In Fractured Light, Until

In rays fractured, falling
such is grace to a man,
as crumbs between the cracks,
and settling as manna sent
from a loving Father’s hand.
Oh, the sweetness how it’s tainted!
Sin is not a spice that soothes –
it only rots, clots the arteries
of our daily communication.
Men of unclean lips muted,
hearts stilled,
and natural minds hardened, darkened
It’s a fractured world indeed, I say,
let the light fall where it will;
such is the Sovereignty of God
to quicken,
to stir,
to reprove.

Millpond Ink Poetry, 2017




Each Night a Final Call

Can you sense it in the air?
The coming shock and awe…
not in bombs falling or tumultuous blast…
but the second coming of Christ,
when all that was written comes at last?

Can you sense it in the air?
That the day of the Lord draws near?
With Israel restored to the patriarchal root,
as the day of the Gentiles wane…
No, you say?
The Word of God is what?

Oh, dear man… woman…
Do not fall prey to the years and times,
when you heard he was either here or there –
would soon come again but that day passed,
with no sign, and the supposed seers died.
Rather, we should pray for one last revival, call
a lifting up of the name of Christ,
with reverence and awe,
for God is patient, long-suffering all.

Can you sense it in the air?
If not, I fear – not for myself –
but for you, my friends,
that in a twinkling of an eye,
upon a Loving Father’s eternal command,
Christ shall return as he left –
in the air –
and demand a sober, final accounting.

That is his right you know.
In either justice or mercy… we…
standing either left or right of His glorious seat,
His pronouncement made,
our end complete…
His name shall be glorified,
Listen, oh friends, give ear!
Can’t you sense it? Feel it?
It’s in the air.
Millpond Ink Poetry, 2016

Of Ashford

You might ask what brought me here.
I’d say the grace of God.
Others may question my wisdom,
what love had I to leave,
children, grand… a few friends and church family,
I’d say the grace of God.
If he hadn’t strengthened me,
swept me up like Philip and carried me here,
I might have stayed in place,
but I couldn’t… not when I saw Ashford,
a place I will very well die in,
not soon I pray,
unless that’s God’s will,
but a place of peace and rest,
old family, new friends and church…
a place I went to prepare
out of love for those I left,
where a fire is lit…
kept burning by the grace of God.

Millpond Ink Poetry, 2016

Of Golden Arms

I stand amidst a golden field
of flax and daffodils plenty.
I wonder if I’m here to stay,
though the night draws nigh
I find my stance unsteady.

Oh, daylight break!
I need the light!
If anything to see that field,
it’s color, texture, brought me life,
it’s golden hue a charm,
to wear upon my heart,
disarmed, I make no haste.
It’s just for me.
A place that’s safe
in the fields of flax, of daffodils
where minds can rest
and peace is found in a flowing,
dancing place
of golden, reaching arms.

Millpond Ink Poetry, 2016

Be Wary, Young Man

To say, ‘I love you,’ is no easy matter.
Oh, it’s easy enough to say
when something is wanted,
but when something is expected?
We find the words firmly wedged,
a choking sensation, a gasp
or other acid reflux reaction
rises from deep within the stomach
bringing to our palate an ugly taste,
yes, but it is ours to swallow
when ‘I love you,’ is merely
a self-gratifying and seductive phrase,
intended only to serve the appetite of the self-absorbed liar,
who must taste and absorb his own folly and ruin.
Because the one misled might have been the greatest,
and loveliest of creatures,
and she’s lost forever.

Millpond Ink Poetry, 2016


What am I doing here?
A new year? A new home,
new life, new breath and place?
Though I’m not new.
I see the aging in my hands,
my feet, my lengthened lobes,
my sagging face.
What am I doing here?
It’s all so… so very queer.
‘Twas once a useful word you know,
it meant peculiar, odd;
when I was a boy…
the word gay meant happy,
of cheer. Too bad, so sad.
What am I doing here?

Millpond Ink Poetry, closing out 2016


As a withering flower, pressed
between the pages of her life’s book,
a stranger came and found her petals;
and said, ‘look!
No finer flower have I yet to see
as I’ve turned the pages of life.
Her beauty, luster may be gone,
but oh, one time! One time!
If only I had lived then,
had watched her rise in the early morn.
How blessed the day,
how the sun smiled and shed its rays,
the dew giving suck as it lightly fell
and settled to moisturize her face.
Yes, the loveliest of all.
I have seen it here between these pages, pressed.
Oh mother, thank you, thank you
for teaching me to read.’

Millpond Ink Poetry, 2016

In My Sky

It rained all day today, overcast and gloomy.
It’s hard for the heart not to follow,
take on the gray, the emotions swayed
with the forecast the same for tomorrow.

Still, if I close my eyes what a lovely vision I see,
where my beloved and her pleasing smile
is ever before my face, beyond this place,
where clouds do not gather or rain falls.

Oh, heart rejoice for the sunshine that comes!
Nothing to do with the breaking of the day,
nor rising of the sun, when love’s begun
the clouds have no place in my sky.

Millpond Ink Poetry, 2017

A Living, Going Home

Feel the breeze, ever lifting…
upward to settle at heaven’s door,
at the very seat where Jesus sits,
He smiles at us who lie in wait
first in silent reverence,
then thunderous praise
immediately below.

Feel the Spirit, ever filling…
lungs engaged He’s Christ with us – in us,
‘Lo, I am with you always.’
He speaks in such a tone,
first in wondrous grace,
then in awesome power,
His un-surpassing peace bestowed.

Feel the Father’s hand, His grip!
Around us, hedged –
protected in this fallen world,
the darkness gone, we walk in light.
Adopted now, we’re
the children of the King
and death for us a going home.

Millpond Ink Poetry, 2017