Christian Poetry

On this page:

Joy
Spring
The First Good Friday
Warming at the Fire
A Christmas Carol
Broken Lives
Letter to Heaven
Love
Morning Glory

Joy

Joy, happiness – wallow in it like there’s no tomorrow.
Spread it like an infection,
one that cures the inward spirit.

Live love and peace. Banish sadness.

Let your laughter ring from the rooftops.
Make fun-filled friendships a duty.

Breathe forgiveness. Radiate encouragement.

Touch the lonely with a spark of warmth
And try to fan it into flame.

Defy the evils of the world with justice.

Take up weapons of truth and unceasing giving.
Arm your self with arrows of kindness.

Lift the fallen, bind up the broken-hearted.

Dispel darkness with God’s radiant light.
Shatter the bonds of sin through God’s unwavering power.

Tell of Jesus – sing his praises

Point to his saving power and grace.
And on the day of judgement, bow in awe and wonder.

 

Spring.
Crocuses nodding gently
in the raw March breeze,
reaching upwards to the sun
like a group of worshippers
singing praises
to their Creator.

Frogs mate copiously
in the tiny pond,
producing their slippery,
jellied black dots of new life
amid the duckweed.

A statue of Hercules
looks on sightlessly,
uncomprehending
of the beauty at his feet;
oblivious to nature’s vibrant,
ecstatic productivity.


The First Good Friday.

You didn’t have to do it,

that first Good Friday.
What drove you to it?

What drove you to

endure that night of agony
in the garden?
When you could have said
“Not your will, but mine”

What drove you to allow them to

arrest you,
insult you,
beat you senseless
and condemn you to die?
When you could have been rescued
by ten thousand angels
in the blinking of an eye.

As they drove the nails

through your hands and feet,
what drove you to hang there
on that cross,
when you could have just
torn yourself down
and annihilated your torturers?

What drove you to allow your Father,

your loving, heavenly Father,
to turn his back on you
in your hour
of deepest need?

Was it me?

Was I worth that torment?

Was I worth that pain?

You say that I am.

No – you proved it.

Warming at the Fire.

Worshiping and serving God is not just a dutiful thing,
but a warming of the soul at the fire of God’s love.
Doing this also gives us his strength, power and guidance
to live as we ought to day by day.

Come warm yourself at the fire of God’s love.

He is the source of all joy and blessings.

Fall down before him in worship and adoration.

Give him thanks and

don’t miss a single blessing, by turning away.

If we take our eyes off God for even a short time,

then we start to lose the plot.

Let the fire of his love melt our sorrows.

Let it melt our pride.

Let it melt our greed and wrong desires.

Let it melt our very selves - our hearts.

Come warm yourself at the fire of God’s love,

God’s wondrous, blessed love

and be healed.



A Christmas Carol.

Hark, the choirboys sweetly sing,

and with it haunted memories bring.
Beneath the holly and mistletoe
a silent cancer slowly grows.
That of unhealed pain and sorrow,
leeching the life blood of tomorrow.

Whilst others skated

in mood elated
and joyfully slid,
her feelings - she hid.
And when Santa came
to unload his sack,
all this poor girl could see
was black.

So toll your bells,

in joyful style.
But please remember
this poor child.
Her dad abused her
in ways so vile.

Is there no one

who can draw the sting?
Give her some hope
with which to cling?

As we the Christmas

feast do savour,
there is someone
who will not waver
in his steadfast healing love.
Some lasting joy
from up above
to bring the girl
and raise her high.
So all her misery
will fly.

Although a stranger

he may be.
From a manger,
beautifully,
he grew to take on
all that’s wrong.
To help us sing
a joyful song.
To mend the broken,
aching, heart
and help us make
a brand new start.

Broken Lives.

The world is full of broken lives;

of birds who never learned to fly,

their precious fledging bodies
lying vulnerable as prey.

The world is full of broken glass,

lacerating all who walk across it unawares.
Broken, bleeding feet, crippling
otherwise healthy, productive bodies

The world is full of people with mental scars,

whose capacity to think and feel
in normal, tender creative human ways
is blighted, leaving only disturbed, unhappy visions.

The world is full of beauty,

untouched and untrammelled by human destruction.
A beauty that speaks of healing and grace,
and brings us to the feet of Jesus in awe and wonder.

The world is full of the healing breath of God;

of his infinite power, compassion and love,
that mends the broken wings, binds the bleeding feet
and tenderly heals the scarred, distorted mind.

Letter to Heaven.

Lord, you are a wondrous God.

If I give all my troubles to you, you can heal them.
You receive hurtful memories and a troubled spirit
and draw them to you.
You reassure me that you are dealing with them,
and as if that wasn’t enough,
you exchange them for peace and joy,
whilst you are repairing and restoring them.

I am glad.

in fact I am overjoyed,
because whilst I experience that serenity,
you free my mind and my spirit,
to concentrate on serving you.
You bless me three times over
from one simple act of faith on my part.

Lord you are a bountiful God.

Whilst I am serving you, you give me rest
in showing me the beautiful things in the world.
Who else but you, would invest a speck of pollen
with such beauty in its colour and form?
And as if that wasn’t enough it helps produce a
plant as well, which is an even greater work of art.

Lord, you are an amazing God.

You don’t just run me, and specks of pollen,
But you run my neighbour too, whether he knows it or not.
You have designed trees and birds and animals
in the most incredible variety and detail.
For our enjoyment, you have made many colours,
where one, or none, would have sufficed.
You created food in many textures and flavours,
which you did not need to do.

Lord, you are a marvellous God.

You run the entire universe;
always have, and always will do,
and yet you can still find time for me.

Lord, I could go on telling you forever

of all the wonderful things that you have created and done.
The gift of music, of touch, or the beautiful scent of a flower.
The joy of human friendship and laughter.
The priceless gift of prayer.
The list is endless.

Lord, when I ponder on all of these things,

it is then that I realise why you are so infinitely worthy
of our praise and worship.
So I just want to thank you for being
who you are. I want to thank you for creating me as I am,
and for making this world such a beautiful
and amazing place in which to live.

And all of this is what you are doing for me now;

Let alone eternity…..

Lord, you are a wondrous God.

Love?

Love - that ever present,

cheated, wholly mistreated

abused and misused word.

What is love?

Where does it come from?
Who owns it?
Can it be touched or measured?
What does it mean to love
and what can it do?

There is gay love,

straight love,
love of self, love of money.
Love of being in love;
a kind of “dream state”
that makes little effort
and bears no cost.

Some say lust is love.

Some say that love is sentimental -
not really something that
grown-ups do any more.

Some say love heals,

some say it blinds.
Some say St Paul wrote the
finest treatise on love ever written.

Some say they’ve been

hurt by love and reject it.
Of course they haven’t been
hurt by love at all,
merely its absence.

Some are mistreated

in the name of love.
Some say its what
parents do to their children.

Some say God is love.

What do you say love is?


Morning Glory

When the world is choking
on its own pollution.
When its gangrenous, infected soul
refuses to lie down
and sleep the slumber of
innocence.

Who will tend its wounds?

When it is stalked
by monsters of its own creation,
made by pride and greed,
dressed up as angels of light.

Who will pull it back from the brink?

When the attractions of sin
have mesmerised all but the few
and the glittering prizes
have consumed
their disciples.

Who will offer hope?

It is we, the children of glory
who must empty ourselves of self.
We who must become
the much sung
channels of peace.
For unless they have seen the light,
how can they know they are
living in darkness?

If we can learn to hold
life’s mirror at an angle
and not gaze into it ourselves.
Then we shall deflect the world’s
gaze above us
and the beauty and radiance
of God will shine down on them.

Like morning glory.