Category Archives: Poetry

Grounded in the Glorious

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1

O, You, Who gladden Day,
Send my roots deep into Your Heart,
Which is entwined with mine,
Alive in my soul,
That glorious place at my center,
Lit by Your Presence and Your Light,
And which by grace is eternal,
Never to go out.

Extend my branches
As willowy arms,
Reaching to the heavens,
Branches of You, the Tree of Three,
Destined to support your nestlings,
Becoming home to a universe of creatures,
Each living Your purpose
In its precious destiny.

O, my Beloved,
Ground of my being,
Sharing the mysterious I Am,
And naming me,
Calling forth the clay that be,
To take on immortality.

I am all “Fiat” and gratitude,
As Son to Father live the Spirit,
One, All in all,and Heart, my Three.

©2011 Joann Nelander

 

Not Me but Thee

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2

Lord, as I begin this day,
Have it Your way.
I seek not me, but Thee.

When bitter valley threaten,
And I count the cost,
I choose not me, but Thee.

In the dark night.
Trace Your path upon my heart,
That demons, seeking to terrorize and tempt,
Meet not me, but Thee.

When gift and labor
Bring merit and reward,
All glory to, not me, but Thee.

O Lord,
May those I meet upon Your Way,
See, not me, but Thee.

© 2014 Joann Nelander

Tough As Nails

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Tough As Nails – Defiant Letter to God from the World, & the Flesh

We are willing to discard the person for the part.
“We’ve made great strides”,  “…a long way, Baby.”
You and Your creation shall serve us.
Yes, that is our “Way”.

It makes perfect sense to us.
After all, You are invisible,
As invisible as a child within the womb,
That is, until the flesh is torn away.

We have the technology.
See, no cringing here. “Just do it!”
We’re tough as nails.
You are familiar with nails?

Yes, tough as nails.
In this world you have to be!
Hello.  Knock, knock.  Are You there?
…. See, He doesn’t care.

You hold Your anger, so we say,
“Where is this God of yours?”.
Our world crumbles,
Chaos all around.
Evidence of Your absence or Your ire?
It doesn’t matter.
You are the Past. We are Now!

If I pull Your beard, will You awaken.
Are You like us?
Will You take a poll
Or turn Your blind eyes?
In Your retirement or death,

We’ve found our voice. We’ve found our fist!
Not to worry.
We’ve come a long way.
Crowned ourselves God!

©2010 Joann Nelander

When the Twain Shall Meet

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3

There is a delicacy of old
With which men speak to one another.
Though, approaching from the farthest ends,
Never meeting in the middle,
Yet, do they honor one another,
In their humanity.

They offer the gift of presence,
Gifting to the other
An open ear
That wills to hear.

To do the Good
For the sake of Good,
To forge the best of thought
For presentation at the gate
Is the beginning of our holy end.

Though all men be wrong
In varying degrees,
There is something right
In putting down one’s arms
To meet as warring friends,
In hope and trust
That they serve a higher call,
When men do speak of peace.

Who is honored by this respect,
If not the Maker of all Men,
Who alone can change
Hearts of stone to flesh,
Making them like unto His own.

By Joann Nelander

Blossom in the Desert

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1

Sad the plight of Man,
Mourning the lose of Paradise.
Captive to cowardice,
Hiding from his God.
Cast out, betraying,
And accusing one another,
Empty of grace, forlorn.
One garden of hope remains.
One paradise,
Ready for the Spring.
One immaculate heaven on earth.
O Virgin, say but the Word,
And your “Fiat”
Will blossom forth in Faith,
Rarity of your virginal ground.
Immaculate fecundity,
Queen Mother, Desert Willow,
New Eve, bearer of New Adam,
With new creation, rejoicing.
Voicing all thanksgiving,
A Eucharist for the sons and daughters of God.

 

© 2011 Joann Nelander

Passion of a Warrior

by

1

When did his passion begin?
Did it commence with the kiss
By which he bid his loved ones adieu.
Or did the call to battle
Bid him count the cost,
Shattering vanities and proud hoorahs,
With winter ice
Though veins,
Piercing to the marrow of bone.

The Call was always greater
Than one man’s valor or presumption.
Holier than Adam could undertake in rage,
Yet a young David found an “Amen”
Rising within his shepherd- breast,
Shielded by hope and faith
Born of a Savior,
Yet borne into battle
By the foal that carried Him forth.

All battles,
Waged for the souls of men,
Find common ground;
Friend and foe,
Dying side by side.
As grains numbered as the sand,
And the blood,
Bridle high at Armageddon,
Corpses piled and claiming
The best among us,
As generations of spent warriors’ might,
Trust to God
To judge the heart of every man,
And wear his colors in His raiment.

Memories, born as festering wounds,
Or toughened scars,
Mark the man and record the Passion.
No jot or tiddle forgotten,
Fingered on the ground,
Condemning only the Accurser.

Angels minister the balm of Gilead
As the dead live again,
And the living love
Through the Darkness.
Mended hearts,
Held to a measure,
Weighed on scales of Mercy.
Are blessed.
None forgotten,
All forgiven.

How long? How long?
Martyrs witness the passion of the warrior,
And place merited crown,
And victor’s wreathe,
As a new name resounds,
Pronounced by the Mouth of God.

©2012 Joann Nelander