“Who do you say I am?”
Jesus asked.
Who do you say I am?
The jars lined the walls.
Each one marked:
A weight and words,
“Products of conception.”
Parts, just parts!
Parts, just parts?
Who do you say I am?
©2012 Joann Nelander
Tag Archives: Poetry
Wounded Love
Thomas wanted reality.
Thomas wanted answers.
Thomas wanted undeniable proof.
He trusted his mind.
He trusted his senses.
He walked by sight,
But feared to trust
The witnesses of Resurrection.
A God, with wounds of Love, understood.
A God, marked by our disbelief,
Stood before him,
In plain sight.
Thomas finger my wounds.
Feel the warmth of human flesh.
Feel the throbbing of My Heart,
Bounding against
Your hand in My Side.
Thomas, you sought only
The trappings of reality.
Am I real now,
Real enough for you,
My friend?
Standing, face to face,
Before I Am,
Bought to his knees
By living, breathing, proof,
He stands in our place.
Humbled by faith’s awakening,
Before the True Witness,
Senses satisfied,
Content, now, and forever,
He’ll follow blindly,
Unto death,
Into eternity.
“My Lord and my God.”
Copyright Joann Nelander 2012
All rights reserved
Truth’s Army, Truth’s Bride
Truth was never far away.
It stood erect,
And with resolve,
Waited for the moment
Of my will’s consent.
It was relentless,
Devoid of error,
Stalwart and persistent.
Truth was the beacon
On the high mountain.
It appealed to me
On the level of the good.
It drew me
As home beckons the lost.
I journeyed closer,
But as the light
Revealed my tatters
I drew back,
Trapped by my choices.
Truth is a wedding garment,
That clothes inwardly,
As well as out.
My espousals never produced
A marriage of Truth and the holy.
In its stead, I’d wed
What I wanted.
Now, I feared our distance,
And what I had become.
Desiring the right,
Even if I was wrong,
I gathered courage to my breast
And risked all in the quest.
I shed my rags
And found a covering of prayer,
A robe of humility,
And came to Love
In holy fear.
Now, I am
Full of resolve,
A stalwart knight
On Truth’s high mountain,
Carrying lighted torch
To the Dark Valley,
Into caverns of deception.
Standing tall before the Foe,
Truth girds my waist,
And undertakes to speak
Light in the darkness.
I am become an army
On the plain,
As Truth marches not alone.
It goes forth,
Drawing with it men of valor,
Choosing the death of Pride,
And living as Truth’s Bride.
©2012 Joann Nelander
All rights reserved
You, Before the Altar
Opening my eyes
And lifting my head
From my prayer,
My eyes fell upon you,
My friend.
Your steady gaze
Fixed on the naked Savior,
Your arms crossed
Over your breast
And you,
Lost to this world,
Spoke my prayer.
You, in iconic stature,
Embodied my heart’s cry.
Bowing my soul,
I turned within
To pray with clarity
In humble poverty of spirit,
With Faith’s certainty,
The Lord had heard,
And smiled on my desire.
Rising with my closing “Amen”,
I looked
Only to find your place
Before the altar,
Now abandoned,
Yet the holy sight is seared
On my impressionable spirit.
It lingers still.
Your gifted presence
Shall long capture,
And hold fast
The essence of being
At which I hope to arrive,
In the tabernacle of my heart,
As in pleading it resounds.
Anchored to an image
Of prayerful adoration
Living in my mind’s eye.
My God be adored,
And Your children
Forever graced.
Carry Me
You have carried me on Your shoulder.
I am that wound that pained You greatly.
Carry me into my future.
As You carried Your Cross.
I know I hurt;
I can feel it myself.
Now in heaven, You are free from pain,
Except for that, which You suffer,
In the mystery of Your Church on earth,
Except for that, which You suffer in me,
For love of me, for love of Your Cross.
I am the cross You lovingly still bear.
© 2011 Joann Nelander
All rights reserved
Forget Not
As I walk in Your house,
May I never forget You are Master,
Lord of this domain.
May my thoughts
Spring as fruit upon the vine.
Sustain me, O my Beloved,
With the Bread of angels.
Hallowed Ground of my New Birth,
Give me Your heavenly Water,
That I may never thirst again.
Let it rise within me,
As an eternal spring,
And let it fall from heaven,
Like those “torrents
In the southern desert,”
Sheltered in Your arms,
Covered by the corner of Your mantle,
Fed by the Manna of Your Heavenly Body,
Who could forget to sing You songs of Love?
Copyright 2011 Joann Nelander
Be Holy! 