Old Tattered Book 8-16-11

It always has been with me.

The Good Book, it is not.

My book is old and tattered,

and its been read a lot.

I'm very much familiar with

this ragged, weathered book -

I'll hide it not from you because,

I know you'll want to look.

My life is like an open book,

and here for all to see.

Interpret every facet there,

or read it differently.

Folks from different walks of life

have formulated ways -

to gather vast opinions and -

to scrutinize my days.

Now you may disagree with them,

or you might fall in line -

with those who do the gossiping,

and group me with the swine.

I see my 'dog-eared' corners,

the grime and stains throughout.

Forget, I would, some pages -

if I could tear them out -

because I'm very much ashamed

of sinful burdens there -

of sins that I cannot forget -

that Jesus had to bear.

And guilt, at times, still haunts me,

and though forgiveness cures,

I'm very glad you've read my book.

Now take a look at yours.

©2011 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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Matthew 7:3 (NASB)
Why do you look at the speck that is in your brother’s eye,

 but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? 

Grandma's Place 10-11-09

The paint was cracked and weathered.
The 'welcome' chimes would ring -
and grandma's place so special on
her old porch swing.

Her dinners were delicious,
her cookies she would bring,
as rich aromas found me on
her old porch swing.

At times the wooden seat was damp.
The morning dew would cling -
but I couldn't keep from sitting on
her old porch swing.

The chains, stressed on occasion,
that held a many thing,
and all her friends kept resting on
her old porch swing.

Served well those rusty bolts.
Though not for queen or king,
but all the folk were welcomed on
her old porch swing.

The conversations several -
the arm rest, everything -
as we discussed my problems on
her old porch swing.

Nothing makes my heart so glad
and nothing makes it sing,
until I think of grandma on
her old porch swing.

Many years have long since passed.
To memories, I will cling -
those days I sat with grandma on
her old porch swing.

The workers razed the homestead -
In fear, the birds took wing,
but always in my memory is -
her old porch swing.

Some say it wasn't special,
nor good for anything -
yet that's where I found Jesus - on
her old porch swing.

©2009 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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