Thursday, January 28, 2016

Penned With Love 1-28-16


Back in a corner, where she hid,
I met a little child, I did.

She was a quiet, fragile child
who never laughed and seldom smiled.

Her eyes were blue, her hair light brown,
but she was hurt and feeling down.

Her clothes were tattered, filled with holes.
like many people and their souls.

I spied her tears when she had cried.
I had not known her mother died.

Her age was eight, or maybe nine.
Her troubles were much more than mine.

I knelt down close to her and said,
"Have you a home?  Have you been fed?"

Despite the crowd that gathered 'round,
our space was quiet - without sound.

I reached deep down in pocket and
I held your poem in my hand.

I opened scrap of paper proud,
then read your poem right out loud.

My eyes became a fuzzy blur.
I know you wrote it just for her.

She reached for me with all her hurt.
I hugged her back, ignoring dirt.

Words can't replace a bed and food
but fills with joy, the attitude.

I haven't seen her for awhile,
but know your poem made her smile.

Though some write many, some write few.
We've penned with love our words to view.
So write your rhymes unselfishly
with kindness, care and empathy.
And don't be hurt when I'm away
out sharing poems day to day.
Much better than some silly toy,
your words, for some, give real joy.

Back in a corner, where she hid,
I met a little child, I did...

©2016 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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Saturday, January 16, 2016

My Old Hometown Church 1-16-16


There's something that perplexes me
as I, my mem'ries, search,
right here among familiar pews
in my old hometown church.

It's been so many decades now
since I have been around.
Those many years have faded fast
with oh, so little sound.

I sit a-spell and reminisce
in silence that remains,
from walnut pulpit up in front
to stained glass window panes.

The cross behind the pulpit hints
a show of halo's glow.
It seems to be inviting me.
There's much I still don't know.

My eyes drop down in front of me
upon a hymnal book.
I hesitate and ponder some
before I take a look.

Those tunes and words come quickly as
my sorry psyche swims
to words of His "Amazing Grace"
and more familiar hymns.

Familiar are both floor and walls.
Familiar are the lights.
Reflecting back to faces though,
my deepened grief ignites.

So many friends I cannot see.
They've moved or passed away.
No, time and change are not my friends!
How did I go astray?

How many times can God convict
me of my wicked ways?
How many times did I pretend
and did not give God praise?

I crave and plead that time turns back.
It rips my insides out!
It makes me blame somebody else.
It makes me want to shout.

There's something deep down in my gut
that I can't sanitize.
Confession comes, repentance looms
with something in my eyes...

As I stare squarely at myself -
and you know how it goes -
the lightning strikes and thunder roars
as levee overflows.,,

But lonely tears are wiped away,
for love will always be,
as grace holds all of Heaven up
throughout eternity.

My long, sad tears dry from my cheeks
as I, my mem'ries, search,
right here among familiar pews
in my old hometown church.

©2016 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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Sunday, January 10, 2016

From One Hundred Word 1-10-16


The picture, envisioned from one hundred word
was written with rhymes in a poem then heard,
by one lonely soul who was starving for love
from having no knowledge of God up above.

And then came another, another one too,
until it was heard by much more than a few.
When multitudes heard it, they had ne'er a choice
but hear His soft whisper, His Heavenly voice.

Unknown was the one who had written that poem
so others could hear of our Father and know Him.
And all because one little poem was heard -
and picture, envisioned from one hundred word.

©2016 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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(note:  there are one hundred words in the poem above)

Friday, January 1, 2016

Of Rocks & Truths 1-1-16


The rolling seas will rise and fall.
They call to one and all.
The waves will splash, forevermore,
those giant rocks on shore.

Emotions thoughts will come and go.
They ever tempt us so.
But lies still fail to even prod
those solid truths of God.

©2016 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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