My Dearest Friends 2-22-13

The stars come out to welcome me.  The sun had set so fast.

I need to live a simple life, forgetting evil's past.

Here, I'm at peace with all my friends - at this, my Alma mater.

A seagull swoops so ever low.  Its wingtip kisses water.

True friends have such a special way of understanding word -

though swaying branches speak to me in language never heard.

But I can understand them all, for I've been here before.

So lonely are the busy ones who only hear the shore.

The moon looks down with saddened frown.  I sense it's message there,

"We love it when you visit us.  We really, truly care."

But even so, I soon must go.  Much stronger is the breeze.

It's whisper lingers, "Do not go.  Stay longer, if you please."

Each time I leave I don't forget the many loving ways

they're etched into my mem'ry like the sunset's brilliant rays -

that shower down around me as a rainbow's vivid views

and light up like a halo to enhance all nature's hues.

Between my obligations, torn - decisions I regret -

then say, the leaves there in the trees, "Please do not leave us yet."

And say, the little waves on shore (as they splash near my feet),

"To have you here, to talk to us, is such a real treat."

So I respond in loving kind, "God made you so divine!

You'll always be my sincere friends.  The pleasure is all mine!

"I so enjoy our favorite talks and I, great wonders, see.

So rich, our time together is.  I love your company."

Reflecting off the water's waves, the lights from distant shore -

still seem to make me want to stay and talk a little more.

Yet like the sun, I now must run.  The sky is turning black.

They may not know I love them so, but I'll be coming back.

Just one more time, I soak it in.  God always makes it right.

"I'll miss you all, my dearest friends- and bid you all Good night!"

I turn to take a final glance before I walk away.

I hesitate, a tear slips down.  There'll be another day.

©2013 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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My Little Box 5-23-12

I cannot prove the miracles
behind salvation's locks,
but if I could, here's what you'd see
inside my little box...

---

If I pulled out, a piece of cross

with blood stains smeared about,

if I had all the photos here,

so you would have no doubt,

if I had froze the moment that

they nailed Him to the cross,

so you could see that gruesome pain

as shadows passed across,

if I had casts from footprints there,

the cross and where it stood,

if I had pulled those massive nails

from deep within the wood,

if I had here the crown of thorns

they pressed down on His head,

so you could know the torment and

the flowing crimson red,

if I had froze that sunset

and showed their facial fear,

if I could show you nail prints

and Jesus' final tear,

if I had filmed the thunder

and veil that ripped in two -

that whole occurrence thoroughly -

to play it back for you,

if I could fill emotions with

the blackness of the tomb,

if I had breathed the fragrance in,

exhaled the old perfume,

if I could pull the linens out

and hold them in my hand,

or show a relic of the stone

so you would understand,

if I took out, in brilliant hue,

a painting so profound,

if I could sing in perfect pitch

with great harmonic sound,

if I had grasped an ocean breeze

beyond the longest docks,

so you could smell its freshness here

inside my little box,

if I held high His halo

and proved His torture wrong,

if I had seized that moment and

then wrote the perfect song,

if I had found the precise words

that Jesus has for you,

then I could prove the love of God

and testify it true.

No...  God requires something else -

a loving, faithful heart -

so grab your eyes and pluck them out,

and rip your box apart!

He sets our anxious mind at ease,

and offers all of us -

a personal relationship,

of peace and faithfulness.

---

If we can see, then we believe -

yet Jesus wills that we,

would never follow with our eyes,

but rather faithfully.

©2012 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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The Lighthouse 3-11-12

What draws the eye to the lighthouse?

Oh say, what could it be?

Now how could a light on a mighty 'Rock'

forgive lost souls at sea?

There are no ropes to pull them in,

no maps of where to go -

and we hear cries from crashing waves -

under the beacon's glow.

Relentlessly, the wind blows -

the noise, as a million drums!

The angry sea will swallow scores,

as the weak in faith succumb.

Through rain and hail and deadly fog,

sins weather strangely mixed -

a faint, but 'Guiding Light' shines through -

if eyes are firmly fixed.

The lighthouse sounds its fog horn,

proclaiming Christ is King.

Our voices chime in harmony

as we rejoice and sing!

We find all comfort in the 'Rock'

as the faithful lighthouse calls.

It's then that storms surrender and,

receding darkness falls,

What draws the eye to the lighthouse?

Oh say, what could it be?

How can a Man on an old rugged cross,

help souls still lost at sea?

Secure in the 'Rock', we understand -

as the beacon lights the sky.

And as long as we see the halo -

forgive. "They know not why."

And tell them -

tell them if you dare!

Tell them when they're troubled.

Tell them with a prayer.

Tell them Christ is waiting.

Tell them God is fair.

Tell them Jesus loves them.

Tell them if you care.

Tell them God still loves the world.

Now go, and gospel share.

©2012 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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Beyond My Weathered Window 10-8-11

Beyond my weathered window,

beyond my little view -

I see one from my rocker and,

I pray you see one too -

see one on each hillside,

see one on your way,

see one in each valley,

see one every day.

The moon shines on the water,

the sea reflects the light.

Boats pass through this painting,

with sails of halo white.

A sea bird glides in silhouette,

above the sails masts,

above the ropes and bollards,

as breezes travel past.

Final work arrives at dusk

before reflections cease -

on piers I've known since childhood

on this, God's masterpiece.

But few have seen this sunset,

and fewer wonder why -

God's bright and vivid colors

still wash across the sky.

And people race His colors -

oblivious and blind -

as God continues painting

so generously kind.

Wide brush strokes still continue,

with colors bold and lush.

Though 'man' has stole the meanings,

God still holds the brush.

Beyond my weathered window,

beyond my little view -

I watch Him from my rocker and,

I pray you see Him too -

see Him in the sunsets,

see Him in your prayers,

see Him in the life you live,

and see Him everywhere.

©2011 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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