Category Archives: Poetry

Poems that I’ve written, and occassionaly some I’ve found that I would like to share.

Oh, Lord, Where Are You?

Tornado that hit AR April 27, 2014.  This photo is from Searcy, AR, though, I am not certain who took it.

Tornado that hit AR April 27, 2014. This photo is from Searcy, AR and was taken by T.J. Stewart.


I do not know if you have heard in other parts of the country, but last night (April 27, 2014), central Arkansas was hit by a massive storm that produced this tornado that for around 45 minutes.  It was upwards to a mile wide in some places, and 1/2 a mile wide in some of its narrowest places.  It has been categorized as an EF-4 tornado.  (The ratings for tornados only go through EF-5.)  This was one of the most dangerous tornados in recent AR weather history.  At this point, the death toll is up to 14, including two children and one teenager, and there are still dozens missing.  Many small communities were hit, along with two small towns:  Mayflower and Vilonia.  All day long, local news stations have been having live coverage of search, rescue, and recovery efforts.  Though, I do not personally know anyone who was affected (Though, I do know of a family who lost three loved ones.), and I do not live near any of the places hit by this horrendous storm, I felt compelled to write a small poem about yesterday’s events.  In Arkansas, you learn that it could always be you next time.  There are no guarantees when dealing with tornados, and just because your area isn’t normally in the line of the storms, doesn’t mean it can’t be.  And when you see the images that have been playing across my TV screen and Facebook page all day, you can’t help but feel these people’s pain and loss to a degree.

*One week later, a baby that was born prematurely due to the mother’s injuries from the tornado, passed away shortly after birth, bringing the new total of tornado-related deaths up to 16.  Also, another person who had died was discovered a day or so after I wrote this post.


“Oh, Lord, Where Are You?”

When the storms rage,

You are there.

When the wind roars,

You are there.

When the tornado destroys,

You are there.

When the night crawls on,

You are there.

When the sun rises,

You are there.

When the search commences,

You are there.

When the grief hits,

You are there.

When the healing begins,

You are there.

When life continues,

You are there.

You.  Are.  There.

Psalm 18:1-2 (NIV):  I love you, O LORD, my strength.  The LORD is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge.  He is my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.


God bless all those who have been through last night’s storms and are dealing with the loss of loved ones and property in Arkansas and in other states.  And please bless those who are dealing with the same storm system today and will do so tomorrow in other parts of the country.



Filed under Poetry, This and That

My Dear And Loving Husband

My Honey in May on our vacation to Biloxi, MS.

I have often written about how my husband is a bit of a picky eater, and I have mentioned him a few other times as well.  However, I want to take some time to really just brag on this wonderful man that God has brought into my life.  His name, if you don’t know, is Nicholas.  He’s a couple of years younger than me, works full-time as a manufacturing engineer, is a wiz at math, for the most part, lets me do my thing without interruption or complaint, and he loves me and our unborn son dearly.

This past Sunday, I started to come down with a cold, and for the past several days, I have swung between feeling yucky and feeling fine, being drop-dead tired and having spurts of energy.  I have a hard time sleeping, due to my ever-growing belly and bathroom runs, and when I do wake up in the mornings, breathing is fun, thanks to the cold.  Well, this morning, Nicholas got up at about 5:30 to get ready for work.  (Did I mention that he almost always wakes up before the alarm so that it doesn’t wake me up, too?)  I did wake up (only because I’m not sleeping as deeply as normal thanks to discomfort) when he did, but I stayed in bed until six.  I groggily got out of bed, grabbed my pillow, and shuffled to the living room where Nicholas was eating cereal and playing video games.  Well, first he pauses his game, then scoots over on the couch to let me sit down, too.  I curl up on the cushion beside him while he continues to play his game.  Sitting up on the couch helped my congestion some, and I soon started to fall asleep.  I decided to go back to bed.  Nicholas paused his game again, and walked me to bed.  Then he covered me up, tucked me in, kissed me, and rubbed my back before leaving the room.

That was just this morning before he left for work.  Almost every evening, he helps me get ready for supper by setting the table, sometimes doing some cooking, and afterwards he helps with the dishes.  He is patient with me when I’m upset and moody.  He helps me when I don’t feel well.  He holds me when I’m tired or sad.  He doesn’t get angry when I don’t get everything done around the house as fast as I should.  He explains things when I don’t understand them – or at least tries; I can be quite a dunce sometimes.  He even lets me hold the remote control for the TV because my hearing is tempermental.

I love my husband, and I thank God for him.  It is a wonderful thing to have such an amazing husband!

I love you, my honey!


The title of this post is from Anne Bradstreet’s poem “To My Dear And Loving Husband.”  It’s one of my favorites, so I will copy it here.  (Copied and pasted from  There should not be a space between the 3rd and 4th lines, but I can’t seem to fix it.)

If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were loved by wife, then thee;
If ever wife was happy in a man,

Compare with me, ye women, if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee, give recompense.
Thy love is such I can no way repay,
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love let’s so persevere.
That when we live no more, we may live ever.


Filed under Poetry, This and That

Happy Father’s Day

Today we celebrate our fathers.  They are the the leaders of our homes, the strength of the family, and the wisdom that guides us.  Fathers, in our individual families, are what our Lord is for us all.  Leading us, strengthening us, and revealing His wisdom to us.  I found this poem that honors our dads, daddies, pops, papas, fathers, or whatever you call your father.  Thank you, fathers, for protecting, providing for, and caring for your wives and children.  May God bless each of you!


What Makes a Dad

God took the strength of a mountain,

The majesty of a tree,

The warmth of a summer sun,

The calm of a quiet sea,

The generous soul of nature,

The comforting arm of night,

The wisdom of the ages,

The power of the eagle’s flight,

The joy of a morning in spring,

The faith of a mustard seed,

The patience of eternity,

The depth of a family need,

Then God combined these qualities,

When there was nothing more to add,

He knew His masterpiece was complete,

And so, He called it … Dad.

 Author Unknown

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Ode To Odors

I’ve always heard about a woman’s nose going haywire during pregnancy, and I always believed it.  But now that I’m experiencing it, it’s a whole new ball game.  Living in an older house in a lower-lying area, rains tend to bring smells that I’ve never really liked.  Now those smells have taken on a whole new intensity, and the past two days have been not so fun, to say the least.  In response to my nose’s response to all things foul-odored, I wrote this little poem.  It’s not my best, but I just had to get my frustration off my chest, or nose, as the case may be.


“Ode To Odors”

Odors, aromas,

Scents, and smells

Oh the things

The nose knows.

Who knew the nose

Could know so much more

When your belly

Has held a baby

For a mere nine weeks?

Oh the odors

I’ve become

Accustomed to.

The hand towel,

Kitchen rag,

And dampness from the rain.

The smell on my hand

From the scrunchy

In my hair.

The trash in the can

While the lid is on.

The boiled egg scent

Lingering on the lip

Of my water bottle.

Oh the odors

I’ve become

Accustomed to.

I’ve employed the powers

Of baking soda,

Vinegar, and fresh spring air.

I’ve questioned my Honey

On what his nose knows.

I find I’m alone

In my nasal warfare.

It must be

That I’m smelling for two.

Oh for the odors to end


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Filed under Poetry, Pregnancy and Baby

The Shroud

I wrote this story and it’s companion poem in 2006.  Both of them are titled “The Shroud.”



It’s Sunday morning – early Sunday morning.  So early, in fact, that the sun is just beginning to peak over the horizon.  It’s still dark in the west, even.  It’s a quiet morning, but not just any quiet.  Somewhat like an anticipating silence, as if it’s waiting on something – something big!  Something so huge that it will change everything that you’ve ever known!  It’s almost an excited quiet, and you resent that.  You resent that because you and your companions are walking toward the tomb of a man whose body you all are going to properly prepare for burial.  You think the quiet should be in mourning, such as you yourself are.

Suddenly, as you are walking along, carrying your tray of perfumes and oils, the earth beneath you begins to move!  It’s as if the ground has turned into the sea, and you are trying to walk on it!  It’s rolling and shaking.  It eventually knocks you to the ground, where your bottles of perfume and oil shatter, spilling the precious liquids.  Your companions are knocked down, too, each of you scraping your knees and hands on the rough and rocky ground beneath you.

Struggling, you finally manage to stand up and take a few shaky steps toward the tomb.  You have one thing on your mind:  Get to the tomb!  You have to know if this earthquake has caved in the final resting place of the greatest man you have ever known.

Then, just as you come to the last bend in the path to the tomb, the earth quits its quaking.  Everything stops and is silent once more.  Only this time the silence is full of joy, as if the anticipated event has occurred and the entire world is in awe of its happening.  Unconcerned with the world’s wonder and still desperate to know whether your beloved Savior’s body was crushed by falling rock, you frantically run around the final bend and into the clearing where the tomb is located.

Upon entering the clearing, the first thing you notice is the guards – they appear to be dead!  Fearful that they are and that you would be accused of their murder you rush to them to check for signs of life.  To your relief, you discover that they are simply knocked out.  As you let out a sigh, you hear a gasp behind you.  Quickly you turn and see your companions staring at the tomb – the open tomb.  You do not understand why the entrance is not being guarded by the enormous stone that had been placed there to keep The Brothers out.  Deciding that it must have been the earthquake that did it, you glance at your companions, and all of you silently decide to step inside the holy sepulcher.  As you hold each others’ hands, you all quietly and fearfully walk to the unguarded entrance.

It’s dark inside, and one by one, you and your companions enter the cave-like room.  A shock wave goes through you as you notice the white, radiant being inside.  Though you are in awe of his beauty, you tremble with fear.  Then, he begins to speak clearly yet softly.  “Fear not!  He that you seek is not here.”

At this you start.  You feel anger well up inside you.  “Where is He?” you demand.

The being calmly looks at you and answers, “He is risen, just as he said.  Now go and tell The Brothers they are to meet Him in Galilee.”

The beautiful being then vanishes as if he was never there to begin with.  You and your companions share a shocked look before you once more turn your attention to the tomb you are in.  You cannot help but think that you are dreaming, so you search the room for signs of the body.  It’s possible that it may have fallen off the stone shelf during the earthquake.  You look in all of the corners and around the floor, but to your dismay you find nothing.

Finally, you look back to the shelf where he was laid to rest, and that’s when you see it.  Its head piece folded and the rest lying out flat on the stone.  It was once white, but now, it is stained with dried blood.  You start to weep at the sight because you know it is a sign of His resurrection.  Closing your eyes, you silently thank God above that you only found His shroud.



The blood-stained linen:

A stark reminder

Of His suffering and ridicule,

Of His ever-so-powerful death.

An outline of His body

No longer there.

An imprint of the life –

Of the death –

Of the greatest man

To ever walk the earth.

A picture of His pain

Left behind

Like the death

He defeated.

A proof of what once was

And no longer is.

Left lying on a stone shelf

In an open tomb.

For what need has a living man

Of burial cloths?

Why should it leave the place

Where He no longer lies?

His pain is over,

And His death is ended.

His shroud –

Left in that tomb to show

He is risen, just as He said.


Filed under Poetry, Stories

The Tree

I had intended to post this poem yesterday, but I was having to edit it before I posted it.  Needless to say, that took a bit longer than I anticipated.  Editing anything can be difficult, and poetry seems to rank among the highest on the difficult scale.  I originally wrote this poem in 2004, just a couple of months before high school graduation.  When I pulled it out of my poem folder yesterday, I really liked the ideas going through it, but I knew it was going to need some help.  I just didn’t realize that about half-way through, the poem would cease to cooperate with me.  However, today is a new day, and I was able to complete it.

As I said in an earlier post, I really enjoy Easter.  As a Christian, it is the single most important day in history and the most worthy of celebrating.  It even surpasses the birth of Christ, which I realize that He could not have died had He never been born, but His dying on the cross for no fault of His own, to bring sinners (as we all are) salvation…Nothing can top that.  I’m not trying to downplay His death and ressurrection, either.  It was an act of infinite grace (for which I am eternally grateful) and unsurpassed glory.

I hope that this poem speaks to your heart (very clearly, considering it’s recent metamorphosis).  And I  hope that it will remind you of the sacrifice that Jesus made on Golgotha’s hill all those years ago.


“The Tree”

There stood a tall tree,

Humiliated and bare.

Only two stark branches

Stretched out on each side.

Splintered and raw,

Stained crimson red,

Perched high on the hill

Where criminals died.

He was “King of the Jews”

Is what the sign said

And he had hung on that tree

Till he breathed his last breath.

Six hours of torture,

“It is finished,” he said.

He gave up the ghost.

He was gone; he was dead.

The scars on his hands

And the scars on his feet

From being nailed on that tree:

Proof of the grace

He bestowed upon us.

Though its duty is done,

The mark the tree left

Will never fade from

The memory of time.

He had died on that tree

But death could not keep him.

For again he lives!




To God alone be the glory!

“To him who loves us and has freed us from our sins by his blood, and has made us to be a kingdom and priests to serve his God and Father – to him be glory and power forever and ever!  Amen.” –Revelation 1:5b-6 (NIV)

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Walking Barefoot Down a Gravel Road

This is a poem I wrote for a special lady in June of 2006.  She helped me through a difficult time.  May God bless you with someone who will walk barefoot down the gravel roads of life with you.


Small, sharp rocks

Against bare, uncallused feet.

Rocks that poke,

That cut,

That bruise.

Uncaring little stones

Not meant for

The soles of feet.

As I walked barefoot

Down that gravel road,

You came to my side.

Without much thought

And without any mention,

You slipped off

The shoes you wore,

Undaunted by the pain

Of your mission.


We walked barefoot

Down that gravel road.

You eased my pain

By sharing it,

Even when

You didn’t have to.

Thank you.

“Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all people, especially to those who belong to the family of believers.” -Galations 6:10 (NIV)

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