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Behold the Man upon His steed
Who comes to comfort those in need…
Yea, in The Deep of fear and death
Where sons of Asaph hold their breath

He fashions rivers from The Sea
And sees the leaves of ev’ry tree…
Yea, even now, from Hollow Ground
New life is springing all around

Where do we go for sanctuary?
Tossed by turbulent waves in storms of time,
we scramble for a leeward shore.

Where can we find security when
violent winds rise to splinter our shelters -
cursing dreams to oblivion?

How can we conjure hope
when famine, disease and bitter tyranny
stalk us in the shadows?

The answers lie within us
where means and tools for restoration live
and empathy is our guide.

Gifted with imagination’s plow,
we envision re-cultivation of the thirsty soil -
so prescribed by our creator.

We think, and so we care.
we care, therefore we act and sacrifice.
The future is our calling.

Reason, trust and community
must ever be our strong and worthy foundations
and capstones of our sanctuary.
Issa Mar 26
Eyes as light as the green leaves tinged by sunlight--
Hair as gentle as the vines that twine along the garden wall--
Though you are older than me,
Your laugh is as young as a little boy's

When I lived in that city made of dreams
I never dreamed I'd meet someone like you
And, while you are so unexpected,
so new and unanticipated,
Why do you now remind me of that place
Which I know like the back of my hand?

Why is it that, as I struggle to find the words to describe you
and how you represent many a thing that's new
in this life of mine,

Why is it that I go back to that place I've left?
Why do I describe you in terms of the memories
My heart aches so bad to return to?

You and I have talked about this --
wishing to go back to those times well-cherished...
I know I haven't fully healed yet.
And I know you haven't, too.

For someone who's been through a war
Battered and worn by grief,
Why does your heart still seem tender and soft?

Why do you care so much for others
When so much has been taken away from you?

God only knows.

God only knows why I met you.
God only knows when I'll tell you about
What makes my heart whole
And what keeps me at peace,
Even if I can't explain everything that's happened to me
Even when it hurts and I feel like no one else understands me

Because it's Peace that will mend your heart
--Nothing missing; nothing broken--
You were made to be beautiful for a reason.
Because the Creator, the Artist who made you makes
Everything beautiful in His time,
Everything beautiful in its season.

And though the world sends you its lies,
Know that you are His work of art.
His purpose for you is to have hope and a future,
For He has set eternity in your heart.

There can be a day
When all your tears will be wiped away
By the hands that made you,
By the hands that saved you.

Though much has been taken away from you,
I believe there will come a day, my brother,
When you will meet that King, that good and perfect Father who will show you your true worth.
You are worthy not because of anything you do.
You are worthy because of what He did for you.
You are worthy because of His love for you.
And if you let Him, He will heal you.
He will heal all your wounds with gold.

Glinting in the sunlight--
Nothing missing;
Nothing broken.
In thinking up a title for this poem, I finally know what the band name Nemra means 😂
Sy Lilang Mar 16

The world needs to shout to be heard..
At first we hear peace, contentment, success,
Joy, unity, encouragement and love.
But all together,
It’s no longer the sound of music.

No longer about our plain existence
But of greed, power, abuse, hatred or clamor.
But there’s always a greater Voice
Who keeps on knocking into our hearts
And that Voice needs to be heard.

In the silence of the world,
There’s a Voice who choose to speak life —
The Voice who weighs one’s soul,
The Voice who rebukes and confronts,
And The Voice who saves and forgives.

And You are most heard..
I hear You as You whisper,
Not like the other days
When day shifts find no break..
Not when I was relieved by doing well in life,
And not when happiness seems like a plunge of cola in my throat..

I hear You when I call on Your Name —
When I am on my knees shaking, begging for answers..
When I am rejoicing and in my excitement,
I choose to tell You first what’s written in my heart.

I hear You as I stop from crying
As I learn to surrender it all
To Your Name, Jesus who’s ever so powerful..
I hear You more as I wait for Your turn to speak
When I was so desperate with my crazy but true faith in You.

I hear You more and more
And it feels like there’s a fire within me,
Like the days of Abraham in the burning bush.
It feels like Your provision is already in my hands,
Like Elijah being fed by the angel when he felt he’s all alone.

It feels like having a new name and new beginning,
Like Jacob being Israel as You called him to be.
It feels like I am back to my confidence that there’s nothing to harm me,
Like Daniel witnessing the lions being tamed.

It feels like I am walking into deliverance,
Like Moses and the Israelites walking in the parted Red Sea.
It feels like everything the enemy has stolen will soon be restored,
Like Job’s restoration of life.

In this pace of life,
In this first to third months,
You’ve revealed and reminded us one thing:
That one of Your love language is to whisper —
You whisper coz You’re near; and so we’ve nothing to fear.

1 Kings 19:11-13
And he said, “Go out and stand on the mount before the LORD.” And behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind tore the mountains and broke in pieces the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind. And after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire the sound of a low whisper. And when Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his cloak and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. And behold, there came a voice to him and said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

John 10:3-6
To him the doorkeeper opens, and the sheep hear his voice; and he calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. And when he brings out his own sheep, he goes before them; and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice. Yet they will by no means follow a stranger, but will flee from him, for they do not know the voice of strangers.” Jesus used this illustration, but they did not understand the things which He spoke to them.
There was this story about a butterfly
how she can never stay in one place for too long
she'll soon spread her wings
a journey with no fixed destinations
but this butterfly I know
wandered too far and too close
she never landed
captured maybe but her wings...
her wings never pinned or clipped off
no they were as beautiful as ever
this butterfly decided to stay
wrapped around his little finger
It found me
Tom Atkins Jan 31
Spanish moss hangs from the Live Oak,
a slow, beautiful murderer in the big city,
redolent of memories, blue music and smokey rooms,
drag queens crooning, a fight or two
late in the night while you sipped bourbon,
content in the corner,
listening less to the music than an internal dialogue,
devils and angels in your head
dancing a tattoo, making sultry peace with each other
as you scanned the crowd, seeking a distraction
as you courted oblivion at the stroke of midnight.

You sigh,
there is no glory in the memories. Life lived
and long ago discarded, without regrets
and without longing, happier to be in the light,
but parts of you were shaped by dark nights,
bluesy music and the grind of tinder before tinder,
a fire that never took in you,
a dead man in a plaid shirt in the corner of the bar
who somehow left more alive than he arrived.
There’s old times blues playing at my favorite diner. That’s what inspired this poem that is only partially autobiographical.

I do love old smoky blues bars. There are fewer of them here in Vermont than in the south where I lived most of my life. I lose myself in the music and atmosphere.

I am rarely happy with my poems. This one, I am happy with.
Tom Atkins Jan 24
At the midday tide, the boats are tied and secure,
survivors of another night gathering fish.
The small village has gone quiet,
save for a few tourists.

You are one of those tourists,
happier off the beaten path and familiar photo ops,
content to sit at the tiny coffee house for hours
and simply watch the ebb and flow of the town,

to hear strange language all around you,
to sit still enough, long enough
that you fit in, and disappear in the landscape.

You once wanted to be famous,
before you were broken, shard by shard, eroded
until only the shining shell, that brittle shell
was left, and easy target, easily shattered.

Easily shattered and painstakingly put back together.
Forget fame. Forget the stars, you are content now
just to be alive, a man with roots who travels,
more content to listen than talk, finally aware

other people’s stories matter more than your own,
a container for others’ pain and sadness and salacious tales.
You have become the keeper of secrets,

sipping coffee here at the edge of the Northern Sea,
happiest when alone with the woman you love,
sipping coffee and holding her hand across the table,
watching, always watching, for the next story.
On my poetry blog, I illustrate my poems with my photographs. Today's
picture was taken in the Netherlands. I spent a day there once, doing just what the poem says, sitting at a small cafe, sipping some amazing cappuccino and watching the flow of the village all day long. Days like that are the best.

I picked the title simply because that word, salacious, has a “made you look” quality, that is in contrast to the simplicity of the moment in the poem. I like that kind of wordplay.
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2019
I'm cut
Not too deeply
Perhaps a flesh wound
One drop or two
And then all is well
Closing over
Let the healing begin
And I will think of it no more
Goodbye year of the knife
Hello restorative day
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