Categories
Poetry

Going Home

Here’s one of my poems published in the Lutheran Digest. It reminds me of my young nephew Daniel, who now sits on his heavenly Father’s lap, and of Carl, Louise’s husband, who is greatly missed here on earth.

I AM HOME 

Close my eyes and think of heaven.
Enter in the pearly gates.
Greet with joy, Apostle Peter.
Smell and see and feel and taste.

Roam the streets, the bright lights shining.
Loved ones greet me, everywhere.
Guide me to the mansion waiting.
Feel the presence, feel the care.

 Walk into the throne of glory.
To the One who holds all truth.
Bow before the great Creator,
King of Kings, Lord of my youth.

 In the presence of my Father
As He sits upon his throne,
Arms outstretching, I run to Him
“Father, Father, I am home!”

By Kathryn Spurgeon #2461 Lutheran Digest, March 2004

  • I Am.. (snowwhitedove.wordpress.com)
Categories
Poetry

Poems about Progression

The Sugar Mule magazine published a couple of my poems.

Thought I’d add these to my blog.

KATHRYN SPURGEON
Progression 

Sunlight, clouded by dark sunglasses, 
pours over the green grass and dipping hillsides 
where cattle wade in muddy waters, old barns crumble 
and barbed wire fences line dirt roads. 
It shrinks, the pasture where brush is plowed under. 
Bulldozers level the meadows, planting rows of gas lines, 
ruts of electricity and paths of concrete
where no cows are tethered or horses wander free. 
Majestic oak trees give way to Bartlett pears, 
swing sets and rose gardens. 
The remaining Angus gather together in clumps
on the far side of the openness watching the building, 
the coming of civilization, while herds of Palominos,
near extinct beasts replaced by bicycles, 
watch the creeping face of progression. 

Uncertain Future

Stand next to the tall man
in the gray tweed suit
listen to the sound of the train
its feet bellows on
through the earth's deep soil
and shakes the windowpane
in the small-town church
striking fear in the hide
of the mongrel under the porch
of Aunt Bee's bakery
while Main Street's
culinary surprises
bounce on the counter
like a life led
on the train trekking
back and forth
between town and city
unsure of where it's going.
Categories
Poetry

The Wonderland of Poets

The Phantom Island…be assured that such an island actually exists, and has from time to time been revealed to the gaze and trodden by the feet of favored mortals. Historians and philosophers may have their doubts, but its existence has been fully attested by that inspired race, the poets; who, being gifted with a kind of second sight, are enabled to discern those mysteries of nature hidden from the eyes of ordinary men. To this gifted race it has ever been a kind of wonderland.

     by Washington Irving in The Phantom Island

Who is a poet? I say– anyone who lives in a wonder land full of questions, imgination and creativity! Whether those who peek over walls at its beauty, those who dabble in life’s mysteries, or those who hesistate to return to reality. Perhaps anyone who dreams is a poet.  And don’t we all dream from time to time?

 

Categories
Poetry

God’s love gushes like a fountain.

How can God love me this much

when my past is flawed and dirty,
when my faults bring filth and scorn?
When my head hangs low in disgrace
and my mind sees only thorns?

 Can the mountains cry “He’s bigger?”
Can the mouse squeak, “Him I see?”
Is He monstrous, huge or minuscule
— or somewhere in between?

 Can His love be therapeutic?
Bring new health to weary bones?
Will He help me when I’m tortured?
Can He hear my silent moans?

 God’s love gushes like a fountain,
flows from depths I cannot see.
I may never comprehend it, but I gulp
–  and I am free.

 #4068 4/7/2010

Written the day before NW Summit conference. God’s love overwhelms me sometimes and I cry to think  how much I don’t deserve it.  That’s when He reassures me of His love and  joy comes to my heart.

Categories
Poetry

Questful Youth

Against the tainted sky
the amber glows
and twilight casts its shadow
long before
the eve of youth revives.

Away from smoother roads of ease
a breeze, of questful youth
will never cease
to read the skies for God
and answers to their sulking needs.

Whoever favors listening
to sight and sounds
and spirits sing
will rejoice to see the sky
is painted hues
that only God can use
to answer quests of searching youth.

#1330