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Group XIX
by Joyce Poet
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‘Bravery’ and ‘Faith Writers’ (Mirrored Poetry)
‘Paul at Melita’ and ‘In the Stormy Sea’ (Mirrored Poetry)
‘A Fairy Song’ and ‘A Conqueror’s Song’ (Mirrored Poetry)
‘Luther’ and ‘Baby Girl’ (Mirrored Poetry)
‘The Inevitable’ and ‘Small Men’s Stones’ (Mirrored Poetry)
‘Pluck’ and ‘Grace’ (Mirrored Poetry)
Without End
Once Lost (23rd Psalm)
Early Dawn

‘Bravery’ and ‘Faith Writers’ (Mirrored Poetry)

Dedicated to all my Brothers and Sisters in Christ who write to the glory of God:

A poem by James Russell Lowell

We will speak on; we will be heard;
Though all earth’s systems crack,
We will not bate a single word,
Nor take a letter back.

We speak the truth; and what care we
For hissing and for scorn
While some faint gleaming we can see
Of Freedom’s coming morn!

Let liars fear; let cowards shrink;
Let traitors turn away;
Whatever we have dared to think,
That dare we also say.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A poem by Joyce Pool

With strengthened hearts, we fight with pen;
Words of Truth fall in ink,
To give to some joy from within,
Others, reason to think.

We write of love; we write of pain,
Double-edged swords in hand.
We pen our lives for all to gain
Hope for the Promised Land.

Let us never forget the task –
To set the captives free.
Let us not cower; this we ask.
Penning warriors are we.
© Joyce Pool

‘Paul at Melita’ and ‘In the Stormy Sea’ (Mirrored Poetry)

A poem by John Henry Newman

Secure in his prophetic strength,
The water peril o'er,
The many-gifted man at length
Stepped on the promised shore.

He trod the shore; but not to rest,
Nor wait till angels came;
Lo! humblest pains the saint attest,
The firebrands and the flame.

But when he felt the viper's smart,
Then instant aid was given.
Christian, hence learn to do thy part,
And leave the rest to Heaven.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A poem by Joyce Pool

My faith is not even my own,
But a gift to me as well,
From the Lord to see me through;
He knows from whence I fell.

Yet He strengthens me for battle;
I've place in His army.
Lo! though waves rise like fierce mountains,
E'en hell cannot harm me.

My instructions are to be still,
To keep an attentive ear.
And when I reach that promised shore,
I'll know my Father was near.
© Joyce Pool

‘A Fairy Song’ and ‘A Conqueror’s Song’ (Mirrored Poetry)

A poem by William Shakespeare

Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire!
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon’s sphere;
And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green;
The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours,
In those freckles live their savours;
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A poem by Joyce Pool

Through most tender age,
In earliest remembered fights,
Through tempests, through rage,
Bitter cold, bitter nights,
I have wandered through them all,
Hardening upon every fall;
And I wage a greater war,
To lessen the devil's score;
I worship the Lord of Lords, Most High,
Who with His love drew me nigh;
My freckles were to be treasured;
In those spots are my heart measured;
They are the sand and the stars;
I survived for naught but to win these wars!
© Joyce Pool

‘Luther’ and ‘Baby Girl’ (Mirrored Poetry)

A poem by Marriane Farningham

That which he knew he uttered,
Conviction made him strong;
And with undaunted courage
He faced and fought the wrong.
No power on earth could silence him
Whom love and faith made brave;
And though four hundred years have gone
Men strew with flowers his grave.

A frail child born to poverty,
A German miner's son;
A poor monk searching in his cell,
What honors he has won!
The nations crown him faithful,
A man whom truth made free;
God give us for these easier times
More men as real as he!

A poem by Joyce Pool

She's known by the Words she speaks,
Her heart faithful and true;
With great strength she draws the Sword
And thrusts it forth on cue.
Persecution follows her around,
Threat'ning to consume her.
But she'll never give up the Sword;
She'd give her life much sooner.

Frightened and confused baby girl,
A rough cowboy's fourth daughter,
She prayed "Rescue those like myself.
Let us not be slaughtered!"
One by one, He squashed her fears;
With truth He set her free.
Now she prays "Lord, do for others
What You have done for me!"
© Joyce Pool

‘The Inevitable’ and ‘Small Men’s Stones’ (Mirrored Poetry)

By Sarah Knowles Bolton

I like the man who faces what he must,
With step triumphant and a heart of cheer;
Who fights the daily battle without fear;
Sees his hopes fail, yet keeps unfaltering trust
That God is God; that somehow, true and just,
His plans work out for mortals; not a tear
Is shed when fortune, which the world holds dear,
Falls from his grasp: better, with love, a crust
Than living in dishonor: envies not,
Nor loses faith in man; but does his best,
Nor ever murmurs at his humbler lot,
But, with a smile and words of hope, gives zest
To every toiler: he alone is great
Who by a life heroic conquers fate.

By Joyce Pool

It might be easier to hide behind
The walls of defeat; throw in the towel;
Run from scorpion's sting and wolf's howl.
But what rewards are laid up for the coward?
I'd rather hold stones when giants tower
And face the enemy head on and brave
With Sword held firmly -- the Stones the King gave
When all else failed: though I'd have fared better
Had I not looked elsewhere in the first place;
I, for one, was better late than never,
So I sling stones at the enemy's face
And kiss my brother's cheek with great fervor,
Bringing praise in the darkness that threatens him;
Proclaiming a serpent will never win.
© Joyce Pool

‘Pluck’ and ‘Grace’ (Mirrored Poetry)

A poem by Emily Brontë

I do not ask that Thou shalt front the fray.
And drive the warring foeman from my sight:
I only ask, O Lord, by night, by day,
Strength for the fight!

No coward soul is mine,
No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere;
I see Heaven’s glories shine,
And faith shines equal, arming me from fear.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A poem by Joyce Pool

I do not ask blessings above neighbors,
Simply the grace for bearing what I must.
And as I pray You might grant them favor,
You teach me trust!

No bitter heart is mine,
No angry soul in my persecutions;
Vengeance, O my God, is Thine.
Better, forgiveness -- the saints’ solution.
© Joyce Pool

Without End

Someday I’ll own a mansion, a quiet hillside retreat.
And I’ll walk around it barefoot; no sinking sand beneath my feet.
It’ll be surrounded by a river, crystalline diamonds just for me,
each formed from a lost teardrop with no place in memory.

I’ll eat from leaves of great trees that adorn the river's sides.
I’ll dance the dance of freedom while shouting “Glory” atop its tides.
I’ll scale the river, oh so deep, until I reach its hallowed source.
And there I will find the foot of my Father’s throne, of course.

Off in the distance, I’ll see my mansion amidst the trees
and the banner of the Lord raised high, waving proudly in the breeze.
I’ll bow there at His holy feet, thankful for my heavenly home.
And, as His scepter touches me, I know I’ll never roam.

The angels will gather round, paying tribute to my King.
And even the breeze will still itself to hear those sweet angels sing;
“Glory, glory, glory to His Grace, O’ Jehovah God Most High!”
I can hear it now, my loving Savior’s contented sigh.

He’ll take me so gently by the hand, “Come, let’s talk a while.”
He’ll tell me things that I never knew as we walk an easy mile
back along the river bank, now flowing in subtle shades of blue.
We’ll stop to drink on the way, while everything’s made new.

“Welcome home,” He’ll whisper sweet, standing at the mansion door,
“Without end, you will find it all here, and made new forevermore.”
The path that leads up to that door is paved with rocks along the way,
each marked with Words of God to keep me day by endless day.
© Joyce Pool


it certainly has been
a long time.
if I never saw you again,
it would still be
too soon.

Oh, you're not the leviathan;
you're just ugly
like your Daddy.

I may
or may not be
the brightest bulb
on the tree,
but I do know this:

You can't touch me
without MY Daddy's

You lie
just like your Daddy, too.
So, I tell you what you
can do:

Catch the same air
you came in on
and be gone
with you.

Peace is mine.
Daddy told me so.
And, unlike you,
MY Daddy
doesn't lie.
© Joyce Pool

Once Lost (23rd Psalm)

They ate all the good grass
and trampled what remained,
So I spied the meadows vast,
touched by naught but sun and rain.
I tarried there a while,
‘til I found I was lost,
And I walked a foolish mile,
not knowing there was a cost.

(The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.)

I couldn’t find my home,
though I walked night and day.
I’d found myself all alone,
drinking from the fierce bay.
I tried to get over those
great mountains in my path,
Where the thorny briar grows
and produces fruits of wrath.

(He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.)

The rocky cliffs so steep
were beyond hard to scale --
Unsafe place for sheep to sleep;
to the lowest pit I fell.
The wolves all hurried there
to take their fill of me.
While my flesh they did yet tear,
my Good Shepherd spotted me.

(He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.)

I lay there in a pool,
drowning in my own blood.
He looked upon crimson wool
and the flowing scarlet flood,
And gathered splintered bones --
my fragmented remains.
He gently carried them home
and washed away bloody stains.

(Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.)

With leaves, He nursed my wounds
and calmed my fearful heart.
He healed all the shattered ruins
and restored devoured parts.
I was a little sheep
who’d gone astray one day,
Without The Shepherd to keep
me from harm along the way.

(Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.)

Now, I curl at His side,
dependent on His grace,
And the mercy of my Guide,
daily searching for His face.
Though sometimes I still turn
and stumble on the way,
By the Shepherd’s rod I’ve learned,
He’ll not let me go astray.

(Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.)
© Joyce Pool

Early Dawn

Whispering in the early dawn
To wake her gently from her rest,
He reminds her of the places she's been
And that she's yet to see the best.

("You're not there. But you'll get there.
Put all your trust in Me.")

She's already seen pits of hell
When she placed all her trust in man.
She did everything that she could and now,
Let's Him do what only He can.

(She's not there. But she'll get there,
Putting all her trust in Him.)

I watch her grow from day to day;
Snowy white streaks her raven hair.
The sun shines in through her eastern window,
Waking her with dawn's smiling there.

(She's getting there. She's stepping out.
She put all her trust in Him.)

Still, she stumbles and still, she falls.
Little by little, she has found,
It isn't her perfection that matters;
It's not what makes the world go 'round.

(It's in her knowing she's human
And trusting Him even with that.)

In the early morning hours,
When her worries are most at rest,
His whisper takes her to the place of peace,
Beneath gentle wings where she nests.

(Maybe she's already there.
Maybe "there" is simply a place within His whisper.)
© Joyce Pool

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Member Comments
Member Date
Karen Crump 12 Jan 2006
"Penning warrior are we" - the poem Faithwriters - how it reaches my core, my center. May I print it out and post it close to my computer where I do my writing? God bless.


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