Poetry

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Someday
Moved
A Pearl and Her Monster
I Dream
My Looking Glass
Beneath the Crevices (God's Heartbeat)
Spinning Bliss
Sunday School Teacher
Andrea
King Jesus

Someday

Miles and miles,
even nations --
They are all mine.
Yes, they're enclosed
within my borders.
(The ones God promised to expand.)
Like the sands of the seas
and stars in the heavens --
so many belong to me.
They are my inheritance.
(Or at least they will be, someday.)

My babies walk in paths
that would have me chilled
to the bone
in fear.
But, I know that values
(His Word)
instilled in them from youth
will not depart from them.
I speak into them things
that are not
as though they were,
"You are of the remnant
of righteous saints
left in this day and age."
(Or at least they will be, someday.)

I prosper above and beyond
my expectations, because
He blesses me through His
riches and glory.
I lack for no thing,
thirst for no thing
want for no thing.
Every need I have is met.
(Or at least they will be, someday.)

My body thrives
in divine health.
I am of sound mind.
I am perfectly,
wonderfully,
oh, so fearfully made.
My feet are comforted
by the perfect temperature
of the gold streets I walk on.
(Or at least they will be, someday.)

All those promises,
(even the ones I've yet
to discover)
I gladly accept
as grace
from a loving Father
who was thinking of me,
the apple of His eye,
when He had them written.
They, too, are all mine.
(Or at least they will be, someday.)

I am the helpmate
God said you needed.
That's why He made me.
He was thinking of you
when He decided
how many pores
my head needed
and what size to make
my feet.
More importantly,
He thought of you
when He colored my eyes
and painted my heart.
That's why God told you,
"She's one of those many
blessings I promised to pour out
on you."
(Or at least He will have told you that,
someday.)

My every day is perfect --
no blinding rain,
nor blistering heat.
My faith moves mountains
and withers the trees
that refuse to bare fruit.
All my tears are wiped away ...
... someday.

O Lord, my someday seems,
sometimes, so far away.
Help me to live
content with life
just as I know it today. Selah
© Joyce Pool

Moved

The first time
I saw your face,
I was moved.
I heard your voice
and, again
I was moved.

When you called my name out
in the middle of the night,
I was moved.
When you held my hand,
refusing to leave my side,
I was moved.

The first time
I heard you cry,
I was moved.
You said you adored me
and I was more than moved.

You stood beside me
even when my past
lay naked and ashamed
before you
and I pray
you never move.
© Joyce Pool

A Pearl and Her Monster

Wrapped in bitterness,
less than a native emotion for me,
I sought a way out,
escape from self destruction.

Fear gripped me,
monster beneath my bed,
and said,
"You’re trapped forever
and unlovable."

I built a thin shell around myself,
protection for wounds
until they healed,
until I was strong enough to lay it down.
(Pearls have no need for walls.)

Slowly,
I came on out.
It wasn't long until my true self
erupted in beauty,

a blossom of things long hidden
from a world that needs me
and the pearl that is me.
© Joyce Pool

I Dream

The following was written for a Martin Luther King Jr. poetry contest.

I dream of a better place in time --
where every child knows the depths
of a loving mother and father.
I dream of a better life than most know --
where an unkind word is never spoken.
I dream of a world where cruelty
is not just uncommon,
but unheard of.

No. I'm not dreaming of heaven.
I dream of a place
that exists within my own heart
and the heart of a million others
just like me --
where people can be different,
one from another,
individuals, strong or weak,
male or female,
each with his/her own gifts
and not grouped
by race or welfare.

I dream of a place in time
when kindness and genuine concern,
brotherly, neighborly, honest concern,
despite our differences,
rises up and defeats
the cruel realities that surround us.
No. It isn't heaven.

It's every kind heart
gathering together,
making a statement
that no one man in particular
can make alone.
It's all of us
standing together,
firmly insisting,
without relenting,
"No more pain for the children!"
© Joyce Pool

My Looking Glass

I can still see that little red-haired princess,
with her angel kisses and missing front tooth.
She woke thirty-seven year-old me up
in the middle of the night
just to tell me, “You’re beautiful inside.”

She was a smart little girl, despite myself.
Oh, she was wiser than most grown women.
But she took all her shame
and played fairy games with the white lady
and Jack Daniels to ease the pain.

Little girl had a Fairy Princess looking glass
that she’d try to dream herself pretty in --
pretty enough to be loved from the outside.
It didn’t work very well though;
Plastic looking glasses never do.

Looking for love in all the wrong places,
thinking she may have found it in a boy,
she bought herself a new looking glass
and this time it was real -- real ugly.
This time the ugly looked back through a mirror.

Hell broke loose all over east Texas.
Little freckled nose lost control.
The powder didn’t help make ugly go away
so she threw that looking glass at a wall;
So many prisms in that shattered glass.

Now, when she looked inside it again,
she saw a million ugly pictures of me.
Every one of them looked exactly the same,
each telling a different ugly story.
But she just couldn’t put it down.

One day, somebody showed her a kindness
and replaced that shattered looking glass
with one that told the truth
in a gentle tone of voice.
That voice was laced with love, real love.

“Look at you. You’re a natural beauty,
even those angel kisses on your nose.
But more importantly, look inside those eyes;
There’s a story there to be told.
You ARE a princess -- a King’s daughter.

You are not the flesh and blood --
the ugly you’ve seen in that mirror.
What you are is made in a perfect image --
I made you in the image of your creator.
Daughter, walk in MY beauty -- in purity.”

What do you see in there --
in your looking glass?
Are you as beautiful as you could be?
Don’t look at your hair, your nose, your mouth.
Look down deep; Look in your eyes.
© Joyce Pool

Beneath the Crevices (God's Heartbeat)

Far beneath the crevices of your soul
Is a place where time stands still,
A place where the wind ceases to blow,
Unaffected by your self will.

The cliffs rage with troubled waters beneath
To keep you living outside
And hiding what lies under the sheath --
The broken waves that crush your pride.

Hush. Be still.
Listen to the sounds
Of the waters
As they thirst
For the mouths of the seas.

Far beneath the crevices of your soul,
The waters cry for release.
You think you keep them under control,
But their raging will never cease.

How ingrained within you is murkiness,
Forgotten by the sun’s rays?
How superficial, the tenderness
That deafened men would have portrayed.

Hush. Be still.
Listen to the sounds
Of the waters
As they thirst
For the mouths of the seas.

How far beneath the surface do you hide
The gold dust you stored away --
Caught between raging currents of pride,
In waiting for the perfect day?

HE'll display for the world HIS awesomeness!
For the chance to meet HIM there,
I would not only crawl to the crest,
I'd gladly fall in the Water’s snare.

Hush. Be still.
Listen to the sounds
Of the waters
As they thirst
For the mouths of the seas.

Job 22:23-26 NASB "If you return to the Almighty, you will be restored; If you remove unrighteousness far from your tent, And place your gold in the dust, And the gold of Ophir among the stones of the brooks, then the Almighty will be your gold And choice silver to you. For then you will delight in the Almighty And lift up your face to God."
© Joyce Pool

Spinning Bliss

I am no stranger to the whirlwind
at the center of the kind of love
that tears the heart to shreds.
I have loved with every fiber of my being
and felt the bitter agony of rejection.

However, I have never experienced
being loved for the person
who dwells deep within me.
It is no wonder that I spend
so much time
spinning tales of romance and bliss.

My friends and family
don’t seem to understand
why I hesitate when would-be
love knocks at my door.
I’m saving up those fibers,
this time,
to give every last one to the man
who’s willing
to return them full-fold.

Some call me cold or warn,
“He could be the best thing
that ever happened for you
and you’re going to let him
slip through your fingers.”
So be it,

because I know
there’ll be no doubt in my mind
when I’m loved for the beauty
of who I am
more so than for the woman
I’m believed to be
and that he is the man
to whom I am capable
of loving again
with every fiber of my being.

Perhaps I’ll never know him
outside my spun dreams,
but anything less
would only make me bitter
and no man deserves less of me
than my best.

That, my friends, is why I give them
nothing but artificial smiles
and arm’s length affection,
at least, for now ...

And I’ll just keep on spinning tales
of would-be bliss.
© Joyce Pool

Sunday School Teacher

Her hair flowed down her back
like black river tresses;
Her bangs like feathers --
angels' wings.

She taught me the value of a little penny
and many other valuable things
with love-laced voice and smile.

"... shiny quarters
don't mean a lot to me anymore."

Penny by penny,
dream by dream,
I'm satisfied with all my little things:
Virtue and grace
and my kids' smiling faces,
gifts that I own for free.

And those that cost me a penny,
wisdom and knowledge,
they mean almost as much to me.
But if it costs a quarter,
it's just simply not worth me.

That lady sure was pretty.
I wish I could remember her name;

I'd try to find her again
so she could look at me
and finally see
the result of her willing and tender heart.
© Joyce Pool

Andrea

It is written
that He
takes the foolish things
of the world
to confound the wise.

Let it never be said
that I’m unthankful
for the abundance
of knowledge
I’m blessed to possess,
however ...

Born with a half-formed brain,
she regresses often
to the state of a four-year old.
But listen
while she speaks
with wisdom my professors
cannot obtain.

Taken for granted,
“The Retard” knows
secrets,
secrets that should be obvious
to her know-it-all peers
and those who consider themselves
to be wise.
© Joyce Pool

King Jesus

My King
takes special care of me,
fulfilling all my needs
because I love Him so
and He knows,
because He’s searched out
my heart,
what my desires are
before I ever ask:

Laughter and rain,
balm for my pain,
sunshine and kisses --
just some of my wishes,

my children around me
love to surround me,
a hand to hold
while we together grow old,

warm breath on my face,
the thrill of the chase,
gentle hands on my back,
the other gifts I lack.

My King
takes special care of me,
fulfilling all my needs
because I love Him so
and He knows
I’d gladly toss all my desires
to the wayside
to stand upright
with Him.
© Joyce Pool

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