Poetry
Freedom
Bless the Dance
At the Well
Wildflower
A Crumpled Up Roadmap
A Prophet’s Prayer
A Queen’s Most Charitable Song
Painting Your Heart
Your Dreams
All These Tiny Pieces
Freedom
In this still and quiet place,
In humble surrender to Your mercy and grace,
In reverence, in comfort, in love, in awe,
In complete obedience to Your law,
I am free.
I am free to laugh;
I am free to dance;
I am free to love,
To take a chance,
To bury the burdens of yesterday.
How I wish I could always stay
In this still and quiet place,
Where life is not measured
By the lines in my face,
Where my freedom is found only
Through Your mercy and grace;
I am free.
© Joyce Pool
Bless the Dance
If my dancing brings You happiness,
I will dance.
I will dance with all my strength
in transparency before You.
David -- he knew You.
He knew You the way I know You.
Pulling at my clothing;
How I wish I could get out of this skin.
I want to dance before Your throne.
I want only to please You.
If I could only dance Your love
into the hearts of others,
perhaps You’d allow me
to dance for You in eternity.
You’ve asked me, now,
to dance a dance of humility.
It won’t be easy, Lord --
dancing to ‘Living Water’,
knowing the woman at the well
was just too close to being me.
Oh, my heart dances in humble gratitude;
There is no leaping here for me.
Help me bring my heart into the dance,
so much so
that Your people see You in me
and cry out in worship,
in spirit,
in truth,
even in repentance,
and in awe of Your holiness.
Strengthen me.
Grant me graciousness
and humility
to dance the dance of thankfulness.
Hold my hand.
Guide me through the dance
to minister to others
what the song ministers to me.
Until the day comes
when I can dance for You alone
in Your throne room,
Lord, for Your sake,
I will dance today,
but only to bless Your name.
Father, please bless the dance.
© Joyce Pool
At the Well
In all Your splendor,
In all Your glory,
In all Your beauty,
In all Your grace,
Jesus, who am I
That I should be privileged
To see Your loving face?
In the wonder of Your presence,
I am humbled to find myself here.
Oh, Lamb of God,
My Prince of Peace,
The Savior I hold so dear,
How is this --
That You’ve loved me
Despite the woman I’ve been?
And why do You hold
Your arms stretch so wide
For the likes of me
To step within?
In one moment of time,
One hour of mercy,
In one precious second
Of perfect peace for me,
Everything I have ever needed,
I have found it, My King,
In Thee.
© Joyce Pool
Wildflower
The following was written for the “Wildflowers” romance poetry contest.
They walked through a garden
of planted flowers
chosen for gardener's delight.
She'd hoped he'd pick just one
blossom to place lovingly
in her hair.
He led her through the lilies
letting her believe
it meant nothing to him.
It was obvious by the lines
that creased her forehead,
her heart was about to break.
On the other side
of scented paradise,
beyond a fence of climbing roses,
lay jagged rocks
and broken twigs
in soil barren of grass.
There was nothing left
of the dream she had, where he
understood just what she wanted.
He held her hand,
"Come see what I found,"
and led her to a large rock.
"Down here,"
he pointed under its edge,
"look close because it's small."
The tiniest wildflower,
shaded by a rock's shadow,
shown in full glory.
It gracefully peered
from a most unlikely place,
hiding but for their eyes.
Its miniature petals
were streaked
with crimson rays,
radiating from its center
like bloodstains
on white satin.
"I wanted to pick this for you,
place it lovingly in your hair,
compare it to your face.
But it grows alone,
one of a kind,
and I'm afraid to touch it."
He traced the curves of her face
with a single fingertip,
"I'm afraid to touch you, too."
© Joyce Pool
A Crumpled Up Roadmap
If my youth were restored,
I might enjoy those old practices
of being single;
nowhere near worried
about waking up
to find myself still alone.
But not in this day and age.
I used to be sure
I had an ocean of fish
to choose from,
pitching woo on the back roads,
(never letting him
get passed second base,
of course)
and holding hands
in the dark theater
simply because
it was the thing to do.
I somehow managed
to carry those values
even through the heartache
that real life
seems to throw our way
when we aren't paying attention
so that it hits us
full in the face.
But it's a different world
we live in
and those simple times
just aren't so simple
anymore.
You get to be
over a certain age
and those things
still stir the imagination.
But street dances
and grabbing your partner
will get you
in a heap of real trouble now.
I can't even bring myself
to watch the news.
I'm still watching
those old folks though,
the ones swinging
out on the front porch
like they just got married
yesterday.
And I just can't
hold back the smile
that says,
"I'm gonna be you someday,"
with a little bit of hope
and a whole lot of faith.
I'm in search
of a crumpled up roadmap
with a red marker
to highlight the way.
How do you get
from here to there?
I don't know anything about
courting these days.
Guess I'm just hoping
it'll jump out in front of me
and I can skip over
all that.
Because it's really not
all about romance to me.
It's about honesty
and having in common,
especially,
love for the King of Kings.
I'd just really love
to have someone to share
this walk with me.
© Joyce Pool
A Prophet's Prayer
Wondering why I am so privileged:
I guess it took looking
at the awesomeness of who You are
to change me.
I was pretty far-gone.
Wasn’t I?
I was living like tomorrow
would always be there for me
regardless of who I was inside.
You remind me often
that few see what I’ve seen
or hear what I’ve heard.
Thank You for keeping me grateful...
humble.
Thank You for not overwhelming me...
for not giving me more manna
than I could handle.
You remind me, too,
that people like me aren’t accepted
in their own countries;
They prefer to believe,
or it’s just easier for them to believe,
there’s something “wrong” with me.
That deeply hurts at times,
but it’s okay.
I’m glad You made me
just the way You did.
They just aren’t able to comprehend
what they don’t understand,
what they haven’t been so privileged
to have access to.
I know I don’t
“see and hear things that aren’t there.”
They misunderstand
and it is to their own destruction,
their own loss.
It hurts more to see them blind
than anything their words
can do to me.
It IS a privilege,
an honor,
a delight,
to know You personally,
from the heart,
better than I know my own family.
It’s even more of a privilege to know
that You know me
better than I know myself.
© Joyce Pool
A Queen's Most Charitable Song
The following is based upon the life of the humble queen, Esther, and her reverence for the king ... and the King of Kings.
So many thrones,
so many queens,
and oh, so very much pride,
but, all in all,
the King of Kings
has chosen a most humble bride.
Oh, El Shaddai,
my honored King,
if it does please You, my Lord,
touch my forehead,
Golden Scepter,
that I might come behind the door
that leads to peace
in Your presence --
secret place behind the veil.
Hear my prayers
and gratitude
that Your favor might find me well.
While I’m here,
please direct me, God,
into paths that lead to peace.
Give Your servant
anointed grace
until again You've welcomed me
back to You,
and back to this place
You’ve allowed me to enter.
Send me onward
with Your blessing
and be, in this life, my mentor
that I might walk
humbly in this world,
though I know I don’t belong.
And give to me,
to share with all,
a queen’s most charitable song.
© Joyce Pool
Painting Your Heart
If your heart was my canvas, I’d paint it black
So all your colors could radiate through.
The stars just don’t shine through baby blue
Or cloud-covered white skies.
No sponge or brush could fashion
The eloquence of your texture,
So I’d construct your every crease and bend
With vigilant, but tender fingertips.
I’d blend in hues of fiery crimson
To emulate the searing passion
You leave smoldering beneath the surface,
Intermingling shades of yellow --
Reminiscent of the happiness you emit,
And splash you with amethyst cords to enfold you,
To embrace you without binding you down.
I would color you the beautiful work of art that you are
With paint that never dries
So I could always add tinges of me,
One modest pigment at a time,
Until I become the emerald silhouette
That unfolds your splendor
When the canvas is acquiescent enough
To let me paint me
Into you.
© Joyce Pool
Your Dreams
There is a sadness about your eyes,
though long disguised.
I must say you’ve hidden it well --
a deep desire,
contained, but sweltering fire
to feel those things you’ve never even felt.
If I’ve touched on truths that you can’t bear,
those you can’t share
for fear of what people would think,
just know these eyes
are subject to equal cries;
I often thirst for the very same drink.
Though Living Water satisfies you,
gratifies you,
just one thing seems to be needed.
It helps to know
that the Father loves you so,
that your prayers were long ago heeded.
So many secrets behind those eyes.
Oh, they’re not lies --
just those things you bury inside.
Those gifts await
for, now, you can’t tolerate
blessed whispers spoken deep in the night.
My friend, listen close; Perhaps you’ll hear
a smile or tear --
long reserved for you’re not fainting.
And when you wake
without the familiar ache,
know that your dreams ARE the Master’s painting.
© Joyce Pool
All These Tiny Pieces
When every fragment, every shard,
every tiny and broken piece of me
is gathered together
into Your gentle, merciful hands,
I find the completeness I so need
to continue on this journey.
My wholeness, I have found,
is in nothing and no one
outside Your love.
Forgive me for those moments
when I step away
from the realm of completeness
You keep always ready
for one such as myself.
All these tiny pieces
I lay in the palm of Your hands
to do with as only You can.
Take them, Oh God,
and make them
the beautiful image of You
that You intended them to be
from the dawn of creation.
© Joyce Pool
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