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Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

Spurious Records

 

A tree falls down in the forest,

Yet there is not one to see.

Has this moment then actually happened,

When no record is made for me?

 

Jesus takes our fall on a tree,

And there are many who see.

A moment that truly did happen,

Recorded for eternity.

 

Tho’ I was not there as a witness,

Nor had a breath even mine.

This event is one I am certain,

Divides more than history of time

 

So Who then establishes truth?

On Whom can we lean with our mind?

What Anchor prevails against falsehood?

Who frames the very span of time?

 

 

Only One holds Words of all knowledge.

Only One laid footings for Earth.

On the day morning stars sang together,

His commands flow forth as at first.

 

©2011 Sandra Gilloth

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Marker

 

A Bookmark is a handy thing,

It shows us where we’re at.

We turn to it and see our place,

“Yes!  I remember that!”

Yet bookmarks only hold your place,

And move along with thee.

Far better is He Who took your place,

On the Cross at Calvary!

As someone turns to seek Him,

He shows them where they’re at.

And as the Spirit nudges they say,

“Oh Lord … I repent of that.”

The True Marker is the Lord!

Who holds your place… in life.

He holds it before the Father,

Within the Book of Life.

He holds your place in Heaven,

The Mansions you will see.

He went to prepare a place for you,

That where He is you’ll be.

Oh would that you might seek Him.

He stands at the door and knocks.

But warn all those who would choose Him not –

A place not held is lost!

 

©1998 Sandra Gilloth

“The Lord is my chosen and assigned portion.  My cup:  You hold and maintain my lot.” (Psalm 16:5)

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Ode to the Twenty

Ode to the Twenty

 

 

My fallen friends so strong and true,

Not slacking – but faithful, stalwart troops.

Perimeter guards of yonder ground,

Your passing raises grief profound.

 

Though quiet in your duty held,

A fragrance sweet your bodies meld.

And wind would sing through piney boughs,

A lullaby to sooth those raw.

 

Mighty and strong with arms outstretched,

Inviting beauties of captive-ness

You blessed us with a scenic pose,

Evergreens in tidy rows.

 

A few as babes seemed slightly odd,

Knobby limbs with fir-like blobs.

Little Alice-the-Goon so sweet,

A friendly welcome from one petite.

 

But now she and nineteen passed,

Taken in the wintry blast.

Unable to such cold endure,

All life flow ceased will flow no more.

 

Now the howling chain-saw blades,

Usher in silence and empty lanes.

Where once a field of twenty loomed,

An evergreen memory is entombed.

 

 

©2011 Sandra Gilloth

Two of Twenty

 

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The Razor


There is a principle in life,

A law that each can see.

Requiring constant vigilance,

Against this entropy.


We see it every morning,

The harvest of the flesh.

What once was smooth and silken,

Now tender touch arrests.


With hyssop lay the lather,

Against the flesh each morn.

And with the two-edged sword,

Expose a heart reborn!


©1996 Sandra Gilloth

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The Least Vessel

The Least Vessel


In the Great Hall, some vessels stood tall,

Proclaiming their value and worth.

While other vessels, more common and rough,

Were frequently targets of mirth.


This night as most, with the Master turned in,

The Great Hall stood silent and still–

Except for the smoldering coals on the hearth,

And the echoes of voices within.


With studied eloquence a voice flowed forth,

From the shelf of the “porcelains and golds.”

“A vessel refined in beauty and love

Is something quite wondrous to behold.”


“It’s pleasing to eye, and smooth to touch,

Of elemental beauty and grace.

With such value, quality and craftsmanship rare,

It must be the one in first place.”


“Well now!” spluttered the urn rough-cast in clay,

That sat in its place on the floor.

“How can you possibly be in first-place,

When I can carry much more?”


“We urns, of course, are the workhorses here.

We know our purpose and place.

“It’s volume that counts!” he boasted loudly.

“Not that glazed look on your face!”


The porcelains were shattered, and ready to fight,

But just then the Gold Goblet spoke:

“You all are missing the main point it seems.

Your posturing is quite a joke!”


“It’s what’s inside which matters most,

And all of you know gold is best!”

But the Gold was plated on top of tin,

So he was as poor as the rest!


At that, the Great Hall erupted with laughter,

And peals of hilarious mirth.

As each recalled the Master’s grimace,

When the goblet poured out its worth.


The taste was metallic, like licking iron,

For the Gold always tainted his load.

And though conditioned many a time,

The taste of its pride would not go.


The laughter died as a blade of light,

Pierced through the room from the door.

Then the Master entered His cup to retrieve,

That He’d left part full from before.


Now all beheld with quiet wonder,

His cup — that was simple and plain.

Without a thing to recommend it,

It was chosen again and again.


Not Gold, not Porcelain, not anything,

Could it claim that established its place.

But willing to hold in the Master’s service,

And to be held in His loving embrace.

©2005 Sandra Gilloth

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Protected Ground

Protected Ground


In Peter’s heart burned agony,

He spoke with hostile heat.

“No! I don’t know Him!”

Then fled in full retreat.


Yet the Cross soon broke his spirit,

His precious Lord would die.

Hot tears of desolation,

No longer could he hide.


How was it that he failed?

He saw his nature flawed.

The vital test not passed,

To put his trust in God.


The words of Jesus rang,

Like cymbals deep inside.

They spoke of “sifted wheat,”

Threshing out his pride.


This pride and his ambition,

Set him up to fail,

Though Satan used this darkness,

It served God after all.


The caution stands for you and me,

Where darkness lurks within.

Where thought- life goes un-crucified,

A stronghold grows for sin


Let not our carnal thinking,

Or religious pride abound.

For deception seeks safe harbor,

Within protected ground.


© 2001 Sandra Gilloth

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Pure Gold

Pure Gold

Examine the perfection, engraved with care,

Minted with love, a coinage rare!

Crimson tender exchanged for thee,

A balance paid, to set men free.


Vivid drops streaked down the wood,

Ebbing life from One Who could.

Gentle heart that bore the strain,

Gave His best to take our shame.


Let your wisdom regard it well,

Scrutinize and search it till…

Evidence abounds you’ll find,

To change a disbelieving mind.


Then ask in honesty of the Plan,

To give salvation by this Man:

“Would we have given to save the lost,

Such selfless effort, such priceless cost?”


Of this finally know the Truth,

No counterfeit poses as this crude.

For God in His wisdom chose foolishness,

To bestow upon us Righteousness!


Now seeing what fortune you behold,

The mystery once hidden freely unfolds.

A price was paid, it must be told,

A crimson cost of purest gold.

© 1996 Sandra Gilloth

 

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