poem – Laurel Jean

The Pen in Your Hand – a Poem

November 16, 2020by Laurel Jean1 Comment

I know… poetry ranked lowest on the poll I posted a couple of weeks ago (a huge thank you to everyone who answered that!). But my mind has felt like Jell-O recently, so I’m drawing from the reserves today.:) Hopefully my brains will be back soon, and I’ll have a little more to offer you guys!

Anyway…

This is a poem written by my fifteen-year-old self. It came into being one night when I was really struggling to accept what God was doing with a situation in my life. Now, in volatile 2020, it’s a blessing to come back to this poem again and be reminded of where God wants my heart to be.

This is one of the first freestyle poems I wrote… and though it’s not quite as fantastic as I used to think it was :), I hope it’s a blessing to you today.

I don’t understand.

I don’t.

There are times, Lord,

When I,

The pen in Your hand,

Long to

Spring from Your mighty

All-knowing

Grasp, with a cry of

“No, no!

That isn’t the way!

Here!

Let me show You how!”

But that

Is as silly as a ditch-digger

Grasping

The brush of a masterful artist.

A clock

Does no good without clockwork

And so

I do no good without You.

With no

Master I lie here, my ink pouring

Out

A miserable, meaningless

Blot.

But in Your loving hand

My life

Is a song – a beautiful witness

To You.

So here – take my tears, though many

There be

And do what you will with them.

And here –

Take my years, though few they may

And use them to glorify

You.

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

life, Poetry

Generations – A Poem

October 19, 2020by Laurel Jean8 Comments

My latest poem… tell me what you think of it!

A torrent of green

They burst on the scene-

Ready to take on the world.

Confident – oh, so

Confident

They

Could change the world with

Their song.

So they did.

What once was a forest of

Bleak

Monochrome

Soon became an explosion of

Verdure.

They gladdened the hearts of

The weak and the strong

The fearful and brave

The old and the young.

As the days turned to

Weeks

And the weeks turned to

Months

Their glory was ripening to

Rust

And they knew that their

Sweet days were

Short.

Yet they glowed

And they sang

In the grasp of the wind

That was stealing them

Far, far away on its

Breath

And they fell to their

Death

At the foot of the trees

That were helpless

To bring them to life.

A waste of a season?

They knew that they’d

Lived

The fullness of days

Appointed

To them.

So they sank into time –

Having burst upon

For a moment –

And broke into

Sod

For successors.

Photo by John Silliman on Unsplash

Poetry

Once Again – A Poem

September 1, 2020by Laurel Jean5 Comments

Two natures fight within me

Clawing for complete control

And the evil one is winning –

Its dark reign I can’t o’erthrow.

For its grasp about my mind

Has left an imprint stiff as stone

And its chains about my heart

Into my flesh o’er time have grown.

And I can’t break from these shackles

That hold all my habits tight

For the rust of time has locked them

And I cry into the night

As I see the one You crafted

To be swift and strong for You

Melted to the mess I am –

How could my heart be so untrue?

Yet the dawn is breaking now

And in the early morning rays

I see the promise of the future

And new mercies with new days

And I see the power of Calvary

Making chains and shackles null

As Your faithfulness transforms me

And my shell falls, dead and dull

As new life is pulsing through me –

Though I’ve stumbled and I’ve failed,

Still You tell me that renewal

Is one humble step away.

Photo by Federico Respini on Unsplash