Poetry

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Ode to a Rose and a Ruby
My Savior Walks With Me
None But You
Elizabeth’s Sacrifice
Years of Mourning
I am Human
What’s Left of Me
Running With the Wind
Created for a Purpose
Colorful View

Ode to a Rose and a Ruby

Dedicated to my great grandmother, Lenora Elliot-Fox, and my grandmother, Ruby Fox-Branton:

She was a rose frozen in time,
slowly losing her memory.
She knew that life could be unkind,
and, yet, she found her ruby in me.

Her Ruby died at forty-three,
daughter and a widow as well,
leaving my Mom without parents.
At seventeen, it must have been hell.

But Grandma Fox, as we called her,
thought that Mom's third daughter was grand.
She'd hike up her cotton house-dress
and play marbles with me in the sand.

She kept a rose I made for her
at Bible School when I was five.
Cellophane-wrapped, that red silk rose
seemed frozen and forever alive.

No one talked much about Ruby.
I often wondered how she'd been.
They only said she'd suffered much,
and that I looked like her before then.

There were no pictures of Ruby,
save one that you could hardly see.
How could she, with that fifties' hat,
have looked anything at all like me?

I had that old picture enlarged
and I held her reflection near.
I sketched her details, line-by-line,
Suddenly, the likeness was clear.

More than just physical features,
I found answers no one could give.
I could not have known her better
if God had allowed her to live.

I went to see my great Grandma
not long before she passed away.
She introduced me to her friends,
but not as myself on that day.

She was a rose frozen in time,
slowly losing her memory.
She knew that life could be unkind,
and, yet, she found her Ruby in me.
© Joyce Pool

My Savior Walks With Me

Sometimes I feel so alone,
on a long and lonely walk home.
But I know He walks with me.
I am saved by mercy.
I’m stilled by grace.
I am broken, but I’m free.
Someday, I know, I’ll see His face.
My Savior walks with me.

When the waves crash all around,
I’m so frightened by the sound.
But I know He walks with me.
From beyond the turmoil
I hear “Be still;
Come and walk upon the sea.
Follow Me, for this is My will.
Beloved, walk with Me.”

Sometimes I feel so alone,
on a long and lonely walk home.
But I know He walks with me.
I am saved by mercy.
I’m stilled by grace.
I am broken, but I’m free.
Someday, I know, I’ll see His face.
My Savior walks with me.

From beyond the turmoil
I hear “Be still.
Beloved, walk with Me.”
Sometimes I feel so all alone,
But I know He walks with me.
Even upon the troubled sea,
I know, I know, my Savior.
My Savior, He walks with me.
© Joyce Pool

None But You

Who can take my gray skies and make them blue
and use my tears of mourning for His glory?
Who can turn a heart of steel
into one tried and true?
None but You,
oh God. None but You.

You’re my Light in the darkness,
when I fall down on my knees.
Lord, you are my God.
You’re everything I need!

Who can take my gray skies and make them blue
and use my tears of mourning for His glory?
Who can turn a heart of steel
into one tried and true?
None but You,
oh God. None but You.

You’re my strength to climb mountains
and in the valleys, my guide.
Can’t live without You.
I know; I’ve already tried!

Who can take my gray skies and make them blue?
None but You,
oh God. None but You.

Who can turn a heart of steel
into one tried and true?
None but You.
None but You.
You make me stand upright.
None but You.

You make my gray skies blue.
None but You.
Only You.
None but You.
© Joyce Pool

Elizabeth's Sacrifice

John 15:12-14 My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command.

Dedicated to an American sailor, my niece, Elizabeth:

When you took that step off the shore
And, on the Boxer, set out to sail,
I must admit, I lacked confidence
That my prayers for you would prevail.

I remember bathing you, combing your hair,
Taking you out in the yard to play,
Reading to you from ‘The Cat in the Hat,’
Not knowing how brave you’d have to be one day.

When you, young mothers, feel impatient
As they cut teeth and struggle to walk,
When they cry all night and you’re all they know,
And can’t tell you because they can’t talk,

Think of my sweet Elizabeth
And her most humble sacrifice.
Think of all the things she missed at home
While her own babies were paying the price.

I can’t give her back those precious months,
Jackson's first steps or Kacie's laughter.
But I know there’s a great reward set up
For sweet Elizabeth in the eternal hereafter.

Her sacrifice was so much greater
Than just eight months in the open sea;
She gave away precious moments of her life
For the likes of common men like you and me.

There’s nothing that we could ever do,
Nothing on this earth that was ever made,
That will ever make up for the sacrifice
That my sweet, sweet Elizabeth paid.
© Joyce Pool

Years of Mourning

When I was a babe, not many years old,
old, I was, beyond my years.
Naked, bruised, left out in the cold,
I knew of mourning and bitter tears.

What I did not know then was, years ago,
a holy child was born,
to be bruised, left out in the cold.
You know the shoes this child has worn.

So, take those years of mourning.
Use them for Your glory.
Don’t let my tears be shed in vain.
Let Your people see
how You set me free
from all the bitterness and pain.

More than just a man, thirty-three years old,
You shed precious blood for me.
Naked, bruised, left out in the cold,
You laid Your life down so I’d be free.

So, take those years of mourning.
Use them for Your glory.
Don’t let my tears be shed in vain.
Let Your people see
how You set me free
from all the bitterness and pain.

Take those years of mourning.
Take my tears of mourning.
Use them for Your glory.

Shine Your face upon me.
Let me tell Your glorious story
of resurrection glory.

Use me for Your glory.
Oh, Lord of Love
and Lord of Glory. Amen.
© Joyce Pool

I am Human

Despite my apparent strength
and the distance
from which you watch me,
I am not that faraway
jet plane
with its fiery shadow trailing behind it.
My heart is not formed of steel.

Though my essence could,
with opportunity,
should you let down your own
resistance,
be the gentle breeze
that softly kisses your cheek,
I am not that wind
rushing madly passed you,
seemingly unaffected
by your presence
in its path.

The intricate,
most delicate details
of the hummingbird
may very well hold
a slight resemblance to my own.
And though I hunger,
I am not that wild creature
who lives only
to be fed.

I am human

and often wonder
if I, like these three,
am so easily overlooked,
unashamedly replaced,
leaving behind me
a legacy
less significant
than the quickly disappearing
smoke behind that plane.

In my humanness,
I pray
just one heart
to hold with great care
in my palm
for eternity,
leaving my gracious essence
to fill your air
long after my being so human
is no more.
© Joyce Pool

What's Left of Me

I don’t know why You’d want it.
It isn’t worth much anymore.
But here it is, in tiny fragments,
Scattered all over the floor.

I don’t know what You’d make of it.
Nobody pays it a lot of mind.
Wouldn’t a heart in better shape
Be much easier to find?

What could You possibly want with me?
I’m a simpleton to say the least.
No, I’m less than that, I’m afraid;
Don’t know if I’ll ever adjust to peace.

But I’m sure glad You let me know
That You’ll take whatever’s left,
Only to create a work of art,
And that You’ve already paid my debt.

I don’t know why You’d welcome me
Into the holiness You emit.
But here I am, scattered and broken,
In pieces pulled from the pit.
© Joyce Pool

Running With the Wind

Though it’s quite all right,
despite what people may say,
my Darling, you think it a sin.
You’ve waited, oh, so long
for what you think may be wrong,
while the stallions run away with the wind...
while the stallions run away with the wind.

The things on this earth,
whether immense or minute,
were all created by my best friend.
And, Sweetheart, so were we.
The best gifts really are free,
like stallions that run away with the wind...
like stallions that run away with the wind.

For what do you pray
in your secret place at night?
It exceeds what’s common to men.
But God even provides
shelter and food for the lives
of stallions who run away with the wind...
for stallions who run away with the wind.

They’ll come back one day
and, if you move real slowly,
you might just catch one in the end.
But don’t stay silent long,
for it may be your sweet song
that has the stallions running back with the wind.
They’ll run back to your sweet song with the wind.

Your gentle whispers,
let them be caught in a breeze --
prayers answered beyond the bend.
I can’t stay here so long.
My heart is captured in song,
though my feet run as swiftly as the wind.
They are stilled by songs whispered in the wind.
© Joyce Pool

Created for a Purpose

Upon witnessing the strength,
the courage that forces raging
crashes of waves across rocks,
even boulders -- that mighty, mighty river,

I am confounded by the cry in its rush:

“I was created for a purpose,
courageous, though not by choice.
My friend, be still,
knowing my Creator is your God.”

Not just any pine,
but the one so fortunate to have grown
from the highest peak in these foothills,
stretches proudly, almost out of its bark.

A gentle breeze,
so easy to hear far from the sounds of the city,
filters through limbs and needles
that bolted far above sisters and brothers
to this grandfather pine.

It whispers too tenderly for its pride:

“I was created for a purpose,
bold, though not by choice.
My friend, be still,
knowing my Creator is your God.”

Sitting atop this rock,
I watch a minuscule beetle slowly creep,
seemingly busy, yet without clear intentions,
only to disappear between the cracks.
I strive desperately to hear it.

When I least expect it,
its tiny black form reappears on the other side.
And to my surprise,
the voice of the Comforter gently urges,

“This little creature was created for a purpose,
infinitesimal, though not by choice.
But you, My friend, be still,
knowing you are of much more importance
than this tiny creature to its Creator.”
© Joyce Pool

Colorful View

Song of Songs 3:5 Daughters of Jerusalem, I charge you by the gazelles and by the does of the field: Do not arouse or awaken love until it so desires.

Dedicated to my colorfully poetic friend, Lynn:

frightened little girl
in half-aged body suit,
starts over,
cleaning her slate
so it feels fresh,
like riding a bike
for the first time
because she skinned
her knees so badly before.

his voice plays
on her ears
like music.
he pukes on her new
white tennis shoes
and she
doesn't even gag
because she's still
hypnotized
by the music
rolling off his tongue.

it bends
and it creases,
even gives in
sometimes,
but it gives
and gives
and gives so much
that she'll know it.
it'll take her
and rock her
in safety's dreams.
it will comfort her,
someday.

at least
that's what her
colorful friend
saw in her
when she worried
about days passing by
and no sign
of hope
in knowing love
or the bends
and creases
that it willfully
provides.

until then,
at least,
she has her friends
and they understand
why scarred
heart and knees
so easily
pass up the thought
of fly-by-night
romance
and empty promises.
instead, she waits
on music to fall
from unsuspecting
tongue.
© Joyce Pool

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