Oil of Grace

Some days wake faithless

Old soul fatigued, defeated

Whispers, “Lord, help me”

Life turns on such small prayers prayed

God storms darkness, ransoms peace

Pours oil of His grace

Refills true-heart’s confidence

His mercy rescues

©B D Royale/Winddog Whispers, 2018. All rights reserved.

Image: Pixabay.com

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Translucent Hope

New moon makes its way

Guided by Hand of Heaven

‘Cross mid-summer sky

Translucent hope shimmers, gift

Seems beyond reach…perhaps not

©B D Royale/Winddog Whispers, 2018. All rights reserved.

Image: Pixabay.com

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Altars (Acrostic)

Image ~ http://www.thebiblejourney.org/

♥†♥

Altars announce “God met me here”

Let it be known “this is hallowed ground”

Testimony of faith experience, supernaturally real

Altars flame with Holy Spirit’s anointing ~ as you approach,

Remove your shoes, be silent before the Lord God Almighty

Sovereign King saves, steadies souls surrendered to Him

©B D Royale/Winddog Whispers, 2018. All rights reserved.

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Melting At the Keyboard

Melting at the keyboard

Sweaty fingers lose their

Place on “home row”

Patience evaporates as

I type gibberish…

Unendurable, or so it seems

Intemperate temps

July, my love for summer

Is conflicted, far from easy

I’m struck anew each time

I look up to sky’s endless

Perfect blue, a glory

Incomprehensible

Gift of favor from God’s

Constant hand, His

Heart’s cornucopia

But too-bright happy sun

(Relentless, just doing its job

Oblivious as chatter-box child)

Pierces eyes accustomed to

Overcast horizon…

Craving, yearning, praying for

Breeze…cool caring breezes that

Tickle green leaves, tease trees

Till they, helpless to resist, dance

Regardless of heat I hold these months

—Late spring through autumn—

As treasures; try to fill my

Gaze, nose, skin, to the brim

Saturate soul so it won’t be bereft

Once the rains again begin.

©B D Royale/Winddog Whispers, 2018. All rights reserved.

Image: Pixabay.com

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Ghost In a Wishing Well*

*(Gordon Lightfoot, “If You Could Read My Mind”)

Trilling at Eventide

Birdsong signals his return

Old knight, denim-eyed

Armor dulled like pewter

Distance, decades gallant…

He has been her hideaway

From morning of her years, till dusk

In Winter’s deluge, silver weeping

August’s summer seeping musk.

Spring mists lift before his gaze—

Turn, let it linger, fall upon her.

Whenever he spoke

Music changed tempo’d beat

Hour on hour, she yet listens

Longing for ancient myths’ repeat.

As daylight drifts, drips clouds’ rosé,

Spills across late afternoon…

His fingertips touch, warm her blush

Paintbrush of remembered swoons:

Beneath a bower’d bougainvillea

Promises, palm-kissed plumeria

Innocent heroic love.

Distance, decades gallant…

Her knight, her hideaway.

©B D Royale/Winddog Whispers, 2018. All rights reserved.

Image: Pixabay.com

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The House Where God Lives

This is an undated photo of the current St. Andrew’s Church, which was built in 1919, after the 1918 fires. Photo courtesy of the Carlton County Historical Society

 Brick building, ivy-clinging

Nearly 100 years old

Surrounded by trees

Simple cross on rooftop

Red doors which remained

Unlocked back when

The house where God lived

Was true holy sanctuary, a

Haven respected, protected

By angels unseen…

~

The child wore Sunday best

Like everyone did then:  men in

Suits, women in nicest dresses and

Heads covered by hat, chapel lace.

It was a hushed-voice place

Of denomination’s calendared

Liturgy and hymns; sermons blurred

By Reverend’s soft monotone, and

The child’s whirring thoughts

Which lacked spiritual reference.

Oh, the quiet which embraced young

Soul who learned the Order of Service:

The “sit-stand-kneel-sit again” (in

Hard polished light wood pew) with

It’s reassuringly dependable structure

Made church comfortable, safe.

Even a somber silent distant God

Wasn’t as scary as home; He held

Things together in His hands, was

Sovereign, enthroned over chaotic world.

~

Much later, long after her family left

The small town and little church;

Following other churches of varied size,

Styles of worship, doctrinal statements—

“Church” became much less about a

Building or architectural vision.

(where bullets may zing as saints pray, these days)

For, God Himself had traversed galaxies,

Mega-miles, immense measurements of time,

To be as near-right-now as her next breath.

His Presence, Spirit, encompassed

Her with grace-love.  His Word became

Her pillar of fire in darkness—brighter, more

Warmly delighting than new summer days.

He was bigger than religion, far beyond

Doctrines, Bible interpretations preached;

He exceeded the songs, programs,

Potluck dinners; the regimented

Positions, postures of piety, prayer.

~

Unknown to her, the red doors

Which welcomed her at age six

Closed permanently in fall of 2017.

The church had reached nearly a century;

The handful of congregants still

In attendance were saddened.

That young girl who once called it,

The house where God lives, reflects

Back on 60 years and says:

“‘Church’ is Jesus—

Who is fulfillment of the Law,

Embodiment of God’s love and mercy—

Living inside my heart”.

©B D Royale/Winddog Whispers, 2018. All rights reserved.

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Wind Chimes

Wind chimes…

Tinkling language speaks

Prayers, psalms sung.

Each season carries breeze-sown

Messages in melody…

Love, sorrow, joy, hope, wisdom,

Remembrance, Destiny calling.

Listen, soul; heart, hear and learn.

©B D Royale/Winddog Whispers, 2018. All rights reserved.

Image: Pixabay.com

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Lanterns & Love Dreams

Picturing paper lanterns

Set aloft over the lake

Her heart imagines a

Wedding that won’t be…

Late-blooming love dreams

Are for others less

Constrained by chains

Invisible bars, locked cells

Life-sentences cerebral…

Someone has to write embraceable

Novels with full-bodied heroes

Handsome, mature—and

Head-turning damsels dripping allure.

©B D Royale/Winddog Whispers, 2018. All rights reserved.

Image: Pixabay.com

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In Memoriam

“If thou of fortune be bereft,
and in thy store there be but left
two loaves, sell one, and with the
dole, buy hyacinths to feed thy soul.”

John Greenleaf Whittier

The blogging world recently lost an extraordinarily fine poet, a man of noble principles and generous kindness.  I was honored and blessed to know Paul Lenzi through our poetry blogs.  His absence leaves a bruise as significant as was the shimmer of his presence.  Despite his health issues he wrote and published voluminously, with passion and literary precision which earned praise for his expertise, and inspired his readers to hone their talent.

I doubt any poem I might write for him would do justice…now and then, I’d manage a piece for which he’d comment, “wow”…those were seriously good blog days.  I envision him now, his body pain-free in Heaven; and suspect he’s engrossed in weighty discussions with the great philosophers…and still penning poems, for he seemed unstoppable.

My condolences go out to his family, with prayers for God’s comfort and peace amid the rough seas of grief and loss.

Thank you, Paul, for everything you gave us…it was ever an over-flowing basket.  (Kudos and blessings from your poet-friend of myriad blogs and pseudonyms, l.b.)

For my readers, here is the link to Paul’s poetry blog:

https://poesypluspolemics.com/

©B D Royale/Winddog Whispers, 2018. All rights reserved.

Image: Pixabay.com

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Sovereign Hand, Hearing Heart

Is wishing a kind of prayer…

Maybe a second-cousin to faith?

No, no more than magic

Can make marvels,

Miracles.

There is One True God,

King of kings & Lord of lords,

With Sovereign hand

And hearing heart.

He speaks answers to persistent pleas,

Desperate despair of lives derailed.

He’s the good, loving Father—of blind

And lame; weak, weary, oppressed;

Dependent sons, daughters…

Starved, lacking substance;

Thirsting for what’s real, lasting

Who longs not for sacrifices meaningless,

But humbled souls’:  “Lord, please”.

©B D Royale/Winddog Whispers, 2018. All rights reserved.

Image: Pixabay.com

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