines.

The Poetry of Job

My latest thing has been re-writing the Hebrew poetry found in the Book of Job

The book of Job contains 42 chapters. The first two consist of the narrative setup for Job's story. With exception to the last portion of the final chapter, the rest of the book (40 chapters) is the back-and-forth conversations between Job, his friends, and God. These chapters are the basis for this series of 40 poems.

Check out the Poetry of Job!

Download a sample of "The Poetry of Job"

My 5 5 Poems

no wanna no manna no mo

June 2, 2020

Word!

May 30, 2020

Don't Grow Up to be Babies

May 24, 2020

Out With the Old, In With the New

May 21, 2020

Fighting for Harmony

May 9, 2020

These are some of my favorites

Christmas
Easter
Purpose-Driven Life
Sacred
Christmas #2
Easter #2
Purpose-Driven Life #2

The Color of Love

Bleak is the color of longing tonight;
Clouds hide the stars and the full moon from sight.
Huddled together by fires they keep,
Shepherds stay vigilant, watching their sheep.
Off in the distance, Jerusalem lies —
City of Peace — under turbulent skies.
Long, they’ve been promised a king of their own —
Waiting while others have taken the throne.
Such is the color of hope.

Tears are the color of promises kept,
Once shed in secret, now openly wept.
Why would her God — the Creator of all —
Choose for His purpose a maiden so small?
Abraham, Jacob, and David are gone,
Yet through their bloodline His promise lives on.
Now, to this world the Savior has come;
Gently, she kisses the cheek of God’s Son.
Such is the color of faith.

Music’s the color of angels on earth,
Witnessed by shepherds the night of His birth.
Shielding their eyes — on their knees in the field,
Blinded by glory the heavens revealed.
Servants of heaven — with thunderous voice —
Echo the news for all men to rejoice.
Mountaintops shake while the vast heavens ring,
Glory to God in the highest, they sing.
Such is the color of joy.

Pure is the color of gifts from the heart,
Brought by the wisemen who followed the star.
Into the desert with no other course,
Save for the light from that mystical source.
Star over Bethlehem — piercing the night;
Prayer turns to praise as their faith turns to sight.
Treasures are laid at His feet where He stood —
Feet that will one day be nailed into wood.
Such is the color of love.

When I started writing this poem, I was thinking about the "colors" of Christmas. The first stanza was initially written with the word black instead of bleak. But as I was rereading it and thinking it over, the abstractness of bleakness just felt right. I really liked the way it turned out. I liked it so much that I wrote an Easter version a few months later.

In the Shadow of the Cross

In the shadow of the lonely cross
Is a young man far from home;
But his father’s turned his back on him,
And he’s left to die alone.
They have stripped him of his dignity,
And he hangs his head in shame.
And his friends have run away to hide,
And they dare not speak his name.
And the people jeer
As the soldiers sneer
In the shadow of the cross.

In the shadow of the violent cross
Is the agonizing face
Of a man who strains to move his legs
While his feet are nailed in place.
And his weight tears open tender flesh
From the spikes nailed through each hand;
And his blood keeps making larger pools
Just below him in the sand.
And the crowd just waits
While he suffocates
In the shadow of the cross.

In the shadow of the silent cross
Hangs the Nazarene who died;
To be sure, a soldier takes his spear
And he runs it through his side.
And the heavens turn as black as night,
And the earth begins to shake.
And the soldiers wonder whom they’ve killed —
Have they made a grave mistake?
While some walk away
Others kneel to pray
In the shadow of the cross.

In the shadow of the empty cross
Heavy beams are stained blood-red,
From his wounded back, his hands and feet,
And the thorns around his head.
Yet the blood is mixed with grace and hope
And the pain has turned to joy;
For the tomb cannot contain the man
Whom the cross could not destroy.
From the thorns of old
Comes a crown of gold
In the shadow of the cross.

If asked what my favorite Easter poem was, I wouldn't be able to choose. I like Gone because it was my first Easter poem. I like Mary and The Story of Cleopas because of the stories they tell. I like Gethsemane because of the structure and the line: Using pillows made of stone. I like The Color of Love because of the companion Christmas poem by the same name. I like the repetitious first lines that progress through this poem.

I’ve Known You Forever

Based on the scriptures found in The Purpose-Driven Life – Day 2

I’ve known you forever — before you were made.
Before the foundations of earth had been laid;
Before any oceans or lands were defined,
I numbered the beats of your heart I designed.

I made you in secret — in your mother’s womb;
I formed you in love by the light of the moon.
Before you inhaled the first breath that you took,
I numbered the days of your life in my book.

All nations — all peoples — I’ve made every one;
I know every footstep and deed that’s been done.
I want you to want me whoever you are.
Endeavor to find me — I’m not very far.

You’ve been in my arms since the day of your birth;
I’ll carry you home when you leave from this earth.
I am your creator — your purpose is mine.
I’ve known you forever and loved you since time.

This is the first Purpose-Driven Life poem that I wrote. For that reason, it holds a special place among the others. I've mentioned this elsewhere: I was part of a team that brought The Purpose-Driven Life series to our church in 2004. I offered to write a poem each week to put in Sunday's bulletin that was pertinent to that week. The first week (day 1 — day 7), I chose Day 2; the next week, (day 8 — day 14), I selected to work on Day 8, etc. In this way, 6 poems were written for that 6-week period of study. But, this was my first and my favorite.

I Corinthians 13

Though I speak in the language of angels above,
Or each nation and race in their tongue;
Though my head knows the words — yet my heart has no love,
I am noise — like a cymbal or gong.

Though I forecast the future and fathom the past,
And all riddles, by me, are laid bare;
Though my faith is a faith that moves mountains — alas,
Without love, I have nothing to share.

Though I give all I have to the hungry and poor,
And my body is burned in the flame;
Though I give everything and can give nothing more,
Without love, I have nothing to claim.

For it’s patient and gentle — love strives to abide,
It’s not jealous, malicious, or rude.
And it boasts not and brags not — is empty of pride,
It’s not petty, offensive or crude.

And it does not keep records of wrongs — or of rights,
Love is trusting and kind and is good.
And it can’t be provoked into quarrels or fights
But rejoices when truth’s understood.

Love endures all, and bears all, believes all it hears,
And it hopes all — and ever will last.
But if prophecies rise — they shall all disappear;
And if knowledge or tongues — they shall pass.

What we know of the whole is a very small piece,
And we prophesy only a part.
When perfection is come imperfection will cease —
Only then will our true knowledge start.

As a child I had reasoned like most children do,
And I spoke with a childish mind;
Now that I’m an adult, I’m mature and I’m through
With that conduct I’ve left far behind.

Now we see but a glimpse, in a shadowy light,
Of our mirrored reflection — a trace;
But in time that will change — just like day versus night —
Then we’ll see like we stand face to face.

Now I just know in part — but then all will be plain,
And I’ll know as I’ve always been known.
Now the trio of faith, hope, and love yet remain,
But the love is the greatest, alone.

My notes indicate that this was written for a monthly newsletter at our church for the February 1997 edition. It is such a well-known chapter in the Bible that I am happy to have been inspired to write this.

Gold, Frankincense & Myrrh?

Then one of the Magi knelt down at his feet
And gave him a present of gold.
But, why would he bring something fit for a king
To a boy who’s a year or two old?
Surprising — this gift — for one born in a barn,
To parents — unwed at his birth.
His parents were poor — they were common, for sure,
So the gold doesn’t seem down to earth.

But gold was the measure of power back then,
As gold is the standard today.
And gold was the best — standing out from the rest —
For it neither would rust nor decay.
And gold was the gift that was given to kings —
A sign of respect for their reign;
The Magi had trekked many miles in respect
For this King of the Jews with no name.

Another brought frankincense into the house
And knelt at the young child’s feet.
From lands to the east came the incense of priests:
For its fragrance to heaven was sweet.
Great gift — as perfume, for a woman of means,
Or a doctor, with patients to heal.
Or maybe, instead, for embalming the dead —
For its purposes had broad appeal.

God wanted the Jews to burn incense to Him,
And sacrifice only their best;
Each morning and night the high priests would alight
Their censers that He might be blessed.
How fitting that God would replace these old laws
By sending His own sacrifice:
No more did He yearn for their incense to burn,
For His Son — on the cross — paid the price.

The last of the Magi pulled myrrh from a box,
Encrusted with gems and with stone.
You’d rightly presume that expensive perfume
Was the last thing a young boy would own.
Now what in the world were they thinking about?
Although no expense had been spared,
To follow that star for so long and so far,
You would think they’d come better prepared!

As sweet as the fragrance of frankincense was,
Quite bitter the taste was of myrrh;
Combine it with wine — and it helped dull the mind
And the drink would make suffering a blur.
So, Jesus was offered this myrrh as a child,
And then on the cross, once again.
Refusing to drink, He refused, then, to shrink
From the pain and the sin borne from men.

I like everything about this one. I like how it begins — like it's a continuation of a story already in progress. I like the bluntness and irreverence it contains. I like how it has doubts and questions — and answers. I really had no knowledge of anything I wrote about in the final stanza until I started looking at some studies. So, I really like the way it turned out.

Behold, the Man

He hung each star and planet — now hangs on splintered wood
He washed the feet of others — now His are bathed in blood
He called Himself, Good Shepherd — this sacrificial Lamb
Behold, this Jewish drifter — was Israel’s great I AM

Condemned to die, yet blameless — convicted on a whim
He cured the blind with spittle — but now they spit on Him
Was called a friend of sinners — on either side, a thief
Behold, the Man of Sorrows — acquainted with much grief

The One who healed so many — can’t move His hands or feet
He offered life eternal — but dies now in the heat
The Son of God Almighty — though He was virgin-born
Behold, the Rose of Sharon — now wears a crown of thorns

Then Jesus came out, wearing the crown of thorns and the purple robe.
And Pilate said to them, “Behold the Man!”
John 19:5 (NKJV)

The idea for this poem began with the words, Rose of Sharon. I wanted to tie the crown of thorns together with the Rose of Sharon. Somewhere along the way, I wove the Behold theme into it. It was one of the few times when I felt it didn't need any punctuation.

Love is the Thing

Based on the scriptures found in The Purpose-Driven Life – Day 16

I love you is action, not merely a phrase
That’s whispered in somebody’s ear;
And love isn’t something that someone displays
A couple of times through the year.

But love is the life we’re commanded to live —
The thing that will set us apart.
The world cannot have what we don’t have to give —
We’re spent without love in our heart.

We’re told we should cherish the Lord with our all,
Our neighbor as much as ourselves.
Beyond our arm’s reach — will we answer the call?
Or leave it for somebody else?

The naked, the hungry, the poor and diseased,
The prisoner — lost and ignored;
If we’ve shown our love to the lowest of these,
Then we’ve shown our love to our Lord.

Today is the day that the world needs our love;
Tomorrow, this chance may be gone.
To offer a faith and a hope’s not enough,
For love is the thing that lives on.

Remarkable talent. God has blessed you and how wonderful that you use this talent to glorify Him.

— Judy Stutzman

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This poem is amazing. It really told the story simply and effectively. God has given you a great gift.

— Linda Gisinger
re: The Road to Bethlehem

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God has blessed you with another beautiful poem and I am blessed to have found this site . . . your site has awakened my desire to write.

— Sharon Jordan
re: Turn the Page

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WOW — I love it! God has surely given you a gift.

— Milan Lewis
re: In the beginning

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I found your poem expressed beautifully the conflict that must have been raging in Job's heart. Masterfully written.

— John Janzen
re: Job 3 • Job's Lament

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Below, you will find poems from my series based on the scriptures found in the book, The Purpose-Driven Life.

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