View Full Version : rinslertron's poetry

12-18-12, 11:21 AM

A warm and happy summer's day,
A little laughing girl at play,
Wet cool grass
Between bare toes,
Soft flower tickling
A curious nose.


Tower of Babel

Men working, muscles straining,
Sweat wiped away
From foreheads caked with dust.
Forming a huge tower,
Boldly declaring to God that they
Will force entrance into His glory,
And exalt themselves to the heavens.

Their tower failed, of course.
But each of us may
Build our own "Tower"
To reach our heavenly goal.

Not with hewn stones
Rising in carnal majesty,
But with fervent prayer
Born of spiritual necessity.

Not a tower
That boldly declares,
But a broken heart
That humbly petitions.

Not an edifice
That exalts itself to the heavens,
But a contrite spirit
That hopes to be exalted.

Not a forced entry,
But a gentle knock.

The tower built by men
Took years,
And offered nothing.

The tower built through
Precious moments
Of honest prayer
Offers us the true
And only way to God.


Timpanogo's Blanket

I was walking to my home one day
And noticed that she'd changed
A blanket of white upon the gray
The heavens had arranged.

I really couldn't blame her
The weather was quite cold
But wondered if her mother
Knew her blanket was snow...


Outstretched Hands

I see you quietly sitting there
With dirty hands and uncombed hair.
With outstretched hands you beckon me,
Then softly whisper, "Please feed me."

What have I to give to you
To fill the void
to comfort you?
Will food alone suffice today,
To send you happily on your way?
No, not today.

Your trembling hands
So cold and stiff,
My proferred soup
You gratefully sip.
The hunger leaves, but still remains
In lonely eyes
That betray your pain...

My friend
There are other hands that beckon, too.
Reaching to those
Who hunger like you, saying,
"Come follow me
And be spiritually fed.
If you'll only just listen
There's much happiness ahead."

Yes, I am those caring, outstretched hands
Of a Savior who truly loves and understands.
Open your spiritual eyes and see
The person He wants you to be.

Lift up your head, you're not alone.
And the journey's much easier with a light of your own.
Lean on Him, He'll not let you down.
The blessing for enduring is
Eternal Life's Crown.



Nineteen again

That's right--
this isn't the first time
Oh, I've been nineteen
so many times during
my life,
with all of its privilege
and position.

Why didn't I see the pain?

The candles on my cake
burn a little softer,
and the icing isn't quite as sweet
as I realize that
this time
it's for real
and privilege and position
are not really
what I feel.

A tear escapes one eye
as does a little laugh.
"Nineteen again,"
I say to myself.

Why didn't I see the pain?


Our Heritage

Sea-weary pioneers
Upon a dreary ocean
Guided by the hand of God
Blessed for their devotion.

As they first set foot upon
This fertile land of promise
Other men begin the work of death
Held by powers of darkness.

One man leads the believing few
Fleeing from dissenting brothers
Another leads the wicked many
Daughters shedding blood of mothers.

Many years pass and many die
One nation stands healing its wounds
One man stands, the last of his people
To live with the Mulekites nine moons.

Inheritors of this land have
A promise from the Lord
If we obey, we'll prosper
Salvation our reward.


Reverie's Watch

We were two ships
passing in the night,
But the wake of your passing
still laps upon the hull
of my ship's reverie,
Leading me even now
to distant shores,
Calling out your name,
hoping that I might once again
gaze into those beautiful brown eyes.

Many nights do I
scan a lonely horizon,
Knowing that another restless night
will not bring the sunrise of
your smiling face,
But the searching rays
of a melancholy sun,
which, even in its eternal warmth,
fails to console the
whimpering of my soul or
the aching of my broken heart.

Where have you gone?
The remembrance of the
whisper of the wind in your sails
still racks my spirit with pain,
Because I know that
my eyes will never again see
the delicious upturn of your lips,
as you steer your vessel
through the currents
of the sea of life.

What lonely harbor
have you now called your home
along the desolate shore of my past?
Will you ever lay anchor
in the tranquil depths of love?

I promise that I'll keep eternal watch
for my graceful captain.


Our Savior

Such love our Savior
had for us
while in Gethsemane.
To suffer that we
might live with Him
throughout eternity.

A loving Father heard
His Son: "Not my will
but Thine be done."
And straightway was
our Savior led, His
innocent blood so
freely shed.

Upon the cross at
Calvary, was heard
our dear Lord's
plea: "Why my Father,
in my final hour,
has Thou forsaken

Now taken down
to quietly lie
within a sepulcher.
His suffering past
to rise at last!
His glory is assured.

While of the
emblems we
partake, each sacred
Sabbath day,
May we remember
our Savior dear...
...and emulate His ways.



Our first anniversary
I will never forget;
You, with your hand clasped
weakly in mine, telling me
over and over again,
in a voice
as soft and tender
as a child's,
that the years
which won't be spent together,
I should never spend
in regret.

And then,
that long, unwavering line
was all that I could see
as I numbly felt the warmth
fleeing from your
gentle fingertips,
and that final
perfect breath
pass between your lips...

And as I knelt in anguish and cried,
feeling so hopelessly alone...
your beautiful spirit
toward heaven
had flown.

Yes, on our first anniversary
I said goodbye to you,
and now there is a little one to raise
with loving care and lullaby songs
where a mother's soothing touch belongs.

His mother's memory through me he'll know
as he begins to learn
and grow,
As I begin to slowly heal
but never feel
completely whole.



as it soaks
the lazy brown earth
and lazy people,
emerging from shipping crate mansions.

The sun shines on poverty,
burning away
the early morning rain
and the twilight that once held
this decaying slum
in tranquil sleep.

Walking past open doorways,
I see the silhouettes of curious children
in the claws of hunger,
and mire of spiritual starvation.
I feel their eyes on my back
the delinquents of tomorrow...

The local bar
already full of broken hearts
and broken wills
I watch the yellowish liquid
brought thirstilly to parched lips.


Cold Feet

I roll over sleepily in bed
the day after you're gone,
Habitually searching for the
warmth of your shoulder,
And perhaps,
after a lingering kiss,
the promise of eggs over easy
as the sun breaks forth.

What my trusting fingertips encounter, instead,
are the cold feet
of our little boy,
who appeared some time last night
as a small silhouette in our doorway,
Awakened by the growling and cursing
of a summer storm.

I remember his gleeful giggle as I
motioned to the place of safety
beside me in bed,
Running playfully, still full of
mysterious childhood energy,
Then hurriedly diving for the covers
as a rumble shattered the night.

How could I have guessed that
the time spent with this bundle of energy
Would be a little bit of heaven on earth?

I see myself lifting the cup awkwardly in small hands.
Or futilely swinging at an elusive curve
thrown by dad, the master of treacherous,
hard-for-little-boys-to-reach pitches.

I see myself in our little boy
and live again those years long past.

Although your loving arms
will soon encircle him again,
I'm grateful for this time I've had
with our little boy...

and his cold feet.