The Triphammer of Time

The Triphammer

The triphammer
Of time
Pounds out
The rhythm
Which my mind
To fashion
The rhyme

Over and over
To fill
The refrain
The feelings
Can restrain

All to
Forge links
Twixt heart
And the brain.



The Spirit Within Me

The Spirit within Me

The spirit within me
Trembles at the approach
Of Your presence

And rises in
At the touch
Of Your Word

The weight of Your glory
Presses upon me
And though
I sink beneath it

I know it frees me
From the world’s

To be stamped
With the visage
Of the One
Who loves me.


the ragged world

the ragged world

the bright bauble
that clogs our minds
impels us into
its embrace

at what point
do we realize
we cannot
measure it
with the span
of our hand
nor subdue
its breadth
to our knowing

man is not
the gauge
of everything
pride warps the
boundary lines
and fudges
the increments

the humble door
can the thread-bare
ragged world
be seen
in clarity




We fail
All  the time
In every place
In every way
Right or left
Up or down
Inside or out
If not in deed
In thought

He is unfailing
All the time
In every place
In every way
Right and left
Up and down
Inside and out
Even if it seems
He does not succeed
But suffers loss
Call to mind
The seed
Planted at
The cross.


For My Friend John

For my friend John

Hear Hear
Raise up a cheer
For this day
When John is King
Let all within this hallowed hall
His praises gladly sing

With an eye that’s clear
He trains his lens on one
And all
He was there at the ready
At our every beck and call
No one ever charged
“Where were you when it counted?”

Though some may doubt
His royalty
Or dispute the rank thereof
Why twas only yesterday
While we were in the pharmacy
When the man behind the counter
turned and said,
“Your prints, John!”


Faith That Fragile Herb

Faith That Fragile Herb

With joy
For You we wait
What pleases You
Is faith.

Faith, that fragile herb
Springs forth at Your Word
Bowing its head down
Straining to hear the sound
Of Your glory under Heaven

And round
The rock of truth
It clings
And midst the clods
Blooms and sings
Your praises under Heaven

Though as neat
As a mustard seed
By it You meet
Our mountain of need
And make our joy


For My Wife on Her Birthday

A little something I wrote quite some time ago, but nonetheless still true.

For My Wife on Her Birthday

Not many know you like I do
That sweet knowledge is mine alone
For like a pocket to a shirt
So my heart on yours is sewn
True, I sometimes forget about ketchup
And syrup and such
When I pour them on
You turn and chide me
– But never too much

For it’s when I think
(Without thinking)
That the one I like best
Likes what I like too
So, please, don’t be insulted
When I bracket the things
I like with you

Not many see the treasure
That is by my side each day
Few, indeed, know the pleasure
Of your impish teasing way.

Thirty-seven years of age
And sixteen of them with me
Three kids, two homes, four cars
An apartment on an alley
So it should be with a life
That is shared
Only we two can remember
As we celebrate together
On this joyous day in December.