Poetry

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I Walk On
Still
I Wait for You, Love
Carried Treasure
In the Quiet
Ancient of Days
I’ll Go! Send Me!
Your Lasting Word
My Lord, It’s Okay
In the Midst of Your Holiness

I Walk On

The days roll on by;
So many pages turn,
And the world can't see why
My spirit continues to burn.
Once in a long, long while,
On a rare, pleasant day,
Someone crosses the mile
And gives all their heart away ...

... and I walk on.
My heart lifted high,
Hands stretched toward the sky,
I walk on.

Occasions like those,
As rare as they may be,
They are why the Lord chose
Salvation for a wretch like me;
He knew I would cry out
"Know ye the Lord, all men!"
And He knew I would shout
"Let us turn away from sin!"

... and I walk on.
My heart lifted high,
Hands stretched toward the sky,
I walk on.

Across the wide seas,
In a village, so small,
Who will cry out for these
Who've no knowledge of God at all?
Who'll rise up and go there?
Who'll risk their life for Him?
Who has God's love to share
And all His mercy with them?

... and I walk on.
My heart lifted high,
Hands stretched toward the sky,
I walk on.

One man in a year,
Or thousands in one day,
I have nothing to fear;
The Truth and the Light mark my way.
Oh, and when it seems all
My efforts are in vain,
I hear my Savior's call,
"I will never let you faint."

... and I walk on.
My heart lifted high,
Hands stretched toward the sky,
I walk on.
© Joyce Pool

Still

The sun still rises in the east.
Still, the dew blankets the ground.
And I still cry, sometimes, at night,
when there’s no one else around.
But not to worry; I’m okay;
Peace covers me in the morn.
The nightingale still sings her song.
Still, each day, new life is born.

The Comforter still whispers sweet,
sweet promises in my ear.
He still knows the treasures I keep
in a heart that holds you dear.
All the flowers still fade away;
But, they come back in the spring.
I’ll come back too, in Glory Land;
To Him, it’s a minor thing.

I watch the sun come up again;
It still does that, so I’ve found.
And eagle wings still wait for those
bent on finding solid ground.
He still draws nearer to the ones
whose hearts are broken in two.
Though I still cry, sometimes, at night,
He fails not to see me through.
© Joyce Pool

I Wait for You, Love

I wait for you, Love, in silent prayer;
I’ve so, so much to give.
There are things we’ve not begun to share;
We’ve scarcely begun to live.

I wait for you, Love, my heart so pure;
I’ll continue to wait,
For, of nothing have I been so sure,
But that you’re my perfect mate.

I wait for you, Love; I dream of you;
You’ll find me on your way.
I’ll give and give and give so much to
The one who finds me that day.
© Joyce Pool

Carried Treasure

I think I might have buried a treasure
In a canyon in Arizona.
But I don’t remember that November,
Nor dying with double pneumonia.

There was a child’s playing place in Coolidge
Where I once learned to say “Things are not,”
Though all those sad things were, it was my cure;
I could have so done without the thought.

I think I might have hid my purity
Beneath the sand in a canyon crack.
By grace, sand blows away, a bit a day,
And I can have my purity back.

The Son burned so hot on the desert sand;
It turned all those tiny grains to glass
So I could see clearly, though I nearly
Let the great opportunity pass...

Out of fear, out of fear of what would be.
I’m so glad I didn’t miss my chance.
I’d rather stay right here than go back near
A child’s playing place and miss the dance.

I’m dancing a dance of celebration;
I celebrate the treasure I hold.
What I cannot carry, I won’t bury;
I’ll withhold it for a heart of gold.

It’s worth more to me than any diamond;
More than anything money can buy.
It’s the richest treasure, without measure;
So, when I finally share it...

Oh, my!
© Joyce Pool

In the Quiet

I sat in the quiet,
twiddling my thumbs,
so irritable I couldn't see.
And to my surprise,
the Lord spoke up,
"Come. Take a walk with Me."

I paced and I paced,
then, I paced some more
'til I wore two feet of carpet bare!
I paced 'til I could take
not a single step more,
then, I plopped back down in my chair.

"What is it, Lord,
that You're telling me
by this dreadful, senseless walking?"
"I'll tell you if
you'll be still a moment
and let the Big Guy do the talking."

"Yes, Lord. I'm listening."

"Look at your palm
and tell Me what you see
in that, your empty hand."
"I see sweaty skin
and nothing but air.
I'm not sure I understand."

"What use have you
for worrying so?
It's as senseless as your pacing.
You accomplish nothing
but sweat and tears
with thoughts on things you're facing.

When will you learn
how foolish it is
not to hand it all to Me?
When will you call
things that are not
as though they are so they will be?

When will you think
on things that are lovely,
as you've so often done before?
When will you trust Me
with all that you have
and allow Me to take the floor?"

"I trust You, Lord."

I sit in the quiet,
as still as can be,
so peaceful and so free,
knowing that the Lord
holds my life in His hands;
that His thoughts are also on me,

and HIS thoughts are always lovely!
© Joyce Pool

Ancient of Days

When I can’t take the worry,
And I can’t take the shame,
I lay down the shackles
And I call on your name.
When I can’t take the hunger
And I can’t find my place,
I run to the Refuge,
O’ Ancient of Days.

Ancient of Days.
Ancient of Days.
I run to the Refuge,
O’ Ancient of Days.

Time knows no rules.
Time knows no pain.
Time was built on the Face
Of the Deep and His ways.
O’ Ancient of Days,
Ancient of Days.
I run to the Refuge,
O’ Ancient of Days.

When I can’t take the worry,
And I can’t take the shame,
I lay down the shackles
And I call on your name.
When I can’t take the hunger
And I can’t find my place,
I run to the Refuge,
O’ Ancient of Days.

Ancient of Days.
Ancient of Days.
I run to the Refuge,
O’ Ancient of Days.

Time knows no rules.
Time knows no pain.
Time was built on the Face
Of the Deep and His ways.
O’ Ancient of Days,
Ancient of Days.
I run to the Refuge,
O’ Ancient of Days.

I hear the call of the Master
Crying from the deep.
He’s calling to you.
He’s calling to me.
He’s calling the masses,
Calling today:
“Come to the Refuge,
To the Ancient of Days,
To the Ancient of Days.
Come to the Refuge,
To the Ancient of Days.”

When I can’t take the worry,
And I can’t take the shame,
I lay down the shackles
And I call on your name.
When I can’t take the hunger
And I can’t find my place,
I run to the Refuge,
O’ Ancient of Days.
© Joyce Pool

I'll Go! Send Me!

Do you believe the Martyr knew when He said
“Father, I’ll go!” that He’d wind up dead?
He knew well the Father’s will
when He gladly crawled up the hill
where the foot of His cross turned red.

Until you’re ready to give up all you own,
your family, life, and happy home,
don’t be quick to say you’ll go.
See, my friends, you just never know
the places He will have you roam.

Do you believe the warriors who often say
“I’ll go! Send me!” that they know the way?
“Guide and protect me, oh God,
on whatever soil these feet trod.
Send me to the lost, Lord, I pray.”

“I’ll go! Send me!” is a phrase so loosely used.
We mean to go help the lost and bruised.
But when we are sent to war
for the One we are fighting for,
we wind up beaten and accused.

“I’ll go! Send me!” I tighten up my ship’s sails;
I know, if I’m called, what that entails.
I know Jesus rose again
to save the world from death and sin;
I know my Savior never fails.

Like Paul and Silas, with prayer and with praise,
I’ll go on despite the threatening waves.
I’ll go e’en when clouds draw near.
I’ll still go despite pain or fear.
I’ll go be a light in the haze.
© Joyce Pool

Your Lasting Word

I cannot describe Your glory;
I have not the words to say.
Should I behold Your beauty,
I’m sure it would take my breath away.
Your love is so amazing,
Like nothing ever seen or heard.
But, Lord, there is nothing whatsoever
That compares to Your holy Word.

I find within its pages strength --
Strength that I could never own.
I find within it Your joy --
Seeds of love only You could have sewn.
I find within it promise
For so much more than I have now.
Oh, Lord, Your Word is forever faithful
To hold true to those things You vow.

I’m Your witness though I be small.
And I shout “His Word is Truth!”
I’ve lowered this crippled life
Down through the hole in the roof.
You met me there with Your Word,
Faithful to deliver my soul.
As though that weren’t enough, Oh my Savior,
With Your Word, You have made me whole.

I take these useless days of naught
And lay them down before You.
Do with this life what You will,
Knowing that I adore You.
Make use of me, my Father,
Though, as a flower, I fade fast.
And yet, Your Word stands when all else withers,
From the beginning to the last.
© Joyce Pool

My Lord, It's Okay

I sit alone, out on the deck,
gently gliding back and forth
in the porch swing.
There is a gentle breeze
blowing in from the Kiamichi foothills.
I almost need a sweater in mid-May.
The sounds of nightlife are so intense,
slightly interrupted
by the occasional passersby
on the distant highway.

Once, I found serenity
so easy to come by here,
but something's changed.
It isn't the lack of a loved one
to share the moment;
It's been that way for years.
No. I do believe it's me,

and the nagging "what if"
that tells me I just might find
more warmth
in your loving embrace
than I would in a sweater
and that this beauty and peace
should not be witnessed
and appreciated alone
in such a large swing.

The songs those windchimes play
remind the young-at-heart
part of me
that time is quickly slipping away
and I am losing opportunities
to run with the wind,
only to find you
catching me away in your arms
for another dance under the moon.

I write our names in the sand,
just to watch them
blowing away in this breeze.
I cannot bring myself
to paint us on rock
for fear you might not feel the same.

Spring awakens
the old fashioned side of me
that prefers to remain
silent in my feelings
by teasing my nose
with new growth in the gardens.
How can I not be silent now
when I don't know whether your heart
would even consider
the contrasts you'd find
should you ever place
one of those sweet pea blossoms
in my hair?

How can I
not let that humble silence remain
when thougths of me
may be no warmer to you
than the light show
those thousands of fireflies are putting on
against the black backdrop
created by the nearby treeline?

I pray,
wherever you are tonight,
that the Lord will carry this wind,
with thoughts of me,
to your heart,
that, in that wind,
the song, our song
that these windchimes sing
will play a sweet melody
of love, our love, in your ear,

and that you'll one day walk
in the same sand,
and feel the need to stop
just long enough to take notice
that both our names
are already written upon the Rock.
That, my lord,
is why I think it's okay
that I pray you'll love
the serenity, the beauty, and the peace
in this, my secret place.
© Joyce Pool

In the Midst of Your Holiness

Mark 12:41-44 And Jesus sat over against the treasury, and beheld how the people cast money into the treasury: and many that were rich cast in much. And there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites, which make a farthing.
And he called unto him his disciples, and saith unto them, Verily I say unto you, That this poor widow hath cast more in, than all they which have cast into the treasury: For all they did cast in of their abundance; but she of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living.

Though You've planted my feet
upon the solid Rock,
given me a sound mind
and healed my bruised spirit,
I find that what the world views
as reality
dims in Your presence,
and You, oh my Sovereign Lord,
become my reality,
the only thing that exists for me.

Truly, truly,
You are nearer
the broken hearted.
Balm from Your own hand
has soothed the wounds
for which no man
has found, nor can they find,
a cure.
Yes. And only Your fingerprints
remain
to remind me that You are able.

In the midst of Your holiness,
a cry,
a new song, a song
older than time,
forms itself
from the deep places
beneath even my soul:

"There is no thing,
there is no thing,
there is no thing,
no, there is NO thing
that I desire
more than I desire
to be pleasing
in Your sight."

In all that You've done
for me and through me,
in all that You've given me,
the greatest of which is life,
Your life,
tell me,
what can I do for You?
Yes, I am small.
But even I know
that the smallest of flowers
given in love
are more precious
than a great city
given in bribery.

So I offer all that I am,
all that I have
to You.
How, my Lord,
my heart desires
to remain
in You,
to dwell securely
in the secret place,
in the shadow of Your wings,
in the holiness of Your presence.
© Joyce Pool

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