To My Knight

proposalOct. 6, 2016

My love, you are a comfort in this place

of godlessness, a knight among the thieves

of honor – noble victor, in your face

are remedies for much that in me grieves.

You are a wink of Christ, so dearly bought

by blood not ours, and in your arms I find

a shelter from the battles that I’ve fought,

where I can leave the loneliness behind.

You soothe my spirit, spur me on to seek

more love in Him who made us, loves us more

than we can love, and when I kiss your cheek

I glow with thoughts of all He has in store.

My darling, may I bless you in return

with deeper love than we could ever earn.



April 18, 2015
Passionate verses settle into prose
I’m paid to type prolifically and fast.
My fingers fly in Word, but my fear grows
that sentences so mechanical will not last.
Creation follows a rhythm of its own —
world shaped and filled in six whole nights and days,
beauty in light and firmament and stone
and stars that dot the sightless void of space.
I am of earth, as Adam, and, as Eve,
of bone and flesh — as both, of Word and Breath.
Father and Maker inspires in me to grieve
my lapse of wonder and saves me from its death.
I cry for Renaissance and find His pen
still authoring me, and I find art again.

Impatience – Between Advents

Dec. 28, 2012

How much more heartbreak must we all endure

before that Baby, grown into a Man

and baptized, comes again and makes us pure

as He is, as we were when we began?

How much more pain under another’s blows

must we bear even with this lightened yoke?

How long must weeds sprout where the sweet wheat grows,

the sickle silent while the good grains choke?

How many stars must burn out ’til the sky

rolls up like parchment and the dead awake

to look the great Death-Slayer in the eye?

When will His foot smash down to crush that snake?

O come, Emmanuel! Burn off the night

a last with sunrise – set this dark world right!

Angels Desire

1 Peter 1:12

Was there a window to the womb

set up in the throne room of heaven those nine months,

the Father and the angels gathering to watch

the maker of the earth and heavens


and suck His thumb,

the Spirit enfolding the Savior in peace?

No wonder the angels couldn’t contain their joy

when He made it safely through that narrow birth canal!

How they must have stood in awe

as He took His first breath in the stuffy stable air.

How Gabriel must have longed

to tickle those perfect, tiny baby toes

as the callused carpenter hands wrapped Him gently in swaddling cloth.

It was Joseph burping Jesus,

Mary tracing her finger on His soft cheek.

Ah, this fragile creature Creator

brought into our world

where, even without a cross, all die

through tragedy or slow cellular decay –

what He has done

even the angels desire to comprehend.



Acts 7


Stephen knew Jesus, and that’s how he stood.

Mad men arrested him with hell’s own lie,

but God turned over evil with His good.

Stephen started with what they understood,

Abraham’s calling by the Lord Most High.

Stephen heard Jesus, and that’s how he stood.

He spoke of Joseph, betrayed by those who should

have loved him, sold as a slave, how by and by

God still turned over evil with His good.

He spoke of Moses before the burning wood,

when God said, “I have heard My people’s cry.”

Stephen saw Jesus, and that’s why he stood.

He showed his accusers their true brotherhood,

idolaters with murder in their eyes,

warned that God turns over evil with His good.

What merciful vision! Stephen knew he would

inherit a glorious kingdom though he die.

Stephen saw Jesus and knew that He is good,

and evil was overturned because he stood.


June 25, 2012

Author of our great story, even so,

come as on the first day, speaking light

one sentence out of darkness. Spirit blow

the waters to their boundaries by Your might.

Order and recreate our broken earth.

Even baptism has only been a type

of that eye-twinkling, marvelous rebirth.

Call us by our new names! The time is ripe.

We rise from dust a second, glorious time,

never to lose Your breath of life again,

no more to mourn our bodies’ slow decline.

The books, the graves are open! Poise Your pen

to end the prologue. Start our Chapter One

on a clean page: “Behold, the new has come!”

Autumn Artistry

Oct. 16, 2011

Creator, Artist, You have brushed the day
with sunlight morning, noon and evening long,
making the greens more vibrant and the play
of yellow, drying leaves more like a song.
The shadows fall just slightly to the north
of every bush and tree and body too,
and the crisp breeze refreshes the still-warm earth
and its remains in me – an image of You.
The last hurrah of color tinges red
and orange before the white and brown are left –
before these living things seem all but dead
and even the sky of color is bereft.
You paint a gorgeous canvas, zenith to ground.
Your work in autumn has beauty to astound.