Poems

The kite flies high In the winter sky— Bright aeronaut, Straining to reach Heavenly heights. Tethered to earth, Soon to descend, Release would mean An early fall Or futile drift.

Father let me come to church prepared to serve — to see perfection in Thy creation and wisdom in Thy Word; not preoccupied with personalities or burdened mortal sense. As five wise virgins in parable of old let my Christ light be burning bright with quickened understanding as I come to honor Thee.

No indecisive drifting now No aimless luffing, stalled momentum: Principle has set my course. Purpose pulls the mainsheet taut holds eye on guiding star hand firmly on faith's tiller.

Since God is All And fills all space, I cannot be in A lonely place Nor feel bereft When all have left. God is with me, And I shall be In Him—with Him— Eternally.

He was assigned a special task, he thought, to persecute those who taught the newfound Word. A road's twisting ways asked of him what was his right— where was his power? (The voice that echoed back from that first day when witnesses asked him to hold their bloody coats and Stephen prayed.

I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid to do something.

No roads I travel lead to Jericho, But anywhere along the way I tread There may be one whose suffering, I know, Can best be satisfied with living bread. The wounds that only Love can ever heal May I assuage—the precious ointment break, And to this lonely, suffering one reveal The living bread of which he may partake.

I seek with new direction and desire to unfurl my billowy sails to the keen wind, and take my dangerous course between the Scylla and Charybdis of sweet lies and steer me over rocks of apathy. I seek with new direction and desire to rid my galleon's hulk of willful barnacles, renew the rigging, let fly the bravest flags of moral courage cracking in the wind.

Once I saw myself in can-of-worms relationship with error. How difficult it was to sort out which was it, and which was me— tangled inextricably spiritual selfhood/mortal susceptibility.

In the silence of humility Repentance grows Like the sky Behind falling leaves I reach for God's love And marvel That He reaches too Still so near After so long We touch Like two trees After winter And a certain wind Suddenly close INGRID MEYER.