A Sunset Nearly Done

  (Upon noticing the haunting beauty of a deep winter sunset over the forest)

Limbed sentinels stand cold against the glow

    As orange surrenders to the clear black flow
And the Night Crest comes with light blessing for all
    And speaks softly of "rest now" - and the coming wake-up call.

     P. Davis

God's End

Lord I cannot see the end of you. 

 Your bounds are much too far. 

Your bigger than my Universe, 

 Farther than... Oh! my stars! 

 So - while I'm sure I'll never see, 

 Still, I've seen a better part 

For I've gone boldly past the veil 

 And looked upon your heart. 

 And I surmise that could I see 

 The end of all you are, 

It would be but mere reflection 

 Of this familiar part.

Cozy

When gray slides over, and snow piles high,
And the fire lends cozy to the room,
And hearts, deep warmed by blanket and mug,
Keep time with the crackling tune;

Then we remember that thing we forgot:
The sweet charm of Winter's long gloom.

                                                             LB

Seasons Of Languish, Mornings Of Dance

There are those seasons when life is harsh,
And refuses to grant us success,
Instead it withholds, and obstructs, and says no,
Even though we plead with our best.

But too, are the glorious gifting days
When answers flow like a stream,
When solutions long sought are finally caught,
And at last - We can dance the dream!

     P. Davis

Experience

Frightening lightening and ranting rain,
We run from the clouds and the storm.
But when the noise has come and gone,
In freshness, the land is reborn.

And so are we, truth be known,
By the storms of life along the way.
Something happens in the fear of it all -
Our fears are washed away.

And we're born anew, much improved.
We've survived and overcome.
And in that freshness, we spring again
Now to find -
We've become much more than our sum.

     P. Davis

The Plan

I have a plan and the plan is good.

And I'm excited by all that it holds.
But then I have to work the plan,
And fit myself to its mold.

This part is hard. And I'm often bored.

And I wonder why I even started.
Before you know it, my knees are weak,
And all my resolve, departed.

But then I hear God's Spirit speak,
The words that I know to be true,
"In your patience you possess your soul.
Work the plan; and the plan will work for you."

     P. Davis

The Flowers Of Truth

On considering the privilege of access to God's truth 

 

We walk in the secret garden of God, 

 A holy and hidden place. 

Yet here we walk - without restraint 

 As a privilege of His grace. 

 We rest among the flowers of truth 

 That for men of every age 

Have yielded the fragrance of knowledge 

And enlightened the eyes of the sage. 

Oh! can it be that we're really here, 

And allowed here every day, 

To handle these lovely, living truths 

As a child consumed in play. 

Thank you, Lord, for privilege bought,  

Which now, we take for granted 

And think it normal every day 

To smell these flowers you've planted.

     P. Davis

Lesson From A Robin

I'm a robin - and my time has come again.
The snow is gone, and the season's song
Is laughter and shared warmth with friends.

The trees spurt growth, and the colors burst,
And again I find, with sweet passing of time,
I'm saved! from mean Winter's gray curse.

So for a season, I'll hop in the grass,
And chase crickets for lunch on the fence.
And I'll fly from the cat, and dart like a bat,
Cause it's Spring! and fun only makes sense.

     P. Davis

The Cathedral

On seeing a beautiful old church in Brandon, Mississippi

Oh great white timbered monument,
Whose spire would touch the sky,
Do you think that by your height
You'll reach the God so high?

Or you, oh red brick counterpart,
With oaken doors so thick,
Is your grandeur one with God?
Is He encased in brick?

Is the way by earthy works?
Can we build a way to God?
Can our need be satisfied
With yet, one more facade?

Nay! I say. That's not the way
For it's only by his grace,
And not the beams of human schemes
That bring us to His Place.

No mortal works can ere suffice.
They are but hollow frames.
And when the winds of judgment blow,
They'll never stand the strain.

They'll crumble with the boards and bricks
And stained glass windows high.
Like all the works of self made men
Beneath God's searching eye.

For He searches not for monuments
To the grand designs of men,
But rather for the human heart
That yields itself to Him.

     P. Davis

Substance

Upon contemplating the "rock stars" of our time, musical and otherwise

What then?
When the profane is promoted
And the truly good, made low

What then?
When the pretense is praised
And the reality, ignored

What then?
When our mask is celebrated
And our substance is in the wind

What then?

     P. Davis