Poems

I also write Christian poetry with what I hope is contemporary relevance.  Here are some examples.

Good Enough

You say that you are good enough to merit heaven’s favour.
Yes your good deeds are there to see
and meet no argument from me,
but still the One upon the throne
has yet to count you as His own:
the only way to pass His gate is through the Saviour.

When we dream of Utopia, we set the bar quite low.
So you and I would make it in,
with all of our beloved kin;
and only those of evil name,
who cling to deeds of vile shame,
would find the door against them barred and to fair rest not go.

But heaven’s elect paradise has other rules in place.
So those who tread the hallowed ground
are they who by God’s grace have found
that “good enough” is not enough
as our response to heaven’s love,
but rather, knowing we come short, we fall before His face.

Now please do not misunderstand, I’m not the judger here.
For I would see you cross the line;
but I’m not He, the key’s not mine
and all that I can do for you
is tell you what I had to do –
confess that in His perfect sight His justice I must fear.

For when I claim to be no more than weak and stained by sin,
then I can plead the precious blood
once shed by the incarnate God,
and see my failings wash away –
He’s left me no more debt to pay –
and that’s when I can pass His gate and be permitted in.

This truth is what I wish for you with all my ransomed heart.
For one day I’ll be left to grieve
if you will not on Him believe;
but once you to Christ Jesus cling,
naming Him as your Lord and King,
then soon beyond the heavenly gate we’ll never be apart.

 

 Currents

Show me a sprouting shoot,
I will rejoice though snow lies round it;
Show me the first fallen leaf,
I will mourn though the sun is high.

Something in me looks for how the current flows,
ignoring present reality
to focus on a promise or a threat.

Hearken to a voice for the Tribulation,
for those who must tread this post-Christian wasteland
when the streams of godly heritage run even drier than today.

Oh, how they will rue that so few had the vision to stand.
Oh, how they will mourn that so much was thrown away unheeded.

My brothers, my sisters,
what is asked of you is more than I could bear.
May the Lord sustain you
for whom all earthly hope is denied.

Lord of Eden and the New Jerusalem,
your way is ever streams of living water.
But in a land which pollutes such provision,
give heed when your people call for rain.

And bring swiftly the last turning of the tide,
when the throne of he who was slain is raised in Zion,
when the voices of the martyrs are raised in praise,
when death is conquered and the tree of life restored.

 

Our five physical senses each have specific words for how we use them to perceive things: see, hear, touch and so on.  What we feel in our spirits is just as real to us, but doesn’t have a specific word.  This encourages sceptics to dismiss it as imaginary.

So I coined a specific word to fill this gap and emphasise that a true spiritual experience is tangible.

Tanged

You lay your hand upon my life,
show me the next insight that I need,
the next idea to move my thinking on.

You manage a circumstance,
engineer an opportunity,
place an open door before me.

Do I see it, do I hear it,
do I taste or smell or feel it ?
What do I call this reality ?

I have been “tanged”,
a little changed,
a lie challenged,
life rearranged.

You reach down with power to heal,
move hearts to soar in praise and worship,
whisper loving thoughts into our minds.

In my spirit I know it is real,
as if I could close my hand on it.
It’s too specific for analogy.

I have been “tanged”,
a little changed,
a lie challenged,
life rearranged.

 

 

They didn’t tell me

They bade me come and celebrate a king,

who died, yet rose, eternal life to bring;

He comes with gifts and healing in His hand,

His followers a lively, joyous band,

who share in meetings filled with food and fun,

do good works aimed at helping everyone.

 

They didn’t tell me many scorn His name,

nor that they treat His servants just the same;

that every time I seek to spread His word

there will be those who label it absurd;

that I have entered into endless fight,

which will persist till my Lord comes in might.

 

They didn’t tell me how the tide would flow,

pressure against His followers ever grow;

claiming all have rights (and so they ought),

ours alone are trampled by the courts.

Jobs denied to those who serve the Lord,

unless they keep quiet about His word.

 

They didn’t tell me I would walk alone,

just the promise of all I’ll someday own –

the Spirit of the Lord within my life –

is all I have for comfort in this strife.

Now I find I must count all things loss,

as my Lord did when He faced the cross.

 

They didn’t tell me – now they fall away,

they too were never warned about this day –

and it is bitter, aching grief to me

as ruin of the kingdom’s cause I see.

Few indeed are those who dare to stand

in what was once known as a Christian land.

 

They didn’t tell me – but the truth is clear,

before me lies the last choice: love or fear.

Dear Saviour, let me see just what You bore,

remind me You have gone this way before.

My failing flame of love kindles anew

as I perceive the only choice is You.

 

Now He tells me: I have held to my crown,

He pens His own new name upon my brow,

before His throne I have this crown to cast,

as glory dawns before my eyes at last.

So I tell you, make ready for the test,

that you too attain the heavenly rest.