The incredible rock-formations, of the scene
In panorama, make us wonder
As we ponder in breathless ecstasy
The infinity of design, a “sign” from deep antiquity:
A “Bible” ~ a revelation of a Great Creator Mind.

Some formations resemble ancient temples,
Some, great Cathedral spires,
They exist in breathtaking beauty;
They persist for thousands of miles,
Without repetition. Their awesomeness inspires!

The full-length, incredible distance,
Of this great continent, tip to top,
In undulating beauty, rise and dip!
Interminable in number, their immensity
Is matched by their variety.

No language could express the infinity
Of design.
The rock, intersperses with hemlock,
Fir, and spruce, and pine,
Thousands of breath-catching acres
Of throat-aching beauty!

What majestic, gigantic, incredible Hand,
Could have planted all these?
Thousands and thousands of acres
Of trees!

Some trees piece the rock and grow
Through it, although the rock is deep
And high and immense.

Humanly speaking, it defies common sense.

My soul is a strong and mighty tower;
For my Great God has shaped it
In His image, and created it with Power;
His Power is in my for good.

Greater it is, than the power of the atom.
For good is stronger than evil.
I am His child.
And you are, too.

Like fresh roses
That sparkle with the dew.

We are His anointed
Whom He had appointed
His wondrous work to do.
His Power is in you, too!

It’s vast!
I am aghast
At what my God can do
In me! In you!

Psalm 28:7-9

Some people’s skin’s not the color of mine
But what’s inside determines their worth
If they have pure hearts, the skin of their birth
By God’s design, does not tell their true worth.

The paint on the barn, may hide decay.
It’s what’s inside
That saves the hay.

Oh-h-h!
It’s down again:
Can’t quit now!
Lose everything . . .
Embezzle more
Steal again . . .

Up Up again
Make a real killing!
Richest American!
Power! Prestige!
Steal still more
Oh-oh!
Down again!
Wall to wall people
Swarming; venomous;
Angry bees;

Crash!
Weeping,
Cursing,
Praying,
Slashing,
Gouging,
Slugging,
stabbing.

Who held the yo-yo?
Who pulled the strings?

Of all the treasures the heart can hold:
Of life or health or wealth or art
The purest gold is the glow in the heart
That is left by a gift of love.

Psalm 23

And so, some day, (how soon I do not know)
This shell of flesh, decadent, I shall shed.
(They’ll say, “She’s dead.”)
This wrinkled, shrivelled hull I’ll throw aside. . .
And then emerging whole again
All fresh and new and beautiful
As new-born chrysalis, all crystalled-silver in the dawn,
Or, like the fresh-distilled dew of awe-breath morn,
I’ll be reborn.

All perfect in the radiant dawn I’ll rise;
And you will, too!
Beyond the iridescent skies
We’ll live anew.

1995

So with us – we are protected in youth
And nurtured in our springtime of life
So that we can be “tough”
For the rigors and “rough”;
And the strife
That come later.
Oh, wise Creator!

The morn is gray; no faintest breeze
Has stirred the lovely olive trees.
The pearly-iridescent tints
Of morning give but the faintest hints
Of the drama to unfold;
When from the saddened “gray-wool” sky,
An angel rends its somber fold
And gracefully floating to the tomb,
With effortless magic breaks the seal,
(The emporer’s seal — that’s death to break)
And rolls the stone away,
The ponderous, forbidding stone
That sealed the dead that day.
That awful day, that saddest day,
When Christ was crucified.

With spices rich, the women came
His body to anoint
The well-loved body of their Lord.
(But there’s a “disappoint”!)
“Who’ll roll the stone away?”
“He is not here, for He is risen”
They hear the angel say.
The Savior, released form His prison:
His earthly robe of clay,
Has brought us Everlasting Life;
Has given us Easter Day.

‘Neath the sacred sky
There’s a breathless hush:
A mysterious silence
As if the brush of an angel wing
Were passing by.

Spring 1985