Poems

“God thundereth marvelously    with his voice;  great things doeth he,    which we cannot comprehend. ” *Job 37:5 Beneath the dynamics  of the vibrant heavens grow the tenderest things— the gentle grass greening the land, wild honeysuckle nestling with dog rose, tiny lambs leaping for joy, and blade of new wheat  for autumn harvest.

A poem.

There is no night. Wait! I am right.

The window frames a piece of sky  That stretches out beyond the eye. So God is glimpsed through waymarks small Each hinting at the promised All.

Good alone sets the stage; this is Spirit’s presentation creating each completely pressure-free appearance in Love’s tender presence. So none is caught in cold of tumult or tragic scene, for fear’s dark-night belief must yield to light of being perfect, peaceful, safe.

Even before the horizon hints of a blush or the early finch pierces the silence, before I steal my first peek at the day He is come! His voice—the very first, before the others stir—whispers to me just whose son I am, and why only good is in store for today. He’s my song in the shower, my patience when my son sleeps late; the loving guide  for the hand that butters the toast.

I suspect God has a trampoline And a sunshine machine. But that’s not all; Pray tell, a bell, A river of tumbling stars For a waterfall.

It has been said,  We enter the Kingdom of Heaven, one by one—alone. Not true.

Deep within the heart   this song is born. It may not first be known as words,    but rather felt as resonance,   response to a holy stirring.

Waves higher than seen before .