I noticed the sideways glance as you passed me by, the averted eyes, the hesitation as if you weren't sure of yourself, but were struggling to come to a decision. You stopped after a few more steps, then turned around. Timidly, you approached and stooped low toward me as I sat on the cold, wet pavement with my cardboard sign leaning against my knee. I looked up and you blinked back tears. Then you gave me the sandwich and the soda you had just purchased from the subway shop. Roast Beef. Very good. And you smiled in reply to my thank you. You asked me my name and I told you. You kneeled by my side and said, "God loves you." Then I smiled, too, remembering the days yet to come.
And soon, when the time for discussing such matters is at hand, I will invite you to my side and say, "Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.'
You and all the other gathered saints will wonder at my words, saying, "Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?'"
And I will say, "Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me."
(NRSV Matthew 5:34-40)
30 October 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
Friday, October 30, 2009
Saturday, April 04, 2009
the consequences of insight
the boy stood at the water's edge,
then lay down facing forward.
every ripple, every wave,
a counterpoint to the trees
soaring above as sentinels.
he concentrated. first, one ripple,
then another; still, dozens more
followed suit as waves rising up with
images of his life yet to come,
and the varied permutations
resulting from his choices.
soon, it became a cacophony of
confusion, until a single tone rang
out, resonating from the wooden
flute he skillfully wielded. the array
of images resolved into one, though
at the expense of his soaring hopes.
for now he tasted of the price he must
pay to set the world to rights.
4 April 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
then lay down facing forward.
every ripple, every wave,
a counterpoint to the trees
soaring above as sentinels.
he concentrated. first, one ripple,
then another; still, dozens more
followed suit as waves rising up with
images of his life yet to come,
and the varied permutations
resulting from his choices.
soon, it became a cacophony of
confusion, until a single tone rang
out, resonating from the wooden
flute he skillfully wielded. the array
of images resolved into one, though
at the expense of his soaring hopes.
for now he tasted of the price he must
pay to set the world to rights.
4 April 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
Friday, April 03, 2009
late watches
the late watches attend the sojourner,
waiting, hoping, sitting quietly alone.
will there be room for slumber?
one can only lay down and hope.
open wide the heart to joy,
sing softly the ancient psalm.
a new day approaches in haste,
a fresh dawn for frightened hearts.
comfort in solace and sweet fellowship,
the nurture of Christ in community.
3 April 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
waiting, hoping, sitting quietly alone.
will there be room for slumber?
one can only lay down and hope.
open wide the heart to joy,
sing softly the ancient psalm.
a new day approaches in haste,
a fresh dawn for frightened hearts.
comfort in solace and sweet fellowship,
the nurture of Christ in community.
3 April 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
ordinary muse
an ordinary moment
a plastic cup of milk
breathing in the stillness
ignoring what I feel.
the tv sits forgotten
the phone done for the day
the books beg for attention
they have something to say.
artistry incumbent
pregnant with latent zeal
now waits for its unveiling
when all will be revealed.
scraps of vagrant paper
clothes not put away
a washer full of dishes
a desk in disarray.
the muse of ordinary
the song of normal life
free from scripted falsehood
brimming full of life.
31 March 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
a plastic cup of milk
breathing in the stillness
ignoring what I feel.
the tv sits forgotten
the phone done for the day
the books beg for attention
they have something to say.
artistry incumbent
pregnant with latent zeal
now waits for its unveiling
when all will be revealed.
scraps of vagrant paper
clothes not put away
a washer full of dishes
a desk in disarray.
the muse of ordinary
the song of normal life
free from scripted falsehood
brimming full of life.
31 March 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
Saturday, March 28, 2009
by God's grace
Your presence surrounds me
in a balm of healing grace.
Your joy wipes all my tears
as I look upon the shadow
of your passing.
The darkness of my heart
is exposed to your holiness.
The blood of Jesus Christ
removes the guilt of all my
wicked ways.
I worship you, Lord God,
as a sinner made a saint.
I will follow where you lead me
to the ends of the earth,
unashamed.
All I am, and all I have,
I give to you for all my days.
I lay aside my ambitions
and may I die to self daily
for Jesus Christ.
In the silence of this moment
may you be glorified by my life.
And in my actions and my words
may other hearts see the love
of Jesus for the world.
28 March 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
in a balm of healing grace.
Your joy wipes all my tears
as I look upon the shadow
of your passing.
The darkness of my heart
is exposed to your holiness.
The blood of Jesus Christ
removes the guilt of all my
wicked ways.
I worship you, Lord God,
as a sinner made a saint.
I will follow where you lead me
to the ends of the earth,
unashamed.
All I am, and all I have,
I give to you for all my days.
I lay aside my ambitions
and may I die to self daily
for Jesus Christ.
In the silence of this moment
may you be glorified by my life.
And in my actions and my words
may other hearts see the love
of Jesus for the world.
28 March 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
Saturday, March 21, 2009
of where, I do not know
just around the corner lies a
vista undiscovered. walk
with me through the stand
of ancient trees to unveil
the isolation of my heart.
in the deeply recessed glen
grass and poppies drape the
clearing like a field of colored
candies longing for my touch,
only to withdraw at my glance.
the fauna wilts away under
the covering of my shadow
until only barren dirt and twigs
remain, a reminder of what might
have been, of what now remains.
21 March 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
vista undiscovered. walk
with me through the stand
of ancient trees to unveil
the isolation of my heart.
in the deeply recessed glen
grass and poppies drape the
clearing like a field of colored
candies longing for my touch,
only to withdraw at my glance.
the fauna wilts away under
the covering of my shadow
until only barren dirt and twigs
remain, a reminder of what might
have been, of what now remains.
21 March 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
when reality awakens the dreamer
just an ordinary boy,
quietly unassuming,
ignored by all the rest
unless they thought to
mock him and make fun.
he dreamed of growing up,
of becoming a somebody,
of marrying a girl,
of raising his own kids
and working hard.
he prayed everyday for
the woman he would marry.
he asked God to bless her
and keep her safe so that
they would meet in due time.
at the age of twenty-one the
dream was shattered by
reality. the boy awoke to
realize he would never marry,
so he stopped praying for
someone who doesn't exist.
21 March 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
quietly unassuming,
ignored by all the rest
unless they thought to
mock him and make fun.
he dreamed of growing up,
of becoming a somebody,
of marrying a girl,
of raising his own kids
and working hard.
he prayed everyday for
the woman he would marry.
he asked God to bless her
and keep her safe so that
they would meet in due time.
at the age of twenty-one the
dream was shattered by
reality. the boy awoke to
realize he would never marry,
so he stopped praying for
someone who doesn't exist.
21 March 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
Thursday, March 12, 2009
unknown but not forgotten
he whispered to the wind
and no one answered.
the rain fell all about
like soldiers slain.
the lightning dove for cover
on the rooftops.
he huddled in the
alcove just below.
red bricks with black graffiti
marked the violence;
he gripped his cloak and
closed his eyes to pain.
when morning came they found
him in the doorway,
his purple heart and Bible
all he owned.
they knew not whence he came
or how he'd fallen.
but all the same they wept
at his estate.
for in the midst of
chic urban wealth
there lay a soldier
slain by heartbreak.
12 March 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
and no one answered.
the rain fell all about
like soldiers slain.
the lightning dove for cover
on the rooftops.
he huddled in the
alcove just below.
red bricks with black graffiti
marked the violence;
he gripped his cloak and
closed his eyes to pain.
when morning came they found
him in the doorway,
his purple heart and Bible
all he owned.
they knew not whence he came
or how he'd fallen.
but all the same they wept
at his estate.
for in the midst of
chic urban wealth
there lay a soldier
slain by heartbreak.
12 March 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
another dragon, labor
he sits down,
the day's work done,
work clothes cloistered
in a cloud of dirt and grime.
the scars on his hands
are betrayed by blood,
but he bears the pain down,
grim satisfaction.
memories of labor
which will ever go untold
as alone he slays
another dragon.
11 March 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
the day's work done,
work clothes cloistered
in a cloud of dirt and grime.
the scars on his hands
are betrayed by blood,
but he bears the pain down,
grim satisfaction.
memories of labor
which will ever go untold
as alone he slays
another dragon.
11 March 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
Sunday, March 08, 2009
common man, remembered
he wonders why all the world
seems to pass along,
a train of seasons,
never seeing him cry out.
wizened lines etch his face,
careworn wrinkles tell of sorrow.
hands calloused with years of labor,
among the masses, yet alone.
ashes blend with silver starlight
at the dawn of hope's first song.
and then the Spirit of the Lord
falls upon him as a wave.
and he cries out Holy, Holy, Holy.
tears and shame are washed away,
private pain brought to light
in the healing song of Yahweh.
the depths of sin washed away,
righteousness raised as a standard
through Jesus Christ, the Lord.
Holy is his name.
8 March 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
seems to pass along,
a train of seasons,
never seeing him cry out.
wizened lines etch his face,
careworn wrinkles tell of sorrow.
hands calloused with years of labor,
among the masses, yet alone.
ashes blend with silver starlight
at the dawn of hope's first song.
and then the Spirit of the Lord
falls upon him as a wave.
and he cries out Holy, Holy, Holy.
tears and shame are washed away,
private pain brought to light
in the healing song of Yahweh.
the depths of sin washed away,
righteousness raised as a standard
through Jesus Christ, the Lord.
Holy is his name.
8 March 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Unbidden
Joy peeks over my right shoulder
and then hides again when I turn to
look. I don’t see her, but I suspect
her presence. She peeks over my left
shoulder; I look swiftly, but miss her,
although I do detect the scent of sunshine.
I turn around, but no one is there.
My eyes narrow. Joy giggles softly,
undetected by my ears, but teasing
the borders of my intuition.
She smiles as she notes the tic now
turning up the right corner of my
mouth. More work to do, she realizes.
She tickles me in my side. I gasp.
She falls backward, laughing, still
silent to my ears, but radiant.
I scratch the affected spot and put
my arms up to preserve my stoicism.
Both corners of my mouth now tug at
my determination. Joy grins at the challenge.
She tip toes to a point directly in front
of me. She sticks out her tongue, makes
a silly face, and giggles helplessly. A
current of fresh air washes over me,
a mixture of pure solace and healing
sunshine. Joy watches my guarded
posture melt. The defenses lower.
I begin to cry at the unbidden release
of pain. She rushes in to embrace me,
understanding, healing, a balm in
the face of many years of
loneliness.
12 February 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
and then hides again when I turn to
look. I don’t see her, but I suspect
her presence. She peeks over my left
shoulder; I look swiftly, but miss her,
although I do detect the scent of sunshine.
I turn around, but no one is there.
My eyes narrow. Joy giggles softly,
undetected by my ears, but teasing
the borders of my intuition.
She smiles as she notes the tic now
turning up the right corner of my
mouth. More work to do, she realizes.
She tickles me in my side. I gasp.
She falls backward, laughing, still
silent to my ears, but radiant.
I scratch the affected spot and put
my arms up to preserve my stoicism.
Both corners of my mouth now tug at
my determination. Joy grins at the challenge.
She tip toes to a point directly in front
of me. She sticks out her tongue, makes
a silly face, and giggles helplessly. A
current of fresh air washes over me,
a mixture of pure solace and healing
sunshine. Joy watches my guarded
posture melt. The defenses lower.
I begin to cry at the unbidden release
of pain. She rushes in to embrace me,
understanding, healing, a balm in
the face of many years of
loneliness.
12 February 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
conflict within
the waters deep within my heart prevail upon the shores afar.
distant silhouettes trace each contour of my brokenness.
mist and fire, confusion and grief, spray upon rocky crags.
hope collects like verdant tide pools,
sanctuaries of life hidden beneath the rising flood,
waiting for the new day.
silent suffering, like an errant knight, keeps watch.
none shall pass lest their quarry fade into shadow.
misplaced vigilance observes those who would bring joy,
variegated solace and woe intermingled,
protection wielded valiantly against all hope;
tragic therein is this abode!
will comfort never penetrate the defenses?
will joy seize the opportunity unleashed in the twilight,
the last glimmer of hope?
choral voices chant in sacred stillness,
hushed harmonies in counterpoint to one dissonant melody,
rising above all others in urgent proclamation.
exaudi Deus deprecationem meam intende orationi meae
a finibus terrae ad te clamavi dum anxiaretur cor meum
in petra exaltasti me deduxisti me quia factus es spes mea
turris fortitudinis a facie inimici (Psalm: 102:1-2).
11 February 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
Friday, February 06, 2009
from the margins
i sit upon the bench
beside the quiet street.
the fountain celebrates
the whispers of the trees.
the february night
collects the mist and chill.
in answer to the rain,
the starlight disappears.
one shadow brushes past
the nearby stand of trees.
another scales the heights,
and waits expectantly.
i wonder whence they came?
i watch them patiently.
do they know i am here?
am i a wraith they see?
as in life's passages,
ever outside feel i.
yet still there is a call,
to take my cross and die
so i may ever live
for the Lord Jesus Christ.
i lay down all i am.
in him, myself i hide.
and thus he puts to rights
the world in which i live.
he turns my face to him,
his grace, he freely gives.
6 February 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
beside the quiet street.
the fountain celebrates
the whispers of the trees.
the february night
collects the mist and chill.
in answer to the rain,
the starlight disappears.
one shadow brushes past
the nearby stand of trees.
another scales the heights,
and waits expectantly.
i wonder whence they came?
i watch them patiently.
do they know i am here?
am i a wraith they see?
as in life's passages,
ever outside feel i.
yet still there is a call,
to take my cross and die
so i may ever live
for the Lord Jesus Christ.
i lay down all i am.
in him, myself i hide.
and thus he puts to rights
the world in which i live.
he turns my face to him,
his grace, he freely gives.
6 February 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
Thursday, January 29, 2009
when we are most silent
yearning against the constraints,
silence leans into the wind.
it waits for the time of its appearing;
it seeks to hasten the moment.
the clattering beer can blows here and there
down the sparsely occupied street.
chimes sing on the porch
of the apartment tower standing guard,
a sentry keeping watch over the city street.
silence dances in the spaces
between the ambient sounds.
distant cars and trucks honk their horns
and race their engines.
the clatter of garbage cans alert the dog.
either a possum or a prowler, not sure which is worse.
a scream in the night.
probably another drug deal gone bad.
silence meditates in the dark watches of the night.
an invitation to the holy. An escape from worldly care.
the siren hints at the margin of awareness. silence quiets the heart.
the turf war excalates into multiple shots fired. silence cries.
somewhere into darkest alleyways, reloading occurs again. why?
silence invites us into the holy place,
the turf where graffiti loses its meaning.
into the quiet, silence leads,
knowing that only there can we listen truly.
and so we sit and listen;
we stay our speech and wait quietly.
flickering city lights grow distant as we wait upon the Lord.
we talk less and listen more.
despite our many words,
we hear best when we are most silent.
29 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
silence leans into the wind.
it waits for the time of its appearing;
it seeks to hasten the moment.
the clattering beer can blows here and there
down the sparsely occupied street.
chimes sing on the porch
of the apartment tower standing guard,
a sentry keeping watch over the city street.
silence dances in the spaces
between the ambient sounds.
distant cars and trucks honk their horns
and race their engines.
the clatter of garbage cans alert the dog.
either a possum or a prowler, not sure which is worse.
a scream in the night.
probably another drug deal gone bad.
silence meditates in the dark watches of the night.
an invitation to the holy. An escape from worldly care.
the siren hints at the margin of awareness. silence quiets the heart.
the turf war excalates into multiple shots fired. silence cries.
somewhere into darkest alleyways, reloading occurs again. why?
silence invites us into the holy place,
the turf where graffiti loses its meaning.
into the quiet, silence leads,
knowing that only there can we listen truly.
and so we sit and listen;
we stay our speech and wait quietly.
flickering city lights grow distant as we wait upon the Lord.
we talk less and listen more.
despite our many words,
we hear best when we are most silent.
29 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Space
white fire dashes through the sky,
exploding into a mist of muted sparks.
the ripple in the wind,
the subtle shift of the sea; space.
constellations form across the expanse,
so tiny in the hands of the Maker.
structures from antiquity betray their distance,
the first glimpse at night.
myriad colors coalesce,
an ebb and flow of feral mystery.
who is he who strides the heights?
who is he who sustains them by his command?
25 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
exploding into a mist of muted sparks.
the ripple in the wind,
the subtle shift of the sea; space.
constellations form across the expanse,
so tiny in the hands of the Maker.
structures from antiquity betray their distance,
the first glimpse at night.
myriad colors coalesce,
an ebb and flow of feral mystery.
who is he who strides the heights?
who is he who sustains them by his command?
25 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
Mom
she worked with her hands;
she gave with her heart.
orphaned at twelve,
no bitterness at all.
she spread God's love
to the children of Watts.
she married her love
and enjoyed four children.
a grandma of five,
she smiles alot.
her love she still spreads
with hugs and comfort.
I love you, Mom.
25 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
she gave with her heart.
orphaned at twelve,
no bitterness at all.
she spread God's love
to the children of Watts.
she married her love
and enjoyed four children.
a grandma of five,
she smiles alot.
her love she still spreads
with hugs and comfort.
I love you, Mom.
25 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Where are the fathers?
graffiti provokes the enemy,
marking territory,
staking claims.
bloods, crips, 13th st, et al.
markings recognized and feared.
war is on.
92nd street shooting in the midst of Lents Park.
Rockwood gangland drivebys.
North Portland retaliation.
Kids, all. Armed and dangerous.
Max train movement of members.
Plenty of chalk to outline the night's take of bodies.
Plenty of talk to give lip service to solutions.
Where are the fathers?
24 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
marking territory,
staking claims.
bloods, crips, 13th st, et al.
markings recognized and feared.
war is on.
92nd street shooting in the midst of Lents Park.
Rockwood gangland drivebys.
North Portland retaliation.
Kids, all. Armed and dangerous.
Max train movement of members.
Plenty of chalk to outline the night's take of bodies.
Plenty of talk to give lip service to solutions.
Where are the fathers?
24 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
hope prevails
pain comforts its wielder with the knowledge that he is alive.
no small feat, considering the attendant opposition within.
better to desire life than give in to despair and escape.
hope prevails yet again in the dark watches of the night.
24 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
no small feat, considering the attendant opposition within.
better to desire life than give in to despair and escape.
hope prevails yet again in the dark watches of the night.
24 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
precipice
he stands on the precipice--
a knife's edge glistening in pain--
not knowing if there will be a soft landing.
the naysayers await his fall expectantly
while he risks his future and dares to dream.
24 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
a knife's edge glistening in pain--
not knowing if there will be a soft landing.
the naysayers await his fall expectantly
while he risks his future and dares to dream.
24 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
Sunday, January 04, 2009
when love lays down its life
Drifting in and out of what she's always known.
Singing quietly while snowflakes coat her hair.
Offering her arms outstretched, a warm embrace.
She huddles closely to his fur; he licks her face.
Vaguely she can hear a distant siren wail.
Closely he whines and barks and wakes her still.
Opening her eyes again she faintly sees
The memories of her puppy as they played with glee.
Drops of tears out from his eyes awaken her.
He huddles closely as strange men now appear.
They pick her up into a stretcher as she cries,
"Don't leave my puppy." And they said, "He saved your life."
"So save his too." But there was nothing they could do.
"Your faithful labrador gave his life for you."
She wept aloud and as they worked the puppy died.
But not before he looked again into her eyes.
The love between them spanned the years that they had known.
The faithful dog ensured that she would live and grow.
4 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
Singing quietly while snowflakes coat her hair.
Offering her arms outstretched, a warm embrace.
She huddles closely to his fur; he licks her face.
Vaguely she can hear a distant siren wail.
Closely he whines and barks and wakes her still.
Opening her eyes again she faintly sees
The memories of her puppy as they played with glee.
Drops of tears out from his eyes awaken her.
He huddles closely as strange men now appear.
They pick her up into a stretcher as she cries,
"Don't leave my puppy." And they said, "He saved your life."
"So save his too." But there was nothing they could do.
"Your faithful labrador gave his life for you."
She wept aloud and as they worked the puppy died.
But not before he looked again into her eyes.
The love between them spanned the years that they had known.
The faithful dog ensured that she would live and grow.
4 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Gossip
spiral mist in shadows rising,
sunlit choirs encircling flame.
viral whispers sing enchantment,
turning hearts, destroying names.
31 December 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
sunlit choirs encircling flame.
viral whispers sing enchantment,
turning hearts, destroying names.
31 December 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Saturday, December 06, 2008
All that I am
All that I am.
All that I hold dear.
All my hopes.
All my life.
My all.
I give them all to you.
I lay them down at your feet.
All that I am is yours
That I may decrease and
You may increase.
6 December 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
All that I hold dear.
All my hopes.
All my life.
My all.
I give them all to you.
I lay them down at your feet.
All that I am is yours
That I may decrease and
You may increase.
6 December 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Paradox
In the quiet I reside
Yearning for something.
I know not what; alone.
The road seems ever
Long, yet terminally
Short; paradox of grief.
Memories of what is
To come conflict with
What might have been.
Absurd abstractions;
Certainty cast in doubt
By tendrils of curiosity.
Chants of lyrics never
Uttered fill the secret
Places of doubt. Cry.
6 December 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Yearning for something.
I know not what; alone.
The road seems ever
Long, yet terminally
Short; paradox of grief.
Memories of what is
To come conflict with
What might have been.
Absurd abstractions;
Certainty cast in doubt
By tendrils of curiosity.
Chants of lyrics never
Uttered fill the secret
Places of doubt. Cry.
6 December 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
Shattered Spaces
Shattered spaces cast clouds of brightness,
Illumined from behind by the pale moonlight.
Glittering lights hide squalor and suffering,
The dance of affluence and poverty.
Gangs of youth emerge from the projects,
Spray paint cans in hand, with guns and knives, too.
Blood fills the alleyways and train tracks.
Another beating given; shots fired.
Retaliation for displaying wrong colors. Death.
Innocence lost is no longer mourned in a city
Jaded by one more incident. Mothers weep silently
As in the distance the refrain “Peace on Earth” is
Sung by carolers in their designer clothing.
Retailers mourn market share decline while
Families pray for their next meal.
Politicos strategize power alignments while
Marginalized populations suffer
From their self-serving decisions.
Children are kidnapped and made to fight wars
While the U.N. makes the Ape its priority.
Jobs are discarded while politicians promise raised taxes.
Television personalities wage wars of words,
While the ratings climb amid moral deterioration
Precipitated by cultural ambiguity.
Families sequester in their homes,
Numbed by the infusion of media options; secluded from
Each other; each pursuing privatized preferences.
Not talking; barely co-existing.
Shattered spaces.
2 December 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Illumined from behind by the pale moonlight.
Glittering lights hide squalor and suffering,
The dance of affluence and poverty.
Gangs of youth emerge from the projects,
Spray paint cans in hand, with guns and knives, too.
Blood fills the alleyways and train tracks.
Another beating given; shots fired.
Retaliation for displaying wrong colors. Death.
Innocence lost is no longer mourned in a city
Jaded by one more incident. Mothers weep silently
As in the distance the refrain “Peace on Earth” is
Sung by carolers in their designer clothing.
Retailers mourn market share decline while
Families pray for their next meal.
Politicos strategize power alignments while
Marginalized populations suffer
From their self-serving decisions.
Children are kidnapped and made to fight wars
While the U.N. makes the Ape its priority.
Jobs are discarded while politicians promise raised taxes.
Television personalities wage wars of words,
While the ratings climb amid moral deterioration
Precipitated by cultural ambiguity.
Families sequester in their homes,
Numbed by the infusion of media options; secluded from
Each other; each pursuing privatized preferences.
Not talking; barely co-existing.
Shattered spaces.
2 December 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Sound Their Horns
Silver rain in winter falls
Anthems shadow ancient halls
Tow’ring spires o’er windswept plains
Watchmen sound their horns.
Broken dreams paint silence red
Flags aloft display their dread
Whisp’ring tears call forth the deep
Watchmen sound their horns.
Who has heard the desp’rate calls?
Who has come from thund’ring falls?
Knights unknown in raiment dark
Out of the depths they rise from ash.
Flames and waters flood their path
Sword and shield meet hellish wrath
Tales of old they now survive
Watchmen sound their horns.
Born in days whence shadow fled
Born of songs in books not read
Scribes foretold the warriors’ creed
The coming of the Guardian’s Fold.
29 November 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Anthems shadow ancient halls
Tow’ring spires o’er windswept plains
Watchmen sound their horns.
Broken dreams paint silence red
Flags aloft display their dread
Whisp’ring tears call forth the deep
Watchmen sound their horns.
Who has heard the desp’rate calls?
Who has come from thund’ring falls?
Knights unknown in raiment dark
Out of the depths they rise from ash.
Flames and waters flood their path
Sword and shield meet hellish wrath
Tales of old they now survive
Watchmen sound their horns.
Born in days whence shadow fled
Born of songs in books not read
Scribes foretold the warriors’ creed
The coming of the Guardian’s Fold.
29 November 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Saturday, November 22, 2008
price of liberty
torn sails whip in the wind,
talismans forlorn whispering
secrets aft and fore, but never amidships.
the vessel lists to port.
gaping holes spew fire and smoke.
its crew embraces the balm of an icy tomb.
starry skies observe the peril.
the full moon casts its eye on the
blood red sea, pearl and scarlet vagabonds.
whispers in the lesser light,
memories quickly fade by dawn;
artisans of subterfuge forgotten.
the songs of that night fade into anonymity.
condemned to hiding, remembered no more.
lyrics of heroism never known.
the laying down of their lives
so that those who suspect it not
may live theirs in liberty.
22 November 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
talismans forlorn whispering
secrets aft and fore, but never amidships.
the vessel lists to port.
gaping holes spew fire and smoke.
its crew embraces the balm of an icy tomb.
starry skies observe the peril.
the full moon casts its eye on the
blood red sea, pearl and scarlet vagabonds.
whispers in the lesser light,
memories quickly fade by dawn;
artisans of subterfuge forgotten.
the songs of that night fade into anonymity.
condemned to hiding, remembered no more.
lyrics of heroism never known.
the laying down of their lives
so that those who suspect it not
may live theirs in liberty.
22 November 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
leaning into the heartbeat
I feel the steady thrum of the heartbeat
pulsate
gently as I lean over and close my eyes.
peaceful. assuring.
A comforting counterpoint to my despair,
the heartbeat calms my fears, bringing my
heartbeat
in synch with its own; slowly, assuredly.
Dreams emerge I thought long forgotten;
memories of childhood hopes reappear,
rhythmic
songs of redemption for a call not banished.
Vivid images unveil a scroll of hope, flashing
penetrating
glimpses of that which could be; that which
is to come, should I only dare to trust
the heartbeat of the one upon whom I lean. it
pulsates
with assuring grace, causing me to open my
eyes and look into those of Jesus.
22 October 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
pulsate
gently as I lean over and close my eyes.
peaceful. assuring.
A comforting counterpoint to my despair,
the heartbeat calms my fears, bringing my
heartbeat
in synch with its own; slowly, assuredly.
Dreams emerge I thought long forgotten;
memories of childhood hopes reappear,
rhythmic
songs of redemption for a call not banished.
Vivid images unveil a scroll of hope, flashing
penetrating
glimpses of that which could be; that which
is to come, should I only dare to trust
the heartbeat of the one upon whom I lean. it
pulsates
with assuring grace, causing me to open my
eyes and look into those of Jesus.
22 October 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Sunday, October 19, 2008
other years
tandem wishes rippling quietly
across the water
slide silently
alone.
streams of hope over the depths
hearken memories
long forgotten;
raw.
19 October 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
across the water
slide silently
alone.
streams of hope over the depths
hearken memories
long forgotten;
raw.
19 October 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Saturday, October 11, 2008
of weeds beautiful
there comes a weed out from the ground,
forgotten in the thicket,
never known;
alone.
poets
wonder when
the silent pass unheeded,
disregarded as irrelevent; seen but unheard.
when in silence poets look into the margins,
where others fear to trod,
textured hues;
humans,
poets
recognize the
irony of assumptions gone awry.
the weeds are flowers of beauty needing love.
11 October 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
forgotten in the thicket,
never known;
alone.
poets
wonder when
the silent pass unheeded,
disregarded as irrelevent; seen but unheard.
when in silence poets look into the margins,
where others fear to trod,
textured hues;
humans,
poets
recognize the
irony of assumptions gone awry.
the weeds are flowers of beauty needing love.
11 October 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Monday, September 29, 2008
Autumn
a colored leaf hangs as a thread,
an orange mural, with gold and green,
waiting for the wind to blow again.
whispers in the shallows; hidden, poised to pounce.
blue and white interlink above,
everchanging patterns of cloud and sky,
waiting for the storm's first gust.
whistling in the twilight; reeds, of much import.
grey muses darken the West,
the first cool rush from sea to land,
confronting the eastward flow once for all.
a colored leaf trembling; fall, homeward bound.
clashing in the firebrand,
the skies open aloft,
and now shall it be the onset of Autumn.
cacaphony of color; rain, glistening.
29 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
an orange mural, with gold and green,
waiting for the wind to blow again.
whispers in the shallows; hidden, poised to pounce.
blue and white interlink above,
everchanging patterns of cloud and sky,
waiting for the storm's first gust.
whistling in the twilight; reeds, of much import.
grey muses darken the West,
the first cool rush from sea to land,
confronting the eastward flow once for all.
a colored leaf trembling; fall, homeward bound.
clashing in the firebrand,
the skies open aloft,
and now shall it be the onset of Autumn.
cacaphony of color; rain, glistening.
29 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Saturday, September 27, 2008
fly, bird
fly, bird, o'er the windswept trees.
dance in the light of morning's first call.
rise up into the mist, beyond the failing dew,
and fly with abandon; no more care.
fly, bird, in the upper rush of air.
feel the brush of angel's wings
intermingle with holy breath,
as the Lord watches over you.
27 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
dance in the light of morning's first call.
rise up into the mist, beyond the failing dew,
and fly with abandon; no more care.
fly, bird, in the upper rush of air.
feel the brush of angel's wings
intermingle with holy breath,
as the Lord watches over you.
27 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Thursday, September 25, 2008
in silence whispering
he felt the hand on his chest, but nobody was there.
darkness engulfed the taunting shadows just beyond....
he heard the whisper in his heart and understood the words.
there would be no more delay. the time was now.
would he go? or would he stay? which would he choose?
one held life; the other death. the mockery from beyond became shrill.
but the hand remained, if for a moment.
the voice trailed off, but not without substance.
it was now, or never. live or die.
what to do? where to go? and what lay beyond in the unknown?
was life a more frightening prospect?
was death so much more inviting?
confusion spiraled in ignominy when in darkness it plunged,
interrupted only by the hand, by the voice
--in silence whispering; in holiness loving,
offering hope in the depths of despair--
of the Lord.
25 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
darkness engulfed the taunting shadows just beyond....
he heard the whisper in his heart and understood the words.
there would be no more delay. the time was now.
would he go? or would he stay? which would he choose?
one held life; the other death. the mockery from beyond became shrill.
but the hand remained, if for a moment.
the voice trailed off, but not without substance.
it was now, or never. live or die.
what to do? where to go? and what lay beyond in the unknown?
was life a more frightening prospect?
was death so much more inviting?
confusion spiraled in ignominy when in darkness it plunged,
interrupted only by the hand, by the voice
--in silence whispering; in holiness loving,
offering hope in the depths of despair--
of the Lord.
25 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
where ships go to die
into the west the schooner sails,
away the gull, away my heart.
beyond all hope of silent moon,
the stars alight on minstrel's tune.
they dance amid celestial joy;
they sing out into the void.
shining bright, piercing the night,
on minstrel's tune, the stars alight.
harvest moon tracks restless sea,
it's every ripple, wave and plea.
within the plunging depths below,
untold mysteries remain unknown.
a cloak of fog enshrouds the ship.
strange noises whisper, here and there.
voices of memory rise and fall
as schooner sails into the pall.
the morning greets the sun anew,
much to the joy of schooner's crew.
they had sailed into the west
and now they've found their final rest.
24 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
away the gull, away my heart.
beyond all hope of silent moon,
the stars alight on minstrel's tune.
they dance amid celestial joy;
they sing out into the void.
shining bright, piercing the night,
on minstrel's tune, the stars alight.
harvest moon tracks restless sea,
it's every ripple, wave and plea.
within the plunging depths below,
untold mysteries remain unknown.
a cloak of fog enshrouds the ship.
strange noises whisper, here and there.
voices of memory rise and fall
as schooner sails into the pall.
the morning greets the sun anew,
much to the joy of schooner's crew.
they had sailed into the west
and now they've found their final rest.
24 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Monday, September 22, 2008
prove it
a thin wisp of smoke lifts from the discarded cigarette,
crushed but not snuffed out; another life thrown away.
buildings rise high, a testament to wealth;
their alcoves greet the homeless in the night,
until they are evicted,
made to bring cardboard and cloak out into the open.
grafitti tags mark the boundaries of violence
far below the penthouses of the affluent.
yet, high above from the 30th floor restaurant,
the city lights glitter as if unaware of the heartbreak.
meth labs in southeast,
gangland warfare in the north and in east county,
prostitution row on 82nd,
beggars lining every street corner within a forty mile radius.
and no one seems to care.
business as usual.
treat the symptoms, but not the root.
next generation lepers, kicked to the curb.
children:
without dads.
without purpose.
without mentors.
without hope.
does anyone care?
prove it.
be the dad.
give a purpose.
be a mentor.
inspire hope.
crushed but not snuffed out; another life thrown away.
buildings rise high, a testament to wealth;
their alcoves greet the homeless in the night,
until they are evicted,
made to bring cardboard and cloak out into the open.
grafitti tags mark the boundaries of violence
far below the penthouses of the affluent.
yet, high above from the 30th floor restaurant,
the city lights glitter as if unaware of the heartbreak.
meth labs in southeast,
gangland warfare in the north and in east county,
prostitution row on 82nd,
beggars lining every street corner within a forty mile radius.
and no one seems to care.
business as usual.
treat the symptoms, but not the root.
next generation lepers, kicked to the curb.
children:
without dads.
without purpose.
without mentors.
without hope.
does anyone care?
prove it.
be the dad.
give a purpose.
be a mentor.
inspire hope.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
stars beyond
I searched for stars, wand'ring beyond the glare
of streetlights and haze, of brightly lit moon;
so hidden, except for a few, the brightest, the strongest,
just one or two.
I wandered afar into the dark entryway;
a park closed at dusk, with shadows at play.
I looked high above into the sky
and wondered if angels hovered nearby.
I sighed in the darkness of brightly lit shadow.
The stars danced above, just out of sight.
I whispered a prayer of thanks to the Lord.
In his hands safely the skies frame the night.
11 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
of streetlights and haze, of brightly lit moon;
so hidden, except for a few, the brightest, the strongest,
just one or two.
I wandered afar into the dark entryway;
a park closed at dusk, with shadows at play.
I looked high above into the sky
and wondered if angels hovered nearby.
I sighed in the darkness of brightly lit shadow.
The stars danced above, just out of sight.
I whispered a prayer of thanks to the Lord.
In his hands safely the skies frame the night.
11 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
where do dreams go
when night abides on the corners of the wind;
when whispers stride the heights of the stars;
when even silence abandons the broken heart,
I wonder
where do dreams go
to die?
when pain resounds as with gnashing teeth and fire;
when hollow echoes reply with mockery;
when all the world turns away in disdain,
I wonder
where do dreams go
to die?
when morning dawns after endless hours of pain;
when sunlight enters and greets the new day;
when birdsong filters into the hurting heart,
I wonder
where do dreams go
when they want to live?
9 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
when whispers stride the heights of the stars;
when even silence abandons the broken heart,
I wonder
where do dreams go
to die?
when pain resounds as with gnashing teeth and fire;
when hollow echoes reply with mockery;
when all the world turns away in disdain,
I wonder
where do dreams go
to die?
when morning dawns after endless hours of pain;
when sunlight enters and greets the new day;
when birdsong filters into the hurting heart,
I wonder
where do dreams go
when they want to live?
9 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Sunday, September 07, 2008
vagrants, all
constellations of miscellany permeate
the unfolding panorama
of the abandoned stretch of road.
bent hubcap with five spokes, not seven;
faded coke bottle, the original classic, not the knockoff;
flattened tobacco tin, not sure the brand nor whether it matters;
number 2 pencil, needs sharpening and the eraser is gone;
discharged tire tread from an 18 wheeler long since departed.
vagrants, all.
how do they relate?
what stories have they to tell?
and who will listen without haste to silence their testimony?
the windblown plain darkens on the horizon,
bringing with it the distant bank of clouds.
A cool breeze foreshadows the coming of rain,
while the discarded miscellany sits forgotten,
much like the progenitors of its demise.
One wonders whether they will survive the coming night.
One wonders who will join their sojourn.
7 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
the unfolding panorama
of the abandoned stretch of road.
bent hubcap with five spokes, not seven;
faded coke bottle, the original classic, not the knockoff;
flattened tobacco tin, not sure the brand nor whether it matters;
number 2 pencil, needs sharpening and the eraser is gone;
discharged tire tread from an 18 wheeler long since departed.
vagrants, all.
how do they relate?
what stories have they to tell?
and who will listen without haste to silence their testimony?
the windblown plain darkens on the horizon,
bringing with it the distant bank of clouds.
A cool breeze foreshadows the coming of rain,
while the discarded miscellany sits forgotten,
much like the progenitors of its demise.
One wonders whether they will survive the coming night.
One wonders who will join their sojourn.
7 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Friday, September 05, 2008
the wind and its prey
the wind twisted out of his grasp.
it slapped him across the face and soared high above.
strange that he smiled, don't you think?
his wizened face remembered
and then he vowed to claim as his own
the name of the wind.
and then he soared too, cloak spread wide.
he chased the wind, calling it by name.
but the wind fled, releasing countermeasures of mystery.
they flew high only for a moment,
and then dove for the trees,
ancient and inviting with upstretched peril.
the wind fled with abandon through branch and bramble.
the predator pursued despite the sure pain,
but all that mattered was to catch the wind
and claim it as his own, never to rescind.
so, he followed hard after his quarry
and despite the blood and rain,
he cornered the wind within a sealed hollow.
he called out its name and charmed it to come close.
and closely it came as he claimed its na--
too quickly it fled, then sealed him inside
the hollow without wind, the tomb with no name.
and for all of time he stared in dismay.
5 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
it slapped him across the face and soared high above.
strange that he smiled, don't you think?
his wizened face remembered
and then he vowed to claim as his own
the name of the wind.
and then he soared too, cloak spread wide.
he chased the wind, calling it by name.
but the wind fled, releasing countermeasures of mystery.
they flew high only for a moment,
and then dove for the trees,
ancient and inviting with upstretched peril.
the wind fled with abandon through branch and bramble.
the predator pursued despite the sure pain,
but all that mattered was to catch the wind
and claim it as his own, never to rescind.
so, he followed hard after his quarry
and despite the blood and rain,
he cornered the wind within a sealed hollow.
he called out its name and charmed it to come close.
and closely it came as he claimed its na--
too quickly it fled, then sealed him inside
the hollow without wind, the tomb with no name.
and for all of time he stared in dismay.
5 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Friday, June 27, 2008
when dragons weep
when silence climbs with silken wind
upon the parapet of stone
the molten arcs of fire and gem
enshroud a visage of sinew and bone.
when thunder speaks in tender tones,
an undercurrent of memories,
the sharpened teeth gleam in delight
with the hope of a wondrous feast.
beyond the view of towering peaks,
down in the shade of deep ravines,
a secret voice of fraility
whispers a song under the wind.
when whispers climb with silken wind
upon the parapet of stone
the molten arcs of fire and gem
turn into tears of ancient bones.
when thunder weeps in tender shame,
an undercurrent of memories,
the glistening eyes recall the names
of those he ate over the years.
beyond the view of towering peaks
down in the shade of deep ravines,
a secret voice of fraility
weeps with his son, both dragon beasts.
27 June 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
upon the parapet of stone
the molten arcs of fire and gem
enshroud a visage of sinew and bone.
when thunder speaks in tender tones,
an undercurrent of memories,
the sharpened teeth gleam in delight
with the hope of a wondrous feast.
beyond the view of towering peaks,
down in the shade of deep ravines,
a secret voice of fraility
whispers a song under the wind.
when whispers climb with silken wind
upon the parapet of stone
the molten arcs of fire and gem
turn into tears of ancient bones.
when thunder weeps in tender shame,
an undercurrent of memories,
the glistening eyes recall the names
of those he ate over the years.
beyond the view of towering peaks
down in the shade of deep ravines,
a secret voice of fraility
weeps with his son, both dragon beasts.
27 June 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Thursday, June 26, 2008
source to sea
high in the rarified atmosphere
the frozen tundra began to melt
slowly against the glare of the
burning summer sun, so relentless
in blazing fury, so penetrating
in firey warmth.
a trickle of melted snow wound
through the circuitous route
of rock and crag, ravine and
hollow, meeting together
with another trickle, and yet
another still
until, as one, they formed
a gentle gurgling stream
rushing through the
subterranean depths, twisting
and turning, until their gathered force
bubbled out into the open under
the canopy of the dense rainforest
as a vibrant flow of purity.
on they flowed under the watchful
eyes of towering old growth and myriad
fauna and creatures of the wood.
they gathered strength through depth and
width, their collective speed mounting in
a race down hill until together they reached
the abyss--
and they fell.
in a spray of beautiful abandon they leapt
off the cliff into the unknown,
trying to cling to each other, but being
pulled apart until over 650 feet below
they thunderously gathered in a pool of
cacophonous serenity.
rest was well deserved, but only fleeting,
their attention drawn to yet another
journey downhill, gurgling, wondering,
hoping, fearing the distant rumble of
waters great.
and indeed they saw the source and enormity
of the powerfully flowing river as they entered
its flow for the first time, a small trickle penetrating
an aged tide, inexorably drawn to yet another great
unknown.
through current and undercurrent, subcurrent
and gusting winds above, they flowed in restless
dissonance with the great river to its destination.
where might they be headed? what will become
of their gathering? why are they here?
on they journeyed, now becoming accustomed
to the gathered and conflicted strength
of their newfound flow. yet, some time later,
they sensed a change in the air. it was cooler,
it harbored a wildness. the flow seemed more
chaotic as together they plunged forward into
greater depths, like a flow being forced through
a funnel out into a massive body of water.
and, indeed, they met for the first time, the great
ocean of salt and sea, wild and cavernous, the greatest
of all the seas.
it was there that they said their goodbyes,
realizing that it was time to part ways.
with sad resolve they waved, as in the murky depths
they were pulled apart to destinations yet-to-be
determined. alone, but not afraid. well, maybe a little.
maybe a lot. cold depths have that effect on new arrivals,
but not for too long as they form new alliances
in their quest to flow unhindered on their journey to
distant ports of call.
26 June 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
the frozen tundra began to melt
slowly against the glare of the
burning summer sun, so relentless
in blazing fury, so penetrating
in firey warmth.
a trickle of melted snow wound
through the circuitous route
of rock and crag, ravine and
hollow, meeting together
with another trickle, and yet
another still
until, as one, they formed
a gentle gurgling stream
rushing through the
subterranean depths, twisting
and turning, until their gathered force
bubbled out into the open under
the canopy of the dense rainforest
as a vibrant flow of purity.
on they flowed under the watchful
eyes of towering old growth and myriad
fauna and creatures of the wood.
they gathered strength through depth and
width, their collective speed mounting in
a race down hill until together they reached
the abyss--
and they fell.
in a spray of beautiful abandon they leapt
off the cliff into the unknown,
trying to cling to each other, but being
pulled apart until over 650 feet below
they thunderously gathered in a pool of
cacophonous serenity.
rest was well deserved, but only fleeting,
their attention drawn to yet another
journey downhill, gurgling, wondering,
hoping, fearing the distant rumble of
waters great.
and indeed they saw the source and enormity
of the powerfully flowing river as they entered
its flow for the first time, a small trickle penetrating
an aged tide, inexorably drawn to yet another great
unknown.
through current and undercurrent, subcurrent
and gusting winds above, they flowed in restless
dissonance with the great river to its destination.
where might they be headed? what will become
of their gathering? why are they here?
on they journeyed, now becoming accustomed
to the gathered and conflicted strength
of their newfound flow. yet, some time later,
they sensed a change in the air. it was cooler,
it harbored a wildness. the flow seemed more
chaotic as together they plunged forward into
greater depths, like a flow being forced through
a funnel out into a massive body of water.
and, indeed, they met for the first time, the great
ocean of salt and sea, wild and cavernous, the greatest
of all the seas.
it was there that they said their goodbyes,
realizing that it was time to part ways.
with sad resolve they waved, as in the murky depths
they were pulled apart to destinations yet-to-be
determined. alone, but not afraid. well, maybe a little.
maybe a lot. cold depths have that effect on new arrivals,
but not for too long as they form new alliances
in their quest to flow unhindered on their journey to
distant ports of call.
26 June 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Monday, June 16, 2008
of dreams forgotten
everyday a memory comes,
reminding me of dreams once shared.
silent interludes weave their tones,
a soundtrack for the imagery.
unscripted voices narrate each scene,
evoking mood; exploring the margins.
out of the lyrics there appears
a cry of hope for all the nations.
16 June 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
reminding me of dreams once shared.
silent interludes weave their tones,
a soundtrack for the imagery.
unscripted voices narrate each scene,
evoking mood; exploring the margins.
out of the lyrics there appears
a cry of hope for all the nations.
16 June 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
snow melt runoff
Cold waters gurgle
in the silence of the sun's fading light.
Elm trees offer
their leaves shimmering bright.
Submersed stones quaver
in the rushing white spray.
Roots hide deeply
as anchors in the clay.
16 June 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
in the silence of the sun's fading light.
Elm trees offer
their leaves shimmering bright.
Submersed stones quaver
in the rushing white spray.
Roots hide deeply
as anchors in the clay.
16 June 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Monday, June 09, 2008
For God's Glory
fading in the night
can you see?
the twilight's last glimpse of beauty.
red and yellow hues,
flame of azure blue.
the birth of crimson radiance.
in the wilderness, I raise my arms and cry.
without shame, I sing for love and joy.
could it be
the mystery of hope
is singing its own harmony
to the song
which fills my heart
with passion for God's glory.
in the wilderness, I raise my arms and cry.
without shame, I sing for love and joy.
fading in the night
can you see?
the twilight's last glimpse of beauty.
red and yellow hues,
flame of azure blue.
the birth of crimson radiance.
9 June 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
can you see?
the twilight's last glimpse of beauty.
red and yellow hues,
flame of azure blue.
the birth of crimson radiance.
in the wilderness, I raise my arms and cry.
without shame, I sing for love and joy.
could it be
the mystery of hope
is singing its own harmony
to the song
which fills my heart
with passion for God's glory.
in the wilderness, I raise my arms and cry.
without shame, I sing for love and joy.
fading in the night
can you see?
the twilight's last glimpse of beauty.
red and yellow hues,
flame of azure blue.
the birth of crimson radiance.
9 June 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Saturday, June 07, 2008
fellowship cherished
Silence whispered in my ear tonight,
"Alone again, I see." The voice trailed off
expectantly. What more could it say?
Muted refrains of words once spoken
confirm the potent solitude. Only a memory
they are, now hushed fragments of conversation.
Watery depths of recollection ebb and flow
beneath the surface of my heart, a longing
cherished for future memories.
Silence nudged me on the arm. It
nodded, then held still. I knew it
wanted my attention. I knew it felt the
chill which lurked like frost on
fallen pine cones far from view
of humanity. Alone. Cold.
Yet birthed with seeds of warmth
from which grand designs of fellowship
greet their apogee.
7 June 2008 By Glen Alan Woods
"Alone again, I see." The voice trailed off
expectantly. What more could it say?
Muted refrains of words once spoken
confirm the potent solitude. Only a memory
they are, now hushed fragments of conversation.
Watery depths of recollection ebb and flow
beneath the surface of my heart, a longing
cherished for future memories.
Silence nudged me on the arm. It
nodded, then held still. I knew it
wanted my attention. I knew it felt the
chill which lurked like frost on
fallen pine cones far from view
of humanity. Alone. Cold.
Yet birthed with seeds of warmth
from which grand designs of fellowship
greet their apogee.
7 June 2008 By Glen Alan Woods
Thursday, June 05, 2008
name of the wind
the name of the wind is illusive and fair,
a wisp of imagination, a scent of jasmine
hair. wild onions near filbert orchards
awaken nocturnal owls in their stately
repose, watchful eyes glowing against
the moon's cloud veiled choirs
of bored crickets in waiting for an
evening of chamber song
about the name of the wind,
so illusive and fair.
5 June 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
a wisp of imagination, a scent of jasmine
hair. wild onions near filbert orchards
awaken nocturnal owls in their stately
repose, watchful eyes glowing against
the moon's cloud veiled choirs
of bored crickets in waiting for an
evening of chamber song
about the name of the wind,
so illusive and fair.
5 June 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Sunday, June 01, 2008
basswood clean
basswood clean, pristine in eloquent purity
never touched by breath or hand
awaiting the exquisite pain of the carver's blade.
penciled shadows of mountainous peaks
evoke joy and wonderous, if cautious, strokes,
as deeply the stop-cuts sear the upper reaches
beyond basecamp, last solace of turning back
left behind for the final ascent
as chiseled below the rough terrain takes shape.
1 June 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Saturday, May 10, 2008
of mystery considered
when mystery mounts the crest of the horizon,
sleep fails the hearts of those waiting to be set free
for they wait in wondrous expectation....
will the veil be lifted?
will joy be unleashed?
will peace descend?
Oh, how I long for passion which unleashes the love of Christ.
Oh, how I pour out my heart in silent repose; yielding, crying.
when the child sits weeping in the arms of his dead mother,
war suddenly becomes personal, no longer a distant headline
for it violates the deep places of the heart....
will it ever end?
will mourning ever cease?
will peace ever renew its vows?
Oh, how I long for obedience which unleashes the compassion of Christ.
Oh, how I long to pour out my life in service to bind up the brokenness.
when hope blossoms from the womb of mystery
those who wait in expectation rejoice
and they proclaim aloud a new song....
will the world listen?
will they who hear perceive?
will the good news take root among the nations?
Oh, how I commit my life to live the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Oh, how I weep unashamed for love and joy with his passion unleashed.
10 May 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
sleep fails the hearts of those waiting to be set free
for they wait in wondrous expectation....
will the veil be lifted?
will joy be unleashed?
will peace descend?
Oh, how I long for passion which unleashes the love of Christ.
Oh, how I pour out my heart in silent repose; yielding, crying.
when the child sits weeping in the arms of his dead mother,
war suddenly becomes personal, no longer a distant headline
for it violates the deep places of the heart....
will it ever end?
will mourning ever cease?
will peace ever renew its vows?
Oh, how I long for obedience which unleashes the compassion of Christ.
Oh, how I long to pour out my life in service to bind up the brokenness.
when hope blossoms from the womb of mystery
those who wait in expectation rejoice
and they proclaim aloud a new song....
will the world listen?
will they who hear perceive?
will the good news take root among the nations?
Oh, how I commit my life to live the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Oh, how I weep unashamed for love and joy with his passion unleashed.
10 May 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
the eviction
darkness seethed in the corner,
huddled silently against the wooden post
as into its space crept the
encroaching sunlight.
an abandoned spider web came to his aid,
casting lattice shadows
in a vain attempt to forestall
the inevitable violation.
two rats twitched their noses in horror.
quickly they retreated into the rotted hole
masked by darkness' remaining influence--
and not a moment too soon.
sunlight crept inexorably closer, and with it,
warmth. dreaded, loathsome warmth, with its
inexplicably cheery disposition.
darkness shuddered.
with veiled eyes hidden in web and shadow,
darkness prepared to launch a vicious attack
on its unwelcome interlocuter; poised for battle,
ready to strike.
and then suddenly the door opened
and with it came horror of all horrors,
the dreaded evil cleaning lady.
"Rise and shine!" she cheerfully exclaimed.
"Time to make this a home fit for living
once again, beginning with this deep, dark closet!
Hmm. What's this? Webs all about? No more!"
With that darkness screamed
as her broom moved to the attack,
brushing away years of precious webs,
and letting in horrible piercing light,
while singing, "The Hills Are Alive!"
"Arrrgh!" came the silent scream of darkness
as he dispersed into the crevices
from which he had come so many years before,
in the time of distant sorrow not entirely forgotten.
The two rats checked out of their abode that very day,
complaining of a sudden change in hospitality,
but realizing that the new management did not
seem to sympathize with their plight.
10 May 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
huddled silently against the wooden post
as into its space crept the
encroaching sunlight.
an abandoned spider web came to his aid,
casting lattice shadows
in a vain attempt to forestall
the inevitable violation.
two rats twitched their noses in horror.
quickly they retreated into the rotted hole
masked by darkness' remaining influence--
and not a moment too soon.
sunlight crept inexorably closer, and with it,
warmth. dreaded, loathsome warmth, with its
inexplicably cheery disposition.
darkness shuddered.
with veiled eyes hidden in web and shadow,
darkness prepared to launch a vicious attack
on its unwelcome interlocuter; poised for battle,
ready to strike.
and then suddenly the door opened
and with it came horror of all horrors,
the dreaded evil cleaning lady.
"Rise and shine!" she cheerfully exclaimed.
"Time to make this a home fit for living
once again, beginning with this deep, dark closet!
Hmm. What's this? Webs all about? No more!"
With that darkness screamed
as her broom moved to the attack,
brushing away years of precious webs,
and letting in horrible piercing light,
while singing, "The Hills Are Alive!"
"Arrrgh!" came the silent scream of darkness
as he dispersed into the crevices
from which he had come so many years before,
in the time of distant sorrow not entirely forgotten.
The two rats checked out of their abode that very day,
complaining of a sudden change in hospitality,
but realizing that the new management did not
seem to sympathize with their plight.
10 May 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Thursday, May 08, 2008
Storm
and the rain fell,
a whisper of silver pearls,
tears of shadow,
tracing light in arcs of gray.
and the sky spoke,
a rumbling within the clouds,
untamed fury,
foretelling shattered serenity.
and the wind blew,
a dervish of swirling teeth,
with eyes of fire,
howling at the unseen moon.
8 May 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
a whisper of silver pearls,
tears of shadow,
tracing light in arcs of gray.
and the sky spoke,
a rumbling within the clouds,
untamed fury,
foretelling shattered serenity.
and the wind blew,
a dervish of swirling teeth,
with eyes of fire,
howling at the unseen moon.
8 May 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Sunday, April 27, 2008
of callings heard
flute and lyre, haunting voice
trembling lips portend the choice
of a heart called of God to lands unknown.
will you be there when I arrive?
will you see me through beyond the veil?
drum and dance, shouts of longing
streaming tears proclaim the song
of adoration for God who is infinitely good.
will your praises be made known through these hands of clay?
will you show forth your glory through my brokenness?
harp and horn, echoing choir
violins rising, with passion inspired out
of a depth of worship for the Lord God Almighty.
will you lead me? For I do not know the way.
will you go before me? For I am afraid.
27 April 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
trembling lips portend the choice
of a heart called of God to lands unknown.
will you be there when I arrive?
will you see me through beyond the veil?
drum and dance, shouts of longing
streaming tears proclaim the song
of adoration for God who is infinitely good.
will your praises be made known through these hands of clay?
will you show forth your glory through my brokenness?
harp and horn, echoing choir
violins rising, with passion inspired out
of a depth of worship for the Lord God Almighty.
will you lead me? For I do not know the way.
will you go before me? For I am afraid.
27 April 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Sunday, April 13, 2008
when words escape me
the rain falls in
rivulets of sorrow
rushing down--no,
brushing across--no,
pouring upon--oh,
it doesn't really matter.
Come, let me buy you
a rootbeer float and we
can drown our laughter
in icecream.
13 April 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
rivulets of sorrow
rushing down--no,
brushing across--no,
pouring upon--oh,
it doesn't really matter.
Come, let me buy you
a rootbeer float and we
can drown our laughter
in icecream.
13 April 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
within the heart of God
deep within the heart of God she waits patiently,
with head adorned by a crown of diamond tears.
she whispers in a shower of unfurled prayers,
a bride-to-be awaiting her first kiss.
the heartbeat of her Father breathes fresh wonder,
as she dances in the joy of holiness.
the gladness of her song entwines the starlight's glow
as a radiant train from her flowing dress.
a rainbow of april highlights sparkles in her eyes
when into her view appears her beloved.
she whispers his name and he whispers hers too.
he found her when he sought the heart of God.
13 April 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
with head adorned by a crown of diamond tears.
she whispers in a shower of unfurled prayers,
a bride-to-be awaiting her first kiss.
the heartbeat of her Father breathes fresh wonder,
as she dances in the joy of holiness.
the gladness of her song entwines the starlight's glow
as a radiant train from her flowing dress.
a rainbow of april highlights sparkles in her eyes
when into her view appears her beloved.
she whispers his name and he whispers hers too.
he found her when he sought the heart of God.
13 April 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Come Away
the splintered stone cried,
having fallen into the crevasse.
Yes, it did. It
fell from the heights of mockery,
as a lonely child cast adrift in the schoolyard--
sore. The splintered
stone wept, as tumbling, but not polished,
it wandered aimlessly below.
No one saw, or
so it thought. The daffodil
smiled from afar, singing songs
of comfort on
a windless breeze. Hazy apparitions
fell upon its reluctant repose.
Come away my
little stone. Come away and be free
like a child returned to his home.
Mommy! Daddy!
12 April 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
having fallen into the crevasse.
Yes, it did. It
fell from the heights of mockery,
as a lonely child cast adrift in the schoolyard--
sore. The splintered
stone wept, as tumbling, but not polished,
it wandered aimlessly below.
No one saw, or
so it thought. The daffodil
smiled from afar, singing songs
of comfort on
a windless breeze. Hazy apparitions
fell upon its reluctant repose.
Come away my
little stone. Come away and be free
like a child returned to his home.
Mommy! Daddy!
12 April 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
flower
she wandered the world,
this flower pink,
to find in your home her final planting.
she sighed with delight,
this fragrant bloom,
to whisper of hope in your ear.
she sang her last song,
this tender wand,
to memories of what is to come.
she then closed her eyes,
this fading sigh,
content in the embrace of your heart.
12 April 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
this flower pink,
to find in your home her final planting.
she sighed with delight,
this fragrant bloom,
to whisper of hope in your ear.
she sang her last song,
this tender wand,
to memories of what is to come.
she then closed her eyes,
this fading sigh,
content in the embrace of your heart.
12 April 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
silhouettes
two silhouettes danced on the pier
with moon and stars their audience.
while the ocean gnaws upon the wood,
the white gulls send their final call.
12 April 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
with moon and stars their audience.
while the ocean gnaws upon the wood,
the white gulls send their final call.
12 April 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Monday, December 24, 2007
and He was moved....
sheep without a shepherd;
teeming masses confused;
cacophony of anger
under Herod's rule;
and he was moved....
to search for a great leader
rising in their midst
among the house of David
and strike down their unrest....
they longed for fulfillment.
they yearned for Messiah
to strike down the oppression
and raise the banner high.
and He was moved....
to come as a baby
born of the virgin, Mary
in obscure and humble milieu;
Immanuel, God with us.
and He was moved....
to save us from our sins;
to deliver us from evil;
to fulfill the law and prophets
spotless Lamb; true Messiah, the Christ.
Our King of Kings.
Our Great High Priest.
The Lamb who was slain from the foundation of the world.
Once a child, fully human and fully God;
The Good Shepherd who calls His sheep to His fold
in the midst of a world of Herods....
and He was moved....
24 December 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
teeming masses confused;
cacophony of anger
under Herod's rule;
and he was moved....
to search for a great leader
rising in their midst
among the house of David
and strike down their unrest....
they longed for fulfillment.
they yearned for Messiah
to strike down the oppression
and raise the banner high.
and He was moved....
to come as a baby
born of the virgin, Mary
in obscure and humble milieu;
Immanuel, God with us.
and He was moved....
to save us from our sins;
to deliver us from evil;
to fulfill the law and prophets
spotless Lamb; true Messiah, the Christ.
Our King of Kings.
Our Great High Priest.
The Lamb who was slain from the foundation of the world.
Once a child, fully human and fully God;
The Good Shepherd who calls His sheep to His fold
in the midst of a world of Herods....
and He was moved....
24 December 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
into discipleship
curious from a distance
woven into the margin
is there a way to join?
fleeing, approaching
fretting, wondering
waiting yet again
must feel safe
remain silent
voices echo
no replies
hidden
lonely
fear
sin
Cross
joy
risk
love
faith
peace
worship
goodness
meekness
fellowship
obedience
gentleness
forgiveness
self-control
discipleship
stewardship
long-suffering
righteousness
19 December 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
woven into the margin
is there a way to join?
fleeing, approaching
fretting, wondering
waiting yet again
must feel safe
remain silent
voices echo
no replies
hidden
lonely
fear
sin
Cross
joy
risk
love
faith
peace
worship
goodness
meekness
fellowship
obedience
gentleness
forgiveness
self-control
discipleship
stewardship
long-suffering
righteousness
19 December 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Monday, December 17, 2007
and the rain fell
and the rain fell upon
the shadowed waters, potholes
hidden amid concrete
towers rising tall.
and the wind blew against
the huddled figures, barely
hidden beneath cardboard
boxes freezing cold.
and the pain gnawed behind
the weathered faces, weeping
hidden within shadows
deep in broken hearts.
and the rain fell.
17 December 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
the shadowed waters, potholes
hidden amid concrete
towers rising tall.
and the wind blew against
the huddled figures, barely
hidden beneath cardboard
boxes freezing cold.
and the pain gnawed behind
the weathered faces, weeping
hidden within shadows
deep in broken hearts.
and the rain fell.
17 December 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Welcome Home
Lay down this burden that you bear.
Chimes are calling from the songs of heaven's choir.
Sleep now in the shadow of comfort.
Angel's sing, "Welcome home."
Well done, good and faithful servant.
The Savior calls you unto his heavenly rest.
Weep not, for the time of sorrow is past.
Come and worship the King of kings.
Dance now as he wipes your tears away.
Choral anthems to his majesty are raised.
Lift your voice in glorious songs of praise.
The Lamb of God is on the throne!
Gather beside the crystal tide
With angels singing, "Holy is the Lamb!"
Join now the song of the redeemed:
"The Lamb who was slain is King of kings!"
29 November 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Chimes are calling from the songs of heaven's choir.
Sleep now in the shadow of comfort.
Angel's sing, "Welcome home."
Well done, good and faithful servant.
The Savior calls you unto his heavenly rest.
Weep not, for the time of sorrow is past.
Come and worship the King of kings.
Dance now as he wipes your tears away.
Choral anthems to his majesty are raised.
Lift your voice in glorious songs of praise.
The Lamb of God is on the throne!
Gather beside the crystal tide
With angels singing, "Holy is the Lamb!"
Join now the song of the redeemed:
"The Lamb who was slain is King of kings!"
29 November 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
the wooden flute
the wooden flute, like whispered mist,
calls from the depths of brokenness.
with plaintive cry it fills the dawn
as echoed tendrils dance with grace.
the tones evoke remembered joy
from simpler times of childhood days.
with lilting chant they trace the past,
knowing that memories of hope will last.
the wooden flute, like whispered mist,
enshrouds the hope now long deferred
with healing songs of tender joy
and sweet fulfillment of holy desires.
all of creation joins the song,
no longer mourning; no longer sad.
together, with the wooden flute,
we sing God's praises for all he's done.
29 November 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Hope Whispers
In the cleft of the moon's silver shadow
gather the tears of a thousand gulls
as a pool of sorrow in the hidden vale,
reflecting memories of war and pain.
The tears pour out as a waterfall
over broken lives left to die
as a faint hope whispers from their ruins,
"To die is gain, but to live is Christ."
2 October 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
gather the tears of a thousand gulls
as a pool of sorrow in the hidden vale,
reflecting memories of war and pain.
The tears pour out as a waterfall
over broken lives left to die
as a faint hope whispers from their ruins,
"To die is gain, but to live is Christ."
2 October 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Silent Pain
When night falls and hushed whispers sleep,
Twilight hides beyond the horizon's claim.
Quickened dreams pry into the heart's domain,
A choreography of conflict and pain.
When tears fall and faint voices weep,
Dawn brushes the brow of silent pain.
Memories of a mother's comforting refrain
Bring awareness of cheeks now tear stained.
8 September 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Twilight hides beyond the horizon's claim.
Quickened dreams pry into the heart's domain,
A choreography of conflict and pain.
When tears fall and faint voices weep,
Dawn brushes the brow of silent pain.
Memories of a mother's comforting refrain
Bring awareness of cheeks now tear stained.
8 September 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Friday, September 07, 2007
Prayer of Lament
In the midnight hour I call out to you, Lord.
You are my help and my strength.
When pain and sorrow overwhelm,
You enter the ravaging storm as a comforting balm.
Tears are my companion as in darkness I weep.
But you, Lord, are my hope and my healer.
You speak truth in the dark places,
Shining light, showing forth your holiness.
For in travail, I call out to you and cry holy.
In mourning, I weep for loss, but cry holy to you.
In shame, I repent of sin and cry holy to your name.
In worship, I set aside my will and cry holy is the Lamb.
You are holy, holy, holy. Holy is the Lamb.
7 September 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
You are my help and my strength.
When pain and sorrow overwhelm,
You enter the ravaging storm as a comforting balm.
Tears are my companion as in darkness I weep.
But you, Lord, are my hope and my healer.
You speak truth in the dark places,
Shining light, showing forth your holiness.
For in travail, I call out to you and cry holy.
In mourning, I weep for loss, but cry holy to you.
In shame, I repent of sin and cry holy to your name.
In worship, I set aside my will and cry holy is the Lamb.
You are holy, holy, holy. Holy is the Lamb.
7 September 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
The Broken Leaf
The broken leaf,
With red and yellow hues,
Remembers former days
Of newly birthed greenery.
But now at last,
In twilight's clarity,
Understanding dawns
In the palette of Autumn's muse.
The breathless scope
Of life lived beautifully
Calls for songs of joy
Among the windblown falling leaves.
The broken leaf,
With red and yellow hues,
Gently heeds the call,
Tumbling to the blanket below.
In fading light,
With one last glimpse above,
The radiant canopy
Dances to the robin's final tune.
7 September 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
With red and yellow hues,
Remembers former days
Of newly birthed greenery.
But now at last,
In twilight's clarity,
Understanding dawns
In the palette of Autumn's muse.
The breathless scope
Of life lived beautifully
Calls for songs of joy
Among the windblown falling leaves.
The broken leaf,
With red and yellow hues,
Gently heeds the call,
Tumbling to the blanket below.
In fading light,
With one last glimpse above,
The radiant canopy
Dances to the robin's final tune.
7 September 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Saturday, August 18, 2007
I Want to Remember
I want to remember it all,
the tone of voice,
the turn of phrase,
the anecdotes
from treasured days.
All of it retains value
of memories born down deep,
a legacy of family leadership,
appreciated,
honored,
missed.
Through danger, toil and humor,
the stories have emerged.
They form the background
of all that I remember,
treasured jewels worth recovering
for the generations to come.
I want to remember.
I want to pass them on.
I miss you, Dad.
See you soon.
18 August 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
In Memory of my Dad, Kenneth R. Woods (16 March 1934 - 14 August 2007)
the tone of voice,
the turn of phrase,
the anecdotes
from treasured days.
All of it retains value
of memories born down deep,
a legacy of family leadership,
appreciated,
honored,
missed.
Through danger, toil and humor,
the stories have emerged.
They form the background
of all that I remember,
treasured jewels worth recovering
for the generations to come.
I want to remember.
I want to pass them on.
I miss you, Dad.
See you soon.
18 August 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
In Memory of my Dad, Kenneth R. Woods (16 March 1934 - 14 August 2007)
Monday, August 13, 2007
Of Thorn and Rain
The mournful cry
beneath the stars,
the silver mist
in darkness falls.
The lonely flute
on windswept plains,
evokes the song
of thorn and rain.
Where have the living creatures gone?
Where have they hidden in the song?
Like wisps of flame
on sword and shield,
the glittering eyes
glare from the field.
The whispering brush
both ebbs and flows,
the crickets sing
their fervid prose.
Where have the living creatures gone?
Where have they hidden in the song?
13 August 2007 By Glen Alan Woods
beneath the stars,
the silver mist
in darkness falls.
The lonely flute
on windswept plains,
evokes the song
of thorn and rain.
Where have the living creatures gone?
Where have they hidden in the song?
Like wisps of flame
on sword and shield,
the glittering eyes
glare from the field.
The whispering brush
both ebbs and flows,
the crickets sing
their fervid prose.
Where have the living creatures gone?
Where have they hidden in the song?
13 August 2007 By Glen Alan Woods
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Ashes
Do you hear the clouds above,
Forged in shadow, fire and mist?
Within my silent heart they're covering
All the ashes of my weeping.
And from the depths of the flames
Grows therein--in simplicity--
The purity of God's love.
When shadows call from twilight's grasp,
The silver moonbeam fades to ash.
The songs of peril rise with longing
Beyond the realm where mist and starlight meet.
And from the depths of the flames
Grows therein--in simplicity--
The purity of God's love.
25 July 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Forged in shadow, fire and mist?
Within my silent heart they're covering
All the ashes of my weeping.
And from the depths of the flames
Grows therein--in simplicity--
The purity of God's love.
When shadows call from twilight's grasp,
The silver moonbeam fades to ash.
The songs of peril rise with longing
Beyond the realm where mist and starlight meet.
And from the depths of the flames
Grows therein--in simplicity--
The purity of God's love.
25 July 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Saturday, July 14, 2007
I Cry Out
Do they sense the pain I feel
as they hurry down the street
past my broken heart?
Do they know the suffering
of isolation and shame
which chokes my hope away?
I cry out loud for help among the people
but no one seems to care.
I seek for something to take away the pain
but nothing seems to help.
As my hope begins to fade
thoughts of death and escape
burrow in my heart.
In the midst of mocking voices
on a darkened mountain road
one voice penetrates.
I cry out loud to the Lord God of Hosts
and He answers me.
I cry out loud to the Lord Jesus Christ
and He rescues me.
And in the seasons yet to come,
in the years set before me,
I look to Jesus Christ.
The pain of shame and loneliness,
I set before the Cross;
I turn to Jesus Christ.
I cry out loud to the Lord God of Hosts
and He answers me.
I cry out loud to the Lord Jesus Christ
and He rescues me.
14 July 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
A reflection on my journey through depression, from the despair of suicide to the hope of heaven in Jesus Christ.
as they hurry down the street
past my broken heart?
Do they know the suffering
of isolation and shame
which chokes my hope away?
I cry out loud for help among the people
but no one seems to care.
I seek for something to take away the pain
but nothing seems to help.
As my hope begins to fade
thoughts of death and escape
burrow in my heart.
In the midst of mocking voices
on a darkened mountain road
one voice penetrates.
I cry out loud to the Lord God of Hosts
and He answers me.
I cry out loud to the Lord Jesus Christ
and He rescues me.
And in the seasons yet to come,
in the years set before me,
I look to Jesus Christ.
The pain of shame and loneliness,
I set before the Cross;
I turn to Jesus Christ.
I cry out loud to the Lord God of Hosts
and He answers me.
I cry out loud to the Lord Jesus Christ
and He rescues me.
14 July 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
A reflection on my journey through depression, from the despair of suicide to the hope of heaven in Jesus Christ.
Friday, June 15, 2007
The Silence Wanders Where it Will
Chimes on a windless day hold still.
They savor memories of old.
The silence wanders where it will.
Tonight's promise of quiet will
surely invite hushed whispers told.
Chimes on a windless day hold still.
Upon the porch the couple thrills
as quietly their hands enfold.
The silence wanders where it will.
Their eyes embrace the distant hills
as they huddle against the cold.
Chimes on a windless day hold still.
With wrinkled smiles despite the chill,
years of marriage have not grown cold.
The silence wanders where it will.
With cheerful hope they can't conceal,
they look beyond the days of old.
Chimes on a windless day hold still.
The silence wanders where it will.
15 June 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
They savor memories of old.
The silence wanders where it will.
Tonight's promise of quiet will
surely invite hushed whispers told.
Chimes on a windless day hold still.
Upon the porch the couple thrills
as quietly their hands enfold.
The silence wanders where it will.
Their eyes embrace the distant hills
as they huddle against the cold.
Chimes on a windless day hold still.
With wrinkled smiles despite the chill,
years of marriage have not grown cold.
The silence wanders where it will.
With cheerful hope they can't conceal,
they look beyond the days of old.
Chimes on a windless day hold still.
The silence wanders where it will.
15 June 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Thursday, June 14, 2007
The Lyrical Refrain: A Villanalle Variant (French)
I hear the lyrical refrain
glide gently on the moonlit shore.
I wonder at the distant rain.
Encircled like a closing stain,
the salient orb of fabled lore...
I whisper softly Jesus' name.
The orange hues in crimson paint
spread out aloft in skies adorned.
I wonder at the distant rain.
Into the west the canvass wanes,
with distant gulls in song forlorn.
I whisper softly Jesus' name.
With silent muse and cheeks now stained,
on out to sea my thoughts are borne.
I wonder at the distant rain.
A sense of purpose is now gained
out from a heart which once was torn.
I hear the lyrical refrain.
I whisper softly Jesus' name.
14 June 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
glide gently on the moonlit shore.
I wonder at the distant rain.
Encircled like a closing stain,
the salient orb of fabled lore...
I whisper softly Jesus' name.
The orange hues in crimson paint
spread out aloft in skies adorned.
I wonder at the distant rain.
Into the west the canvass wanes,
with distant gulls in song forlorn.
I whisper softly Jesus' name.
With silent muse and cheeks now stained,
on out to sea my thoughts are borne.
I wonder at the distant rain.
A sense of purpose is now gained
out from a heart which once was torn.
I hear the lyrical refrain.
I whisper softly Jesus' name.
14 June 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Saturday, June 09, 2007
of memories faded
she greeted me happily, then greeted me
again; still once more she greeted me as
if we had just reunited, happy she was to
see me. full of memories past, although
less so in the present, yet happy all the
same to see me, "Hello!" she exclaimed!
10 June 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
again; still once more she greeted me as
if we had just reunited, happy she was to
see me. full of memories past, although
less so in the present, yet happy all the
same to see me, "Hello!" she exclaimed!
10 June 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
I Met With Sadness Yesterday
I met with Sadness yesterday, after some time apart.
He was not looking well due to the recent encounter
with his nemesis, Depression; it was a painful start
to an ongoing struggle, visited yet again in the late hour.
Sadness sat quietly as I opened the door and entered.
Depression was nearby, yet unseen. "What's wrong?"
I asked in lyrical query as into the eyes of Sadness I peered.
With his eyes looking into mine he replied, "Song...."
His voice caught and his eyes lowered, welling within
and he said, "Everything and nothing and all things between."
Choosing instead a lyric of silence, I refrained from replying.
Together we sat, quietly aware of the peace one song could bring.
Finally, Sadness asked, "Could you sing one of your tunes?"
Naturally I agreed, lifting up my voice in a joyful melody
while also adding harmonies and lyrics that filled the room
with laughter which caused Depression to hastily flee.
Sadness smiled for the first time in days, not yet ready to be alone,
but gladly free from Depression for at least a little while,
and perhaps longer too, if he chooses to give Joy a home.
Sadness welcomed Joy tentatively, and when she grinned, he smiled.
29 May 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
He was not looking well due to the recent encounter
with his nemesis, Depression; it was a painful start
to an ongoing struggle, visited yet again in the late hour.
Sadness sat quietly as I opened the door and entered.
Depression was nearby, yet unseen. "What's wrong?"
I asked in lyrical query as into the eyes of Sadness I peered.
With his eyes looking into mine he replied, "Song...."
His voice caught and his eyes lowered, welling within
and he said, "Everything and nothing and all things between."
Choosing instead a lyric of silence, I refrained from replying.
Together we sat, quietly aware of the peace one song could bring.
Finally, Sadness asked, "Could you sing one of your tunes?"
Naturally I agreed, lifting up my voice in a joyful melody
while also adding harmonies and lyrics that filled the room
with laughter which caused Depression to hastily flee.
Sadness smiled for the first time in days, not yet ready to be alone,
but gladly free from Depression for at least a little while,
and perhaps longer too, if he chooses to give Joy a home.
Sadness welcomed Joy tentatively, and when she grinned, he smiled.
29 May 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Monday, May 28, 2007
Fellowship of Silence
Solitude invites The Quiet.
"come, come into my home
with Silence undisturbed as
our companion; rest at ease."
with joy, The Quiet joins
Solitude in the fellowship of
Silence, in peaceful repose,
the three joined as one.
28 May 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
"come, come into my home
with Silence undisturbed as
our companion; rest at ease."
with joy, The Quiet joins
Solitude in the fellowship of
Silence, in peaceful repose,
the three joined as one.
28 May 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Monday, May 21, 2007
When Tired Am I
when tired am I,
I lay my head
upon the pillow of my bed.
into my dreams
my thoughts descend
like swirling mist around the bend
until a wooded
glade I see
adorned in fragrant greenery.
and then I sit
upon a log
near ancient ferns and croaking frogs
as in the night
the skies above
declare the glory of God's love.
21 May 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
I lay my head
upon the pillow of my bed.
into my dreams
my thoughts descend
like swirling mist around the bend
until a wooded
glade I see
adorned in fragrant greenery.
and then I sit
upon a log
near ancient ferns and croaking frogs
as in the night
the skies above
declare the glory of God's love.
21 May 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Gentleness
in the quiet light of pre-dawn mist,
choirs of silence rise and fall
within the orb of shadow's womb,
waiting for songs of hope's last call.
through all the pain, both harsh and cruel,
pure gentleness responds to all
the piercing violence of fell mood
with humble meekness despite death's pall.
17 May 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
choirs of silence rise and fall
within the orb of shadow's womb,
waiting for songs of hope's last call.
through all the pain, both harsh and cruel,
pure gentleness responds to all
the piercing violence of fell mood
with humble meekness despite death's pall.
17 May 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Real Music
bent over, I lean against the park bench alone,
watching the squirrels scurry about their business,
only to be interrupted by passersby walking
or jogging. the interlocutors never pay much heed to
the musical interplay, content instead to listen to ipods
ablaze with the lyrical cacophony of the top 40. I watch the
squirrels judge the foreign interludes, with complaints
of pitchiness, dreadfulness and shrugs of ditzy bemusement.
they didn't bring it this time; too karaoke. try some real music!
and during a break from the passersby, the real music emerges
dancing across the skies and flitting about the trees
to the rustling choreography of the swaying branches.
10 May 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
watching the squirrels scurry about their business,
only to be interrupted by passersby walking
or jogging. the interlocutors never pay much heed to
the musical interplay, content instead to listen to ipods
ablaze with the lyrical cacophony of the top 40. I watch the
squirrels judge the foreign interludes, with complaints
of pitchiness, dreadfulness and shrugs of ditzy bemusement.
they didn't bring it this time; too karaoke. try some real music!
and during a break from the passersby, the real music emerges
dancing across the skies and flitting about the trees
to the rustling choreography of the swaying branches.
10 May 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Monday, May 07, 2007
in the pool
mid-spring waters ripple
as I float facing skyward.
in the air bluebirds flit about
from limb to limb lecturing each
other among trees grown tall,
overlooking the cheerful giggles of
a little girl playing with her daddy.
7 May 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
as I float facing skyward.
in the air bluebirds flit about
from limb to limb lecturing each
other among trees grown tall,
overlooking the cheerful giggles of
a little girl playing with her daddy.
7 May 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Seagull Alone
The wind blows where it will,
an aroma of wildflowers borne on its crest,
vapor cooling in the morning fog.
Aloft, in the heights, a vagrant seagull
calls for its companions, one lost
interlocutor surveying the lakeside fauna.
Dark clouds from the west hunt the seagull,
tracing its plaintive, hopeful wails,
plotting paths of unearthly surprise.
Cold gusts interrupt the sublime,
trading gentle scents of California poppies
for faint musty hints from ports afar.
A large mouth bass breaks the lake's surface,
reaching skyward for the first drops of rain.
Its return to the depths hails the first rumblings of thunder.
With a stroke of its wings, the seagull
glides further east; but not for long as the
call of the sea lures it back West toward its doom.
3 May 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
an aroma of wildflowers borne on its crest,
vapor cooling in the morning fog.
Aloft, in the heights, a vagrant seagull
calls for its companions, one lost
interlocutor surveying the lakeside fauna.
Dark clouds from the west hunt the seagull,
tracing its plaintive, hopeful wails,
plotting paths of unearthly surprise.
Cold gusts interrupt the sublime,
trading gentle scents of California poppies
for faint musty hints from ports afar.
A large mouth bass breaks the lake's surface,
reaching skyward for the first drops of rain.
Its return to the depths hails the first rumblings of thunder.
With a stroke of its wings, the seagull
glides further east; but not for long as the
call of the sea lures it back West toward its doom.
3 May 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
a day in the life, give or take a moment or two
sleeping
alarm
sleep
alarm
*gonna show them*
snooze button
alarm
*grr*
snooze button
alarm
strike clock
stretch/moan
pray
wake
pray more
rise and pray
prepare and pray
open door
close door
lock door
descend stairs
stop
ascend stairs
check door
descend stairs
walk to car
disable car alarm
enter car
ignition
depart lot
listen to music
sing along
do the motions if people are watching
red light
green
yellow
that was close
enter lot
unlock door
disable alarm
turn on fans
turn on radio
turn on lights
open sign
open bay door
dispatch installers
open garbage dumpster
close garbage dumpster
phone calls
patrol lot for grafitti and garbage
backdoor bell
sign parcels
front door bell
help customers
phone calls
clean bathrooms
lunch at home
rearrange warehouse
vacuum showfloor
put samples away
front door bell
greet new customers
check samples out to them
phone calls
fax dispatch list
spray weeds
sit and write
nod off
phone call
prepare to leave
say bye
open door
close door
walk to car
disable car alarm
ignition
depart lot
red light
green
yellow
that was close
enter lot
unlock door
walk to building
ascend stairs
unlock door
open door
close door
lock door
sit down
turn on computer
post blog
check email
phone calls
eat too
prepare
set alarm
read
sleep
2 May 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Herein resides the skeletal essentials of a typical workday for me, give or take a moment or two and peppered throughout by an ongoing conversation with the Lord.
alarm
sleep
alarm
*gonna show them*
snooze button
alarm
*grr*
snooze button
alarm
strike clock
stretch/moan
pray
wake
pray more
rise and pray
prepare and pray
open door
close door
lock door
descend stairs
stop
ascend stairs
check door
descend stairs
walk to car
disable car alarm
enter car
ignition
depart lot
listen to music
sing along
do the motions if people are watching
red light
green
yellow
that was close
enter lot
unlock door
disable alarm
turn on fans
turn on radio
turn on lights
open sign
open bay door
dispatch installers
open garbage dumpster
close garbage dumpster
phone calls
patrol lot for grafitti and garbage
backdoor bell
sign parcels
front door bell
help customers
phone calls
clean bathrooms
lunch at home
rearrange warehouse
vacuum showfloor
put samples away
front door bell
greet new customers
check samples out to them
phone calls
fax dispatch list
spray weeds
sit and write
nod off
phone call
prepare to leave
say bye
open door
close door
walk to car
disable car alarm
ignition
depart lot
red light
green
yellow
that was close
enter lot
unlock door
walk to building
ascend stairs
unlock door
open door
close door
lock door
sit down
turn on computer
post blog
check email
phone calls
eat too
prepare
set alarm
read
sleep
2 May 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Herein resides the skeletal essentials of a typical workday for me, give or take a moment or two and peppered throughout by an ongoing conversation with the Lord.
Friday, April 27, 2007
I Wonder
I wonder if in heaven my ears will stop
ringing so loudly they wake up the
neighbors, or at least me.
I wonder if in heaven naps will be
allowed without the pressure
of one more thing to do.
I wonder if in heaven my confusion will
fall away as the burden is set
aside, once for all.
I wonder if in heaven I will hear
the only words that matter,
"Well done."
I wonder if in heaven all my tears will
be washed away by the Lord, himself,
as I look at him in awe.
I wonder.
27 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
ringing so loudly they wake up the
neighbors, or at least me.
I wonder if in heaven naps will be
allowed without the pressure
of one more thing to do.
I wonder if in heaven my confusion will
fall away as the burden is set
aside, once for all.
I wonder if in heaven I will hear
the only words that matter,
"Well done."
I wonder if in heaven all my tears will
be washed away by the Lord, himself,
as I look at him in awe.
I wonder.
27 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
ode to winsomeness
oh how winsome it is to be
as winsome as you can be
with winsome refrains, not
loathsome grass stains, nor
unwinsome rhymes like these!
so embrace your winsome self!
deny not the winsome-like elf
who upon your shoulder
cries out with fright, when
this song you sing winsomely!
24 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
I can explain this one. Honest, I can. This is written in honor of a friend named Corky who teased me for using the word winsome in a recent paper. Satisfied, Corky?
as winsome as you can be
with winsome refrains, not
loathsome grass stains, nor
unwinsome rhymes like these!
so embrace your winsome self!
deny not the winsome-like elf
who upon your shoulder
cries out with fright, when
this song you sing winsomely!
24 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
I can explain this one. Honest, I can. This is written in honor of a friend named Corky who teased me for using the word winsome in a recent paper. Satisfied, Corky?
Monday, April 23, 2007
Narrative Irony
in the corner of the shadow's vapor
spines of darkened light now pierce
the mist surrounding my obscurity.
in the silence of the lyric's whisper
rhymes of tenderness wax fierce
the core protecting my serenity.
23 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
spines of darkened light now pierce
the mist surrounding my obscurity.
in the silence of the lyric's whisper
rhymes of tenderness wax fierce
the core protecting my serenity.
23 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
of prayers past
the memory of distant prayers spoken
in silent travail
with tears and painful wrestling
in that private place
have not gone unnoticed by the Lord God
who sees it all.
long before you thought
to pray
he rose up in caring response
and long since
your memory faded he continues to
remember it all.
23 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
in silent travail
with tears and painful wrestling
in that private place
have not gone unnoticed by the Lord God
who sees it all.
long before you thought
to pray
he rose up in caring response
and long since
your memory faded he continues to
remember it all.
23 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Sonnet (14 lines) Attempt 1
Distant shores whisper unseen from the horizon;
Mariners bear tidings of incoming gloom;
Broiling clouds lay claim the foreshadowed doom;
Incoming tides bring forth gifts from the nations,
Appreciated as artifacts of nautical sojourn,
Tumbled with flotsam, polished by solemnity,
Their petrified textures hewn by antiquity;
Out of the depths of cavernous tides they adjourn;
Why do the white gulls call in the elemental rush?
Why do they hover as harbingers of grief?
Conceived from the soulful ancient plea for relief,
Wistful calm watches the violent hush;
Distant shores whisper unseen from the horizon;
Why do the white gulls call in the elemental rush?
21 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Mariners bear tidings of incoming gloom;
Broiling clouds lay claim the foreshadowed doom;
Incoming tides bring forth gifts from the nations,
Appreciated as artifacts of nautical sojourn,
Tumbled with flotsam, polished by solemnity,
Their petrified textures hewn by antiquity;
Out of the depths of cavernous tides they adjourn;
Why do the white gulls call in the elemental rush?
Why do they hover as harbingers of grief?
Conceived from the soulful ancient plea for relief,
Wistful calm watches the violent hush;
Distant shores whisper unseen from the horizon;
Why do the white gulls call in the elemental rush?
21 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Despair
in the final aging memory
of an era past its prime
all the things I once pursued
are forgotten out of time.
like a fleeting shadow piercing,
then retreating to its lair,
are the selfish thoughts I cherished
when I lurked in dark despair.
12 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
of an era past its prime
all the things I once pursued
are forgotten out of time.
like a fleeting shadow piercing,
then retreating to its lair,
are the selfish thoughts I cherished
when I lurked in dark despair.
12 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
monastic
stillness dwells in frail obscurity
listening to the whispers and
smiling slightly in return.
snowfall mutes the crackling
forest chatter with a serenity
of cold white comfort.
the bell tolls, signaling the call
to communal liturgy, pure
baritones rising in soulful
enchantment as sandal shod feet propel
cloaked forms in off-white linens
with hoods to obscure each visage.
spartan private quarters quarrel
with comfort, but invite quiet
reflection and silent prayer.
eloquence would seem trite
in this cloaked landscape
of severe ascetic quietness.
11 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Written in tribute to the monks of the Grand Chartreuse Monastery in the French Alps
listening to the whispers and
smiling slightly in return.
snowfall mutes the crackling
forest chatter with a serenity
of cold white comfort.
the bell tolls, signaling the call
to communal liturgy, pure
baritones rising in soulful
enchantment as sandal shod feet propel
cloaked forms in off-white linens
with hoods to obscure each visage.
spartan private quarters quarrel
with comfort, but invite quiet
reflection and silent prayer.
eloquence would seem trite
in this cloaked landscape
of severe ascetic quietness.
11 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Written in tribute to the monks of the Grand Chartreuse Monastery in the French Alps
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Twilight's Song
twilight's song is upon me
in my eyes, tears to embrace.
within the scarlett shadow
hangs the tender form of grace
nailed with violent censure
against the gnarled wooden cross.
with crown of thorns pressed on him
and agony upon his face,
blood pours out from his body and
forgiveness whispers from his lips.
twilight's shadow hastens
it is finished, he declares.
the rolling thunder and earthquake
with veil torn in the holiest place
hail the final sacrifice
of the Lamb of God in our place.
the laughter of the wicked taunt
the righteous with disgrace,
but on the third day of sorrow,
shadow turns to dawn's new face.
In risen form before me
appears the Son of God, in grace.
twilight's song is upon me
in my eyes, tears to embrace.
8 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
in my eyes, tears to embrace.
within the scarlett shadow
hangs the tender form of grace
nailed with violent censure
against the gnarled wooden cross.
with crown of thorns pressed on him
and agony upon his face,
blood pours out from his body and
forgiveness whispers from his lips.
twilight's shadow hastens
it is finished, he declares.
the rolling thunder and earthquake
with veil torn in the holiest place
hail the final sacrifice
of the Lamb of God in our place.
the laughter of the wicked taunt
the righteous with disgrace,
but on the third day of sorrow,
shadow turns to dawn's new face.
In risen form before me
appears the Son of God, in grace.
twilight's song is upon me
in my eyes, tears to embrace.
8 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Memories of Newberg
the cloud of steam rises continuously,
a tribute to the stench of the pulp mill,
as if even the vented vapor could not delay flight.
a twin engine fixed wing plane joins the steam over
the lazy patchwork of houses, farmland and small shops.
a hot air balloon lifts tourists in the distance.
cars crawl east and west through a bottle neck of unfortunate
road planning conceived before the first stop light was installed--
oh, what an event that was! the fanfare! the gossip!
telltale vestiges of suburban sprawl begin to take their toll with
the rise of big ugly square houses, super-sized box stores and
ubiquitous fast food pads. Consumerism is laying waste to dying
charm, but not completely, as in the hills which cradle its northeast
borders, trees still rise up in the fading morning mist, surely
preserving the trails I once hiked as a boy.
the Willamette River carves out its path in the south of the city,
no more swimmable or potable now, than thirty years ago,
but perfect for the annual summer boat races.
7 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
a tribute to the stench of the pulp mill,
as if even the vented vapor could not delay flight.
a twin engine fixed wing plane joins the steam over
the lazy patchwork of houses, farmland and small shops.
a hot air balloon lifts tourists in the distance.
cars crawl east and west through a bottle neck of unfortunate
road planning conceived before the first stop light was installed--
oh, what an event that was! the fanfare! the gossip!
telltale vestiges of suburban sprawl begin to take their toll with
the rise of big ugly square houses, super-sized box stores and
ubiquitous fast food pads. Consumerism is laying waste to dying
charm, but not completely, as in the hills which cradle its northeast
borders, trees still rise up in the fading morning mist, surely
preserving the trails I once hiked as a boy.
the Willamette River carves out its path in the south of the city,
no more swimmable or potable now, than thirty years ago,
but perfect for the annual summer boat races.
7 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Manuscript Transmission
manuscript evidence pleads its case
internally and externally.
fragments and whole texts cite the ebb and flow
of textual attestation by source witnesses.
internally and externally,
documented trails frame the contours
of textual attestation by source witnesses
as a mosaic of intricate parchments.
documented trails frame the contours,
with consistently cited witnesses of varying priority
as a mosaic of intricate parchments--
oh, to breathe the rarified air of sacred antiquity!
with consistently cited witnesses of varying priority
confirmed by credible versions and the fathers--
oh, to breathe the rarified air of sacred antiquity
faithfully transmitted by the early monastics.
confirmed by credible versions and the fathers,
fragments and whole texts cite the ebb and flow.
faithfully transmitted by the early monastics,
manuscript evidence pleads its case.
7 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
internally and externally.
fragments and whole texts cite the ebb and flow
of textual attestation by source witnesses.
internally and externally,
documented trails frame the contours
of textual attestation by source witnesses
as a mosaic of intricate parchments.
documented trails frame the contours,
with consistently cited witnesses of varying priority
as a mosaic of intricate parchments--
oh, to breathe the rarified air of sacred antiquity!
with consistently cited witnesses of varying priority
confirmed by credible versions and the fathers--
oh, to breathe the rarified air of sacred antiquity
faithfully transmitted by the early monastics.
confirmed by credible versions and the fathers,
fragments and whole texts cite the ebb and flow.
faithfully transmitted by the early monastics,
manuscript evidence pleads its case.
7 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
From Source to Stream
starlight dancing in the pale spring melt--
the runoff flows from snowpack to valley,
a refreshing nourishment for all below,
meandering as persistent tendrils.
the runoff flows from snowpack to valley
over countless polished stones in its wake,
meandering as persistent tendrils--
relentless with unceasing flow
over countless polished stones in its wake.
gurgling with childlike delight, it is
relentless with unceasing flow
in the valleys which gaze above.
gurgling with childlike delight, it is
a refreshing nourishment for all below
in the valleys which gaze above--
starlight dancing in the pale spring melt.
7 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
the runoff flows from snowpack to valley,
a refreshing nourishment for all below,
meandering as persistent tendrils.
the runoff flows from snowpack to valley
over countless polished stones in its wake,
meandering as persistent tendrils--
relentless with unceasing flow
over countless polished stones in its wake.
gurgling with childlike delight, it is
relentless with unceasing flow
in the valleys which gaze above.
gurgling with childlike delight, it is
a refreshing nourishment for all below
in the valleys which gaze above--
starlight dancing in the pale spring melt.
7 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Friday, April 06, 2007
Ghazal: Attempt Eight
the tumble weeds blow across the desert plain, a procession
of snowflakes falling softly on the rugged mountainside.
darting into the blue sky swiftly the bluejay takes flight
into the network of hollowed caverns, echoing into the silence.
constricting nets draw tight the catch of the day.
just a little bit more depth in the margins, says the painter.
the poet washes the dishes and then folds the laundry.
the television blinks into the night, long after being turned off.
mystery bleeds its pathos across a trail of vanished paths.
piercing cries debate nocturnal dominance, then a hush.
a puff of smoke on the horizon suggests a hint of warning.
the tsunami smiles with vicious glee before its final approach.
the nursery rhyme in plaintive voice warms the father's heart
as his child closes her eyes in the evening's last refrain.
6 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
of snowflakes falling softly on the rugged mountainside.
darting into the blue sky swiftly the bluejay takes flight
into the network of hollowed caverns, echoing into the silence.
constricting nets draw tight the catch of the day.
just a little bit more depth in the margins, says the painter.
the poet washes the dishes and then folds the laundry.
the television blinks into the night, long after being turned off.
mystery bleeds its pathos across a trail of vanished paths.
piercing cries debate nocturnal dominance, then a hush.
a puff of smoke on the horizon suggests a hint of warning.
the tsunami smiles with vicious glee before its final approach.
the nursery rhyme in plaintive voice warms the father's heart
as his child closes her eyes in the evening's last refrain.
6 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Ghazal: Attempt Seven
monastic silence is cradled by a chant of sacred simplicity
while the dove spreads its wings in communion with the clouds.
sailing the glassy surface with only the moon and stars to guide,
serenity is an elemental chorus of frogs and trees.
the shock of news unexpected coldly slaps me;
the hand print on my heart squeezes tighter.
my tummy would like to thank the academy of member treats
who made me what I am today; oooh, does that come in chocolate?
the stone statues stare stoically at me.
then blinking, they run off to an easier game.
the bravest innovations are traditions yet to form and
a scar reinjured reminds us of its presence.
the slash burn rips through the field of flowers,
bursting into a colorful rainbow of soapy bubbles.
6 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
while the dove spreads its wings in communion with the clouds.
sailing the glassy surface with only the moon and stars to guide,
serenity is an elemental chorus of frogs and trees.
the shock of news unexpected coldly slaps me;
the hand print on my heart squeezes tighter.
my tummy would like to thank the academy of member treats
who made me what I am today; oooh, does that come in chocolate?
the stone statues stare stoically at me.
then blinking, they run off to an easier game.
the bravest innovations are traditions yet to form and
a scar reinjured reminds us of its presence.
the slash burn rips through the field of flowers,
bursting into a colorful rainbow of soapy bubbles.
6 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Thursday, April 05, 2007
just ten more minutes
slowly awakened by the nudge of first light,
pulled from sleep's enchantment with
memories quelled by the fog of weary muse,
I yawn and fall asleep.
5 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
pulled from sleep's enchantment with
memories quelled by the fog of weary muse,
I yawn and fall asleep.
5 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Expectations
I'm just me, not anyone else. I can't be what they expect of me,
caped and hooded as a masked wonder of unrealistic expectations,
commissioned to wield influence, work mysteries and lead.
Better to remain in simplicity, as I am.
Caped and hooded as a masked wonder of unrealistic expectations,
is what others would have me be; its what they expect of me.
Better to remain in simplicity, as I am,
than desire to achieve the heights of notoriety, which
is what others would have me be; its what they expect of me,
commissioned to wield influence, work mysteries and lead,
rather than desire to achieve the heights of notoriety, which--
I'm just me, not anyone else. I can't be what they expect of me.
5 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
caped and hooded as a masked wonder of unrealistic expectations,
commissioned to wield influence, work mysteries and lead.
Better to remain in simplicity, as I am.
Caped and hooded as a masked wonder of unrealistic expectations,
is what others would have me be; its what they expect of me.
Better to remain in simplicity, as I am,
than desire to achieve the heights of notoriety, which
is what others would have me be; its what they expect of me,
commissioned to wield influence, work mysteries and lead,
rather than desire to achieve the heights of notoriety, which--
I'm just me, not anyone else. I can't be what they expect of me.
5 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Pantoum (Malay): The Dream
whispering swaths of phantom mist--
the wakened dreamer grasps at fading wisps;
so silently caressing tearful memories
as an artist tracing a masterpiece.
the wakened dreamer grasps at fading wisps
while through the window fresh wind flows on the breeze.
as an artist tracing a masterpiece,
eloquent details imprint their signature.
while through the window fresh wind flows on the breeze,
so silently caressing tearful memories,
eloquent details imprint their signature--
whispering swaths of phantom mist.
5 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
the wakened dreamer grasps at fading wisps;
so silently caressing tearful memories
as an artist tracing a masterpiece.
the wakened dreamer grasps at fading wisps
while through the window fresh wind flows on the breeze.
as an artist tracing a masterpiece,
eloquent details imprint their signature.
while through the window fresh wind flows on the breeze,
so silently caressing tearful memories,
eloquent details imprint their signature--
whispering swaths of phantom mist.
5 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
watery, below
somewhere
in the lake a fish flips its tail--
the surface above notices,
marking its wake.
then in
the creek adjoining the beaver
builds a dam--the waters ebb
slowly to sleep.
down from
above a lure penetrates
the surface, tantalizing--
sure to attract.
in the lake a fish flips its tail--
the surface above notices,
marking its wake.
then in
the creek adjoining the beaver
builds a dam--the waters ebb
slowly to sleep.
down from
above a lure penetrates
the surface, tantalizing--
sure to attract.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Haiku Variables
in the darkened street
two engines rev-- and then crunch
goes the steel and flesh
---
glance at the blue sky
wavering in silent wind--
blackness swirls beyond
---
the pebbled raindrop
poised on the spine of the leaf:
your eyes it reflects
---
abandoned novel--
characters rise up and shout,
write!
--
hurtling through space
the earth spins swiftly in a
choreograph of grace
1 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
two engines rev-- and then crunch
goes the steel and flesh
---
glance at the blue sky
wavering in silent wind--
blackness swirls beyond
---
the pebbled raindrop
poised on the spine of the leaf:
your eyes it reflects
---
abandoned novel--
characters rise up and shout,
write!
--
hurtling through space
the earth spins swiftly in a
choreograph of grace
1 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
meditation, silence brings
meditation, silence brings
forsaking self, embracing grace
in holy presence of the Lord Most High.
cherished passions brought to light
exposing darkness, worshipping Christ
in vibrant wholeness together we sing His praise.
humbly bowing, tears of shame
confessing actions, repenting of sin
with daring boldness shackles evaporate.
holy witness rises true
out from the ashes of brokenness
for Christ's glory to all the nations.
meditation, silence brings
forsaking self, embracing grace
in holy presence of the Lord Jesus.
27 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
forsaking self, embracing grace
in holy presence of the Lord Most High.
cherished passions brought to light
exposing darkness, worshipping Christ
in vibrant wholeness together we sing His praise.
humbly bowing, tears of shame
confessing actions, repenting of sin
with daring boldness shackles evaporate.
holy witness rises true
out from the ashes of brokenness
for Christ's glory to all the nations.
meditation, silence brings
forsaking self, embracing grace
in holy presence of the Lord Jesus.
27 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Monday, March 26, 2007
Tribute to Children of the World International Children's Choir
intricate threads of joy weave
their tapestry in a delicate
expression of innocent purity
from each child's heart to ours
so that their voices are lifted
in a banner of adoration for Jesus Christ
throughout the nations of the world.
26 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
their tapestry in a delicate
expression of innocent purity
from each child's heart to ours
so that their voices are lifted
in a banner of adoration for Jesus Christ
throughout the nations of the world.
26 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Sunday, March 25, 2007
doubt, or not
never quite good enough, she muses.
she tries hard, oh so hard; but others
always seem to have the edge.
catty sneers mock her in the silence.
she turns to confront the source, only
to find phantom memories.
will i ever be somebody worth loving?
she wonders as familiar tears return.
the pain of scorn visits harshly.
she knows she is supposed to love God.
she knows she should love her neighbors,
and even her enemies too. but
what if her worst enemy is herself?
fingering the self-inflicted cuts on her wrists,
she asks, am i made in God's image too?
am i worth something? am i valued?
do i matter to God and others? she asks.
through the veil of doubt and pain,
she sees Jesus suffering as on his head a
crown of thorns is placed. as the lashes tear
his skin and the cross bears up his frame,
she sees him look into her eyes and call her
name. her sin, her shame, her doubt all are nailed
to the tree, setting her burden on him; setting
her free.
25 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
she tries hard, oh so hard; but others
always seem to have the edge.
catty sneers mock her in the silence.
she turns to confront the source, only
to find phantom memories.
will i ever be somebody worth loving?
she wonders as familiar tears return.
the pain of scorn visits harshly.
she knows she is supposed to love God.
she knows she should love her neighbors,
and even her enemies too. but
what if her worst enemy is herself?
fingering the self-inflicted cuts on her wrists,
she asks, am i made in God's image too?
am i worth something? am i valued?
do i matter to God and others? she asks.
through the veil of doubt and pain,
she sees Jesus suffering as on his head a
crown of thorns is placed. as the lashes tear
his skin and the cross bears up his frame,
she sees him look into her eyes and call her
name. her sin, her shame, her doubt all are nailed
to the tree, setting her burden on him; setting
her free.
25 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
A Reflection on Humor Among Christians
no greater ridicule besets the scarred person
than that which assails him from a fellow Christian
all in the name of good fun, innocent humor,
a call to self-deprecation in the presence of many.
let's not take ourselves too seriously, says the pundit,
as he holds in his hands the beating hearts of pain,
his own and those of others, squeezing tightly to the
scandalized laughter of evaporating consciences.
nevermind what the greats of yesteryear said--their day
is gone, forgotten by the need for incisive edginess.
never humiliate another person, said Mr. Hope.
the echo of his refrain seems to be viewed as irrelevant.
no, it is better toe the line of propriety.
it is better to push the edges of scandal.
it is better to obey the laws of diminishing return,
stopping just short of outright abusiveness.
i wonder
have we forgotten the Lord's command to love one another?
have we forgotten the Lord's command to love mercy?
have we forgotten the Lord's command to love our enemies?
25 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
than that which assails him from a fellow Christian
all in the name of good fun, innocent humor,
a call to self-deprecation in the presence of many.
let's not take ourselves too seriously, says the pundit,
as he holds in his hands the beating hearts of pain,
his own and those of others, squeezing tightly to the
scandalized laughter of evaporating consciences.
nevermind what the greats of yesteryear said--their day
is gone, forgotten by the need for incisive edginess.
never humiliate another person, said Mr. Hope.
the echo of his refrain seems to be viewed as irrelevant.
no, it is better toe the line of propriety.
it is better to push the edges of scandal.
it is better to obey the laws of diminishing return,
stopping just short of outright abusiveness.
i wonder
have we forgotten the Lord's command to love one another?
have we forgotten the Lord's command to love mercy?
have we forgotten the Lord's command to love our enemies?
25 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Ghazal: Attempt Six
darkness settles on the vast cityscape.
bright lights glitter in vibrant serenity.
slouched in the corner of the doorway, a vagabond sleeps.
bats flutter in the distance, hunting for moths near street lamps.
the police cruiser races to the scene of the shooting.
blood thinks he's bad, says the leader. soon he'll be dead.
the artists paint the buildings, rattling their sabers for war.
a grandma weeps alone, mourning yet another grandchild.
the dealers, pimps, prostitutes and johns ply their trades.
the children wonder if they will ever see their next birthday.
bright lights glitter in vibrant serenity.
slouched in the corner of the doorway, a vagabond sleeps.
bats flutter in the distance, hunting for moths near street lamps.
the police cruiser races to the scene of the shooting.
blood thinks he's bad, says the leader. soon he'll be dead.
the artists paint the buildings, rattling their sabers for war.
a grandma weeps alone, mourning yet another grandchild.
the dealers, pimps, prostitutes and johns ply their trades.
the children wonder if they will ever see their next birthday.
Ghazal: Attempt Five
the sullen tide recedes swiftly from the shore.
its waters carry out to sea the gnarled talisman.
the predator swims silently, preparing to eat the morsel.
a tastier victim catches his eye, leaving the planet safe for now.
trampling across the clouds, the sunlight seeks an entrance.
far below, in the fields, wild flowers await their blooming.
with his back hunched and white hair groomed,
his bright mischievous eyes scan the yard for mice. Meow.
the palace rises out of the mountain, left unfinished from antiquity.
falling gently in late spring, the snow covers the scars of the land.
its waters carry out to sea the gnarled talisman.
the predator swims silently, preparing to eat the morsel.
a tastier victim catches his eye, leaving the planet safe for now.
trampling across the clouds, the sunlight seeks an entrance.
far below, in the fields, wild flowers await their blooming.
with his back hunched and white hair groomed,
his bright mischievous eyes scan the yard for mice. Meow.
the palace rises out of the mountain, left unfinished from antiquity.
falling gently in late spring, the snow covers the scars of the land.
Ghazal: Attempt Four
the young couple meanders through the park.
wagging their tails they bark at the bouncing ball.
in lilting chant, the resonant tenor voices soar in unison.
only the trees are there to listen to the wolf pack's howls.
the minimum wage worker pumps gas into the rich man's humvee.
it's too expensive, says the rich man while fussing with his rolex.
the shooting star flashes a brilliant streak across the night sky.
make a wish, says the girl. that was my wish, replies the boy.
the ant works diligently until he is suddenly squished.
continuing his walk, the lazy man ponders how life owes him more.
wagging their tails they bark at the bouncing ball.
in lilting chant, the resonant tenor voices soar in unison.
only the trees are there to listen to the wolf pack's howls.
the minimum wage worker pumps gas into the rich man's humvee.
it's too expensive, says the rich man while fussing with his rolex.
the shooting star flashes a brilliant streak across the night sky.
make a wish, says the girl. that was my wish, replies the boy.
the ant works diligently until he is suddenly squished.
continuing his walk, the lazy man ponders how life owes him more.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Anthem: Call to Worship
Come worship with holy hands raised
And in glad fellowship, join in song;
Let us sing with joyful praise,
Exalting the Lord with the great throng.
Praise Him, praise Him; oh tender delight
Together ours
As in the sanctuary bright
We arise
20 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Curbing Priorities
The broken
curb
crumbles in despair.
Still,
more concern is shown for its care than
for its resident
beggar.
20 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
curb
crumbles in despair.
Still,
more concern is shown for its care than
for its resident
beggar.
20 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Ghazal: Attempt Three
The hail storm bursts out of the sunshine.
The spiraling rainbow frowns with mirth.
High above, the roofers stomp and hammer.
The water will not be denied its secret fall.
The whispers hide in secrecy;
Silence is their only friend.
The little birdy told me, said she.
This little birdy? said he, holding his newly stuffed prize.
The fire sparks and crackles with warmth,
Ravaging the terrain within its path.
20 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
The spiraling rainbow frowns with mirth.
High above, the roofers stomp and hammer.
The water will not be denied its secret fall.
The whispers hide in secrecy;
Silence is their only friend.
The little birdy told me, said she.
This little birdy? said he, holding his newly stuffed prize.
The fire sparks and crackles with warmth,
Ravaging the terrain within its path.
20 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Haiku Variants
the gentle smile
embraces its final
breath of life
--
the rainfall beats
upon the ocean--oh no! I'm wet!
cries the deep sea diver
20 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
embraces its final
breath of life
--
the rainfall beats
upon the ocean--oh no! I'm wet!
cries the deep sea diver
20 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Monday, March 19, 2007
The Princess and Her Jewels
The Knight errant plunged into the depths
within the caverns deep
searching
beneath the castle's keep
for the hidden Princess in distress.
Slaying foes and conquering hazards,
he sought to rescue her,
vowing
to protect her from harm
and restore her to her rightful place.
Amid flooding waters and dense steam
the Knight found the Princess
sitting
in her private cellar
with her jewels, refusing to leave.
Farewell, he said sadly as she screamed.
Despite your love for your
jewels,
your wealth will be buried
with you as a testament to greed.
19 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
within the caverns deep
searching
beneath the castle's keep
for the hidden Princess in distress.
Slaying foes and conquering hazards,
he sought to rescue her,
vowing
to protect her from harm
and restore her to her rightful place.
Amid flooding waters and dense steam
the Knight found the Princess
sitting
in her private cellar
with her jewels, refusing to leave.
Farewell, he said sadly as she screamed.
Despite your love for your
jewels,
your wealth will be buried
with you as a testament to greed.
19 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Ghazal: Attempt Two
Cultural permutations, popularly perceived and otherwise
Clash violently while innocents suffer and die.
Their shopping list is long and full of necessary consumables.
With only three tv's, there is barely enough to do.
Yesterday, the empty rooms of her home greeted her again.
Having lost her husband suddenly, it was a greeting harsh and painful.
The squirrel grabbed the nut, twitching its nose.
In a dash of acrobatic genius, it swiftly scaled the nearby tree.
I wonder if some distant descendant will ever read
These words when no scions I will ever have?
19 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Clash violently while innocents suffer and die.
Their shopping list is long and full of necessary consumables.
With only three tv's, there is barely enough to do.
Yesterday, the empty rooms of her home greeted her again.
Having lost her husband suddenly, it was a greeting harsh and painful.
The squirrel grabbed the nut, twitching its nose.
In a dash of acrobatic genius, it swiftly scaled the nearby tree.
I wonder if some distant descendant will ever read
These words when no scions I will ever have?
19 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Ghazal: Attempt One
The storm front surges from the horizon.
The rainfall swirls in its blustery wake.
Is my life in twilight or yet to dawn in full?
My frail perspective casts shadows of doubt.
Waiting is an elegant discipline of self-control.
Emminently practical, it reaps the rewards of patience.
The tape dispenser stares at me, taunting and teasing.
It dares me to gather a strip of tape for no useful purpose.
I closed my eyes to listen to the silence but I almost forgot
to open them again, so taken was I by the moment of refrain.
19 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
The rainfall swirls in its blustery wake.
Is my life in twilight or yet to dawn in full?
My frail perspective casts shadows of doubt.
Waiting is an elegant discipline of self-control.
Emminently practical, it reaps the rewards of patience.
The tape dispenser stares at me, taunting and teasing.
It dares me to gather a strip of tape for no useful purpose.
I closed my eyes to listen to the silence but I almost forgot
to open them again, so taken was I by the moment of refrain.
19 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Saturday, March 17, 2007
in darkness, cried
swiftly running in the darkness
on the mountain gravel
road
with trees laughing
in a soaring mockery of shame
the young man cried out for help
in the brokenness of
his
confusion until finally
he heard one still small voice respond
17 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
on the mountain gravel
road
with trees laughing
in a soaring mockery of shame
the young man cried out for help
in the brokenness of
his
confusion until finally
he heard one still small voice respond
17 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Darfur's Bane, Redux -- Reality Check Uploaded
silence roars from twilight's shadow
charred bones sing of memories lost
drifting threads shorn from the children
fluttering talismans of loss.
worlds apart committees ponder
experts study, leaders frown
meanwhile on the fields of slaughter
innocents in squalor drown
15 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
charred bones sing of memories lost
drifting threads shorn from the children
fluttering talismans of loss.
worlds apart committees ponder
experts study, leaders frown
meanwhile on the fields of slaughter
innocents in squalor drown
15 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Image, Hers
mirror on the wall she hears
echoing her deepest fears
of insecurities she feels
lurking silently behind her eyes
verses in her heart she sings
from sacred text her memory brings
etched in ancient papyri
"made in God's image truly am I"
14 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
echoing her deepest fears
of insecurities she feels
lurking silently behind her eyes
verses in her heart she sings
from sacred text her memory brings
etched in ancient papyri
"made in God's image truly am I"
14 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Sneakers
the scuffed sneakers pounded two steps at a time
up the stairs they loudly squeaked
as through the pungent stairwell shrieked
wails of twisting feet
round and round the sneakers mounted
'twixt the spiral rails of home
the blackened walls of disrepair
betrayed small furtive eyes
up to the heights the sneakers climbed
beyond the reach of distant chimes
so that the silence laid its claim
amidst the tears of one boy's cries
the scuffed sneakers rested, far from pain's pursuit
poised for flight they listened, prepared to flee again
the yelling down below echoed out his name
dialing 911, the boy repeated the same
14 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
up the stairs they loudly squeaked
as through the pungent stairwell shrieked
wails of twisting feet
round and round the sneakers mounted
'twixt the spiral rails of home
the blackened walls of disrepair
betrayed small furtive eyes
up to the heights the sneakers climbed
beyond the reach of distant chimes
so that the silence laid its claim
amidst the tears of one boy's cries
the scuffed sneakers rested, far from pain's pursuit
poised for flight they listened, prepared to flee again
the yelling down below echoed out his name
dialing 911, the boy repeated the same
14 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
missional, or not
do you see the silence move
within the form of howling wind?
do you hear the visual clues
or are they lost in the wasteland?
do you wonder at the mystery
of a generation's pain?
or are you busy doing church
without the time to learn their names?
13 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
within the form of howling wind?
do you hear the visual clues
or are they lost in the wasteland?
do you wonder at the mystery
of a generation's pain?
or are you busy doing church
without the time to learn their names?
13 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Darfur's Bane
splintered tears shorn of their dreams
like silver sails ensnare the winds
beyond the shores of hope's last song
the trembling reeds wilt all alone
their song is lost to tyranny
their memories haunt listless rain
as in the parched deluge they fall
bereft of solace; forgotten all.
13 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
like silver sails ensnare the winds
beyond the shores of hope's last song
the trembling reeds wilt all alone
their song is lost to tyranny
their memories haunt listless rain
as in the parched deluge they fall
bereft of solace; forgotten all.
13 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Deep in the Woods
Somewhere in the woodland realm
Far from cityscapes
Ferns and squirrels dance and play
Beneath the tow'ring shapes.
Aware the fertile soil is now
Alert to roots gone deep.
Life is given nutrients
While willows sway and sleep.
7 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Far from cityscapes
Ferns and squirrels dance and play
Beneath the tow'ring shapes.
Aware the fertile soil is now
Alert to roots gone deep.
Life is given nutrients
While willows sway and sleep.
7 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Nascar for the Rest of us.
around the corner
both cars roar, hugging their
lanes, splashed with
advertising colors,
hotwheels on plastic tracks.
6 March 2007 Glen Alan Woods
both cars roar, hugging their
lanes, splashed with
advertising colors,
hotwheels on plastic tracks.
6 March 2007 Glen Alan Woods
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Broken Heart
where has the laughter
gone? I hear echoes
fading....
come back. don't cry.
embrace the ones you love.
4 March 2007 By Glen Alan Woods
gone? I hear echoes
fading....
come back. don't cry.
embrace the ones you love.
4 March 2007 By Glen Alan Woods
Mystery
pantomimed shadows
cackle their
mocking
mimicry as in
the darkness silence listens.
4 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
cackle their
mocking
mimicry as in
the darkness silence listens.
4 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Set Free
welling from deep
inside a heart set free,
poetic
imagination sets
flight on the winds of hope.
4 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
inside a heart set free,
poetic
imagination sets
flight on the winds of hope.
4 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
High School Football
spiraling toward
me, resolute,
eclipsing all else,
the football comes quickly
into my outstretched hands.
28 February 2007 Glen Alan Woods
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Disparate Muse in Japanese Tanku Form
cold winter muse
mist swirling with wind's bluster
walking alone
broken heart shrouded
tear streams washed by weeping rain
--
whistling
my ears embrace, endure
offkey tonals
distraction meant for dogs
not men
--
after all this time
I dream within the contours
of a heart set free
holy imagination
redeemed holistically
27 February 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
mist swirling with wind's bluster
walking alone
broken heart shrouded
tear streams washed by weeping rain
--
whistling
my ears embrace, endure
offkey tonals
distraction meant for dogs
not men
--
after all this time
I dream within the contours
of a heart set free
holy imagination
redeemed holistically
27 February 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Monday, February 19, 2007
Locomotive
Can you hear it?
Steady thrum of beating engine
Coming closer
Tons of power cloaked in steam.
Can you smell it?
Wafting coal erupting skyward
Like a beacon
Dissipating in the wind.
Can you see it?
Gleaming metal, black as night
Brooding scion
Of an era soon to pass.
Can you taste it?
Residual airborne signature
Bitter memory
Of its forebear's final run.
19 February 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Steady thrum of beating engine
Coming closer
Tons of power cloaked in steam.
Can you smell it?
Wafting coal erupting skyward
Like a beacon
Dissipating in the wind.
Can you see it?
Gleaming metal, black as night
Brooding scion
Of an era soon to pass.
Can you taste it?
Residual airborne signature
Bitter memory
Of its forebear's final run.
19 February 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Confident in You
My life is laid before you, Lord.
There are no secrets I can keep.
My thoughts, dreams and motives are clear.
So I place my trust in you, Lord
Even with the things hidden deep.
I submit to your will in spite of my fear.
Therefore I am confident in you, Lord
Although I sometimes want to weep.
I will trust that you are sovereign and near.
I have learned that you are faithful, Lord
And it is this hope I keep.
I will declare it to all who will hear.
2004 by Glen Alan Woods
There are no secrets I can keep.
My thoughts, dreams and motives are clear.
So I place my trust in you, Lord
Even with the things hidden deep.
I submit to your will in spite of my fear.
Therefore I am confident in you, Lord
Although I sometimes want to weep.
I will trust that you are sovereign and near.
I have learned that you are faithful, Lord
And it is this hope I keep.
I will declare it to all who will hear.
2004 by Glen Alan Woods
In His Presence
Every tear you cry in darkness
Is met by the Father's embrace.
The sobs that seek to shake you
Are stilled by his precious grace.
Although on the surface things have not changed
By His Spirit you may sense real peace.
As you meditate on the Scriptures
From your burden you will find true release.
So be still and listen to God now.
Be still and hear his voice.
The Lord God is speaking by His Word now.
And in His presence you will rest and rejoice.
2003 by Glen Alan Woods
Is met by the Father's embrace.
The sobs that seek to shake you
Are stilled by his precious grace.
Although on the surface things have not changed
By His Spirit you may sense real peace.
As you meditate on the Scriptures
From your burden you will find true release.
So be still and listen to God now.
Be still and hear his voice.
The Lord God is speaking by His Word now.
And in His presence you will rest and rejoice.
2003 by Glen Alan Woods
Sacred Acts of Worship
Sacred acts of worship
In obedience we render
The glory that is due your name
We willingly surrender.
We gather as a family
Linked in common purpose
To meet the needs of others
As instruments of service.
We offer you our voices
Expressing glorious praise
Welcoming your presence
In this holy place.
Purify our hearts, Lord
Refine our character
Incline your gracious ear to us
Mature us in your Word.
Sacred acts of worship
In obedience we render
The glory that is due your name
We willingly surrender.
2003 by Glen Alan Woods
In obedience we render
The glory that is due your name
We willingly surrender.
We gather as a family
Linked in common purpose
To meet the needs of others
As instruments of service.
We offer you our voices
Expressing glorious praise
Welcoming your presence
In this holy place.
Purify our hearts, Lord
Refine our character
Incline your gracious ear to us
Mature us in your Word.
Sacred acts of worship
In obedience we render
The glory that is due your name
We willingly surrender.
2003 by Glen Alan Woods
Crisis of the Heart
Crisis of the heart
The birth place for fresh response
Demanding attention
Shaping destiny
Foolish choices reap sorrow and
Shame
Wise decisions reap joy and
Peace
In the midst of crises
Crisis of the heart
The crucible for reflection
Past decisions
Revisited
Doubt sometimes overshadows bringing
Regret
Certainty may rise up bringing
Refocus
In the midst of crises
2001 by Glen Alan Woods
In Silence
It doesn't matter
So he says
From behind his stony visage
Awkward loneliness
His companion
A heart cries in silence.
It doesn't matter
So she says
Despite her tattered countenance
Raw emotions
Desecrated peace
A heart cries in silence
It doesn't matter
So they say
With fog their close companion
Cold and penetrating
Overwhelming
Hearts cry in silence
It doesn't matter
So goes the myth
That plagues the thoughts of many
Beleaguered souls
Desperate for help
Hearts cry in silence
It does matter
According to God
Our lives do have meaning
Obey His Word
Trust His promises
Hearts in joyful silence
2001 by Glen Alan Woods
So he says
From behind his stony visage
Awkward loneliness
His companion
A heart cries in silence.
It doesn't matter
So she says
Despite her tattered countenance
Raw emotions
Desecrated peace
A heart cries in silence
It doesn't matter
So they say
With fog their close companion
Cold and penetrating
Overwhelming
Hearts cry in silence
It doesn't matter
So goes the myth
That plagues the thoughts of many
Beleaguered souls
Desperate for help
Hearts cry in silence
It does matter
According to God
Our lives do have meaning
Obey His Word
Trust His promises
Hearts in joyful silence
2001 by Glen Alan Woods
They Know Each Other, Somehow
The old man looks in the young boy's eyes.
The young boy stares back as if to realize
They know each other.
Somehow.
The old man remembers the dreams of old.
The young boy dreams of memories yet on hold.
They know each other.
Somehow.
The old man wonders what's in store for this boy.
The young boy ponders where this man found his joy.
They know each other.
Somehow.
The young boy looks in the old man's eyes.
The old man stares back as he cries.
They know each other.
Somehow.
The old man is a life soon to come.
The young boy is gone now, replaced in sum
By a young man,
Somehow.
The young man remembers the dreams he once had.
He cries at the memories both wonderful and sad.
He dares to dream again.
Somehow.
The young man looks back and then looks forward.
He feels the dreams of the boy behind prod him onward
to the memories that await him.
Somehow.
6 July 2002 by Glen Alan Woods
The young boy stares back as if to realize
They know each other.
Somehow.
The old man remembers the dreams of old.
The young boy dreams of memories yet on hold.
They know each other.
Somehow.
The old man wonders what's in store for this boy.
The young boy ponders where this man found his joy.
They know each other.
Somehow.
The young boy looks in the old man's eyes.
The old man stares back as he cries.
They know each other.
Somehow.
The old man is a life soon to come.
The young boy is gone now, replaced in sum
By a young man,
Somehow.
The young man remembers the dreams he once had.
He cries at the memories both wonderful and sad.
He dares to dream again.
Somehow.
The young man looks back and then looks forward.
He feels the dreams of the boy behind prod him onward
to the memories that await him.
Somehow.
6 July 2002 by Glen Alan Woods
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Weary Muse
Mundane.
Feeling tired.
Wondering if my
Thoughts
Matter,
Or are they
Something less than
That,
Although
My heart knows
The Lord thinks
Differently.
13 February 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Feeling tired.
Wondering if my
Thoughts
Matter,
Or are they
Something less than
That,
Although
My heart knows
The Lord thinks
Differently.
13 February 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Shadows Depart
The day begins
Silent repose
Creative muse
From heart exposed.
When God's light shines
Through my heart's form
Shadows depart
With distant storm.
His presence fills
My life with love,
His forgiveness
Joy from above.
And so I sing
I dance, I pray,
I worship God
Throughout the day.
12 February 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Silent repose
Creative muse
From heart exposed.
When God's light shines
Through my heart's form
Shadows depart
With distant storm.
His presence fills
My life with love,
His forgiveness
Joy from above.
And so I sing
I dance, I pray,
I worship God
Throughout the day.
12 February 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Aesthetic of Discernment
She peered out through window, the blinders parted just enough
For her to see the fading sunlight turn to red.
She sighed at its poignant beauty as she wondered at its cause
Until the snowflakes began meandering from above.
Her heart skipped a beat for a moment; something was amiss
So she reached for the door to take a look outside.
The noise of a distant waterfall assaulted her ears,
But she knew that it did not make any sense.
The volume of the roar, incongruous with the snow,
Caused her to turn around and smell the towering flames.
The ashes fell upon her as the inferno soared above.
The poignant beauty consuming all in its wake.
She ran away with haste, tears pouring down her face
In gratitude for her survival from the flames.
Thankful for being curious, she learned perceptions can deceive.
So she determined to nurture the aesthetic of discernment.
February 8, 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
For her to see the fading sunlight turn to red.
She sighed at its poignant beauty as she wondered at its cause
Until the snowflakes began meandering from above.
Her heart skipped a beat for a moment; something was amiss
So she reached for the door to take a look outside.
The noise of a distant waterfall assaulted her ears,
But she knew that it did not make any sense.
The volume of the roar, incongruous with the snow,
Caused her to turn around and smell the towering flames.
The ashes fell upon her as the inferno soared above.
The poignant beauty consuming all in its wake.
She ran away with haste, tears pouring down her face
In gratitude for her survival from the flames.
Thankful for being curious, she learned perceptions can deceive.
So she determined to nurture the aesthetic of discernment.
February 8, 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Faded Flower in the Margins
The faded flower tilts t'ward the sun,
A distant bloom at the edge of the road.
Dust covered petals find shelter in weeds,
Their fragrance masked by exhaust and oil.
Passerby ignore their estate,
With attention placed on manicured lawns.
Careless heels trample the flower,
While weeds survive, weeping the loss.
6 February 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
A distant bloom at the edge of the road.
Dust covered petals find shelter in weeds,
Their fragrance masked by exhaust and oil.
Passerby ignore their estate,
With attention placed on manicured lawns.
Careless heels trample the flower,
While weeds survive, weeping the loss.
6 February 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Where Do I Turn?
Where do I turn when my heart has been broken?
To whom do I run when chaos threatens to shake?
My hope is in Christ, my holy redeemer.
In Jesus I trust when the foundations quake.
January 24, 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
To whom do I run when chaos threatens to shake?
My hope is in Christ, my holy redeemer.
In Jesus I trust when the foundations quake.
January 24, 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Mist and Shadow
The bell tolls.
The crowd presses in.
The whistle blows
Like a siren in a wasteland.
The fog curls
Around her ankles.
The steam billows
From the stack of the train.
Frozen still
Like a photo capture
The moment holds
With clear memory.
In the city
Where hearts oft are left.
San Francisco,
Awash in mist and shadow
She sees him.
He sees her too.
Home from the war
Her father she barely knew.
Tall and handsome
Briliant inventor.
He had run off
To a war far away.
In silence
of the station's energy
Their eyes meet.
Then in the mist he is gone.
Alone now.
The train starts to move.
Never again
Will they meet this side of heav'n.
January 23, 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Written about my mother concerning the final time she saw her dad. He had left the family when she was a little girl. She was orphaned at the age of twelve when her mother died of tuberculosis. She had been raised in Long Beach, California. She saw him as a young woman in her 20's in San Francisco. It was an unexpected encounter, one she will never forget. He is now buried in the military cemetary in San Francisco. I have seen his grave.
The crowd presses in.
The whistle blows
Like a siren in a wasteland.
The fog curls
Around her ankles.
The steam billows
From the stack of the train.
Frozen still
Like a photo capture
The moment holds
With clear memory.
In the city
Where hearts oft are left.
San Francisco,
Awash in mist and shadow
She sees him.
He sees her too.
Home from the war
Her father she barely knew.
Tall and handsome
Briliant inventor.
He had run off
To a war far away.
In silence
of the station's energy
Their eyes meet.
Then in the mist he is gone.
Alone now.
The train starts to move.
Never again
Will they meet this side of heav'n.
January 23, 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Written about my mother concerning the final time she saw her dad. He had left the family when she was a little girl. She was orphaned at the age of twelve when her mother died of tuberculosis. She had been raised in Long Beach, California. She saw him as a young woman in her 20's in San Francisco. It was an unexpected encounter, one she will never forget. He is now buried in the military cemetary in San Francisco. I have seen his grave.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Rewrite
Torn from the pages of a book crafted long ago,
Words separated from their peers now search for home.
Sad yet hopeful for an outcome full of joyful news,
They begin their voyage for that place which once was known.
Myriad permutations of possibility,
Like trade winds from the east, propel their journey.
As dew forming silently on newly blossomed rose petals,
The words coalesce once again on new pages vibrantly.
January 24, 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Words separated from their peers now search for home.
Sad yet hopeful for an outcome full of joyful news,
They begin their voyage for that place which once was known.
Myriad permutations of possibility,
Like trade winds from the east, propel their journey.
As dew forming silently on newly blossomed rose petals,
The words coalesce once again on new pages vibrantly.
January 24, 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Saturday, January 06, 2007
A Fable of A Town That Needed Jesus
On the margins of the carnival beyond the view of revelers a silent figure entered on the breeze. Cloaked in mediocrity the figure blended like shade to night with no one watching but the distant trees. He surveyed the scene. Then quietly he walked with casual purpose into the crowds, their attention focused anywhere but on the face of this interlocutor invading their midst, camouflaged by the ordinariness reflected in their own lives. He was one of them, or so they assumed.
Nondescript in his jeans and t-shirt underneath a blue windbreaker, he mingled among the jostling sea of humanity. They mostly ignored him. To many of them he was a nobody, no one worth considering. Their concerns focused more with the performers, the games, the rides, the sights and sounds, and especially their friends. He was just an ordinary individual, not worthy of their attention in the midst of all the celebratory action surrounding them.
But to him, they were important. Silently he prayed for them. He smiled at the few who made eye contact with him, but they turned away quickly. He prayed anyway, asking God to bless them and make himself known to them. His physical appearance was quite ordinary. A mop of sandy brown hair, not terribly well cut, attempted to fend off the receding hairline. Hints of scars betrayed the marks of lost battles with youthful acne. Deep set eyes hid underneath a forehead scarred by a childhood accident.
He wondered at the lostness of so many in this group. Their attention to fashion and the newest electronic gadgetry as badges of social importance were not lost on him. Sad. He prayed all the more, intermingling his intercession with worship to the Lord God whose presence he felt. Strolling through the walkways he noted the many booths striving to call for his attention. Darts, football throws, games of chance, bumper cars, face painting, food booths, fortune telling, the local radio station blaring country music's latest hits, basketball toss, ring toss, miniature roller coaster, hammer head, ferris wheel, planned parenthood with their free jar of condoms and dubious advice, livestock petting zoo, art displays, live action shows, and so on.
Frustrated at his inability to start a conversation, as had been his hope, he pondered how he can impact those around him with the gospel of Jesus Christ. He lamented his shyness. And then he noticed, in the distance, the carnival worker trying to pick up all the refuse thrown to the ground by the crowds. An idea formed in his mind. Walking up to the employee, he asked for a pair of plastic throw away gloves, like the worker was wearing. The elderly woman looked at him, shrugged, and pulled out a pair from her coat pocket. He put on the gloves and then set out to help her in cleaning up the garbage. She looked at him in shock. And then smiled. She had not smiled since her husband died last year, leaving her to fend for herself. And so together they worked at the overwhelming task of cleaning up the garbage.
They did not speak. They simply worked in silence. He, in his shy but sincere earnestness. She, with a smile she had forgotten was possible in the midst of her personal heartache and loneliness. As they worked together, a group of five people in the crowd noticed the man's gesture. As regulars at the carnival they knew of the woman's personal tragedy. They looked at each other. Tears formed in their eyes. Despite the piercings in their faces and their goth clothing, they cared about the woman. She was the only one who never gave them grief for how they looked. And now this stranger, the one they thought looked like a goofball and whom they had laughed at after he had passed by them, was helping someone they respected. And he made her smile, something they had never been able to do since her husband's death.
So they did the only logical thing. They joined in to help with the clean up. Shoulder to shoulder, they worked with the young man and the elderly carnival employee, picking up the garbage, some of which they themselves had thrown aside in their laziness. This gesture by the punk rockers did not go unnoticed. A group of ten high school cowboys, normally enemies of the punk rockers, saw them go to help the strange man and the female worker. They respected her. She had always been honest with them about right and wrong. And now the punkers and goths were helping her while they stood there wondering what to do. "Well if they can do it, so can we," they said to each other. With tears shielded by hats pulled low they came along side the growing group and began to help.
And so it was that the carnival transformed from revelry to mass cleanup within a space of an evening. As the crowds noticed the gesture of the goths and cowboys and various other sub groups, they also pitched in. The only person who was angry about the entire turn of events was the midway supervisor, who lamented the loss of revenue. By day he worked as the town mayor and Chief of Police, but by night he moonlighted at the normally profitable carnival. Yet his anger was short lived when he saw his mother smiling for the first time since dad had died. He began to cry, his weathered face melting with tears of gratitude for whatever had caused his mother to experience a newfound joy in life. In the midst of the crowds, who by now had all agreed to pitch in to clean up their long neglected carnival grounds, the elderly woman stood with the strange man. The midway supervisor rushed to her, and hugged her tightly. He then pulled back, and looked with curiosity at the young man, who seemed to blush shyly under the scrutiny of not only a person of his stature in the community, but also the entire crowd.
"Why did you help her?" he asked. His tone was not accusing, merely curious. The man replied, "Because she seemed sad and there was so much work to be done. But also because I want to follow the example of Jesus Christ in loving others even when they do not love me." The crowd murmured at his words uncomfortably. As the Mayor and Chief of Police began to take exception, his mother placed her hand on his arm, silencing him. And then the leader of the goths and the leader of the cowboys stepped forward together, their respective groups following closely behind. "You have helped us see the pettiness of our long held struggle against each other. Could you please tell us more about this Jesus?"
And so he did, in his own simple way, with the woman whom they all respected at his side. He told them of the hope that is in Jesus and the free gift that is offered to them, just as he had freely offered to help the woman clean the grounds.
The carnival was never the same again. Nor the town. Nor the many families who were impacted that night. The woman died later that week, having professed faith in Jesus Christ, starting a flood of others bowing their knee to Jesus Christ in the midst of the carnival grounds.
The Planned Parenthood group gave notice that they could not in good conscience participate in this carnival ever again. Evidently the workers attending the booth had abandoned it to give their hearts to Christ as well.
The fortune teller ran off the grounds screaming and cursing as they began to pray to accept Christ as Savior. Her booth was immediately taken down. She died in an auto accident on her way home. The town wept.
The goths and cowboys began to meet together for Bible study. They formed a church under the leadership of the young man. While there still remains hostility among other goths and cowboys in the town, the fledgling church is growing rapidly and addressing the problem issues of gang warfare between the groups head on.
The young man paused one evening to reflect on the events of the past several months, "And now I know why I decided to go to the fair, rather than maintain my customary prayer vigil at home away from the crowds. God had a work to do in me, as well as this town. So what now, Lord?"
Nondescript in his jeans and t-shirt underneath a blue windbreaker, he mingled among the jostling sea of humanity. They mostly ignored him. To many of them he was a nobody, no one worth considering. Their concerns focused more with the performers, the games, the rides, the sights and sounds, and especially their friends. He was just an ordinary individual, not worthy of their attention in the midst of all the celebratory action surrounding them.
But to him, they were important. Silently he prayed for them. He smiled at the few who made eye contact with him, but they turned away quickly. He prayed anyway, asking God to bless them and make himself known to them. His physical appearance was quite ordinary. A mop of sandy brown hair, not terribly well cut, attempted to fend off the receding hairline. Hints of scars betrayed the marks of lost battles with youthful acne. Deep set eyes hid underneath a forehead scarred by a childhood accident.
He wondered at the lostness of so many in this group. Their attention to fashion and the newest electronic gadgetry as badges of social importance were not lost on him. Sad. He prayed all the more, intermingling his intercession with worship to the Lord God whose presence he felt. Strolling through the walkways he noted the many booths striving to call for his attention. Darts, football throws, games of chance, bumper cars, face painting, food booths, fortune telling, the local radio station blaring country music's latest hits, basketball toss, ring toss, miniature roller coaster, hammer head, ferris wheel, planned parenthood with their free jar of condoms and dubious advice, livestock petting zoo, art displays, live action shows, and so on.
Frustrated at his inability to start a conversation, as had been his hope, he pondered how he can impact those around him with the gospel of Jesus Christ. He lamented his shyness. And then he noticed, in the distance, the carnival worker trying to pick up all the refuse thrown to the ground by the crowds. An idea formed in his mind. Walking up to the employee, he asked for a pair of plastic throw away gloves, like the worker was wearing. The elderly woman looked at him, shrugged, and pulled out a pair from her coat pocket. He put on the gloves and then set out to help her in cleaning up the garbage. She looked at him in shock. And then smiled. She had not smiled since her husband died last year, leaving her to fend for herself. And so together they worked at the overwhelming task of cleaning up the garbage.
They did not speak. They simply worked in silence. He, in his shy but sincere earnestness. She, with a smile she had forgotten was possible in the midst of her personal heartache and loneliness. As they worked together, a group of five people in the crowd noticed the man's gesture. As regulars at the carnival they knew of the woman's personal tragedy. They looked at each other. Tears formed in their eyes. Despite the piercings in their faces and their goth clothing, they cared about the woman. She was the only one who never gave them grief for how they looked. And now this stranger, the one they thought looked like a goofball and whom they had laughed at after he had passed by them, was helping someone they respected. And he made her smile, something they had never been able to do since her husband's death.
So they did the only logical thing. They joined in to help with the clean up. Shoulder to shoulder, they worked with the young man and the elderly carnival employee, picking up the garbage, some of which they themselves had thrown aside in their laziness. This gesture by the punk rockers did not go unnoticed. A group of ten high school cowboys, normally enemies of the punk rockers, saw them go to help the strange man and the female worker. They respected her. She had always been honest with them about right and wrong. And now the punkers and goths were helping her while they stood there wondering what to do. "Well if they can do it, so can we," they said to each other. With tears shielded by hats pulled low they came along side the growing group and began to help.
And so it was that the carnival transformed from revelry to mass cleanup within a space of an evening. As the crowds noticed the gesture of the goths and cowboys and various other sub groups, they also pitched in. The only person who was angry about the entire turn of events was the midway supervisor, who lamented the loss of revenue. By day he worked as the town mayor and Chief of Police, but by night he moonlighted at the normally profitable carnival. Yet his anger was short lived when he saw his mother smiling for the first time since dad had died. He began to cry, his weathered face melting with tears of gratitude for whatever had caused his mother to experience a newfound joy in life. In the midst of the crowds, who by now had all agreed to pitch in to clean up their long neglected carnival grounds, the elderly woman stood with the strange man. The midway supervisor rushed to her, and hugged her tightly. He then pulled back, and looked with curiosity at the young man, who seemed to blush shyly under the scrutiny of not only a person of his stature in the community, but also the entire crowd.
"Why did you help her?" he asked. His tone was not accusing, merely curious. The man replied, "Because she seemed sad and there was so much work to be done. But also because I want to follow the example of Jesus Christ in loving others even when they do not love me." The crowd murmured at his words uncomfortably. As the Mayor and Chief of Police began to take exception, his mother placed her hand on his arm, silencing him. And then the leader of the goths and the leader of the cowboys stepped forward together, their respective groups following closely behind. "You have helped us see the pettiness of our long held struggle against each other. Could you please tell us more about this Jesus?"
And so he did, in his own simple way, with the woman whom they all respected at his side. He told them of the hope that is in Jesus and the free gift that is offered to them, just as he had freely offered to help the woman clean the grounds.
The carnival was never the same again. Nor the town. Nor the many families who were impacted that night. The woman died later that week, having professed faith in Jesus Christ, starting a flood of others bowing their knee to Jesus Christ in the midst of the carnival grounds.
The Planned Parenthood group gave notice that they could not in good conscience participate in this carnival ever again. Evidently the workers attending the booth had abandoned it to give their hearts to Christ as well.
The fortune teller ran off the grounds screaming and cursing as they began to pray to accept Christ as Savior. Her booth was immediately taken down. She died in an auto accident on her way home. The town wept.
The goths and cowboys began to meet together for Bible study. They formed a church under the leadership of the young man. While there still remains hostility among other goths and cowboys in the town, the fledgling church is growing rapidly and addressing the problem issues of gang warfare between the groups head on.
The young man paused one evening to reflect on the events of the past several months, "And now I know why I decided to go to the fair, rather than maintain my customary prayer vigil at home away from the crowds. God had a work to do in me, as well as this town. So what now, Lord?"
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
A Letter to the Man I will Become
Dear Glen,
At this writing I am a young man, just launching into the uncharted domain of middle age. So I wanted to write a letter to the man I will become from the person I now am. Odd, isn't it? This isn't a poem, really. But there is a certain poetic flavor to reaching into the future to the person I hope to be in old age. I pray this letter finds you strong in the Lord. I have so many questions for you, mysteries that baffle me now, but which to you must seem quite clear by comparison.
I wonder, are you still ministering to the littlest ones in the faith, the children and their families? Does their laughter still cause your heart to soar? Do you still take delight in serving them? In the late hours of the night do you place your hands on the globe as you did in your youth to pray for the nations and hurting of the world? Do you weep for those who are marginalized? Have you learned to set aside your own needs so that you may meet the needs of others? Have you truly learned the pay the price of discipleship?
You may recall the struggles I now face. This sense of openness which has surfaced in recent years has been hard for so many reasons. Do you remember? Do you remember how you felt when the first forays into transparency were met with harsh criticism, even vindictive gossip, from church people? Do you remember the disillusionment, the temptation to check out altogether? Do you remember the struggle to emerge from shyness into mature godly confidence? God used many people to help in that journey. I wonder, who will God use in the days leading up to your reading of this letter? And whom will you influence?
Glen, never forget the Scipture you were raised on, "Count it all joy when you experience many kinds of trials, knowing this that the testing of your faith works patience." I know that growing old will bring new challenges while also possibly setting current ones aside. I wonder, are you poised to finish well? Am I? As you look back, can you see a pattern of conduct that honors the Lord? Will this life we lead, young and old, make a difference for others in eternity?
I am going to press on toward the mark of my high calling in Jesus Christ, Glen. The cross I now carry was given by the Lord. You remember that morning, yes? You remember screaming with all your heart, "I want the cross!" You said that because you understood it was the cross ordained for you by the Lord.
The veil of time that separates us is fast evaporating with each heart beat. Soon we will meet personally as this letter calls to your memory the young man you once were, the person I now am. Have patience, Glen. By God's grace I will do my best to remain faithful to the end, not for reasons of vanity, but so that when God calls you before his face in his throne room, you will have the privilege of hearing, "Well done, good and faithful servant." And then, the tears you now cry will be wiped away by the Lord Jesus Christ, himself.
At this writing I am a young man, just launching into the uncharted domain of middle age. So I wanted to write a letter to the man I will become from the person I now am. Odd, isn't it? This isn't a poem, really. But there is a certain poetic flavor to reaching into the future to the person I hope to be in old age. I pray this letter finds you strong in the Lord. I have so many questions for you, mysteries that baffle me now, but which to you must seem quite clear by comparison.
I wonder, are you still ministering to the littlest ones in the faith, the children and their families? Does their laughter still cause your heart to soar? Do you still take delight in serving them? In the late hours of the night do you place your hands on the globe as you did in your youth to pray for the nations and hurting of the world? Do you weep for those who are marginalized? Have you learned to set aside your own needs so that you may meet the needs of others? Have you truly learned the pay the price of discipleship?
You may recall the struggles I now face. This sense of openness which has surfaced in recent years has been hard for so many reasons. Do you remember? Do you remember how you felt when the first forays into transparency were met with harsh criticism, even vindictive gossip, from church people? Do you remember the disillusionment, the temptation to check out altogether? Do you remember the struggle to emerge from shyness into mature godly confidence? God used many people to help in that journey. I wonder, who will God use in the days leading up to your reading of this letter? And whom will you influence?
Glen, never forget the Scipture you were raised on, "Count it all joy when you experience many kinds of trials, knowing this that the testing of your faith works patience." I know that growing old will bring new challenges while also possibly setting current ones aside. I wonder, are you poised to finish well? Am I? As you look back, can you see a pattern of conduct that honors the Lord? Will this life we lead, young and old, make a difference for others in eternity?
I am going to press on toward the mark of my high calling in Jesus Christ, Glen. The cross I now carry was given by the Lord. You remember that morning, yes? You remember screaming with all your heart, "I want the cross!" You said that because you understood it was the cross ordained for you by the Lord.
The veil of time that separates us is fast evaporating with each heart beat. Soon we will meet personally as this letter calls to your memory the young man you once were, the person I now am. Have patience, Glen. By God's grace I will do my best to remain faithful to the end, not for reasons of vanity, but so that when God calls you before his face in his throne room, you will have the privilege of hearing, "Well done, good and faithful servant." And then, the tears you now cry will be wiped away by the Lord Jesus Christ, himself.
Monday, December 25, 2006
Writing From the Heart
From the ashes of my heart
Chosen words flow from my pen.
What once was broken is now refashioned,
With love creating works of art.
25 December 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Chosen words flow from my pen.
What once was broken is now refashioned,
With love creating works of art.
25 December 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
The Quiet Song
The quiet song within my heart,
Out from the margins tenderly,
Traces the contours of the grief I feel.
Born from a place hid deep below
The surface of my countenance,
A veil of tears churns like a potter's wheel.
The song expresses love for the people in my life--
For family, friends and enemies too.
The veil of tears wells up in sudden episodes of pain
As my restless heart considers love and loss.
Like whispered echoes from the past
The song evokes strong memories
Of gentle words uttered in time of need.
"Do not lose sight of heaven's hope,
Nor forget God's presence here,
But trust that he will heal and lead."
The song expresses love in the Lord God above--
For who he is and what he's done for us.
The veil of tears wells up again like healing spring rain
As my heart is renewed on the potter's wheel.
20 December 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Out from the margins tenderly,
Traces the contours of the grief I feel.
Born from a place hid deep below
The surface of my countenance,
A veil of tears churns like a potter's wheel.
The song expresses love for the people in my life--
For family, friends and enemies too.
The veil of tears wells up in sudden episodes of pain
As my restless heart considers love and loss.
Like whispered echoes from the past
The song evokes strong memories
Of gentle words uttered in time of need.
"Do not lose sight of heaven's hope,
Nor forget God's presence here,
But trust that he will heal and lead."
The song expresses love in the Lord God above--
For who he is and what he's done for us.
The veil of tears wells up again like healing spring rain
As my heart is renewed on the potter's wheel.
20 December 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Jaclynn's Angel
Jesus watched over you all the days of your life,
Having formed you in your mother's womb.
He knows the joy you brought to your family,
Your tender hugs and smiles from them you learned.
Jesus rejoiced in your kindness which you freely shared with all,
Even those whose hearts were hard and cold.
He heard your quiet prayers for your family.
The Lord will always be with them through the years.
The night I came for you, as a gentle whispering breeze,
I took you in my arms and held you close.
I laid your head against me with tenderness and care.
It was time to bring you home from your sojourn.
As I whispered in your ear you awoke in wondrous awe.
Before the throne of God you now were found.
The angels of heaven rejoiced at your homecoming
While you danced and sang before the Lord.
Looking back I could see the Spirit of the Lord
Dispatching angels of comfort and protection.
Around the family a vanguard of silent sentries
Stand watch as the Lord binds up their wounds.
Jaclynn's Angel
By Glen Alan Woods 17 December 2006
Written in memory of Jaclynn, a nine year old girl who died sometime late Wednesday night in her sleep of a virus which stopped her heart. Her memory will ever live on in mine.
Having formed you in your mother's womb.
He knows the joy you brought to your family,
Your tender hugs and smiles from them you learned.
Jesus rejoiced in your kindness which you freely shared with all,
Even those whose hearts were hard and cold.
He heard your quiet prayers for your family.
The Lord will always be with them through the years.
The night I came for you, as a gentle whispering breeze,
I took you in my arms and held you close.
I laid your head against me with tenderness and care.
It was time to bring you home from your sojourn.
As I whispered in your ear you awoke in wondrous awe.
Before the throne of God you now were found.
The angels of heaven rejoiced at your homecoming
While you danced and sang before the Lord.
Looking back I could see the Spirit of the Lord
Dispatching angels of comfort and protection.
Around the family a vanguard of silent sentries
Stand watch as the Lord binds up their wounds.
Jaclynn's Angel
By Glen Alan Woods 17 December 2006
Written in memory of Jaclynn, a nine year old girl who died sometime late Wednesday night in her sleep of a virus which stopped her heart. Her memory will ever live on in mine.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Beyond the Veil
Through darkest night, driving alone
With silent thoughts, I'm heading home.
The radio, in haunting tones,
Transports my heart where I can roam
Beyond the veil of broken dreams
My heart soars high on eagle's wings
Imagining forgotten themes
Of childhood hopes scattered like seeds.
Poetic songs enscribed like rain,
Planted in love despite the pain,
Spring forth in joy, free from all shame,
Escaping hurts of shadow's bane.
Cacophony enshrouds my car
With wind and rain sent from afar.
Yet beauty reigns within my heart,
Creative dreams, no longer charred.
12 December 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
With silent thoughts, I'm heading home.
The radio, in haunting tones,
Transports my heart where I can roam
Beyond the veil of broken dreams
My heart soars high on eagle's wings
Imagining forgotten themes
Of childhood hopes scattered like seeds.
Poetic songs enscribed like rain,
Planted in love despite the pain,
Spring forth in joy, free from all shame,
Escaping hurts of shadow's bane.
Cacophony enshrouds my car
With wind and rain sent from afar.
Yet beauty reigns within my heart,
Creative dreams, no longer charred.
12 December 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Friday, December 01, 2006
In Shadows
Last light is forgotten,
Cast in shadows of gray fog.
Muted horns and distant sirens,
Chase one shameless vagrant car.
Thin wisps of chimney smoke
Rise slowly across the town.
Alley cats and vagabonds
Ply their trades before the dawn.
By Glen Alan Woods, December 1, 2006
Cast in shadows of gray fog.
Muted horns and distant sirens,
Chase one shameless vagrant car.
Thin wisps of chimney smoke
Rise slowly across the town.
Alley cats and vagabonds
Ply their trades before the dawn.
By Glen Alan Woods, December 1, 2006
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
One Poem
One song remains unsung within my heart as to the fields beyond I look out the window.
One poem hides deep behind the veil of silent musing, watching for the lifting of the shadow.
One dance descends yet unfulfilled as rain clouds burst accompanied by the distant radio.
One story wanting to be told embraces hope while struggling with past scars not yet made whole.
By Glen Alan Woods November, 2006
One poem hides deep behind the veil of silent musing, watching for the lifting of the shadow.
One dance descends yet unfulfilled as rain clouds burst accompanied by the distant radio.
One story wanting to be told embraces hope while struggling with past scars not yet made whole.
By Glen Alan Woods November, 2006
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
The Panhandler
Wistful hunger
Silent shame
Careworn wrinkles
What's your name?
Standing quiet
Passersby
Painful chiding
Knowing eyes.
Weathered features
Stares so rude
Cardboard signage
Work for food.
Fakers flourish
Real needs die
People bemused
I must try.
Hope is fading
Heart heavy
Cold front arrives
Rich hurry.
Slouch in doorway
Numbing sleep
Paper blanket
Please help me?
Copyright October, 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Written out of prayerful and practical concern of the thousands in the Portland metropolitan area who struggle to survive everyday in the harsh realities of homeless life.
Silent shame
Careworn wrinkles
What's your name?
Standing quiet
Passersby
Painful chiding
Knowing eyes.
Weathered features
Stares so rude
Cardboard signage
Work for food.
Fakers flourish
Real needs die
People bemused
I must try.
Hope is fading
Heart heavy
Cold front arrives
Rich hurry.
Slouch in doorway
Numbing sleep
Paper blanket
Please help me?
Copyright October, 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Written out of prayerful and practical concern of the thousands in the Portland metropolitan area who struggle to survive everyday in the harsh realities of homeless life.
Monday, September 11, 2006
They've Gone to War
Little child, your daddy's gone to war
To do a job so terror is no more.
He misses you more than words can say.
You're on his mind all throughout the day.
Little child, your mommy's overseas,
Working hard to bring terror to its knees.
She longs to hold you in her arms again.
You're on her mind even when ashes rain.
Little child, your brother's joined the battle
Against a foe whose heart's a saber's rattle.
He loves you more than he thought possible.
When danger lurks your prayers help him through trouble.
Little child, your sister's in harms way
In distant lands where hatred holds sway.
The imprint of your kisses on her cheek
Give her strength even when she feels weak.
Little child, although they are gone
They long to return where you can be as one
Family, full of joy and love,
Together again with blessings from above.
September 11, 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
To do a job so terror is no more.
He misses you more than words can say.
You're on his mind all throughout the day.
Little child, your mommy's overseas,
Working hard to bring terror to its knees.
She longs to hold you in her arms again.
You're on her mind even when ashes rain.
Little child, your brother's joined the battle
Against a foe whose heart's a saber's rattle.
He loves you more than he thought possible.
When danger lurks your prayers help him through trouble.
Little child, your sister's in harms way
In distant lands where hatred holds sway.
The imprint of your kisses on her cheek
Give her strength even when she feels weak.
Little child, although they are gone
They long to return where you can be as one
Family, full of joy and love,
Together again with blessings from above.
September 11, 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Never Forget
In the waking hour
Images filter through
Past the fog of sleep
Into reality.
Two towers destroyed.
Innocents snuffed out.
Heros sacrifice.
Love, duty and honor
Emerge
From the ashes
Of terror's bane.
In retrospect
Memories filter through
Past the fog of war
Into reality.
We will never forget.
We will fight for liberty.
We will pursue the foe
To the ends of the earth.
September 11, 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Images filter through
Past the fog of sleep
Into reality.
Two towers destroyed.
Innocents snuffed out.
Heros sacrifice.
Love, duty and honor
Emerge
From the ashes
Of terror's bane.
In retrospect
Memories filter through
Past the fog of war
Into reality.
We will never forget.
We will fight for liberty.
We will pursue the foe
To the ends of the earth.
September 11, 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Summertime Muse
The summer sun beats on his back.
The beads of sweat pebble his brow
As he walks along the tracks,
Exchanging knowing stares with cows.
The distant calls of pheasant mark
Sudden gunshots-insistent barks.
Wheatfields soar in farmer's delight
While combines harvest until last light.
Filbert orchards form their rows,
Filtering external glow.
Mysterious shadows in twilight dance,
Repelling the sun's advance.
Shifting gravel beneath his soles
Explain his jeans with knee-worn holes.
With eyes fixed on the path ahead,
His ears are tuned to sounds of dread.
Weariness sets in and claims
The fatigue of hunger's bane.
He rounds a corner and hears the call.
His mom yells out, "Dinnertime! Did you fall?"
August 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
The beads of sweat pebble his brow
As he walks along the tracks,
Exchanging knowing stares with cows.
The distant calls of pheasant mark
Sudden gunshots-insistent barks.
Wheatfields soar in farmer's delight
While combines harvest until last light.
Filbert orchards form their rows,
Filtering external glow.
Mysterious shadows in twilight dance,
Repelling the sun's advance.
Shifting gravel beneath his soles
Explain his jeans with knee-worn holes.
With eyes fixed on the path ahead,
His ears are tuned to sounds of dread.
Weariness sets in and claims
The fatigue of hunger's bane.
He rounds a corner and hears the call.
His mom yells out, "Dinnertime! Did you fall?"
August 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Joy of Family
Simple chimes dance in the wind,
Reverberating high and low.
Comforting harmonies sing,
Melodic in their ebb and flow.
Evoking memories forgotten,
Images return like snow.
Like moments of time just happened,
Their clarity returns, windblown.
Passionate songs in the breeze
Paint images of family lore.
Father and mother and kids
Celebrate the glory of God's love.
August 2006, by Glen Alan Woods
Reverberating high and low.
Comforting harmonies sing,
Melodic in their ebb and flow.
Evoking memories forgotten,
Images return like snow.
Like moments of time just happened,
Their clarity returns, windblown.
Passionate songs in the breeze
Paint images of family lore.
Father and mother and kids
Celebrate the glory of God's love.
August 2006, by Glen Alan Woods
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Remoteness
Beyond the mountain's curvature
The wisps of fog tempt like lures.
Wafting through as tendrils frail
They obscure the broken trail.
Restless trees observe the scene,
Their branches waving in the breeze
While finches flit beyond the veil
Of swirling mist and haunting tales.
Crumbling stones tumble down
The splintered heights of the soaring crown
Which mounts upon the apogee,
The ancient heir of royalty.
August, 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
The wisps of fog tempt like lures.
Wafting through as tendrils frail
They obscure the broken trail.
Restless trees observe the scene,
Their branches waving in the breeze
While finches flit beyond the veil
Of swirling mist and haunting tales.
Crumbling stones tumble down
The splintered heights of the soaring crown
Which mounts upon the apogee,
The ancient heir of royalty.
August, 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Jesus
Jesus
Redeemer, friend.
Eternal Creator.
Savior and Lord.
Jesus
Son of Man.
Suffering Servant
From obscurity made known.
Jesus
Despised among men.
Rejected and tortured.
Crucified in scorn.
Jesus
Lamb that was slain.
Son of God, incarnate.
Immanuel.
Jesus
Bodily risen
Ascended to heaven.
Soon-coming King.
August 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Redeemer, friend.
Eternal Creator.
Savior and Lord.
Jesus
Son of Man.
Suffering Servant
From obscurity made known.
Jesus
Despised among men.
Rejected and tortured.
Crucified in scorn.
Jesus
Lamb that was slain.
Son of God, incarnate.
Immanuel.
Jesus
Bodily risen
Ascended to heaven.
Soon-coming King.
August 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Midnight
The midnight hour hastens
As Joe sits silently.
The lone lightbulb illuminates
Beneath the shadows, long.
The open window welcomes
Ambient cacophony.
Background stillness radiates
Nocturnal ebb and flow.
Undulating whispers
Suggest possibilities.
Yet deeper still there radiates
A longing in his soul.
His spiritual thirst beckons
As a heart parched by neglect.
The Holy Spirit illuminates
As Joe returns to sacred text.
Thankfulness emerges.
His heart sings out in praise.
Adoration fills the night
As incense for the Lord.
August 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
As Joe sits silently.
The lone lightbulb illuminates
Beneath the shadows, long.
The open window welcomes
Ambient cacophony.
Background stillness radiates
Nocturnal ebb and flow.
Undulating whispers
Suggest possibilities.
Yet deeper still there radiates
A longing in his soul.
His spiritual thirst beckons
As a heart parched by neglect.
The Holy Spirit illuminates
As Joe returns to sacred text.
Thankfulness emerges.
His heart sings out in praise.
Adoration fills the night
As incense for the Lord.
August 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Monday, August 14, 2006
Dance of the Chimes
Simple chimes dance in the wind,
Reverberating high and low.
Comforting harmonies grow,
Melodic in their ebb and flow.
Evoking memories thought lost,
Opaque images return like snow.
As fairytales of times once known,
Their clarity fades in the wind, blown.
Passionate songs in the breeze
Paint telltale portraits of family lore.
Revealing threads, yet hiding more,
Heart excavation foreshadows the core.
August 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Reverberating high and low.
Comforting harmonies grow,
Melodic in their ebb and flow.
Evoking memories thought lost,
Opaque images return like snow.
As fairytales of times once known,
Their clarity fades in the wind, blown.
Passionate songs in the breeze
Paint telltale portraits of family lore.
Revealing threads, yet hiding more,
Heart excavation foreshadows the core.
August 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Sacred Moment
Listen and wait
In the early morning
Silence
Before responsibilities
Distract.
Meditate on
The Holy Word of God
As you
Worship Jesus Christ
In Truth.
Extend your hands,
Expressing adoration
Purely
To the Lord God
Above.
Bow down low
Prostrate on the ground
Knowing
God is visiting this place,
Sacred.
August 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
In the early morning
Silence
Before responsibilities
Distract.
Meditate on
The Holy Word of God
As you
Worship Jesus Christ
In Truth.
Extend your hands,
Expressing adoration
Purely
To the Lord God
Above.
Bow down low
Prostrate on the ground
Knowing
God is visiting this place,
Sacred.
August 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Friday, August 11, 2006
Dreams of Gridiron Greatness
A little boy is looking through the fence
At the field beyond
Dreaming.
The flood lights shine on the bright uniforms
As the helmets reflect their
Gleaming.
The dark night sky frames the field in velvet black
As its white lined green
Glistens.
The little boy is wondering how it feels
To run and tackle as he
Listens.
August 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
I have specific vivid memories of standing to the side of a fence at night looking out onto a football field as young men played the game. They looked so huge and moved so fast. I wanted to be able to do that someday. My freshman year in high school, at the encouragement of my brothers, I took the risk and asked the coach if I could play football. Although I was small in those days, they said, "Sure, why not?" In the four years of my football playing career, I lived out the dream of that little boy.
At the field beyond
Dreaming.
The flood lights shine on the bright uniforms
As the helmets reflect their
Gleaming.
The dark night sky frames the field in velvet black
As its white lined green
Glistens.
The little boy is wondering how it feels
To run and tackle as he
Listens.
August 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
I have specific vivid memories of standing to the side of a fence at night looking out onto a football field as young men played the game. They looked so huge and moved so fast. I wanted to be able to do that someday. My freshman year in high school, at the encouragement of my brothers, I took the risk and asked the coach if I could play football. Although I was small in those days, they said, "Sure, why not?" In the four years of my football playing career, I lived out the dream of that little boy.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Listen Quietly
If you listen quietly
You will hear notes on the breeze.
Soft enchanting melodies
Are inviting you to sing.
Close your eyes; stretch out your arms.
Feel the shadows shade the warmth
As the soft clouds paint the sky,
Tracing contours of last light.
Deeper still the colors grow.
Arcs of crimson-orange glow
In a beautiful embrace
Which reflects God's holy grace.
Sing the song that fills your heart.
Put off fear and sing your part.
Stoicism will erode
As you dance before the Lord.
Quietly you stop to kneel.
Deep within your heart you feel
The hand of God nudging you.
Prostrate you fall as you're renewed.
August 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
You will hear notes on the breeze.
Soft enchanting melodies
Are inviting you to sing.
Close your eyes; stretch out your arms.
Feel the shadows shade the warmth
As the soft clouds paint the sky,
Tracing contours of last light.
Deeper still the colors grow.
Arcs of crimson-orange glow
In a beautiful embrace
Which reflects God's holy grace.
Sing the song that fills your heart.
Put off fear and sing your part.
Stoicism will erode
As you dance before the Lord.
Quietly you stop to kneel.
Deep within your heart you feel
The hand of God nudging you.
Prostrate you fall as you're renewed.
August 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Monday, August 07, 2006
Da Rooster Wawk
Ahm gonner bawk!
Ahm gonner tawk!
Ahm gonner wiggle while Ah wawk!
So look at me!
Don't ya see?
Ahm so full ob dignity!
Wid mah head
Held up high
I can fluttah at da sky!
Coz ahm a roostah!
Ahm a croonstah!
Ah know ya wanner be like me!
So wawk like me! Uh huh.
So tawk like me! Uh huh.
So bawk like me! Uh huh. Oh ya!
August 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
The preceding is an approximate rendering of the theme song for the "Ahm ah Roostah" benefit concert held at the local farm in honor of the roosters who lay down their lives protecting hens so that you and I can enjoy our favorite Double A eggs each and every week. If you would like to contribute a small gesture of solidarity with these noble roosters please stick your head out of your window or door right now and holler the following....Wait! Before you do, make sure people are there to hear you. Ok, ready? Holler the following: "Cockadoodledoo!" :D
Ahm gonner tawk!
Ahm gonner wiggle while Ah wawk!
So look at me!
Don't ya see?
Ahm so full ob dignity!
Wid mah head
Held up high
I can fluttah at da sky!
Coz ahm a roostah!
Ahm a croonstah!
Ah know ya wanner be like me!
So wawk like me! Uh huh.
So tawk like me! Uh huh.
So bawk like me! Uh huh. Oh ya!
August 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
The preceding is an approximate rendering of the theme song for the "Ahm ah Roostah" benefit concert held at the local farm in honor of the roosters who lay down their lives protecting hens so that you and I can enjoy our favorite Double A eggs each and every week. If you would like to contribute a small gesture of solidarity with these noble roosters please stick your head out of your window or door right now and holler the following....Wait! Before you do, make sure people are there to hear you. Ok, ready? Holler the following: "Cockadoodledoo!" :D
Thursday, August 03, 2006
A Day in the Life of a Puppy
Ahm lookin' high!
Ahm lookin' low!
Chasin' muh tail,
Around I go!
Around, around, around, around, around!
Whereva it leads I go!
Ahm barkin' here!
Ahm barkin' there!
Sniffin' da air
And ev'rywhere!
Around, around, around, around, around!
Whereva it leads I go!
Ahm pantin' here!
Ahm pantin' there!
Twitchin' muh ears
At what I hear!
Around, around, around, around, around!
Whereva it leads I go!
Ahm fetchin' here!
Ahm fetchin' there!
Waggin' muh tail
Fer quite a spell!
Around, around, around, around, around!
Whereva it leads I go!
August 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Note: No puppies or their handlers were hurt in the making of this poem. An external audit by the independent review firm Bowser, Bowser and Pooky revealed a five star adherence to the standard code of puppy care. A copy of this report may be acquired by writing one yourself. *Psst, insert laughter here.
Ahm lookin' low!
Chasin' muh tail,
Around I go!
Around, around, around, around, around!
Whereva it leads I go!
Ahm barkin' here!
Ahm barkin' there!
Sniffin' da air
And ev'rywhere!
Around, around, around, around, around!
Whereva it leads I go!
Ahm pantin' here!
Ahm pantin' there!
Twitchin' muh ears
At what I hear!
Around, around, around, around, around!
Whereva it leads I go!
Ahm fetchin' here!
Ahm fetchin' there!
Waggin' muh tail
Fer quite a spell!
Around, around, around, around, around!
Whereva it leads I go!
August 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Note: No puppies or their handlers were hurt in the making of this poem. An external audit by the independent review firm Bowser, Bowser and Pooky revealed a five star adherence to the standard code of puppy care. A copy of this report may be acquired by writing one yourself. *Psst, insert laughter here.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Where Have They Gone?
Where have they gone,
The children full of play?
Has death and war
Chased them away?
The empty streets stare
At one last little boy
On his tricycle
Searching for his toy.
His mommy died
Protecting him from bombs.
His daddy too,
Holding mommy in his arms.
They cried out
To the Father God above,
Pressed into silence
Through their final act of love.
The little boy
Finally finds his toy,
A teddy bear,
His broken source of joy.
The empty streets stare
At one last little boy
On his tricycle
Crying with his toy.
His prayers ascend
To the Father God above.
His muffled sobs
appealing to God's love.
Where have they gone,
The children full of play?
Has death and war
Chased them away?
August 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
The children full of play?
Has death and war
Chased them away?
The empty streets stare
At one last little boy
On his tricycle
Searching for his toy.
His mommy died
Protecting him from bombs.
His daddy too,
Holding mommy in his arms.
They cried out
To the Father God above,
Pressed into silence
Through their final act of love.
The little boy
Finally finds his toy,
A teddy bear,
His broken source of joy.
The empty streets stare
At one last little boy
On his tricycle
Crying with his toy.
His prayers ascend
To the Father God above.
His muffled sobs
appealing to God's love.
Where have they gone,
The children full of play?
Has death and war
Chased them away?
August 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
The Lord Jesus Christ
In the beginning he created all things!
The Lord Jesus Christ.
He is the Messiah and our Redeemer!
The Lord Jesus Christ.
Foretold by the prophets, he was born of the virgin!
The Lord Jesus Christ.
Fully human and fully divine!
The Lord Jesus Christ.
Tempted like us but without any sin!
The Lord Jesus Christ.
In all things he did the Father's will!
The Lord Jesus Christ.
He suffered and died; for our sins was crucified!
The Lord Jesus Christ.
Buried three days, he rose from the tomb!
The Lord Jesus Christ.
He was seen by many and then ascended to heaven!
The Lord Jesus Christ.
He is our Great High Priest at the Father's right hand!
The Lord Jesus Christ.
He is preparing our home and then he's coming again!
The Lord Jesus Christ.
He's the Alpha and Omega, beginning and end!
The Lord Jesus Christ.
Every knee shall bow. We will confess he is Lord!
The Lord Jesus Christ.
August 2006, by Glen Alan Woods
The Lord Jesus Christ.
He is the Messiah and our Redeemer!
The Lord Jesus Christ.
Foretold by the prophets, he was born of the virgin!
The Lord Jesus Christ.
Fully human and fully divine!
The Lord Jesus Christ.
Tempted like us but without any sin!
The Lord Jesus Christ.
In all things he did the Father's will!
The Lord Jesus Christ.
He suffered and died; for our sins was crucified!
The Lord Jesus Christ.
Buried three days, he rose from the tomb!
The Lord Jesus Christ.
He was seen by many and then ascended to heaven!
The Lord Jesus Christ.
He is our Great High Priest at the Father's right hand!
The Lord Jesus Christ.
He is preparing our home and then he's coming again!
The Lord Jesus Christ.
He's the Alpha and Omega, beginning and end!
The Lord Jesus Christ.
Every knee shall bow. We will confess he is Lord!
The Lord Jesus Christ.
August 2006, by Glen Alan Woods
One Goofy Clown
One goofy clown
With a frown turned
Upside down
Holds the balloon
Full of water as he
Spins around.
Giggles and guffaws
From the crowd make
Him fall down.
The balloon lands
On his frown turned
Upside down.
August 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
With a frown turned
Upside down
Holds the balloon
Full of water as he
Spins around.
Giggles and guffaws
From the crowd make
Him fall down.
The balloon lands
On his frown turned
Upside down.
August 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Sunday, July 30, 2006
The Gnarled Tree
The children gather 'round the gnarled tree.
Its branches splinter
As they giggle with glee.
The aged tree soars into the sky.
'Round its perimeter
Kids dance until last light.
When dawn meets the horizon a hush fills the air.
The children rush out--
The tree is not there!
Confusion and dismay fills their tender hearts
When they see the tree
Cut up into parts.
One post is slammed into the ground
While a crown of thorns
Adorns Jesus's brow.
The other post bears his broken frame
As men raise him up
And mock his holy name.
A few gather 'round the gnarled tree.
It's beams splintered
With grief and weeping.
But what was meant for death and shame
Has become the means
By which we honor his name.
July 2006, Glen Alan Woods
Its branches splinter
As they giggle with glee.
The aged tree soars into the sky.
'Round its perimeter
Kids dance until last light.
When dawn meets the horizon a hush fills the air.
The children rush out--
The tree is not there!
Confusion and dismay fills their tender hearts
When they see the tree
Cut up into parts.
One post is slammed into the ground
While a crown of thorns
Adorns Jesus's brow.
The other post bears his broken frame
As men raise him up
And mock his holy name.
A few gather 'round the gnarled tree.
It's beams splintered
With grief and weeping.
But what was meant for death and shame
Has become the means
By which we honor his name.
July 2006, Glen Alan Woods
The New Morning.
In the awe of God's presence I awake.
I hear the angels singing at the gathering
As I am borne in their arms to his throne.
The river of the water of life shimmers.
Clear as crystal it flows out from God's throne.
I see the Lamb of God in glorious splendor.
He is the Root and the Offspring of David.
He is the bright Morning Star, the Holy One.
I hear a song rise up from the gathered nations:
Alleluia; Salvation, and glory, and honour,
and power, unto the Lord our God.
Hallelujah! For the Lord God Omnipotent reigns.
The tears flow from my eyes as I weep
For the sins of my heart and the grief in my wake.
But then God Himself wipes away my tears.
There will be no more death, sorrow or crying.
Nor will there be anymore pain.
The old is passed; the new is come.
And he that sits upon the throne says,
Behold, I make all things new.
These words are true and faithful.
July 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Adapted from Revelation chapter 19-22. KJV and NIV
I hear the angels singing at the gathering
As I am borne in their arms to his throne.
The river of the water of life shimmers.
Clear as crystal it flows out from God's throne.
I see the Lamb of God in glorious splendor.
He is the Root and the Offspring of David.
He is the bright Morning Star, the Holy One.
I hear a song rise up from the gathered nations:
Alleluia; Salvation, and glory, and honour,
and power, unto the Lord our God.
Hallelujah! For the Lord God Omnipotent reigns.
The tears flow from my eyes as I weep
For the sins of my heart and the grief in my wake.
But then God Himself wipes away my tears.
There will be no more death, sorrow or crying.
Nor will there be anymore pain.
The old is passed; the new is come.
And he that sits upon the throne says,
Behold, I make all things new.
These words are true and faithful.
July 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Adapted from Revelation chapter 19-22. KJV and NIV
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Ashes Fall on the Children
Ashes fall on Arielle's head
As she holds her doll in her mouth.
She hums the tune Mommy taught her
As she waits for her to return.
Arielle is her Daddy's girl,
Brave and lovely as a sunrise.
She hides herself like Daddy taught her
As she waits for him to return.
Rumblings sound in the distance,
Piercing wails scare Arielle.
She bites down harder on her doll
To keep from screaming at the noise.
Arielle holds the family picture
Of Mommy and Daddy hugging her.
She hums the tune Mommy taught her
As she waits for them to return.
The hours grow long and she wonders
When will Mommy and Daddy come back?
She starts to pray like Daddy taught her,
The tears stream down her ash-smudged cheeks.
Ashes fall on Arielle's head
As she holds her doll in her mouth.
When she is found she will be in new arms,
The Lord Jesus Christ to hold her closely.
July, 2006 Glen Alan Woods
Written on behalf of children and their families in Israel and Lebanon who are being hurt and killed as a result of the current war. Despite what you may think about who is right or wrong and regardless of what you may believe about any justification for war or the lack thereof, never forget that innocent people like the fictional Arielle and her Mommy and Daddy do get hurt as a result of hostilities. As you read this keep in mind that in this conflict and in others around the world, there are many more Arielles waiting and wondering, humming and praying just like Mommy and Daddy taught them.
As she holds her doll in her mouth.
She hums the tune Mommy taught her
As she waits for her to return.
Arielle is her Daddy's girl,
Brave and lovely as a sunrise.
She hides herself like Daddy taught her
As she waits for him to return.
Rumblings sound in the distance,
Piercing wails scare Arielle.
She bites down harder on her doll
To keep from screaming at the noise.
Arielle holds the family picture
Of Mommy and Daddy hugging her.
She hums the tune Mommy taught her
As she waits for them to return.
The hours grow long and she wonders
When will Mommy and Daddy come back?
She starts to pray like Daddy taught her,
The tears stream down her ash-smudged cheeks.
Ashes fall on Arielle's head
As she holds her doll in her mouth.
When she is found she will be in new arms,
The Lord Jesus Christ to hold her closely.
July, 2006 Glen Alan Woods
Written on behalf of children and their families in Israel and Lebanon who are being hurt and killed as a result of the current war. Despite what you may think about who is right or wrong and regardless of what you may believe about any justification for war or the lack thereof, never forget that innocent people like the fictional Arielle and her Mommy and Daddy do get hurt as a result of hostilities. As you read this keep in mind that in this conflict and in others around the world, there are many more Arielles waiting and wondering, humming and praying just like Mommy and Daddy taught them.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
The Lighthouse
What treacherous tales have you to bear amidst the ocean's fury--
Oh silent sentry proclaiming warning
To ships from ports afar?
Into a rock your roots now rest withstanding violent gales.
Defiant beams from your eyes
Outshine the thunderous waves.
November, 2005 by Glen Alan Woods
I wrote this while visiting Cannon Beach and Seaside on the Oregon coast. The specific lighthouse that inspired the poem is Tillamook Rock Lighthouse.
Oh silent sentry proclaiming warning
To ships from ports afar?
Into a rock your roots now rest withstanding violent gales.
Defiant beams from your eyes
Outshine the thunderous waves.
November, 2005 by Glen Alan Woods
I wrote this while visiting Cannon Beach and Seaside on the Oregon coast. The specific lighthouse that inspired the poem is Tillamook Rock Lighthouse.
Spider Web
Fibrous tendrils weave their web
An intricate mosaic rendered.
Textured strands softly enshroud
In full relief a captive tendered.
July 2006, Glen Alan Woods
An intricate mosaic rendered.
Textured strands softly enshroud
In full relief a captive tendered.
July 2006, Glen Alan Woods
Monday, July 24, 2006
Rain Storm
One drop. Anotha drop.
A brand spankin' new drop.
More drops. Many drops.
Lots and lots and lotsa drops.
Big drops. Lil drops.
Wet drops dat splash and sop.
Cold drops. Warm drops.
Oblong drops like belly flops.
Misty tiny lil drops
Dat cling and crawl and make ya stop.
One big ole juicy drop
T' splash yer nose n' make ya hop.
All them drops 'r rain drops.
They fall and splish and splash and slop.
Lotsa drops t' few drops.
Da final lil rain drop stops.
July 2006, Glen Alan Woods
A brand spankin' new drop.
More drops. Many drops.
Lots and lots and lotsa drops.
Big drops. Lil drops.
Wet drops dat splash and sop.
Cold drops. Warm drops.
Oblong drops like belly flops.
Misty tiny lil drops
Dat cling and crawl and make ya stop.
One big ole juicy drop
T' splash yer nose n' make ya hop.
All them drops 'r rain drops.
They fall and splish and splash and slop.
Lotsa drops t' few drops.
Da final lil rain drop stops.
July 2006, Glen Alan Woods
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Sunset
Sunset
Painter's palette.
Sweet reflection of
God's glory.
Twilight
Memories unveiled.
Oral history
Faithfully told.
Comfort
Family's calling.
Tender gathering of
Trust and love.
Eyes close.
Slumber visits.
Final prayers
Embrace the night.
July 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Painter's palette.
Sweet reflection of
God's glory.
Twilight
Memories unveiled.
Oral history
Faithfully told.
Comfort
Family's calling.
Tender gathering of
Trust and love.
Eyes close.
Slumber visits.
Final prayers
Embrace the night.
July 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Sunrise
Sunrise.
Morning's dewpoint.
Fresh remembrance of
Lingering prayers.
Promise.
Dawn of clarity.
Foreshadowing
Hope fulfilled.
Silence.
Wisdom's guardian.
Listening humbly and
Wiser still.
Service.
Faithful worship.
Creativity to
Do God's will.
July, 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Morning's dewpoint.
Fresh remembrance of
Lingering prayers.
Promise.
Dawn of clarity.
Foreshadowing
Hope fulfilled.
Silence.
Wisdom's guardian.
Listening humbly and
Wiser still.
Service.
Faithful worship.
Creativity to
Do God's will.
July, 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Metaphor for a Heart Ignited by Hope
It is but a faint beam
of hope that dares
filter past the pane
darkened
by years of
dust encrusted.
No longer do the
chambers within beckon,
shrouded in the
secrecy of silence
they've become.
But one beam
penetrates,
in reality a flicker;
it's yellow flame
choreographed
to expose forgotten
shadows of shame.
The one flame ignites
the burning of an
ancient scroll,
inscribed with
the belief that
hope has been lost.
The spreading fire
Clears away a lifetime
of confusion, leaving
in its place refined hope
and redemption.
July 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
of hope that dares
filter past the pane
darkened
by years of
dust encrusted.
No longer do the
chambers within beckon,
shrouded in the
secrecy of silence
they've become.
But one beam
penetrates,
in reality a flicker;
it's yellow flame
choreographed
to expose forgotten
shadows of shame.
The one flame ignites
the burning of an
ancient scroll,
inscribed with
the belief that
hope has been lost.
The spreading fire
Clears away a lifetime
of confusion, leaving
in its place refined hope
and redemption.
July 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Purpose
On the other side of the field,
away from all the boys and girls.
A young boy sits alone in the grass,
Imagining the years to come.
Will there be someone to love?
Will there be a point to it all?
Or will the days blend without meaning,
filled with purposeless pursuits?
As a young man alone at home
he holds a globe of earth in his hands.
He begins to weep outloud,
Praying for those who don't know God.
From India to Asia
From South America to Africa.
From Europe to Australia
From North America to the Middle East.
And to the lands beyond.
Gradually purpose takes root
Among the boys and girls and
Their moms and dads;
People young and old.
The gospel must be made known.
July 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
away from all the boys and girls.
A young boy sits alone in the grass,
Imagining the years to come.
Will there be someone to love?
Will there be a point to it all?
Or will the days blend without meaning,
filled with purposeless pursuits?
As a young man alone at home
he holds a globe of earth in his hands.
He begins to weep outloud,
Praying for those who don't know God.
From India to Asia
From South America to Africa.
From Europe to Australia
From North America to the Middle East.
And to the lands beyond.
Gradually purpose takes root
Among the boys and girls and
Their moms and dads;
People young and old.
The gospel must be made known.
July 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Emerging Maturity
Alone.
Quietly wondering
but
Not too loudly.
Best to keep quiet
and alone.
Hurt.
Doesn't matter.
To whom?
To others.
But
to me it does.
Doesn't it?
Simple. Quiet.
Alone.
Serve.
Watching. Not hearing.
Seeing. Not understanding.
Confused.
Wanting to
Belong. Choosing to
Refrain.
Angry at the confusing conflict within.
Choices to foster
Relationships.
Joy. New depth.
Pain. Grief. Disappointment.
Reconciliation. Forgiveness.
Thanksgiving.
Emerging maturity.
July 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Quietly wondering
but
Not too loudly.
Best to keep quiet
and alone.
Hurt.
Doesn't matter.
To whom?
To others.
But
to me it does.
Doesn't it?
Simple. Quiet.
Alone.
Serve.
Watching. Not hearing.
Seeing. Not understanding.
Confused.
Wanting to
Belong. Choosing to
Refrain.
Angry at the confusing conflict within.
Choices to foster
Relationships.
Joy. New depth.
Pain. Grief. Disappointment.
Reconciliation. Forgiveness.
Thanksgiving.
Emerging maturity.
July 2006 by Glen Alan Woods
Thursday, July 13, 2006
One Flower
One flower blossoming
Fragrant folds unfurled
Beautiful radiance
Enriching the world.
Petals outstretched
Embrace the sun above
Dewpoint caressing
Like tender tears of love.
By Glen Alan Woods
July 2006
Fragrant folds unfurled
Beautiful radiance
Enriching the world.
Petals outstretched
Embrace the sun above
Dewpoint caressing
Like tender tears of love.
By Glen Alan Woods
July 2006
Silently
Silently
I view the trembling leaves
Clinging to their source
Somehow aware of something beyond.
Branches wave
In homage to the wind;
Wind sent from distant shores
With news of heartbreak and war.
Innocents
Caught in the line of fire
Fall in hurt and death,
Mourned by those who love them.
When will it end?
When will the the fighting cease?
How can we watch the carnage
Without rising up in prayer and concern?
Righteousness
It will prevail someday.
And no more tears or pain
Will blow across the lands.
Silently
I weep with trembling leaves
Clinging to my Source,
The Lord God, Most High, my hope.
By Glen Alan Woods
July 2006
I view the trembling leaves
Clinging to their source
Somehow aware of something beyond.
Branches wave
In homage to the wind;
Wind sent from distant shores
With news of heartbreak and war.
Innocents
Caught in the line of fire
Fall in hurt and death,
Mourned by those who love them.
When will it end?
When will the the fighting cease?
How can we watch the carnage
Without rising up in prayer and concern?
Righteousness
It will prevail someday.
And no more tears or pain
Will blow across the lands.
Silently
I weep with trembling leaves
Clinging to my Source,
The Lord God, Most High, my hope.
By Glen Alan Woods
July 2006
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Joyous Humility
From the crucible of weakness
Humbly forged amidst tears,
A solitary figure now appears.
With deft resolution
Towel and water in hand
He motions for his friends to draw near.
As they realize his intent
They quickly decline,
Whereupon he corrects their misplaced fear.
Then with joyous humility
He washes their feet
The Son of Man, Servant of all, has drawn near.
By Glen Alan Woods
April, 2004
Humbly forged amidst tears,
A solitary figure now appears.
With deft resolution
Towel and water in hand
He motions for his friends to draw near.
As they realize his intent
They quickly decline,
Whereupon he corrects their misplaced fear.
Then with joyous humility
He washes their feet
The Son of Man, Servant of all, has drawn near.
By Glen Alan Woods
April, 2004
Anger Considered
Ambient wisps brush forbidden layers
From roots heretofore unknown.
Raw energy; kinetic dissonance
Crack the dawn newborn.
Conceived of sources foreboding,
Progeny of misguided whim,
The heart given to anger
Consumes the soul from within.
by Glen Alan Woods
November, 2005
NIV Psalm 4:4 In your anger do not sin; when you are on your beds, search your hearts and be silent.
From roots heretofore unknown.
Raw energy; kinetic dissonance
Crack the dawn newborn.
Conceived of sources foreboding,
Progeny of misguided whim,
The heart given to anger
Consumes the soul from within.
by Glen Alan Woods
November, 2005
NIV Psalm 4:4 In your anger do not sin; when you are on your beds, search your hearts and be silent.
Monday, July 03, 2006
Unexpected Welcome
From the outside looking in
I watch
the parade of life march by,
Wondering how I could have found
myself
on the sideline full of sighs.
So I take a small step
forward
entering into the flow
Hoping that my entrance won't
offend
as I shuffle to and fro.
Then a startling thing suddenly
happens
unexpected as an outcome.
The parade marchers turn to me
saying,"To you we extend our welcome!"
By Glen Alan Woods
April, 2006
I watch
the parade of life march by,
Wondering how I could have found
myself
on the sideline full of sighs.
So I take a small step
forward
entering into the flow
Hoping that my entrance won't
offend
as I shuffle to and fro.
Then a startling thing suddenly
happens
unexpected as an outcome.
The parade marchers turn to me
saying,"To you we extend our welcome!"
By Glen Alan Woods
April, 2006
Authorial Angst Amid Untampered Pages
Authorial angst amid untampered pages ensues.
The Bright White Background highlights Blue Regulation Lines, but
nary a word is to be
found.
"Escaped they have! Alas the letters have run away!"
cries the
Bright White Background.
"Find them, bind them and construct them within our properly ruled maze!"
replies the
Blue Regulation Lines.
But the letters scatter to the turbulent winds of distraction,
fluttering as confetti
despite valiant attempts at
recovery.
Sadly the Bright White Background pulses in restless radiance behind the
overlapping
Blue Regulation Lines.
Sullenly the Blue Regulation Lines lurk in full view to entrap wayward passersby which resemble letters or punctuation.
And so the authorial angst amid untampered pages continues.
By Glen Alan Woods
Written in frustration over the wiles of the loathsome entity lurking on the perimeter of my creativity. You know who I mean. Name him. Unleash your declaration of his identity. And in so doing, vanquish his strangle-hold on pen and paper. Expose the evil Writers Block, dark lord of ignominy.
The Bright White Background highlights Blue Regulation Lines, but
nary a word is to be
found.
"Escaped they have! Alas the letters have run away!"
cries the
Bright White Background.
"Find them, bind them and construct them within our properly ruled maze!"
replies the
Blue Regulation Lines.
But the letters scatter to the turbulent winds of distraction,
fluttering as confetti
despite valiant attempts at
recovery.
Sadly the Bright White Background pulses in restless radiance behind the
overlapping
Blue Regulation Lines.
Sullenly the Blue Regulation Lines lurk in full view to entrap wayward passersby which resemble letters or punctuation.
And so the authorial angst amid untampered pages continues.
By Glen Alan Woods
Written in frustration over the wiles of the loathsome entity lurking on the perimeter of my creativity. You know who I mean. Name him. Unleash your declaration of his identity. And in so doing, vanquish his strangle-hold on pen and paper. Expose the evil Writers Block, dark lord of ignominy.
Monday, June 26, 2006
The Secret Thoughts of a Clock
Tick tock the clock is speaking,
"Don't look now for time is creeping to
the distant shadowed
shores which hasten
near like neglected chores."
Tick tock the clock is chanting
"Don't ignore my
dismal ranting which
proclaims annoyance
sublime as harbinger of slipping
time."
By Glen Alan Woods
1 October 2005
"Don't look now for time is creeping to
the distant shadowed
shores which hasten
near like neglected chores."
Tick tock the clock is chanting
"Don't ignore my
dismal ranting which
proclaims annoyance
sublime as harbinger of slipping
time."
By Glen Alan Woods
1 October 2005
I Think You Know
Another day has passed her by.
No one has asked what made her cry.
She wipes her face and gives a smile,
But in her heart she weeps awhile.
She parts the building walking fast;
Hops in her car wearing her mask.
No one can see the tell-tale clues.
They simply wave and then resume.
Out on the road
All alone
The tears pour out like
Shattered stone.
And could it be,
Her future's gone?
Or is there hope for
A new song?
When she gets home she takes the step,
Dials the number and asks for help.
A friendly voice responds in love,
Guiding her to God's hope above.
She starts to see the life inside,
Her precious baby would have died
Had she not understood God's desire
and the options now acquired.
In a safe place
Embraced in calm
The tears now heal like
Soothing balm.
And could it be
Her hope's renewed
For a better life
And her baby too?
I think you know.
By Glen Alan Woods
April 2006
Written in honor of Crisis Pregancy Counseling Centers that give women throughout the USA hope and encouragement in Jesus Christ as they deal with pregnancy.
No one has asked what made her cry.
She wipes her face and gives a smile,
But in her heart she weeps awhile.
She parts the building walking fast;
Hops in her car wearing her mask.
No one can see the tell-tale clues.
They simply wave and then resume.
Out on the road
All alone
The tears pour out like
Shattered stone.
And could it be,
Her future's gone?
Or is there hope for
A new song?
When she gets home she takes the step,
Dials the number and asks for help.
A friendly voice responds in love,
Guiding her to God's hope above.
She starts to see the life inside,
Her precious baby would have died
Had she not understood God's desire
and the options now acquired.
In a safe place
Embraced in calm
The tears now heal like
Soothing balm.
And could it be
Her hope's renewed
For a better life
And her baby too?
I think you know.
By Glen Alan Woods
April 2006
Written in honor of Crisis Pregancy Counseling Centers that give women throughout the USA hope and encouragement in Jesus Christ as they deal with pregnancy.
Long Road
The young man walks alone down the long road.
The coat on his shoulder is not his only load.
His loosened tie and far-off gaze show trouble
Betraying the heartache he has stowed.
You gotta wonder if he sees the danger
Of the pent up rage and pain that he feels.
And inside his broken heart of anger
Will he turn to Jesus Christ and be healed?
The young man has pursued a downward journey.
Depression and fear pursue him morbidly.
His attitude and countenance spurn all help
Except for those who intercede prayerfully.
You gotta wonder if he sees the danger
Of the pent up rage and pain that he feels.
And inside his broken heart of anger
Will he turn to Jesus Christ and be healed?
The young man is now much older.
The years of life in Christ have healed the wounds.
He remembers the pain from which he's recovered
And praises God for the hope in which he lives.
You gotta know he now knows the danger
Of keeping hurts inside with no release.
And he is learning to tell others
Of hope in Jesus Christ and how he heals.
By Glen Alan Woods
April 2006
Written as a reflection on my journey from depression and suicidal thoughts as a teen into wholeness in Jesus Christ.
The coat on his shoulder is not his only load.
His loosened tie and far-off gaze show trouble
Betraying the heartache he has stowed.
You gotta wonder if he sees the danger
Of the pent up rage and pain that he feels.
And inside his broken heart of anger
Will he turn to Jesus Christ and be healed?
The young man has pursued a downward journey.
Depression and fear pursue him morbidly.
His attitude and countenance spurn all help
Except for those who intercede prayerfully.
You gotta wonder if he sees the danger
Of the pent up rage and pain that he feels.
And inside his broken heart of anger
Will he turn to Jesus Christ and be healed?
The young man is now much older.
The years of life in Christ have healed the wounds.
He remembers the pain from which he's recovered
And praises God for the hope in which he lives.
You gotta know he now knows the danger
Of keeping hurts inside with no release.
And he is learning to tell others
Of hope in Jesus Christ and how he heals.
By Glen Alan Woods
April 2006
Written as a reflection on my journey from depression and suicidal thoughts as a teen into wholeness in Jesus Christ.
Joy of Wisdom
Ancient epiphanies coalesce
Through mundane
Simplicity.
Care-worn wrinkles testify
To wisdom's
Antiquity.
Yet,
Bewildered
Excavator's strive
To discern encoded meaning.
Pure insight
Reveals joy's brightest gleaming.
By Glen Alan Woods
March 2006
Through mundane
Simplicity.
Care-worn wrinkles testify
To wisdom's
Antiquity.
Yet,
Bewildered
Excavator's strive
To discern encoded meaning.
Pure insight
Reveals joy's brightest gleaming.
By Glen Alan Woods
March 2006
Crucible Severe
There is a place we all must
Go--Where titles are
Forgotten-Where reality
Shows.
With facades melted
Down and veneer stripped
Away. That which remains from
Our hearts truly
Flows.
In the crucible
Severe, far from
Accolade, faint prayers
Ascend amidst incense of
Thanks.
As pressure
Compounds and help appears
Nil, the Holy One's
Descent takes residence in
Praise.
By Glen Alan Woods
May 2005
Go--Where titles are
Forgotten-Where reality
Shows.
With facades melted
Down and veneer stripped
Away. That which remains from
Our hearts truly
Flows.
In the crucible
Severe, far from
Accolade, faint prayers
Ascend amidst incense of
Thanks.
As pressure
Compounds and help appears
Nil, the Holy One's
Descent takes residence in
Praise.
By Glen Alan Woods
May 2005
My Tears Grow
Released from
Captivity
No longer held at bay
Set free, they seek their true
Destiny.
With visceral
Acuity
They urgently explore.
With passion they call out for
Clarity.
Their quest takes on new
Urgency
Their meaning new appeal.
Laced with poignant
Charity
My tears grow.
November 18, 2001 by Glen Alan Woods. Written in honor of children who are orphaned, neglected and abused.
Captivity
No longer held at bay
Set free, they seek their true
Destiny.
With visceral
Acuity
They urgently explore.
With passion they call out for
Clarity.
Their quest takes on new
Urgency
Their meaning new appeal.
Laced with poignant
Charity
My tears grow.
November 18, 2001 by Glen Alan Woods. Written in honor of children who are orphaned, neglected and abused.
Segue way for the Symphony
Out the window silently
He looks beyond and sees the trees,
Clothed in branches blossoming
Below the clouds within the breeze.
He wonders at the cheerful dance
As squirrels and blue jays dart and prance.
A segue way for the symphony
While creatures sing majestically.
Quietly he steps outside
Watching the scene he starts to smile.
Nature's beauty fills him with awe
And he, in turn, thanks God above.
By Glen Alan Woods
June 2006
He looks beyond and sees the trees,
Clothed in branches blossoming
Below the clouds within the breeze.
He wonders at the cheerful dance
As squirrels and blue jays dart and prance.
A segue way for the symphony
While creatures sing majestically.
Quietly he steps outside
Watching the scene he starts to smile.
Nature's beauty fills him with awe
And he, in turn, thanks God above.
By Glen Alan Woods
June 2006
Who am I?
I am in Christ.
Secure. Redeemed.
Made righteous--sanctified.
Heir of God.Joint-Heir with Christ
According to the promise.
Imago Dei.
Created. Chosen.
Royal Priest. Letter from Christ.
By Glen Alan Woods
June 2006
Secure. Redeemed.
Made righteous--sanctified.
Heir of God.Joint-Heir with Christ
According to the promise.
Imago Dei.
Created. Chosen.
Royal Priest. Letter from Christ.
By Glen Alan Woods
June 2006
Renewing Dreams
To a far off land my heart is drawn
As I look beyond my life's present landscape.
I envision pristine vistas of hope
Just beyond the rise of the distant mountains.
Tinged with doubt I wonder if my dreams have merit,
An uncertain pilgrim filled with curious hope.
The pain of broken promises and pensive silence
Shrouds the obvious path of the way ahead.
The tears I shed erode the silent veil,
Revealing secret grief borne deep inside.
Raw emotion bubbles down within,
Soothed only by the Holy Spirit's balm.
Dare I risk my heart to renewed dreams?
Shall I lay them on the line again?
My only certain path is to follow Jesus
As I trust him with my life's changing landscape.
By Glen Alan Woods
June 2006
As I look beyond my life's present landscape.
I envision pristine vistas of hope
Just beyond the rise of the distant mountains.
Tinged with doubt I wonder if my dreams have merit,
An uncertain pilgrim filled with curious hope.
The pain of broken promises and pensive silence
Shrouds the obvious path of the way ahead.
The tears I shed erode the silent veil,
Revealing secret grief borne deep inside.
Raw emotion bubbles down within,
Soothed only by the Holy Spirit's balm.
Dare I risk my heart to renewed dreams?
Shall I lay them on the line again?
My only certain path is to follow Jesus
As I trust him with my life's changing landscape.
By Glen Alan Woods
June 2006
Early in the Morning
Early in the morning I rise to worship and adore you Lord.
With tears of grief I repent of wrong attitudes.
Silently I commit your Word in my heart to memory
So that I might obstain from any evil.
I raise my voice and my hands to glorify your name oh Lord.
With joy I give you thanks for forgiveness.
Cleanse me and renew my heart and use me for your glory
So that others might see your works and turn to you.
June 2006, by Glen Woods
With tears of grief I repent of wrong attitudes.
Silently I commit your Word in my heart to memory
So that I might obstain from any evil.
I raise my voice and my hands to glorify your name oh Lord.
With joy I give you thanks for forgiveness.
Cleanse me and renew my heart and use me for your glory
So that others might see your works and turn to you.
June 2006, by Glen Woods
In My Arms Tenderly
Sweet little baby, precious child,
In my arms tenderly you may hide.
Snuggle closely. Giggle and smile.
Close your eyes and sleep awhile.
Sweet little baby, precious child,
In my arms tenderly you may hide.
Wiggle your toes and fingers too
As I count the ways that I love you.
Sweet little baby, precious child,
In my arms tenderly you may hide.
May 2006 By Glen Woods
I wrote this while reflecting on memories of holding my own three nieces and two nephews when they were newborns.
In my arms tenderly you may hide.
Snuggle closely. Giggle and smile.
Close your eyes and sleep awhile.
Sweet little baby, precious child,
In my arms tenderly you may hide.
Wiggle your toes and fingers too
As I count the ways that I love you.
Sweet little baby, precious child,
In my arms tenderly you may hide.
May 2006 By Glen Woods
I wrote this while reflecting on memories of holding my own three nieces and two nephews when they were newborns.
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