Poetry

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Confessions in a Princess’ Diary
Victory’s Cry (Acrostic)
For Those Who Have a Baby Boy
So Holy
Sweet Joy-Stone
He Thought of You, Too
When?
Prodigal Children
Little Girl
On The Master’s Breast

Confessions in a Princess’ Diary

I found me a mountain
that I thought was filled with gold.
I took up residence
and slept out in the cold,
just so I could wake up
one harsh day and find
that not all things that glitter
are the precious, holy kind.

I held fools’ gold in hands
that formed it perfectly
to what I thought was right,
as far as I could see.
But then it fell to bits;
Quickly, it turned old.
I suppose that’s what happens
when we follow after gold.

Then, I sat there wondering
how that hill became a stone,
and looked to the horizon;
A massive rainbow shone.
And this is no desert,
and that isn’t sand,
and it’s surely not glitter
all over my holy hands.

It’s gold dust that I hold,
a reflection of Love.
I got it from the Rock --
The Son of God above.
Now, all that I reach for
is touched by Him too.
Though you are simply a man,
the same gold dust shines on you.
© Joyce Pool

Victory’s Cry (Acrostic)

F aithful Friend,
A lmighty King,
I nfinite wisdom,
T arry not.
H old my heart.

I ncorruptible treasures
S atisfy my soul.

T rials, tests --
H eaven's plans
E nd in joy.

S ee beyond.
U nderstand truths
B ehind veils
S uspended, but
T orn apart
A nd opened
N ever for
C arnal ears,
E yes, nor hearts.

O h, Jesus,
F aithful and True.

T hy wing
H ides Me
I n grace,
N ear You --
G od's promises
S hadow over me.

H eaven waits.
O pened gates
P our forth
E ternal Life --
D rops like rain.

F reedom sounds
O 'er mountains,
R eaching my ears.

T ruth reigns.
H eaven rejoices,
E mmanuel, Christ Jesus.

E xtended hands,
V ictory's cry
I nstills Words
D ivinely spoken,
E mbraced wholly.
N othing outside
C an compare,
E mmanuel, The Word.

O h, glory!
F reedom does ring!

T hank You,
H eavenly Father.
I 'm honored.
N o weapons
G rand can
S top Your Love.

N o sting
O f death
T ouches the Christ.

S orrow dies,
E ven withers,
E nveloped by
N ever dying Love.
© Joyce Pool

For Those Who Have a Baby Boy

Dedicated to Blaine, an infant whom I babysat for a short time.

Daddy, fill the days of my youth with laughter.
Teach me that being compassionate doesn't mean I'm not strong.
Encourage me to use my own special gifts to succeed.
Forgive me easily when I don't measure up to your standards.
Show me by example that real men love Jesus.

Mommy, fill the days of my youth with song.
Teach me how to pray by letting me hear you.
Don't be so soft on me that I don't learn right from wrong.
Be the kind of woman you'd want me to marry someday.
Give me bits of wisdom for the journey that is my own to travel.
© Joyce Pool

So Holy

I lay before You my worries, Lord.
I lay before You my shame,
so my spirit can cry out “Holy,
so holy is Thy Name.”
Holy.
So holy.
So holy is Thy Name.

Blessed are You, oh the Lord of Hosts.
I will never be the same.
Standing here, in Your holy presence,
my heart and soul are changed.
Holy.
So holy.
So holy is Thy Name.

Blessed Rock of Ages, King of Kings,
Lord of Lords, my God, You reign.
Blessed are You, Jesus, Prince of Peace.
So holy is Thy Name.
Holy.
So holy.
So holy is Thy Name.

Holy.
So holy.
So holy is Thy Name.

Lord, You are so holy.
So holy is Thy Name.
© Joyce Pool

Sweet Joy-Stone

Dedicated to an extraordinarily beautiful woman, unknowingly used by the Lord to test my faithfulness.

He said “Walk a straight and narrow path
and you shall never walk alone.”
And when I stopped to rest on the Rock,
I spotted a sweet joy-stone.

I picked it up, held it to my breast.
It fell to pieces in my hand.
It was not a stone at all. You see,
it was made up of sand.

Neither was it full of joy or sweet;
It was just tossed there in my path,
to test me (a sinner saved by grace),
to stir up in me wrath.

But underneath those layers so hard,
a precious gem was hidden there.
It was not a treasure I could keep,
so I left it in His care.

I laid it there upon the same Rock
that steadies me every day,
the selfsame Rock who said, “Follow Me;
I’m The Truth, The Life, The Way.”

He said to me, “I love them also.
Though I used them to test you, Dear.
You’ve passed that test. Now stay on the path --
the straight one that led you here.”
© Joyce Pool

He Thought of You, Too

Blessed Redeemer, Lover of My Soul,
My Faithful Savior, Only Peace that I know,
I am no longer bound up in my sins,
For You have cleansed me with fire from within.

Blessed Redeemer, keep me nearer Thee,
For I am only what You make me to be.
I can do nothing without Your great hand
To guide and protect as I live in this land.

So, Blessed Savior, here is all of me,
Laid before the One who sets the captives free.
Refine and refine and refine me still.
Let me trade my desires in for Your will.

Blessed Redeemer, wrap me in Your wing.
Without Your blessed touch, I can't even sing.
No; I can do nothing outside of You.
You are the strength behind all that I do.

All glory and honor be given Thee.
Blessed Redeemer, I fall on my knees.
Oh, the holiness of Your blessed touch;
I'm humbled that You'd think of me so much.
© Joyce Pool

When?

Zechariah 4:5-7 Then the angel that talked with me answered and said unto me, Knowest thou not what these be? And I said, No, my lord. Then he answered and spake unto me, saying, This is the word of the LORD unto Zerubbabel, saying, Not by might, nor by power, but by my spirit, saith the LORD of hosts. Who art thou, O great mountain? before Zerubbabel thou shalt become a plain: and he shall bring forth the headstone thereof with shoutings, crying, Grace, grace unto it.

When, from the north, blows a cold wind
and the frost settles on the ground,
and then, the clouds roll away again
and small mercies can scarcely be found,

when aches your heart for hope and peace
in a world that’s so dark and cold,
when the raging waters do not cease
and your youth finds that you’re growing old,

when the blood curdling scream of fear
wakes you during the darkest hour,
when you cry out, but nobody’s near
and to walk, you’ve no might nor power,

when the weight of your own being
you cannot carry any longer,
you can’t believe the pain you’re seeing
and only wish that you’d been stronger,

when you’re broken, blind and confused
and you can’t start all over again,
then listen to the One Who was bruised
for you to humbly cry to Him “When?”

“Not by might, nor by power, but by My Spirit,” saith the Lord. “The time is now at hand.”
© Joyce Pool

Prodigal Children

I envisioned beautiful.
So, I fashioned it with care.
I placed it in a mother’s womb
and fed it manna while there.

When you came into the world,
I breathed life into your soul
and I handed you to the one(s)
whom I chose to watch you grow.

Some of you I lay in hands
so bitter and so unkind.
Some of you were then turned away,
but were always on My mind.

Some were lovingly sheltered.
Some grew strong in wisdom’s care.
Whatever path I put you on,
there were reasons you were there.

I never played favorites
when I chose your path for you.
You see, I had this perfect plan
for who you’d be when you grew.

One day, you came to meet Me
in a place that I prepared.
Children, you were so eager then,
so quick to go out and share

the things that I’d done for you
and, for a while, you all sang,
“Hallelujah, oh Lamb of God”
and, for then, you blessed My Name.

But then, you got all caught up
in the hoopla men call “church”
and forgot it’s the heart of man
that I transform and I search.

You can come back. I’m still here.
My arms are still opened wide.
Refiner’s fire will heal the shame
that you’ve tried so hard to hide.

Prodigal sons and daughters,
won’t you come back home to Me?
All it takes is a simple “yes”
and I’ll gladly set you free.
© Joyce Pool

Little Girl

Dedicated to my granddaughter, Rylie, a.k.a. “My Beautiful.”

Lift up your chin,
little girl,
though life, for you,
is already cruel.
You're royalty,
a princess,
a daughter
to The King.

Raise your head,
little girl;
You've no need
to be ashamed.
You're the apple
of His eye
and the apple
of your Grandma's eye too.

Stand up straight
and tall,
little girl,
despite the ones
you love.
Be strong
and of great courage.
Your Creator
watches steadily
over you.
© Joyce Pool

On The Master’s Breast

Sorrow and hopelessness,
internalized for decades,
poured forth in rivers
to crystallize on The Master’s breast --
a diamond-clad mantle
fit solely for The King of Kings.

Forgiveness and holiness
poured forth in rivers,
drops of blood from persecuting stripes
and piercing thorns,
onto a wretched peasant’s head --
a ruby-studded tiara that no man,
nor woman,
is worthy to wear.

One blessed day,
when my body takes on its glorious form
and Spirit returns to Spirit,
I will bow down
with joyousness and thanksgiving
unlike any this world has known,
leaving my ruby-studded crown
to rest at His feet,
only to find the diamonds from His mantle
waiting there for me,
miraculously stored in a bottle.
© Joyce Pool

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