Poetry

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Let Go of the Wheel
I Know Peace
Deep Within the Folds
Fields of Daisies
Prayer for Writers
Contentedness
Summer's Sweat
His Must Be Tried
"00" -- 'If I Could Write to You'
Washed Ashore

Let Go of the Wheel

When your world spins out of control,
and all you want is to stand still,
don’t try to keep up with the madman’s pace;
My friend, just let go of the wheel.

When yesterday was so unkind,
and tomorrow seems all uphill,
trust in the Lord to see you through it all;
My friend, just let go of the wheel.

When the days seem to grow shorter,
and precious sleep, long nights should steal,
rest in knowing He’s never lost control;
My friend, just let go of the wheel.

When it hurts so bad in your heart,
that you’re afraid to even feel,
let the River of Love wash over you;
My friend, just let go of the wheel.

When the Father’s anointed touch
seems too powerful, too surreal,
know that His hands are most gentle and kind;
My friend, just let go of the wheel.

When life becomes too confusing,
and you’re not sure if it’s His will,
trust in the Lord. Simply trust in the Lord;
My friend, just let go of the wheel.
© Joyce Pool

I Know Peace

Love divine,
joy sublime,
and peace is Thine.
I know peace.
It covers me
in the raging sea.
I know peace.
I know peace.

I call out the name
above every name
when I can’t stand the rain,
when the thunder’s so loud
and I can’t hear a thing,
when the sky grows so dark
and I can’t see the way,
when nothing will do.
Yes, I call out to You.

I know peace
will be there for me.
Because I know You,
I know peace.
You are peace.
Now peace is mine.

Love divine,
joy sublime,
and peace is Thine.
I know peace.
It covers me
in the raging sea.
I know peace.
I know peace.

Above and beyond
all I need or conceive,
peace covers me.
I know peace.
Because I know You,
I know peace.

Love divine,
joy sublime,
and peace is Thine.
Now peace is mine.
I know peace.
© Joyce Pool

Deep Within the Folds

Deep within the folds
of a red, red Rose,
is Love that’s hidden away,
to be revealed
for such a time as this,
when my heart breaks
anew
every day.

I watch and I wait;
Love, don’t hesitate;
I’ve voids only You can fill.
The crimson stream
runs gently o’er my head
and, once again,
I know
I’m fully healed.

Deep within the folds
of a red, red Rose,
His mercy endures, always.
Let the sweet scent
of my First Love draw near;
Teach and guide me,
my Love,
in all Your ways.
© Joyce Pool

Fields of Daisies

Dedicated to Mom and inspired by the quote: "If I had to do it all over again, I'd pick more daisies." ~unknown

Somewhere,
there are fields of daisies,
just waiting for their time to bloom.
And if I close my eyes
and open my heart,
I can smell their sweet perfume.

Someday,
I’m gonna run and play,
like a child whose young heart is free,
through a field of daisies
and give back to God’s earth
the scent of a sweeter me.

Somehow,
when it all seems dreary,
when daisies can scarcely be found,
when winter’s chill threatens
my joy, He promises:
“The seeds are yet in the ground.”

Today,
a little ladybug
crawled up my leg and stared at me.
Daises were painted there,
on her tiny wings --
a subtle promise of spring.

Someday,
I will pick a daisy.
Maybe I’ll pick one for you too.
For now, I think I’ll just
enjoy the snowflakes
and the silvery winter’s moon.

Somewhere,
there are fields of daisies,
just waiting for their time to bloom.
And if I close my eyes
and open my heart,
I can smell their sweet perfume.
© Joyce Pool

Prayer for Writers

Let Your nations bow down before You, King of Kings.
Let Your name be exalted among men.
He who was the beginning of all things,
Let Your glory shine bright through our pens!

Let all who hunger and thirst come to us and find
That You are praised for Your holiness here.
We ask that You fill us with love divine.
Touch our hearts and our pens. Keep us near.

Hallelujah, O merciful Savior and Lord!
Let Your name be exalted in this place.
Let all those who call You "My God adored"
Daily seek Your wisdom and Your face.

Let Your nations bow down before You, King of Kings.
Let Your name be exalted among men.
He who was the beginning of all things,
Let Your glory shine bright through our pens!
© Joyce Pool

Contentedness

Philippians 2:12-13 Wherefore, my beloved, as ye have always obeyed, not as in my presence only, but now much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling. For it is God which worketh in you both to will and to do of his good pleasure.

Philippians 4:12 I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.

That You would add anything,
whatsoever, to me
is simply because
it is in Your nature to bless.

That You would teach me
to do or to be
anything but what's considered
"ordinary"
is simply because
it is in Your nature to teach.

Nothing is of more importance to me
than the assurance of salvation
that You tell me must be worked out
with fear and trembling.

All other things
pale in comparison.

I ask that You would
turn my heart toward others,
adding to me
much, much love,
yet all for Your glory.
(That others would glorify
the love that comes naturally
with the indwelling of Your Spirit.)

But, how I pray that You
would teach me perfection
in just this one thing --

contentedness
just to live and to love
in whatever state I find myself --
no limitations,
no circumstantial joy.

Rejoice, my soul!
And again I say,
rejoice! Rejoice,
for the Lord's mercy
never ceases!
© Joyce Pool

Summer's Sweat

Mark 9:25-27 When Jesus saw that the people came running together, he rebuked the foul spirit, saying unto him, Thou dumb and deaf spirit, I charge thee, come out of him, and enter no more into him. And the spirit cried, and rent him sore, and came out of him: and he was as one dead; insomuch that many said, He is dead. But Jesus took him by the hand, and lifted him up; and he arose.

Life so quickly passes him by;
Summer's sweat freezes on his brow.
He wipes it away, like failure, with a sigh,
And he would cry if he could remember how.

But he can't; he's numb.

Sullen and broken, he drops to his knees.
"I'm afraid that I've yet to live.
Do you hear me, God? Answer me, please.
I know I haven't much left to give."

Defeat -- a stepping stone.

The enemy laughs: "A cross for a crown?"
And he struggles just to maintain.
He's tired of trying, of being bound.
All the world prefers to tag him "insane."

"Come out of him!" says the Lord.

The Word of God, tried and true,
Spoken in mercy and grace right now,
Once again, will see the man through,
When summer's sweat falls from his brow.

Spirit of God, rise up within him.
© Joyce Pool


His Must Be Tried

Zechariah 13:9 And I will bring the third part through the fire, and will refine them as silver is refined, and will try them as gold is tried: they shall call on my name, and I will hear them: I will say, It is my people: and they shall say, The LORD is my God.

From my head to my feet,
in every way that is known,
through pain, from deceit,
through all that is sown,
from birth to this day,
through every step I take,
The Light and the Way
refine me for His sake.

Let the mountains bow down.
Let them be leveled or removed.
For mercy, I've found,
is daily renewed.
My steps are designed,
perfectly planned just for me.
Love is reflected
when I fall down in need.

If He lives in your heart,
His image is seen in you too.
When you fall apart,
then what do you do?
Remember the Word.
Remember His perfect plan
and all that you've heard
from the righteous I Am.
© Joyce Pool

"00" -- 'If I Could Write to You'

Written expressively for the one who was a father to me when I was fatherless. Love, “Olive Oil.”

"Live and love; take your sweet time;
give this old world your best,
for you never know what tomorrow will bring,
neither its laughter, nor its tests.

Don't you worry about my soul;
just know we'll meet again someday.
You see, I had all that time in the end
to bow before the Lord and pray.

But listen closely, you whom I've loved --
You may not have the chance I had.
So, live each day as though it were your last
and know that you've made me glad.

I've crossed the bridges that you call 'time'
and I wait in peace on the other side,
on the shore of the River of Eternal Life,
watching you from across its tides.

These things I ask of you are simple:
Be kind, all of you to each other.
Tell the babies how much Grandpa loved them
and take special care of your mother.

My hands are no longer calloused;
without pain, they stretch out today,
to wipe away your tears, just as I did
with calloused hands of yesterday."
© Joyce Pool

Washed Ashore

Rapidly darkening clouds
spray a blush of rosy pink
across blackening horizon --
Another storm closes in.
Another day
(perpetually motionless,
repetitive nothingness,
simply inhaling
and exhaling)
quickly fades away.

She braces herself
to battle hopelessness --
hopelessness
too symbolic of the rain
for comfort.

Somewhere out there,
perhaps on the other side of the world,
he rises before the sun,
watching dusk come to a close.
He knows this darkest hour
will soon fade,
that dawn will soon whisper
a fresh light
across the silver-black seascape.
Birds are already praising
the Maker of the upcoming sun.

"She's out there, somewhere.
I know she is;
I can hear her laughter.
I smell her hair.
I feel her breathe.
But today, her breathing
doesn't come so easily.
Strengthen her, my God.
Increase her faith."

She's spent.
Finally,
a flutter of exhausted lids
and sleep
deadens the voice of torrents
cruelly drumming
on her windowpane.
While she's rocked
in fitful slumber,
dreams, like visions,
come rushing in:

A narrow path
winds its way through
deep-green valleys,
lush gardens,
rocky mountainsides,
across shallow streams
and a desert that seems
could possibly go on forever...
yes, perpetually motionless,
like her days of late.

But she knows
(She just knows.)
that there is an end
to the desert --
a seaside.
And on the way,
the Word
is an oasis
with perfect timing.

She doesn't walk alone.
Neither does he.
Both are surrounded
by heavenly hosts
and are permanent dwelling places
for The Almighty.
But they walk
separate paths.

She wakes to the scent
of storms passed,
refreshed,
knowing their paths
will eventually cross.
Faith renewed,
hopelessness exhaled,
she breathes in
morning.

Tomorrow,
she'll intercede for him,
(a stranger,
and yet, she's always known him)
while he sets sail
to cross the wide sea
to where salt meets sand
and the Water
carries Love in
on its tides.

"He's out there, somewhere.
I know he is;
I can hear his laughter... "
© Joyce Pool

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