At His Feet, Where Grace Is Wonder

Trade my forgiveness worn legs with You

Where I wish for bread of life, up from death

My only vision I pray forgiveness, cannot withstand

My anger down, my death unfurled to Thee

Day often long away, I wish for light of day

Lay down first drink, first bottle You are found,

Now my only thought white pine out my window

In front of home. More my essence divine I’ve spent

Too much lost my daughter , particle of disbelief;

Creeps night away, hope found in new day

Yet my daughter slipped away–my anger; I weep.

I cannot walk into Prairie, run into ground

Within white privacy fence, wrath of disabled

Lain at feet of of Him, wish oh, miracle

This witness, abandoned land where house

Found on swampy land, upon which faith–

Homes unveiled, give up old prairie village

First steeple removed for lightening death

Then water removed for lots, vision oh Wind

Pumping from eternal well spring too much water

For neighbor’s land finally loved in spite of me.

His Love, God’s love, aquifer down into loam,

Eastern South Dakota, once in this time, suspect

Yet given over to sump pumped out for Hartford

Homes she made on Mary Lane I cried from vision

Our own home without old crab apple, lilac bush

Removed from edge, corner of my soul cry

For American warren of sin, this removed

In Grace where wonder meets what’s left of soul

Stands for witness–never spoken, implied

In S curve of my spine, I cannot fall in night

Can walk Upon my artificial knees, one to last

Twenty years, new to last thirty-five more

Years, He hears my voice sing quietly inside

Acceptance, I love Light transforming

From another Stone, Rock found in soil.

Eternal White Pine, crossed before our yard

Upon Fathers Day, gift to me from family never

Known His passion from my child, my wife limits

Me for she is no more given over, given, away

Through His risen person, I find Grace, want

Her in my arms–I’m quiet so I wait eternity

For her, church as I walk from church surgeon

At my feet I find wonder to walk this mile, she

Is there in spite of my anger–transformed,

From father, now other Father greater gift

My sin removed from my brother’s weary

Life again, They cannot rise with Him as Light

New–summoned yes saved, flesh removed,

But I lost all, my family gone I weep, I gnash teeth

Though free to dance before the cross of Him

I’ve lost all, for Him but weep for family gone.

C2018

Published by elgwynone

I was a University and community college instructor before retiring. I also worked in fast food restaurants, and retail stores. I am an ordinary man writing for because I want to write and because my education prepared me to write; BA English lit, MA English, EdS higher education, and MFA creative writing, free verse poetry and essays. Blogs are an answer to high-priced self-publishing. Walt Whitman had to self-publish his first 1000 copies of the 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass because in 1855 poetry did not sell. Most poets make a living in other ways than writing. Wallace Stevens was an insurance executive, and TS Eliot was a banker. Many writers teach, and always there have been writers who have written because they needed to express their thoughts and feelings. They wrote not necessarily to make money but to express "the old universal truths of the human heart" according to Faulkner. Here I reach a wider audience I missed than by self-publishing, and I stand a better chance to reach a wider audience for less expense than self-publishing. I self-published my first books, Winter from Spring, and Meditations on Gratitude; poetry and photo books which were easier to self-publish than to seek a not to seek a publisher company. This blog allows me to write for an interested audience because I write poetry and personal essays. I write for a friendly audience and present to you a slice of my writing. Perhaps you will enjoy what you read. View more posts

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