Category Archives: Poetry, Prose & Prayer

Poetry, Prose & Prayer

Passion-Deed

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Lord, my tears are plentiful,
As I behold Thee in Thy rest.
Kneeling in poverty of spirit,
I am thrice blessed.

Your forever Union
With our Heavenly Father
Embraces me as the child,
That I am want to be,
Obedient, merciful and mild.

The Holy Spirit of God
Rests upon me,
Gifting me in sorrow for sin,
Raising me above the world,
And lifting me
To the lap of Abba Father,
With You, within.

Here in hallowed Presence,
My tears fall upon the garden,
You plant in my soul,
To water this consecrated plot
Replete with the promised fulfillment
That heals and makes me whole.

Already, but not yet,
Here in seed,
With You in Eternity,
Won by Cross and Passion-Deed.

©2012 Joann Nelander

Under My Roof

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O my Lord,
My Friend,
Your saints labored so
To remove the roof
That stood between You
And their friend in need.

Here in this morning,
It was You,
Who labored,
In Your Sacrifice.

To enter under my roof,
You forgave me,
That nothing
Might stand in the way
Of Your coming to me,
In my need.

To my delight.
I am ,now, tabernacle,
Ciborium and chalice.
I hold You,
Body,mind soul
And divinity.
Under my roof.

Here in my heart,
You labored,
And now rest.
What joy!
What sweetness,
Having You
For this moment
Of holy time,
That I may be healed.

Haunting Silence

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Time to name the monster
Who stirs at night.
Who lives within
To hide our sin.

Time to make room,
In memory’s caverns
Rather than banish
What simply won’t vanish.

You had a choice once
That gave birth to phantoms
Making you live your choice
Silencing not its voice.

The monster lives and grows
Curled and caved in your heart
When the Light goes out
It walks about.

Its countenance a disfigurement,
Frightful yet your own.
Its dwelling through the years
Fraught with reticence and tears.

Has it no right
No place of rest?
When the day is done,
No place in the sun.

Most monsters are but part
Of our fallen selves
Standing in the way
Of each new day.

The way out
Is also within.
Give the chimera a name.
Acknowledge its claim.

Give the silence life
For the living,
For what you kill,
Haunts you still.

Time to embrace
And wrap the past in Mercy.
Give it a womb,
Instead of a tomb.

©2012 Joann Nelander
All rights reserved

Soulful Recall

by

My Lord, my God, my All,
Give me a heart for You,
Give me the heart
Of a child,
Your child.

Create me anew,
For I wander
Far from You,
You, Who woos me constantly,
You, Who wants me eternally.

Each day, upon day,
Challenges me to hold on,
Hold on to Faith.
Hold on to Hope.
Hold on to You,
Who are Love.

Though You are constant,
I am inconstant.
Searching my moments,
In soulful recall,
I see my tempters three,
Worldly, fleshly and demonic.
They, too, hunger for me,
But where You
Would take me to Yourself,
And make me Like,
And of Yourself,
They would devour me,
Chew upon me,
Suck out the juice,
And spit me out.

Give me the time.
Give me the inclination,
For I live in a world
Of voices,
And distractions.
They whisper in my ears,
Shout, and demand allegiance,
Calling me to come away,
To go astray,
To worship at strange altars.

In Your Light
I see my way.
In Your Light
The way to You
Shines as a highway,
Luminescent in the night.

My Lord, my God, my All,
Fight for me.
Fight them all.

Graced to Be

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I offer You, O Lord,
The ground of my being,
The deep from wither
My thoughts and prayers arise.

O Holy Spirit,
Hover over the abyss within,
To grace the land
Rising out of my chaos,
Like the signal blessing
Of the dove of peace,
And a new beginning
Over the waters
After the Flood.

Free me from sin and disorder,
That my unique soul
May shout for joy,
Even for the wonder
That I am,
That You rejoice
To reveal me to be
In true humility,
That I may awaken
To give You due
Honor and praise.

Break up the clods
Of my ignorance
And self-satisfaction.
Plow my field cross hatch,
Plant my furrows with gospel seed.
Water me
That I may be a garden
Of hidden delights,
And a comfort to You
In Your rest.

That Man, Job

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That man, Job,
That sad man, Job,
That mad man, Job,
That angry man,
That suffering and troubled soul,
Behold my man, Job.

Have we not all been there?
Why, O Lord?
Am I not well meaning,
One of the good guys,
A nice person?

Why must the Cross
Touch my life?
Am I not
Like a son to You?

With these words,
He  made me see,
“You are, indeed,
Like a Son to Me.”