The Weary Heart

Like a strummed-out harpist
Hangs limp as if chained,
This old strung-out heart is
Weary and distrained.

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For My Wife on Mother’s Day: a Husband’s Confession

20170505_143600Well, I took out the garbage today
And expected a “Hip-hip-hooray!”
So it did get my goat,
When my wife took no note,
Let alone had a “thank you” to say.

When I pointed out what I had done,
She just paused and said, “Oh, thank you, Hon…”
Then went on scrubbing floors
And with other such chores
On her list of a hundred and one.

How she gets so much done, I don’t know,
But it’s clear that it’s never for show.
Yet I would be remiss,
If I didn’t say this:
That her setting is always on “Go!”

And all of it’s done with the touch
Of a gentle, sweet Mom who gets such
Little rest for her lids,
Taking care of her kids
And the husband who loves her so much.

Hymn for Epiphany

Ye who walk in darkness here,
Ye who languish in the vale,
See! The Light of God comes near!
Know that grace shall yet prevail!

God, His promise to unveil,
He to save the perishing,
Ends now Israel’s long travail,
He who bears her suffering.

Sages, come, your gifts to bring,
Thinking not of your largesse.
Learn that He’s the King of kings.
It is you who will be blessed!

Of your pride yourselves divest,
Your anxieties and fears.
Come to Him! He bids you rest,
He who bottles up your tears.

He proclaims to them with ears
Of the kingdom in His wake.
‘Tis the King who now appears
With a kingdom naught can shake.

———————–

For Ambyr, May 14th, 2016

Her daddy gave a name to her when he
Had learned a little bit of Greek to share.
The word “Sophia” fit her to a tee,
Yet many others would be just as fair
To give to her and rightly see her wear—
Such fitting names as Phila, Chrēstē, or
Perhaps Pistikē might have fit her more.

Her friends have found no truer friend than she,
Nor anyone whose kindness or whose care
Or faithful presence keeping company
Could comfort them and burdens help them bear.
They know that she would join them anywhere;
In times of joy and those of grief so sore,
Her heart for them has but an open door.

And with her fam’ly she is just as free
In loving us and living with the flare
Designed and put into her heart by He,
Who gave us this amazing Ammie-Bear,
The One who lives through her His love to share.
His death and life the power at her core,
This girl’s a light the world cannot ignore. (Matthew 5:14)

For my Beloved: Mother’s Day, 2016

I say of the one who gave birth to my kids
That she is a mother to me,
And daughter and sister and lover and friend
Who gives of herself constantly.

Already a grown-up when but a small child,
With wisdom and grace beyond years;
And yet in the woman, a cute little girl
Still shows in her laughter and tears.

In serious playfulness, making days fun,
So each of us feels so adored,
She cares with the care of a mother so well
And loves with the love of the Lord.

For the Mother of My Children

Well, I took out the garbage today
And expected a “Hip-hip, hooray!”
So it did get my goat
When my wife took no note
Let alone had a thank-you to say

So I pointed out what I had done
She just glanced and said, “Oh, thank you, Hon”
Then went on scrubbing floors
And with other such chores
On her list of a hundred and one.

All One Kind

Is it the blind leading the blind
When one sinner tries to show some
Other wand’ring soul the way to
True Life? Truth be told, there’s one kind:
The thirsty to whom He says, “Come!
“Drink from My cup, and share it too!”

Form: Sestet with rhyme scheme a – b – c – a – b – c
Scansion: Tetrameter; Varied duple meter (iambs and trochees, and perhaps a spondee); also with some enjambment and some pronounced caesurae