As reviewed by NY Times best selling author
Ellen Tanner Marsh


Any Christian surveying the current state of modern poetry could easily become discouraged, given that much of that poetry can only be categorized as nihilistic. At worst, such poems seemingly promote despair and violence-against society, the church, or even against oneself. At best, they consist of self-centered whining and overdramatic emotionalism, completely devoid of spiritual muscle and ethical backbone.

New author Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, in his fine debut collection Reaching Towards His Unbounded Glory, takes a fresh stride in the opposite direction, in a poetic compilation that should delight anyone who enjoys reading Christian literature as well as poetry. The book comprises over 100 poems of various lengths, although they generally do not exceed one page. In a slight concession to modern poetic style, some of the stanzas are unrhymed, yet all of them speak to Christian themes, such as faith and its testing, seeking a higher road, the state of grace, error and sin, biblical people and events, and personal redemption through God's word.

A common thread that runs throughout the majority of the poems is that individuals- regardless of any mistakes they may have made in the past-can still turn to Christ as their Savior and begin the slow, sometimes painful, but always positive process of redeeming themselves, in developing a new life filled with abundance and spiritual serenity. By reaching for this new and uplifting collection of Christian poems, readers can indeed begin reaching towards God's glory.


For more information, please visit this link:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/



About Ellen Tanner Marsh

Ellen Tanner Marsh was born in Cologne, Germany, in 1956. At the age of three, her family came to the United States for a two-year stay which has since lengthened to thirty-five.Ellen grew up in New Jersey and moved to Charleston, SC, with her family when she was sixteen. She graduated from Clemson University with a Bachelor's degree in Animal Science. While debating whether or not to apply to veterinary school, she published her first historical romance novel, Reap the Savage Wind. When Reap became a New York Times' bestseller, there was no question of continuing with her studies, and Ellen began writing full time. Two further New York Times' bestsellers have followed: Wrap Me in Splendour, and its enormously popular sequel, Sable.With a total of eleven published novels, Ellen has garnered numerous awards, including a Romantic Times Lifetime Achievement Award, as well as appearing on the B. Dalton, Walden, Publishers Weekly, and other bestseller lists. She has over four million books in print and her work has been translated into four languages. They are extremely popular in her native Germany, where several have been included in special edition.Ellen still resides in Charleston, SC. She is married to her high school sweetheart and has two young sons.

Like Harry Chapin's Mr. Tanner
I live an uneventful life
I have a day job and a puppy
And a strong and loving wife
Mr Tanner was a cleaner
Who sang while pressing clothes
I , myself am nothing more
Than a man who's writing prose
His friends and neighbors
Praised the voice that came out from his throat
My friends do just the same for me
They all like what I've wrote
But, now I take the step
The one that Tanner took
I'm opening myself on up
I'm now sharing my book
My poems, they are my children
The characters are me
I hope that you enjoyed all this
At least the show was free
If you like what was read
And you'd like to hear more
Just look for me on facebook
For these poems aren't in the store
Now, I 've shared who I am
Like Mr. Tanner did before
Now it is time for me to leave
And I hope you're wanting more.

Her endorsement in dry wit
I must admit wets my lips
and as I tickle her underside, I say oh my
thank god for my sweet tanner lady

I watch her beating her leather
maybe lamb or a young heffer
but I watch her beat it into shape
she comes without storms or high weather

She is the girl of my dreams
my catfish in a silver stream
my would be or maybe
my sweet tanner lady

When I do trek back to the void
she will be my only compassionate voice
and her heart will beat for mine
till the end of time


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

I am the **** in your pristine garden,
Hidden between the Hollyhocks and Petunias,
Unwanted, I lift my head high,
Invasive, pervasive, you hate me.
You spray me with emotional roundup.
You wish I would simply go away
Crushed under your foot yesterday,
I wilted under your hate.
Resurrected by the creators love,
In joy I dance to his music,
That floats on the wind.


I am a rose of Sharon,
Planted firmly in the dirt.
Hated by you for just being,
The one who made me loves me,
He loves me unconditionally.
Planted in the wilderness,
Where he walks in search
Of those who seek his name.
If you see me know that, he is near.
Yet you hate me for being the ****.
Invasive that shows up in the cracks,
Of your frequent well-beaten paths of hatred.
You stomp on me, mangled I lie still.
Revived by my God who loves me.

Someday he will do justice,
Someday he will show them mercy,
Them that failed to love his creation.
He animates me an earthen vessel,
With emotions triggered by fluid actions,
His loving smile, His tender touch,
In his love and goodness, I find joy.
The joy that effuses and rises to my brain,
Like a flooding sea of contentment,
Knowing that in him I have rest, I am secure and calm.
From your bitterness, that floods my feet,
He produces exquisite flowers and sweetest fruits.


Freely I give the love I receive,
As fragrance it wafts on the breeze,
Used to the smell of death and dying,
The Tanner smelling the fragrance of Love and Life faints.
They revive him with curing leather from the tannery.
Someday the tanner will appreciate fragrance,
Someday the night shift miner appreciate the light,
Someday those that cry for war will love peace,
Someday those that hate others learn to love.
Someday those that clang pots and pans in raucous cacophony,
Will find peace and quiet in his sweet rhapsodies and quiet melodies.
And the promoters of the ugliest of ugliness,
Love the beauty of God's creation.
Some day will this enslaved and captive soul fly free?
Forever free in the plains of Eternity.

a hug that smelled like last summer.
'you didn't have to drive all this way for me'
it took me two hours
on the backroads because the freeway is scary
lost in neighborhoods where everything looked the same,
rows of shiny white teeth. it never crossed my mind to miss it.
           how do his eyes burn impossibly blue,
           even under the awning?
'the thing is, i had to'
he understood,
he understood just then that i was the girl he loved second best
and a sore loser always eyes the trophy cravingly
before walking away small.
            'i'll miss you'
whose to say? i'll take silver & wonder if he ever wrote to
             the other redhead.

He'd be twenty today.
Unfortunately, that truck had other plans.
Instead, he'll always be fifteen,
thirteen days away from turning sixteen.
T-***** on the corner from our town to the interstate.
A turn everyone has made one thousand times.
For his memory, only one time will ever be remembered.
A classmate, a friend, a teammate, a brother.
The list goes on and on.
None of these can ever truly capture his fire, life, joy.
There still isn't a day that I do not think of him,
and how unfair it all was.
For a small town of 2000,
we still feel the effects of that tragic day.
When everyone knows everyone else,
and you flip on the news to see things like
"teen killed in crash",
phones light up like wildfire,
everyone calling everyone to check in.
To think,
all that pain, misery, grief
could've been avoided,
if I took the time that day,
staying at the school,
and lifted with him.
Maybe then,
he wouldn't have gone home,
or at least,
not that early.

That night, everyone met at the football field,
and wept.
and wept.
and wept.
Taking styrofoam cups, interlocking them in the fence
to spell out a final message.
"WE <3 U  T-BAIN #11 2013".
You see, 11 was his jersey number for everything, and I mean everything.
He played basketball, football, baseball.
You name it, that dude could play it.
Because he was our Superman.
And 2013 was supposed to be his graduating year.
Instead, a vacant chair with a cap placed ever so neatly
and a gown draped over was all we got.

The service was held in the gym,
there was just no where else to go that would fit enough people.
As people littered the gym,
a giant projector ran clips, showed pictures, played music
but it just wasn't good enough.
I wanted the authentic guy, not just his image ran on a big screen.
I wanted Tanner back.
We all did.
Instead we had the service.
Where there wasn't a single dry eye in the entire O-zone*,
even the sternest of faces softened up.

Two weeks ago,
which was four years and two days after the accident,
we held a charity two and one mile race event.
Wristbands, shirts, glowsticks.
I can promise with one-hundred percent certainty,
that my community has not, cannot, and will not
ever
forget.
"Always remember, never forget" pasted over and over,
on the sports team's shoes, football sideline, wherever.
Instead, this trauma has brought our tight-knit town
closer together than ever before.
We rallied behind his family,
and together we were able to overcome
this melancholic fog
that gripped our town at the throats.
Instead of being glum about his passing,
we celebrate his life,
cherish his memory.
I'm sure
he wouldn't have it any other way.

My son will never know the me I was
before I became myself.
He'll never know the girl
who sat on fire escapes at three am,
in some city somewhere,
smoking cigarettes and writing love poems.
He'll never know the tiny apartment
where she discovered
that she could never really be as broke and glamorous as Audrey had been,
because she didn't make enough money,
and there was no handsome stranger that would eventually take care of her
after ninety-five minutes' time.
And instead of throwing fabulous parties,
she preferred sitting on the floor,
drinking cheap wine from the bottle
in front of old movies.

For years I dreamt of a life like that.
Where I was my own and belonged to no one.
Where life was lonely
in a tragic but beautiful sort of way.
That was the woman
I believed
I was destined to be.

And I was lucky
For not many people make it
to who they've always dreamt of being.
Not many people escape the monotony of real life.
I did.
I got out.

And parts of me were glamorous.
The nights I met strangers
and danced on city streets,
drunk and in love with the world,
wearing tight dresses,
heels in hand,
hair blowing in the summers breeze.
She,
was glamorous.
Walking down streets
singing anthems to our youth and independence,
we were glamorous,
me and all those nameless friends.
We were young and unattached.
We roamed the world,
and it belonged solely to us.

But friends,
life gets lonely.
And when the glamour fades,
you are who you are.

I loved those nights.
Every one of the passionate,
exciting,
artistic,
lonely nights.
And if my life had gone a different way,
I would still be that girl,
in that tiny apartment,
twenty years from now,
longing to escape that life as well.

You see,
my life has been wonderful.
And I have been the luckiest girl to walk the earth.
Because I never got stuck.
Some people just get lost,
in all of that never belonging to anyone,
never belonging anywhere nonsense.
But I didn't.
Now, I
belong to my son.

And he will never know who I was before him.
Nor will I tell him.
Because those memories,
and those secrets,
those are mine.
Mine,
to drift off into remembrance from time to time,
smiling secretly
about how I was one of the luckiest women alive
back then.
And luckier still that when I come back,
my son's smile is there to greet me,
and remind me that my life
my life, is exactly where it should be.

My son is an old soul,
filled with old thoughts.
I can feel it in his breath as he sleeps,
and his eyes while he studies the world,
ever so serious,
ever so conserved,
and ever so beautiful in his silent observations
of me and the world he is meeting
for the first time.
And one day
he will be the man who walks city streets,
changing the world,
saving the existence of man.

This,
I know,
because he saved me.
He saved me when I was so "glamorously unaware"
that I needed saving.

So while I have moments
where I mourn who I was -
the starving artist intent on creating tragically beautiful art -
I remind myself
every moment,
that my son,
my son IS art.
And who he is
will forever
be my greatest poem.

I live, in honor of him.

Cheesecake,
o’ Cheesecake.
I can still remember
the day you were born.
But how sad it was,
since your life only lasted for a couple of minutes
because
I ate you right away.

Your delicious fragrance,
arose
from your mom’s tummy, which was named
The Oven.
Your skin got tanner, and tanner
as your body grew;
luckily, you
were not overcooked.
I waited
for the moment you came out
and it was
magic.

Your stunning golden skin,
so tanned
and ****.
I turned out being a beast
and you were the beauty
who caught my eyes
without a second delayed.
And the perfume you wore that day
smelled beautiful, too,
as if I would bite you
with hunger.

Mmm’ creamy flesh
with cheesy flavour,
spread in my mouth
every bit of yours.

You gave me a dilemma, since
I wanted you to live
for me
to embrace your beauty;
I wanted you to die
in my mouth
with satisfaction.
Your splendid funeral
in my stomach
was as great as many others’.

Don’t be sad
for leaving me soon
don’t regret
dying young.
I love you
and
I’m sure
one day soon you
will reincarnate
as another
Cheesecake baby.

I am the **** in your pristine garden,

Hidden between the Hollyhocks and Petunias,

Unwanted, I lift my head high,

Invasive, pervasive, you hate me.

You spray me with emotional roundup.

You wish I would simply go away

Crushed under your foot yesterday,

I wilted under your hate.

Resurrected by the creators love,

In joy I dance to his music,

That floats on the wind.

I am a rose of Sharon,

Planted firmly in the dirt.

Hated by you for just being,

I am loved by the one who made me,

Loved unconditionally.

Planted in the wilderness,

Where he walks in search

Of those who seek his name.

If you see me know that he is near.

Yet you hate me for being the ****.

Invasive, that shows up in the cracks,

Of your well beaten paths.

You stomp on me, mangled I lie still.

Revived by God who loves me.

Someday he will do justice,

Someday he will show them mercy,

For failing to love his creation.

He animates me an earthen vessel,

With emotions triggered by fluid actions,

His loving smile, His tender touch,

In his love and goodness I find joy.

The joy that effuses and rises to my brain,

In its flooding sea of contentment,

Knowing that in him I have rest I am secure and calm.

From your bitterness that floods my feet,

He produces exquisite flowers and sweetest fruits.

Freely I give the love I receive,

As fragrance it wafts on the breeze,

Used to the smell of death and dying,

The Tanner smelling the fragrance of Love and Life faints.

They revive him with curing leather from the tannery.

Someday the tanner will appreciate fragrance,

Someday the night shift miner appreciate the light,

Someday those that cry for war will love peace,

Someday those that hate others learn to love.

Someday those that clang pots and pans in raucous cacophony,

Will find peace and quiet in his sweet rhapsodies and quiet melodies.

And the promoters of the ugliest of ugliness,

Love the beauty of God's creation.

Some day will the enslaved and captive soul fly free,

Forever free in the plains of Eternity.

I am the **** in your pristine garden,

Hidden between the Hollyhocks and Petunias,

Unwanted, I lift my head high,

Invasive, pervasive, you hate me.

You spray me with emotional roundup.

You wish I would simply go away

Crushed under your foot yesterday,

I wilted under your hate.

Resurrected by the creators love,

In joy I dance to his music,

That floats on the wind.


I am a rose of Sharon,

Planted firmly in the dirt.

Hated by you for just being,

I am loved by the one who made me,

Loved unconditionally.

Planted in the wilderness,

Where he walks in search

Of those who seek his name.

If you see me know that he is near.

Yet you hate me for being the ****.

Invasive, that shows up in the cracks,

Of your well beaten paths.

You stomp on me, mangled I lie still.

Revived by God who loves me.


Someday he will do justice,

Someday he will show them mercy,

For failing to love his creation.

He animates me an earthen vessel,

With emotions triggered by fluid actions,

His loving smile, His tender touch,

In his love and goodness I find joy.

The joy that effuses and rises to my brain,

Like a flooding sea of contentment,

Knowing that in him I have rest, I am secure and calm.

From your bitterness that floods my feet,

He produces exquisite flowers and sweetest fruits.


Freely I give the love I receive,

As fragrance it wafts on the breeze,

Used to the smell of death and dying,

The Tanner smelling the fragrance of Love and Life faints.

They revive him with curing leather from the tannery.

Someday the tanner will appreciate fragrance,

Someday the night shift miner appreciate the light,

Someday those that cry for war will love peace,

Someday those that hate others learn to love.

Someday those that clang pots and pans in raucous cacophony,

Will find peace and quiet in his sweet rhapsodies and quiet melodies.

And the promoters of the ugliest of ugliness,

Love the beauty of God's creation.

Some day will the enslaved and captive soul fly free,

Forever free in the plains of Eternity.

I am the **** in your pristine garden,
Hidden between the Hollyhocks and Petunias,
Unwanted, I lift my head high,
Invasive, pervasive, you hate me.
You spray me with emotional roundup.
You wish I would simply go away
Crushed under your foot yesterday,
I wilted under your hate.
Resurrected by the creators love,
In joy I dance to his music,
That floats on the wind.


I am a rose of Sharon,
Planted firmly in the dirt.
Hated by you for just being,
The one who made me loves me,
He loves me unconditionally.
Planted in the wilderness,
Where he walks in search
Of those who seek his name.
If you see me know that, he is near.
Yet you hate me for being the ****.
Invasive that shows up in the cracks,
Of the well-beaten paths of hatred, you frequent.
You stomp on me, mangled I lie still.
Revived by my God who loves me.

Someday he will do justice,
Someday he will show them mercy,
Them that failed to love his creation.
He animates me an earthen vessel,
With emotions triggered by fluid actions,
His loving smile, His tender touch,
In his love and goodness, I find joy.
The joy that effuses and rises to my brain,
Like a flooding sea of contentment,
Knowing that in him I have rest, I am secure and calm.
From your bitterness, that floods my feet,
He produces exquisite flowers and sweetest fruits.


Freely I give the love I receive,
As fragrance it wafts on the breeze,
Used to the smell of death and dying,
The Tanner smelling the fragrance of Love and Life faints.
They revive him with curing leather from the tannery.
Someday the tanner will appreciate fragrance,
Someday the night shift miner appreciate the light,
Someday those that cry for war will love peace,
Someday those that hate others learn to love.
Someday those that clang pots and pans in raucous cacophony,
Will find peace and quiet in his sweet rhapsodies and quiet melodies.
And the promoters of the ugliest of ugliness,
Love the beauty of God's creation.
Some day will this enslaved and captive soul fly free?
Forever free in the plains of Eternity.