Some old poems of mine

So I was cleaning my wallet out today, because my wonderful wife surprised me with a new one that has my name etched on it and I found a couple of old poems that I wrote years and years ago. I’m not really sure they can be called poems or that there correct in the way that poem like stuff is supposed to be arrayed in stanza, but for me they represent the first signs of my interest in writing and expressing stories and emotions through the use of the pen. I’ve decided to share some of them here on the blog with any fans of my work who many come across this post and have a desire to read some of my earlier endeavors. With no particular rhyme or reason given to listing order here are a few of my earlier works of years gone by.

 

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A Landscaper’s Prayer

O the land,

Of mist and moor,

Of hill and dale,

Of valley on low, and

Of mountain on high.

 

Who put life into thee O valley fair

And of thee O majestic mountain on high?

 

Who breathed color into every lovely dale

And set in place the bounds of every hill?

 

Who designed thee O barren moor,

And who is he that even the mist doth obey?

 

Who is he?  Doth not both land

And sea proclaim to all that it is Thee, O Lord.

 

O the land made by Thee

Behold it is precious to me.

 

Of Thee, O Lord, I ask of Thee

Sweet and wonderful ability,

 

Of understanding of Your creation

Both high and low and small and great,

 

Of assistance in matters seen and unforeseen

And in both deed and thought keep me.

 

O Lord, it is my fervent thought and prayer

That I be able to create with the land as after Thee.

 

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Light by Night

 

Bobby Joe Brown tromped by night,

Through a land bright with light,

But all he could see was night.

 

As if to mock his plight,

The light it seemed to him,

What little he could see,

Would vanish with the coming of each night.

 

Nothing odd in occurrence was this,

But O’ the memory of that brief bright light,

Light that lit the darkness bright.

 

Wouldn’t it be nice he thought to always have the light,

But it seemed that whenever he looked off to the right,

The light would drift back into the night.

 

O’ would he ever get it right,

It seemed no sooner had he acquired light,

That he would be back in the night.

 

But there had been more light of late he thought,

Maybe it would stay more if he didn’t look off to the right,

And instead looked at what was in and of the light.

 

Was the night getting brighter,

Or was this just some trick of the night,

No it was brighter and soon he could see by light.

 

Gone was the night replaced now by the light,

He realized then that there had always been light,

And that it had been him that had looked away into the things of night.

 

But he would seek the light from now on,

And let the memories of night be driven away by rays of light,

He would rely on the One who wields light to keep him from the night.

 

Tromping no more through night,

But carried and kept by and in the Light.

 

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Our Mighty Fortress

As to who laid the mighty foundation there is none to attest,

Who can doubt that it has forever been standing stone clad in the mists?

 

As trumpets sound and arrows fly,

Who made you to withstand bombardment so dire?

 

As ladders clang as they hit iron topped walls,

Who dares to mount such a tall wall?

 

As savage warriors climb only to fall,

Who will be there to bury them when the day is done?

 

As the battle rages and spirits melt,

Who can tell the invading warriors to unite?

 

As the hammered bite of siege rams pound,

Who can attest to walls so hard as to flatten iron?

 

As trebuchets sling and shells explode,

Who could believe that the wall still stood?

 

As tunnels are dug and tempers flare,

Who can not but curse the day because of a foundation so well laid?

 

As fire from above consumes all the weapons of war,

Who can now doubt what the inhabitants of the city already know?

 

As God is our fortress of whom should we fear,

Who can take from Him our souls that He holds so dear?

 

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Exile

Cast out we were from the land,

Of beauty and grace into a wasteland

 

Last of a long line,

Of warriors, kings, and fools

 

Reduced now to remnants of our former glory,

Of forlorn hearts and naked of spirit are we

 

Heads to the wind we trudge,

Of where we go we do not know as we are lost in a storm of our own making

 

Our time is all but over,

Of one last desire we yet cling

 

That we will find a place in the rocks to grow,

Of a certain we will teach our children the way to go

 

Warriors in faith as we were not they in turn shall be,

Of their furious wrath our enemies will come to know

 

Our enemies showed us no mercy,

Of our children they will have no peace

 

Until they all fall thrust through by sword and spear,

Of no more threat to all

 

Our children will take back the hallowed halls,

Of the sacred land that to our shame we lost

 

Fools our enemies were to leave a man alive,

Of our clan who could still yet cry out to God

 

Our God will rekindle that which went out,

Of our hearts so long ago through His mercy and redeeming Grace

 

Our old eyes will behold with joy,

Of all that which was lost and was thought to be no more

 

Our children born in shame have been given the day,

Of this you can be sure

 

Future generations heed well,

Of our aged and timeworn advice

 

Lose your faith and loss you will know,

Of the One who abounds in Grace

 

In the shadows before hell’s fiery glow one can yet find hope,

Of the One who made the stars and hung them all in place

 

What was lost has been redeemed by the Son,

Of our words of warning forget none

 

Or the curse we suffered could be yours,

Of this you can be sure

 

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Spring Journey

As I moved down the path towards my destination I could not but notice the sheer joy of Spring breaking forth, on what had been a cold and desolate scene for so many long months.

 

In particular I noticed the early blooming flowers that were along the way home. The bright and happy yellow flowers of the forsythia coming forth out of last year’s new growth. The energetic daffodils popping out in joyous color everywhere as they proclaim Spring’s return to the land. Only to be chorused along by the deep purple petals of the hardy magnolias unfolding to reveal their resplendent silken interiors as they embrace the sun and add their fragrance to the fresh Spring air.

 

But as beautiful as the sights where to see along the way home. I found myself rather hurrying on my journey home instead of taking my time and basking in Spring’s rich delights. This was because as beautiful as these spring flowers were I knew that at home there awaited me a flower of unrivaled beauty tested beyond the limits of any one season. A flower that perseveres through the ravages of winter and the droughts of summer and yet remains my favorite of all. My dear Wife that flower is you. I’m so glad to be home at last by your side. My Winter now over with the Spring just begun and the warmth of Summer yet to come.