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Litany of sound, thoughts all around;

Windstorm and gale, of Depression’s “Hail!”

Ground is shakin’, boughs are breakin’

Worries are swirlin’, promises seem curlin’,

I stand in the Eye, huddled and scared.

My heart is abeatin’, the future quakes pale.

“God–where are you, when I’m in the storm?

I’m scared, I’m tired–I can’t hold on.

I’m blinded from the battering debris

Please hold me, Abba, and set me free!”

 

by Pamela Palmer

Please contact Pamela Palmer at 

palmerp@live.com  for permission to use this poem.

Gather the clouds, wrap up the rain,

Harvest in Springtime, while keeping the snow.

See in the future, by knowing the past.

Build new foundations, from something that’s old–

Something that’s tried, something that’s true.

Peace you can feel, from something untouched.

Joy in a word, a promise, a thought–

A God, now invisible–soon to be seen.

One who is infinite and yet is a Person–

Worthy of praise, incarnate in love,

Who speaks to the whole universe,

And also to you.

 

by Pamela Palmer

Please contact Pamela Palmer at 

palmerp@live.com  for permission to use this poem.

Talk to me.

Talk to me, Child. I won’t always be here.
Listen to me, Little One. I won’t always be near.

The dishes are piled; The clothes, not done,
But I’ll sit on this swing with you, my son.

The air is warming, but the wind’s still brisk.
My generation’s now aging, our Sun soon sets.

The once-strong hands
That held you,
Will quiver instead,
And look to a son–

For this same comfort and care,
That I am offering to you, sittin’ right here.

Talk with me, son.

 

by Pamela Palmer

Please contact Pamela Palmer at 

palmerp@live.com  for permission to use this poem.

Cradle in the sky; East meets West.

Clouds on high; the seas rise,

A tide comes from out-the-future.

A song arises on the clouds,

Unfurled amidst the coming storm.

Gray on red on black all swirling,

Cradle rocks, but I don’t stir.

Every eye ‘already seen Him,

And I’m at home in my cradle-on-the-wind.

 

by Pamela Palmer

Please contact Pamela Palmer at 

palmerp@live.com  for permission to use this poem

The coins in my pocket ring more true than my heart.

When trials wage war in my small soul,

When my fingers are chilled,

And my thoughts hot red,

It takes a cool metal object of alloy,

Both copper and nickle,

To remind me of  “my motto”,

And chide me to not be fickle.

 

by Pamela Palmer

Please contact Pamela Palmer at 

palmerp@live.com  for permission to use this poem

Quietly goes the morning,

Into the day ahead,

Gray mutes into the daylight,

Cautioning me, “Don’t stir!”

A mere blanket is my one fortress,

Against the cold of the floor,

And the chores, a practical litany,

Announce garishly in my head,

Hush, once more in the dawn-light,

I’ll travel to Heaven instead,

My Lord is my strength and my song,

I need to think on that a few minutes–

Before I forge out of bed.

 

by Pamela Palmer

Please contact Pamela Palmer at 

palmerp@live.com  for permission to use this poem

Gracious God

Gracious God,

‘You are’, not ‘were made’,

Your very essence, Is.

Yet You unselfishly gave

All other beings life,

So now, we are, each in our own way,

Following in your grace-filled footsteps,

Giving life to others.

 

by Pamela Palmer

Please contact Pamela Palmer at 

palmerp@live.com  for permission to use this poem

Gentle My Soul

Gentle my soul in the dark of the night.

I’ll sleep in the crest of your arm, no fright.

The waters may rise, the buildings may fall,

The Earth may shatter in a trillion

Particles, jagged

And whirl into space,

But you and I will find our place,

Our safe, our embrace,

Tucked inbetween a moon and a star,

Quieted by comets, aglow from afar.

 

by Pamela Palmer

Please contact Pamela Palmer at 

palmerp@live.com  for permission to use this poem

Caliper the infinite,

Find the square root of point repeating eight,

Estimate the sound of silence,

Ingratiate the decimal, dividing with a word.

We live enveloped in of a shroud of time,

Intangible, incremental, metered quarks of life,

That function and never return

Feel their integers touch your soul,

Announce the answer with a whole.

 

by Pamela Palmer

Please contact Pamela Palmer at 

palmerp@live.com  for permission to use this poem

My Heart Weeps

My heart weeps when I hear it.

A woman stoned for adultery, a child stolen away,

A man beheaded–I can’t see it.

It’s the worst, moral decay.

Life is a virtue, a freedom, a gift.

No one can steal it from someone,

Without it affecting us all.

An anguished, red rift;

Humanity’s heart torn,

Flails at the Wailing Wall–

All our tomorrows we’ll mourn.

 

 

by Pamela Palmer

Please contact Pamela Palmer at 

palmerp@live.com  for permission to use this poem.

The Lord

In illness I have praised You
Only by Your grace.

At Death’s door when I faltered,

It was You, I saw your face.

In the loss of my child,

Before she was born,

When catastrophe came blowing,

And the money was all gone.

You have been there.

Your arms and Your words–

Touching my soul.

Majesty in a whisper!

Love in a Lord!

 

by Pamela Palmer

Please contact Pamela Palmer at 
palmerp@live.com  for permission to use this poem.

 

 

On Naked Wood

The naked wood stood on a rocky crag,

Impaled with nails from other criminals

Now dead, their blood dried brown down the carved,

Splintered sides, dividing the sky from the ground.

Down the footpath the cries arise;

A new one to crucify and despise.

A Man walked in a peace beyond this world,

And took up His place for that Awful Interval, nailed,

Like the sinners before him, raw punishment unveiled.

Jesus, the Innocent, breathed in His last

In horrible pains, to cover our past.

 

by Pamela Palmer

Contact Pamela at palmerp@live.com for permission to publish this poem.

The thought slipped in, the lie was made.

A boy decided, words of wisdom fade.

“Every teen does it, so I better try…”

“I hope my parents won’t know.

I hate when my mom cries…”

Friends contacted, the text relayed:

“Meet in the Park, when you’re free…”

“Let’s smoke some…K..BRB…”

“LOL, Inhale when you breathe!”

“You’ll love it!” they said, “It’s so great.”

He lied to his mom, as he said he’d be late.

He tried it, some weed from a baggie half-rate,

And all that it did was cause panic and shame,

A heavy head, deep fatigue, and a high that was lame.

Next day he called out, alone in his room

To the God who was listening and who answered him soon:

His mom, a bit nosy, out of love, she said,

Found out all about it,

From his email sent to someone, she read.

And she said:

“God’s will is higher than any high.

I love you still. I always will.

There’s mercy for us all on Jesus’ Hill.”

Yes, she cried–but just a little.

 

A young man decided, the lies to renounce,

Words of wisdom embraced,

True repentance announced,

To his mom and his dad.

Baptized in mercy, by the grace that he had,

He went on higher and higher reaching his goals,

Remembering God’s mercy and the Truth he was told.

 

by Pamela Palmer

For permission to use this poem contact me at palmerp@live.com .

Just a Drink

I saw a man. He touched my heart.
He saw my secrets,
No one else had read.
I had lived a life full
Of soul-scars, half-dead
My hope of real love gone 
Long ago.
I remember the first,
First love of youth, elated joy–
Brought low by broken dreams

(He was just a boy,
I now can see.)
And then the others,
A long, hapless chain
Of men, just men
With rifts and flaws,
Who failed, like me,
And never saw–
My heart
Like this one, he knew it all
Could he be, the One
I’m searching for?
He asked for water, first from me
I asked Him for some,
And received–
His Love, eternally.

by Pamela Palmer
The Gospel of John 4:13-14
Please contact Pamela Palmer at palmerp@live.com for permission to use this poem.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Academian

The man resides in halls of dust

His mind, a cerebral periodical.

The web, his endless cyclopedic-toy,

That makes him positively giddy;

Amusement of infinite knowledge,

In which this sophmoric sage bathes.

He rejoices in a bland lack

Of real truth, it lies locked

Memory-file labeled:  “Don’t Touch”.

No remembrance allowed–of words once heard.

As a child he had rejoiced,

In a small sense of peace,

“There is a God…I think.”  he had said,

With child-like glee.

But that miniscule thought is now dead,

Under agnostic rules of rhetoric.

“No God, for me… I hope.”

A pale frown escapes from his busy, thin lips.

“I’m too good for that…Out, you crazy fear…

Where is that book? Oh good, it’s here….

‘My Philosophy of Death’….Ah, how enlightening!”

He blows aged dust and turns a page,

And forgets again, any thought of the God,

Who loves him still and who will

One day require from this small, desperate man

An answer for the life he was loaned–

Each thought, each act, each written word,

Each digitized, skeptic text he wove. 

 

Shall we stay on empty paths,

Littered with the flawed thoughts

Of other cynical fools,

Like dead leaves on dust-footpaths

That criss-cross the avenue of the One Truth?

 

by  Pamela Palmer

The Gospel of John 14:6

 Please contact Pamela Palmer at

palmerp@live.com for permission to use this poem.
 
 

 

 

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