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Wednesday, November 13, 2013

 When trials press against my soul - M. Robbins

When trials press against my soul,
When threat’ning doubts assail my soul,
The only thing my soul must know
Is that the Saviour died for me.

When fears bring war against my soul,
When heartaches lean upon my soul,
The only thing my soul must know
Is that the Saviour died for me.

When songs no more come to my soul,
When present joys have left my soul,
The only thing my soul must know
Is that the Saviour died for me.

When heavenward Christ brings my soul,
When homeward Jesus calls my soul,
The only thing my soul must know
Is that the Saviour died for me.

And He has not forsaken me
And He has not forgotten me;
Behold the Lord has graven me
Upon His hands eternally!
                         M. Robbins

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

If I could - by M. Robbins

If I could
just turn
these prayers
to You into
an adventure,
all these supplications
to You would be
labeled as “fun.”
But the salvation
of others should
never be taken lightly;
and so, God,
I cryingly pace
the floor tonight
asking for each
soul’s rebirth.

My body kneels - by M. Robbins

My body kneels
on earth
because I’m flesh;
but the Spirit
is Thine alone
who prays:
“now let these souls
be brought to Thee.”
And because it is
the cry of Your Spirit,
You accept the plea.

I’m weary, Lord - by M. Robbins

I’m weary, Lord,
not of searching
the Scriptures to ease
the tears within my eyes
nor of scanning
through Thy Word
for verses to claim;
but I’m just
plainly weary of today;
so tomorrow, Lord,
help me to find
the verses I may
pray back to You in belief.

I do not understand - by M. Robbins

I do not understand
Your ways, oh God,
and yet, Your ways, oh God,
shall truly lead to You.

The acquisition of things - by M. Robbins

The acquisition of things
can never satisfy
a spiritually hungry heart.
And yet, my Lord,
what am I to do for
I wait in hunger
yes, in thirsty prayer
for You to touch
the soul of my friends.

God, I hear hourly discussions - by M. Robbins

God, I hear hourly
discussions from
my co-workers on topics
of family matters.
But as soon as my
workday ends,
I come to You in prayer
for the salvation of
those I love.
Please, though, God,
don’t consider my prayers
as mere idle chatter.
They are life and death

Unashamed tears - by M. Robbins

Unashamed tears,
bent knees, and
a heart in prayer
are strange
weapons of war;
but, my Father,
these are what
You’ve requisitioned
for the fight at hand;
and who am I
to question, Lord,
their effectiveness?

Mine was the choice - by M. Robbins

Mine was the choice
and so I chose “yes”
for I thought the choice
was an answer to prayer;
but now I confess
to You, my God,
my “yes” was not
what was best for me.

Unexpected it came - by M. Robbins

Unexpected it came,
a phrase from Your word;
not of my choosing
did it emerge from my mind,
but my spirit did grasp it
and I cried unto You,
“Please work so with me,
oh Lord, my God,
that even Your pleasure
will prosper in me.”
                     Isaiah 53:11

Let Thy word prosper - by M. Robbins
Let Thy word prosper,
oh Lord, my God;
as seed let it prosper
into newness of life;
let it prosper as rain
for the life that’s athirst;
and as light let it prosper
for life must have growth.
Yes, let Thy word prosper
oh Lord, my God;
as seed, as rain, as light;
for my field lies so barren
and I’m faint from my tears.
Yes, let Thy word prosper;
yes, prosper it must!
    Isaiah 55:11    

Thy faithfulness - by M. Robbins

Thy faithfulness,
oh God,
is the theme
of my song tonight;
and with joyful tears
I’ll sing Your praise
of  Thy goodness
unto me
for You have
taken delight
in my prayers;
You have
granted my
heart’s desire;
and tonight
my soul is satisfied
with the faithfulness
of Your love.

Forgive me, Lord - by M. Robbins

Forgive me, Lord,
for telling You
what is best for me.
Let my prayer
from this day forth
be one of seeking
Your pleasure to be
done through me.

“He hath given,” - by M. Robbins

“He hath given,”
not lent
“exceeding great
and precious promises.”
So, my soul,
listen well
unto His Word
and come in prayer
before His throne
and plead for
the satisfying
of your soul -
that souls
might be saved;   
He cannot deny
His Word.

Empty of happiness - by M. Robbins

Empty of happiness,
thirsty with desires,
I stand in a dusk lit room
and find my heart
crying a petition
of David, the shepherd king:
    “Rejoice the soul of thy servant:
    for unto Thee, oh Lord,
    do I lift up my soul.”
And despite my tears
and the newness of my pain,
I know that the God
who comforted David,
also took notice of me.

Suddenly - quietly - by M. Robbins

pregnancy comes;
but birthing takes time.
Help me, Lord,
to realize
that the birth
of a soul
takes time.

I’ve tasted of Your glory, God - by M. Robbins

I’ve tasted of Your glory, God,
I’ve seen that You are good,
I’ve witnessed tiny miracles,
I’ve known Your saving grace.

And though I’m not a Jacob,
wrestling with You in the night,
my spirit knows that You’re the prize
for the ones I know.

So, by Your verses I’ll cling to You
and my cry to You shall be,
“I cannot let You go, my God,
the ones I know need You.”

You came to me, God - by M. Robbins

You came to me, God,
in my darkness,
but not in bodily form;
Your verses were
as sinews, as flesh;
they were reality.

You came to me, God,
in my brokenness;
and I chose to cling to You;
and Your verses were
as a comforting arm;
they were reality.

You came to me, God?
Please come again,
though not in bodily form;
Your verses are
as sinews, as flesh;
they are reality.

Did God tell you yesterday - by M. Robbins

Did God tell you yesterday
that He had heard your prayer?
Then why today
your tear stained face
why today your cries?

He changes not,
dear child of God,
though you think He has;
if He has said He’s heard your prayer,
believe Him, child, He has.

Lord, I’ve pitched my tent - by M. Robbins

Lord, I’ve pitched my tent
and now I’m camped
before Your holy throne;
but do not bid me leave,
for I am pinioned
by another’s sorrows,
broken by another’s pain
and I cannot leave
Your throne of grace
unless I’ve seen
the joyful harvest
of my soul’s travails
for the one I know.

If I can’t take prayer - by M. Robbins

If I can’t
take prayer
too seriously, God,
then why can’t they see
my fervency and
the pain I bear
when my
soul’s travails
are still soul travails?

I’m not my brother's keeper - by M. Robbins

I’m not
my brother’s keeper,
at least that’s
what I’m told;
yet, I cry
even harder to
You, Lord,
when I think
my prayers and tears
will be of no avail.

“Go ahead and cry” - by M. Robbins

“Go ahead and cry
on My shoulder, My child;
let your tears
mingle with My tears
of the past;
for I know too well
the pain of bearing
a precious soul to God
and you were never
created, My child,
to carry this burden alone.”

Despite the tears - by M. Robbins

Despite the tears
within my eyes,
sleepiness has forced
my Bible to close
and so, oh Lord,
my searching of Your Word
for my friend in need
is over this evening;
but please, let the
Living Word watch
over his soul tonight
while both of us sleep.

Tonight, Lord - by M. Robbins

Tonight, Lord,
please don’t admonish me
as I ask about
another’s pain
and the despair he feels
nor repeat to me,
“If I want him to remain
till I come, what is that to you?”
But rather tonight,
Lord, just wipe
away my tears and
whisper to my heart
that his soul
will be all right;
yes, Lord, that his soul
will be all right.

You promised - by M. Robbins

You promised
to her, Lord,
the salvation of her sons;
and though she is
now in Heaven with You,
You will adhere
to Your promise
for You shall one day
create in them
new Life and
they shall be called
“sons of God.”

Thrilled momentarily - by M. Robbins

Thrilled momentarily
with the knowledge
God’s Word is true,
I smiled at thoughts
of Heaven’s home;
but then I cried aloud to God
as terror filled my soul
when I thought
upon your precious soul
and Hell’s reality.

Dear Father of the bride - by M. Robbins

Dear Father of the bride,
as you stand now
beside your daughter
as she’s dressed in bridal gown,
I find my spirit
crying aloud to God   
that your own wedding attire
might already be prepared
for the Marriage Supper
of the Lamb.

You sit before me - by M. Robbins

You sit before me
chin upon your hand,
regretting things within your past;
and I want to soothe the pain
that you’re experiencing;
but Jesus bore your stripes.
Won’t you go to Him?

I’m accepted in God’s sight - by M. Robbins

I’m accepted in God’s sight
not by works which I have done
nor by things which were left undone
but by His Son’s own sacrifice
upon a cross on Calvary.

Lord, You know - by M. Robbins

Lord, You know
the second hand
wedding dress
which now hangs
in my closet
I’d really like to wear;
but, yet, Lord, I would
willingly make a trade
and give this gown to You   
if only You would       
clothe my friend forever
in Your robe of righteousness.

Dear heart - by M. Robbins

Dear heart,
quit your sad despair
that you’re not
chosen by Him;
for your name is
now engraven
upon His lovely hands.
For surely the word,
whosoever” means you.
And, dear heart,
doesn’t Christ mean
what He says?

Over Committed - by M. Robbins

Jesus found me crying
as I worked within His realm -
then asked me for the reason
for such despondency.

I gazed upon His beauty,
I felt His loving grace
and cried out even harder
as He placed His hand on mine.

“Your harvest! It’s so great -
the workers are but few;
but still I cannot find the strength
to serve You even more.”

He told me to be seated.
“But the harvest!” I protested.
“I know that it will suffer loss
if I fail to go to work.”

“The field is Mine, you know,” said He.
“Your service is for Me.
Today, I ask no more from you
than that you sit with Me.”

In Memory of a Friend - by M. Robbins

Last night when I sang to you
of Christ’s return,
of His long awaited
“come up hither,”
how were we to know
Christ wouldn’t wait
for His return
before He carried
you Home?

(One Sunday evening I sang a song about Heaven at church.
A lady I greatly respected remarked, “It makes you want
to be there.” The next day she died.)

A Night Alone - by M. Robbins
Psalms 121:4

Quietly, My child,
tenderly now,
as darkness
enfolds your room,

give Me your fears -
the haunting thoughts
which only have left
you terrified,

and lay now your head
upon your bed
letting My peace
lull you to sleep.

I slumber not,
oh, weary child;
there is no need
to watch with Me.

Christmas in a New House - by M. Robbins

This year no Christmas tree
will grace my house,
I’ll hang no ornaments,
and the wonder of what
gifts to buy
will not be on my mind;

for just in time for Christmas
I changed my residence
for a place I’ve always
known I’d go,
to a house that’s unsurpassed;

and since I’ve moved
I thought I would spend
this Christmas differently
from all the rest I’ve had:

I’ll sing some songs
I’ve never sung
and then I’ll gaze,
then gaze again
upon my Saviour’s face.

Death’s Fragrance
- by M. Robbins

Sweet is the fragrance
that cradles this morn,
four o’clock blossoms
jeweled with dew;
and kissing the hem line
of August’s own breeze,
it enters my chamber,
caresses my brow.

But, sad is the memories
it carries to me
of laughter and footsteps
teeming with life.
Ah, Daughter of Sunrise,
can you not sense
these limbs that are useless,
these lips that have no speech?

Now, sweet is the fragrance,
soft is the step
that comes to me closer
than vapors of life.
I sense a quick heart flutter,
I see a lined path;
ah, Fragrance of Death,
you have brought me to Christ.

(My mother died of ALS when I was 21.)

Voice from Heaven - by M. Robbins

are the heralds
of a Christian’s
journey home;
so copywriters
get it straight:

date of birth,
past employers,
locality of death;

for I want my
records accurate;
they announce
my homecoming.

What Will He Say - by M. Robbins

In the days of old,
when Christians were told,
that they must die
if God they did not deny,
would you have been
faithful unto him
who saved you from your sin
or would you have denied Him?
Just what would you have said?

Standing bravely before wild beasts
or amidst fire that upward leaps
unknown horrors many met,
but their beliefs they kept.

Victoriously they conquered death
while in their last breath.
A martyrdom crown they’ll receive
when Christians earth shall leave.

If God you would have denied
so you would not have to die,
when before Him you stand one day,
just what will He say?

(The 1, 3rd and 4th stanzas of this poem
was basically the first poem I
wrote. I seem to like writing poems
using my imagination on subjects I’ve
read about - I wrote this after I
read the book Martyr of the
Catacombs.  The second stanza
was written in 8th grade when I
was given a poem
writing assignment.)

A Martyr’s Thoughts - by M. Robbins

Penetrating bullet?
Bashing iron bar?
The choice will not
be ours, dear heart,
that ends our pilgrimage.
But whatever means is used,
dear heart, tonight
our scars will show
how wild the tempest’s been.

And the scars will tell of deep devotion;
they’ll tell of searing pain;
they’ll bear a witness of the love
that we have had of Christ.

Piercing iron nails?
Ripping Roman spear?
His was the choice,
not theirs, dear heart,
that ended His pilgrimage.
He chose the means
that caused His scars;
and tonight, dear heart,
we’ll surely see
how wild Hell’s tempest was.

And the scars will tell of His devotion;
they’ll tell of searing pain.
they’ll bear a witness of the love
that Christ has had for us.

Quiverings of the Soul - by M. Robbins

My Father, I don’t understand
the quiverings of my soul
at the mention of Your home;
nor can I interpret
the sigh that clutches to my chest
each time I view the sun;
and yet, oh my Father,
could it be that here on earth
I am homesick, homesick for You?

The Lamb’s Dream - by M. Robbins
.....and the wolf shall dwell with the lamb. Isaiah 11:6

The air’s fragrance was of clover buds
that masked a nearby slope;
and I, basking in the April sun
sleepily eyeing the tranquil flow of a brook
cascading down into a lower field,
was lulled asleep by the gentle trill
of a nesting mother bird.
How long I slept I do not know,
but the sudden rush of a fleeing hare
hurtling down a rocky bed
awakened me; and raising my head,
I saw the wolf’s form in the midday sun.
Sullen, cold, standing motionless,
yet bristling with an agile strength
much beyond my own, he sniffed the quiet air,
and the ruthless look within his eyes
portrayed to my numbed soul
the deadly thoughts of him -
the intentions of his heart.
What could I do, the victim with its victor
but look aghast into his penetrating eyes,
watch his steadfast tread;
and yet, I voiced aloud one solemn cry,
one terror rending cry,
and as he rushed in for the kill,
I awoke with panting breath,
saw you sleeping at my side,
my gentle quiet friend.
Then drawing closer ‘gainst your flank
I contemplated once again
the miracle that’s ours
within the realm of God
where wolves and lambs
are friends again and
fear and death
have been exiled.

Treasure - by M. Robbins

Treat your servant oh so kindly, Lord,
yet reveal Your love’s strong cord
that has enwrapped this tender soul
and made it assuredly whole;
for disappointments or the storms we face
brings Your love into focus until the race
is ended on earth and Christ’s redemptive one sends
the message that Christ’s loving mercy never ends.

Go Ahead! - by M. Robbins

Play with words,
young poets;
stretch those imaginations
with thought calisthenics
to whatever paces you choose.

Yes! Go ahead,
be creative;
get breathless
with your verbal play,
tumble about a bit with syllables;
but when your
workouts are over,
bring to us,
your predecessors,
rich new poems
of the old, old story;
bring us reverent poems
of Christ’s mighty love.

Only a Tiny Cloud - by M. Robbins

Only a tiny cloud
in an otherwise barren sky,
but Elijah’s soul
knew the power of God
could gleam from that flimsy speck.

So, never despair,
oh child of God,
of the “only’s” in your life;
for the power of God is such
He can take your yielded “only’s”
and magnify His name.

In Thinking of a Captive Missionary - by M. Robbins

“God, why have You taken
my freedom from me?”

“You were made captive
so your captors might see
the bonds on their souls -
their final destiny.”

“God, why have You taken
all friendships from me?”

“This gun at your head,
this rope on your wrists
will simply enhance
My loving presence.”

“God, why have You taken
me away from my work?”

“Your message this Easter
will be much sweeter
for the sermon
you are now learning.”

“God, You are now taking
the dross from my soul;
temper the heat;
let me glorify You.”

“My servant is a candle
set on a hill;
I’ve lent you out as salt;
I’ll bring you Home as gold.”

Sweeping of Heaven - by M. Robbins

A clatter of shutters,
a pulling of shades,
a swishing of linen,
a creaking of doors,
God sweeps out His hands,
brushing the clouds,
then lights all the stars
in the hallways of space.

Glorious Fire - by M. Robbins

Has Jesus brought you to His furnace
your dross to burn away, so His
glory might shine the brighter
in His temple of fine clay?
Then do not be disheartened
or rebellious in your soul
though the furnace hotly glows
with a searing deadly heat.

Can gold abhor the fire
or fear its steadfast flame
or utterly refuse to lose
the impurities within?
Then child of the triune God,
look kindly on the coals;
they are the means by which
His glory will come to you.

Desire - by M. Robbins

Draw closer to my side, oh Lord,
the night is robed in black
and all the stars I’ve wished upon
have fleeted mystically.

I know that all the paths I’ve trod
led far away from You
and, oh, I’ve acted foolishly
in everything I’ve done.

The peace I wanted earnestly
was neither made or sold
and all the truth I witnessed
did die when I rebelled.

I lost the faith I had for You,
I pawned it for dead joy,
and traded forth my soul’s patience
on worldly thoughts and deeds.

Draw closer to my side, oh Lord,
and cleanse me from all sin -
for night is pulling tauntly all my guilt
and I feel so afraid.

A Heart’s Sob to God - by M. Robbins

Father, be near me
as shadows fall this eve,
speaking not of future gifts,
though talk of Heaven
needs must lift
the soul of any child of You;
and whisper not of things to be;
but rather gently stroke my hair
as I give to You my cares;
and softly tell to me this night
how Your own death brought
forth much light;
this and only this shall ease
the pain that You’ve
allowed for me.

A Parent’s Prayer - by M. Robbins

I kneel beside your bed, dear son,
long since has it sheltered you
and pray that God my someday cease
the wanderings of your soul.

Oh foolish heart, where memories,
though pure, are tarnished
and spread like ivy vines
amidst my aging mind.

I seem again to visualize
your eager, cherub face
rebuking Night her shadowy throne
and commanding the Dawn to rise.

But now? What hopes are yours?
Where lies your nightly gazes?
Have all the lessons taught to you
been strewn along dank paths?

Oh, Son! Oh, Son! My heart cries out
and beats against its walls.
I wish that you were still a child
and all your paths still straight.

Departing Sorrows - by M. Robbins

Overwhelmed by the combined weight
of my return plane ticket
clutched tightly in my right hand
and a roll of color film
containing this week’s memories
likewise held in the other hand,
I find myself leaning against
your door before entering;
and as my composure rapidly erodes
with the appearing of my tears,
I wonder at my naiveness
in thinking a week ago
I could part so easily
from your side
with just a few warm words,
a wave of my hand,
and a happy face.

I Had Hoped - by M. Robbins

I had hoped I could part
from your side today,
beloved friend,
with a few warm words,
a wave of my hand,
and a happy face;
but in the pre-dawn hours
as I lay upon my bed
thinking of all
you mean to me
and the miles between
our homes,
I find that tears
have already started
to flow across my face
and over my heart.

Standing Out Your Door - by M. Robbins

Standing out your door,
I wave a cheery goodbye
then try to hide my tears.

(These poems were written after leaving some missionaries.)

Captive No More - by M. Robbins

Held captive
by those who are
captives themselves,
longing for a freedom
I had never once known,
You approached me in silence;
yet, the wounds
in Your hands, Your feet,
in Your side,
spoke of a ransom
from a different realm;
and unable to protest,
the ransom that was paid
my captors kept silent
as I stood to follow You.

Acreage of the Soul - by M. Robbins

My soul was a mighty acreage
of rocks and hills,
of deserts and plains,
a wasteland of fears,
a hollow of pain,
a wilderness of storm and strife;
and my condition was such
no one wanted me much
so I lay vacantly bleak
as worthless acreage.

But a landowner
having envisioned of me
orchids and roses,
strawberries and plums,
abundance and bliss
in every inch of my midst,
transacted my purchase
with His blood, with His life;
and no more was I called worthless;
I was the Garden of God.

The Rose Bush Speaks - by M. Robbins

“You’re in the pruning process,”
my Master has whispered to me.
So please excuse my missing limbs,
the gaping wounds,
the leaves now strewn about;
and if my being gives a moan
some wonderful summer day,
please don’t look aghast at me
and think my Master cruel
for such unloving care;
He’s only making me more fit
to beautify His home.

Pain - by M. Robbins

Oftimes when hoods of dark despair
confines Dawn’s regal smile,
blocking out the laughing blush
that greets the world with peace,
I find myself pressed deeply against
the refining breast of Pain.

And though I scarcely comprehend
her knife-like moves,
I see Christ’s eyes, so filled with love
beyond Pain’s gnarled hands,
compelling me to be at rest
for He is in control.

Wars of Life - by M. Robbins

Are the wars of life
that battled midst your thoughts
driving way the tender peace
you had toward Jesus Christ
and installing fiery shells
of quickened, doubtful thoughts,
over as of now?
Is peace encountered yet?

Have the scowls of hate
that darted to your eyes
from lips of warrior foes
sunken deep and pressed against
the book of clothed revenge
forgotten as of now?
Is peace encountered yet?

And o’er the shells of doubtful thoughts,
midst books of clothed revenge,
the soul still asks the mind,
“Is peace encountered yet?”

Weariness - by M. Robbins

So weary is my soul, oh Lord,
from all its wretchedness,
I’d truly love
to place my head
within Your lap and rest.

The Gift - by M. Robbins

Three angels came from God to me
this morn when I was tired
and left behind a regal gift
all tinseled up with joy.

I stashed aside the mournful thoughts
that wound about my mind,
then opened wide the sudden gift
in quickened wonderment.

And there reposed on velvet cloth,
all intricate in gold,
I gazed upon the precious gift
of God’s eternal love.

To City Politicians - by M. Robbins

“We need the revenue,” you’ve said.
So, snatch away the soil!
Desecrate the land!
Mutilate the precious earth!
Then when you’re done with that,
start bringing in your contractors,
the demolitionists, who while
building up the an edifice
where horses and dogs may run,
will also be building
the betting booths,
the liquor bars
which serve the same as gallows
to many people’s lives.

A Christmas Eulogy - by M. Robbins

Tinseled songs of peace and love
grudgingly pass through hemlock lips.
Angelic notes that do proclaim
hope and the reign of peace,
are stifled by the breath
of clinking gold
pulverized to death by selfish dreams.
And drifting on air,
cradled by Time,
the omnipotent babe
wails sadly for men.

I’m Waiting - by M. Robbins

I’m waiting for a kingdom
designed by God above
that’s resplendent with His glory,
tended by His love,
a promised empire built by One
who rules with righteous care,
a kingdom that’s not funded
by the bets on horses and dogs.

Caught in a Ferris Wheel - by M. Robbins

Caught in a ferris wheel
of constant activity -
twirling and twisting
forging around,
my soul asks no questions,
but keeps with the pace.
Yet, suddenly! Quickly!
the ferris wheel stops.
Only the wind now...
but the wind has no strength.
God, why is my service for You
suddenly stilled?

You Are My Existence - by M. Robbins

You are my existence,
my substance and my all;
in whom I dwell contentedly
each moment of my life.

I drawest every breath from You;
I leap, I jump, I run;
none else but You doest lend me strength
wherewith to nurture life.

Cleanse My Soul - by M. Robbins

Cleanse my soul, my Lord, my God,
sweep away my sins;
then take this errant, shameful lamb
that scampered from Your fold
unto Your breast and let me feel
again Thy rippling peace.

Caress My Soul - by M. Robbins

Caress my soul, dear Jesus,
tears are falling fast,
clouds of misgivings surround me,
shamefulness has billowed her sails.

I’ve crept in the race of society,
I’ve thrashed in the tempter’s snare,
I’ve suffered the beatings of mortals,
I’ve shivered in reproaching rags.

I’ve nothing left but You, my Lord,
to lean on and rebuild;
all else has failed but You,
my Lord, my God, my King.

Mountains May Shudder - by M. Robbins

Mountains may shudder
with tremulous breaths,
oceans may falter
with trembling steps;
yet, Jesus my Saviour
understands all
and bids His own timing
with infinite care.

He shows me the desert,
so barren and lone,
then asks me to follow
in faith close behind.
I dare not to waver
aghast at the thought
for Jesus My Saviour
is tilling my soul.

As a Wick - by M. Robbins

As a wick from an oil lamp
lights its environment
with the oil from within,
so shall I burn, Lord, for You
until my life is ended
content that Your oil
will still flow from others
to do Your blessed will.

The Choice - by M. Robbins

Shall I be
a godly tree
with roots reaching down
into the ground
encircling the flood
of crimson blood
which flows from Thee?
The choice is up to me.

Shall I be
a godly tree
with a trunk rising high
into the sky
breathing the air
of omniscient care
to commune with Thee?
The choice is up to me.

Shall I be
a godly tree
lusciously bearing,
tenderly sharing,
to those who plead
they are in need
of my fruit from Thee?
The choice is up to me.

Since it is to be
left up to me
to cling to Him
who bore my sin,
then quickly is the cry
which from my heart does fly
upward Lord to Thee:
“There is no sweeter choice!”

God Causes Beauty - by M. Robbins

God causes beauty to come
from scorching sun
and from pelting rain;
so, from broken dreams
and tearful days
your life shall glorify
the Lord.

The Shepherd’s and Lamb’s Walk - by M. Robbins

Beneath the emerald trees,
amidst the sheen of dawn,
my Lord and I
walk hand in hand,
the Shepherd and His lamb.

He speaks to me of anguished tears,
Gethsemane’s rent breast,
of human fear,
of Godly love,
two wills always merged as one.

He whispers gently of the cross,
Golgotha’s taunting throne,
of searing nails,
of purging blood,
the sacrificial death.

He sings to me of vibrant life,
the rolling of the stone,
of folded clothes,
of fragrant breath,
the link of God with man.

We walk together hand in hand
across the eaves of time,
for He loves me
and I love Him,
the Shepherd and His lamb.

To a Deacon - by M. Robbins

Like the friends of Dorcas
who, when mourning their loss
by her departure to glory,
brought to Paul the garments
she had sewn for those in need
and received her back again alive;
we raised aloud our hearts to God
and in retelling the Christ like
deeds you’ve done for His body
He gave you back to us.

(A lady in our church almost died.)

Prairie Fire - by M. Robbins

While standing in soot and ashes,
I watch a prairie fire
as it advances on far beyond me
branding the fields with death;
yet, I have no fear for well I know
a prairie fire cannot soon retrace
the land it has just consumed.

Standing in the blood of Jesus
I sense a judgment fire
as it builds in fury around me
dooming man’s soul to death;
yet, I have no fear for well I know
God’s eternal fire can never retrace
my sins already consumed on Calvary.

(This poem was written when I witnessed a small prairie fire.)

Courage - by M. Robbins

Bruised, battered, broken with age,
yet, the little leaf hurries on,
skimming across the snow clad yard,
a companion of the winter wind;
and I, watching from my window
seeing no desperate struggle
as it journeys through my lawn,
gaze anew at my arthritic hands,
twisted by tormenting pain;
and I ask the Lord to make my soul
more courageous like the leaf,
daring to turn a companion
out of a frightful foe.

Some Months Ago - by M. Robbins

Some months ago I stamped my mind
in a childish tantrum fit
declaring to my Lord and God
I had no need of Him.

Yet scarcely had I voiced this childish rage
then I heard His patient voice
compelling me to take His arm
and He would find me rest.

Miracles - by M. Robbins

Miracles dwell in the
orbs of dawn
between pressed eaves of night
caressingly sheltered by a tender Lord
who asks for us to wait.
And walking in veils
of slippered peace,
sighing love’s tender hymn,
He notes our tears,
our shackled state,
the dawn that’s never born,
then touches our lives
with His open hand,
biding us gently to rise.

To a Tax Auditor - by M. Robbins

My contributions, Sir?
Aren’t they all in order?
The canceled checks,
the mailed receipts,
I thought would clearly prove
my own integrity.

Pardon me, Sir?
What about your sixth sense?
Oh, though my contributions
were extremely accurate
you feel that I could add
a little to my statement?

Admit what, Sir?
Withholding facts from you?
Yes, but do you really care
about my gifts of tears to God?
He’s holding those receipts
till I enter Heaven’s gate.

Feel Free to Cry - by M. Robbins

Feel free to cry
today, my heart;
brush not the tears away;
still not the heart
that weeps for one
who’s closed his earthly eyes;
yet in your grieving
have your heart
listen to the singing
of your happy soul
rejoicing with the pilgrim
who at last
is now at Home.

Reflections Upon Finding
Someone Else’s Change - by M. Robbins

Within the silver,
marsupial-like pouch
of a Pepsi machine,
I found you lying solitarily:
a mere thinly coated dime
of humanly neglected
forgotten change;
and as I brushed against
the chilled surface
of your battered face,
I felt from the deepest
chamber of my heart
an uncommon pity
that you did not have
a loving Saviour, like me,
who cared that you had
been lost by the world’s
careless hands.

Empathy - by M. Robbins

Disheartened Hattie Jean,
engulfed in an internal spiritual storm
which possessed more strength than the natural one
which was even now unrelentingly
causing the evening lights to flicker,
wearily set aside the folded, faded clothes
of her three fatherless boys,
and, looking at the bulging box
solemnly marked, “Bills,”
remembered how money was easier
to obtain when her husband lived.

Then, turning to her sister,
who was sitting in the room’s middle
safely away from any threatening
lightening bolts,
she asked in a haunting voice:

“Do you reckon, Ann,
that the widow in the book of John,
who gave her all,
might have been like me?
I mean, do you think she had
money problems too - where
the money coming in
was barely ahead of the
money going out?
Do you suppose her neighbors
laughingly said it was foolish
to give any of her substance to God
or even said God scorned such small amounts?
Do you think that she might have cried
like me over the small pittance
there was to give?”

She stopped speaking
as the lights, refusing to shine
anymore in the storms’ wrath,
flickered once before totally giving out;
and finding a seat in a tattered chair,
Hattie Jean contemplated the timeless
worries of many widows;
and as the external storm raged outside,
her own internal fury grew quiet
as she found empathy with
another widow who loved God in another land
and in another time.

Winter Reflections to God - by M. Robbins

Shifting my gaze from an empty checkbook
to peer between the icy patterns
forming rapidly on my bedroom window
late one winter night,
I sense the splintering thoughts
of inanimate numbers
disintegrate within my mind
into a numberless void
and taking shape again
in another form
as I focus on my car below...
and I give a sorrowful smile.

Trying to accept my car’s necessities,
I mournfully recall the numbing cost
of the newly purchased battery
that quickly ebbed away my funds;
and the shadow of the
discarded part
now laying by the curb
waiting the trashman’s grab,
reminds me of the cherished dreams
of giving to Your work
that I must briefly cast aside...
and I give a sorrowful smile.

Yet, the splintering thoughts
knifing through the air,
have penetrated deeply within my soul,
have brought me to my knees;
and unable to ignore the pain
of my spirit’s hemorrhaging,
I focus all my thoughts to You;
I offer You my all;
and emptied of all but love
expressed in salty tears,
I find acceptance in Your sight...
and I give a gentle smile.

Anticipation - by M. Robbins

Monetarily I must
share You with
the doctor bills,
the car repairs,
and forty other things;
but I’ll cast my crown
before Your feet
some wondrous, glorious day,
and then I’ll fully
feel the joy
of giving You my all.

Dismissal of a Different Kind - by M. Robbins

The news of His patient’s dismissal
was so sweet to the Saviour’s heart
that He must carry the message Himself
to whisper to His loved one’s soul.

So down the hospital corridor
the Great Physician walks
with a smile upon His face
bearing the wonderful news.

And the face of the one so ill
softens as he sees who’s come
to gently tell his ransomed spirit,
“You’re going Home right now.”

The Word for His Dismissal - by M. Robbins

The word for his dismissal
came so suddenly,
that I, sitting by
my loved one’s side
in intensive care
never heard him
leave for Home
with the great Physician.

Opulent Living - by M. Robbins

Opulent living
fulfills the eyes
but leaves the soul
extremely destitute;
and so, bountiful Giver,
Redeemer of men,
I turn aside from
earthly trinkets
to plead on trembling knee
that in Your majesty
won’t You give Yourself
as a gift to me?

The Skirmish - by M. Robbins

Across the field of skirmish
my Captain has come to me
where I in much bewilderment
lie reeling from defeat.

And as He stoops His wounded side
to kneel beside my form,
I cry out bitterly to Him
of the wounds within my soul.

“Your own glory You’ve cared not for;
drunkenness shall reign
and now I hear the cruel mockings
of those who fear You not.”

“I have no strength to carry on;
my wounds are much too deep;
and I fear, oh my Captain,
as if my wounds were made by Thee!”

I turn my face away from Him
as I cease to cry out loud;
but, oh! how much I do desire
for Him to comfort me.

But He in whom I dearly love
extends to me no sympathy
nor gives an explanation
of the reason for defeat.

Yet, He’s known the greatest battle,
He’s known the greatest loss,
and does not worry over skirmishes
when He bears the marks of Conqueror!

So without rebuke, my Captain sits
to wait for my recovery
and the day He’ll carry me
into His final Victory.

(This poem was written after we lost a political battle in zoning for a
horse/dog race track coming into the county.)

When the Sun is Bright - by M. Robbins

When the sun is bright,
when the wind is light,
when laughter is in the air,
how quickly I forget the care
of my frailty
upon the open sea;
but my spirit’s sure foundation,
my Captain of Salvation,
ever keeps me day and night
by His hand of might.

When my spirit sees
the fury of the sky and sea,
when fear is in the air,
how quickly do I feel the care
of my frailty
upon the open sea;
but my spirit’s sure foundation,
my Captain of Salvation,
ever keeps me day and night
by His hand of might.

An Admonishing Mother
Upon Seeing an Angel - by M. Robbins

Do You think that God
has let a lamb
fall softly from His fold?
Hush, my child,
your plaintive cry
and see your shining guard.

Please Write - by M. Robbins

Please write on my heart
with indelible ink:
“My Word is Faithful and True;”
for I fear, oh God,
that the tears from my heart
might soon erase
the only light I have.

The Lamb’s Cry - by M. Robbins

I am a little lamb
far from my Shepherd’s home
and He knows my heart does cry
as on this earth I roam.

He set me on this earth
to exemplify His love;
but so distant is His hearth,
I cry for my home above.

He tends to all my needs.
(Wild lambs are on their own.)
Yet, as I feed upon His Word,
more frequent are my moans.

He helps me along life’s way
with a sympathetic hand;
but earth is such a barren land,
I cry cause we’re apart.

Though I’m a tiny lamb
Your Spirit as my guide
will bring me to Your face
where I’ll never leave Your side.

I am Perfumed - by M. Robbins

I am perfumed with Your sweet scent
of joy, of peace, of hope;
none else but You can satisfy
the longings of my soul.

Break forth with praise, oh silent voice,
unto your soul’s substance;
all else could fail but You, my Lord,
my life, my love, my all.

Dawn’s Prayer - by M. Robbins

Lord of the morning,
Master divine,
hear now my heart beat
favor my prayer,
for the one that I love
is leaving this morn.

Lend him the sunbeams
waltzing on waves,
grant him the yearnings
his heart stretches toward,
weave him a garland
of contentment and peace,
yet, Lord of the morning,
keep his soul pure.

Give him the wisdom
to nurture what’s truth,
to hurtle past breakers
intent on swift ruin,
kindle the knowledge
of man before man,
yet, Lord of the morning,
bid his heart love.

Aid him as trials
besiege every breath,
taunting the knowledge
his soul holds within,
help him as tempters
shadow his brows,
yet, Lord of the morning.
fire in him hope.

Lord of the morning,
Master divine,
deal with him gently,
keep his heart young,
yet, bring him to Heaven
pure and refined.

(Written when my brother went back to college.)

Thank You, Lord - by M. Robbins

Thank You, Lord, for
.....life, for breath, for health;
and with this check I give to You,
I wish to say that “I love You.”

Thank You, Lord, for
....fever, aches, the doctor’s calls,
and with the thought You’re in control
I wish to say that “I love You.”

Thank You, Lord, for
....the hope, the expectations,
and the thought that someone else may pay my bill
truly causes me to say that “I love You.”

Thank You, Lord, for
.....the losing of the check I gave to You
and though it’s whereabouts isn’t known,
I wish to say that “I love You.”

Thank You, Lord, for
.....insurance companies that seem to show
unexpectedly high physician bills
yet still I want to say that “I love You.”

Thank you, Lord, for
.....doctor bills that I can pay,
for gifts to You no longer lost
and the chance to say that “I love You.”

(This was written after I thought I had a large doctor bill, but it turned out
that the insurance company paid most of it.)

Persecute with Knowledge - by M. Robbins

Persecute with knowledge
this traitor of my soul;
intercept its plans
of robbing bare my soul.

For oh, dear Lord,
its tainted mind
holds close the shrewd hopes
of grasping quickly my youthful soul,
of blocking out Your love.

Oh, Tiny Wounded Puppy - by M. Robbins

Oh, tiny wounded puppy,
I tried to give you refuge,
tried to be a friend,
tried to solace all your fears;
but you were too afraid
and so you ran away.

Oh, wandering wounded puppy,
I commit you to my God,
for He can give you refuge,
He can be your friend.
He can solace all your fears
if you would only let Him.

In Praise - by M. Robbins

Jesus my Saviour,
Jesu my love,
dwells on the sunrise
glides on the dusk.

He speaks to the forests
in eloquent tones;
He frames all the heavens
with time scented stars.

He rides on the ocean,
He leaps the vast cliffs,
He studies the portraits
of rainbows and clouds.

Jesus my Saviour,
Jesu my love,
carries the garden
on Life in His hands.

A Realization and Plea - by M. Robbins

Help me, oh Lord,
for I am more prepared to resist
the chaotic temptations
residing in this world
than I am able
to protect myself
from myself.

The Angel Speaks - by M. Robbins

Come not before our gracious King
arrayed in tailored dress,
nor vocalize your well planned speech
in praise of every deed.

For once inside His holy gates,
a furlong from His throne,
your richest dress would thin to rags
as aged fallen leaves.

And just a glimpse of His royal throne
adorned with priceless stones,
your words, so rich in praise,
would die inside your heart.

But, come before our gracious King
your heart pressed down with tears
and He will clasp you to His breast
and solace all your fears.

Jesus my Saviour - by M. Robbins

Jesus my Saviour, Jesu my love,
created heaven by His own word -
fashioned the sunrise that welcomes the day -
spun the white lilies regal and fresh.

Jesus my Saviour, Jesu my love,
holy and mighty, ruler o’er all,
tenderly loved me, tenderly cared -
died on Mount Calvary for one such as I.

Now let my voice raise praises to Thee,
Thou Rose of Sharon, Thou Lamb of life;
let me draw closer ever to Thee,
Jesus my Saviour, Jesu my love.

In This Spiral - by M. Robbins

In this spiral moving age
when man, the demander, of Now,
meets God, the tower of infinity,
he finds himself reluctant
to entrust his desires
to an atom in God’s time.

I Feel so Far - by M. Robbins

I feel so far away, oh God,
from all Your quiet peace -
for turmoil thoughts
of worldly things
reign o’er my weakened mind
and quickly drains the ancient cup
of steadfast faithfulness.

And though I seek
Your peace, oh God,
with uncurled, trembling hands;
a blackened void blocks the path
between Your peace....
my turmoil mind....
and I feel far away.

Sly Satan Twirls - by M. Robbins

Sly Satan twirls a tempting word
unto the souls of man;
and with guileless tones of innocence,
as air upon a fire,
he hypnotizes earthly man
to do his evil deeds.

“Come near, my friend,” he whispers low,
an adder in disguise;
“your wealth of wisdom totters,
your joy is newly hatched,
your breast does envy successes’ crown
and longs to be set free.”

“Come take my arms and view the world
upon my seraph wings;
the unseen things to you’ll be plain,
your head shall rest on jewels,
and joy and freedom will at last
be joined unseparable.”

And with a tone of purity,
a look of honesty,
the tempter, Satan, leads astray
unto the gates of Hell
vast legions of misguided men
who cling to serpent lies.

Cast Away - by M. Robbins

Cast away
your heaviness
of dreams so unfulfilled;
let our tears
go on their way -
for God’s light
has pierced our night
and having Him
we shall be at peace.

See My Arms? - by M. Robbins

See my arms, my feet,
my heart, oh Lord?
They’re bleeding from
the wounds I gained
when I wandered
from Your side.

A Child’s Prayer - by M. Robbins

Oh, God, I truly wish to know
if among Your mansions of gold
would you have an animal or two
to share all Your secrets to?
And oh, God, if this be true,
could You please tell me,
if You have seen in Heaven’s blue,
a little black dog very new,
so very new in Heaven’s blue?

(I took it very hard when my first dog died when I was in the 8th grade.)

I Cannot Comprehend - by M. Robbins

I cannot comprehend
the immensity of space
that makes a friendly star
be a thousand light years high;
but that’s all right with me
for I know the One who can
and that’s what matters most
for all eternity.

Caked with Mud - by M. Robbins

Caked with mud
I weep alone
outside my Father’s home;
but tears can
simply not remove
this grime upon soul.

So I feel within my heart
to find some solace there;
but a sob escapes my lips
as I quickly realize
my heart, it too,
lies sadly caked with mud.

What can I do?
I’m filthy; I’m unclean;
and I feel my very presence
within His light filled halls
would make the servants pause
and think that I am scum.

Yet, can I bear much longer
this weight of sinful earth
which pleads for me
to still remain
a son who lives in self-exile
away from his Father’s face?

How great my hesitation!
I find I can’t advance;
I find I can’t withdraw;
and again I weep to find myself
outside my Father’s home
caked with worldly mud.

Yet, as I stand a contrite heart
lamenting over past mistakes,
I feel a hand upon my head,
smell the scent of frankincense
and feel my soul as its embraced
and welcomed back to God.

Is This Really Me? - by M. Robbins

“Christ is coming back real soon,”
I heard a preacher say.
So reaching for my checkbook
I wondered what to give
to help Christ’s story
be announced throughout the world
before His soon return.

I begin to calculate my necessities
for the next 2 weeks
and then weary of my contemplation
on such eternal things,
I dropped a check into my offering
and then begin to think
of all the winter clothes
I’d need to buy
before the first snowfall.

I am Human - by M. Robbins

I am human, You are God.
I am because You are always there
and my existence is encompassed
by Your very presence.
Yet, I seem only to be aware
of my frailty during those
moments when my sphere of existence
seems to be threatened by some outside force
(either real or imaginary or seen or unseen).
It is during that troubled time that my frailty
grasps hold of Your mighty attributes
and clings to what and who You are.
At that time it matters not who I am,
but who You are and what You can do.
And when You have assured my heart of Your presence,
after I have found safety in Your love,
I began to view the sun even through the night.
Ah, my Father, after the storm has passed,
I forget that I am frail and that I’m still in need.

You Cannot Delegate - by M. Robbins

You cannot delegate
prayers to someone else -
for from your heart
to the heart of God
must stream
your voice,
your tears,
and your desires.

Who Am I? - by M. Robbins

Who am I, tonight, oh God?
Am I spirit or flesh?
Am I love or logic?
Are the tears being wrung
come from my heart
or flow from my soul?
Why after my cry to You
that Your will might be done
does sleep elude my grasp?
And yet, oh God,
I feel that my spirit
is trying to whisper,
“Your prayer is good;
now rest in peace.”

Deeply Perplexed - by M. Robbins

I am deeply perplexed
by Your workings, Lord,
for though I clearly read
that the fields
are white unto harvest,
I feel the howling wind
around my soul
as I sadly look
at the single stock of wheat
I’ve tenderly nurtured
and wonder why it, too,
isn’t white unto harvest?

Death’s Lullaby - by M. Robbins

Child of the earth,
come nigh my chest;
fear not the bending dusk
for shadows that
caress the night
must also kiss the dawn.

I’ve Stifled, You, God - by M. Robbins

I’ve stifled, You, God,
behind etchings
of ginger land hopes;
and twisting my soul
away from Your clasp,
I strolled out in search
of substances unreal
‘midst lands of crystalline hate.

The ACLU at Christmas - by M. Robbins

Banish Jesus from the manager,
mention not His precious name,
tell the carolers to praise another -
for enlightened men
need not a deity.

God, I Don’t Understand - by M. Robbins

God, I don’t understand
the job that’s come my way
forcing me into responsibilities
I do not wish to assume
and thrusting me into a role
I have no choice but to face.
I am afraid, my God,
and yet, it is You that has allowed
this job to come my way.
It has not fallen upon my shoulders
as a result of righteous negligence.

Though Bound - by M. Robbins

Though bound to this world
and caught in a labyrinth
of shifting ideals,
I shall focus my eyes
upon the strengthened form
of Jesus Christ
and traverse the path
that leads to His side.

I’ve Questioned, Lord - by M. Robbins

I’ve questioned, Lord,
Your silent voice;
I’ve pouted, Lord,
even rebelled against
the “no” You’ve said
when I so wanted
a “Yes” from Your soul.

Yet, tonight, oh Lord,
there are tears on my face
as I say aloud,
“I know whom I have believed.”

Big Business - by M. Robbins

Big business is mine!
I’ve strings on them all:
inventors, producers,
retailers - the lot;
and no one escapes
the power I weld.
I’m known to throw punches
to those all around...
gun men...assassins
are some I employ.
Power, strength,
great riches are mine...
I’ve only one rival
and I know most of His plans.
I am a tradesman,
a tradesman at heart -
bearing to nations
those products men want.
Some call me wise,
a person of light...
others declare,
with feelings of pain,
that I am a schemer
teeming with hate.
Words...mire fragments
of thoughts...
for I am called Satan;
big business is mine,
granting man’s dreams
in exchange for his soul.

Coming to Christ - by M. Robbins

Unsettled, despondent
like a leaf ‘midst a gale;
my life had no anchor;
my soul had no peace.

My days were as the midnight,
blackened with despair;
my sins were reflected
in a prism of time.

But then I met the Saviour,
His arms were stretched toward me
and He asked me to draw closer,
so I silently did.

He showed me the nail prints
that should have been mine;
He showed me the sword wound
where the blood freely flowed.

I bowed my head in sorrow,
remorse saddened my soul;
but then very gently,
He whispered to me:

“’Twas there upon Mount Calvary
I broke the bands of sin;
I died that you might have new life;
please come now to Me.”

Though broken was my life,
unkempt, uncleansed with scars,
God reached down from Heaven
and wrapped me in His love.

My life is now a vessel
utilized by God
and with His hand upon me,
He bids me to say:

“Come you who are broken hearted,
come you who are tired and worn,
for my Saviour knows your longings
and He will give you rest.”

Though I’m a Sheep - by M. Robbins

Though I’m a sheep
in God’s pasture,
a barbed wire fence
encompasses me not -
allowing my thoughts,
my eyes, and my feet
to wander at will.
And yet, how well
does God know
‘tis wiser to wander
with the Shepherd
than to wander
from His call.

Though a Veteran - by M. Robbins

Though a veteran of many
of life’s skirmishes,
I never saw the arrow
which pierced my soul;
but my Commander saw me stagger -
saw the faltering of my sword.

Then because He knows what wounds are like
He brought me from the fray,
bandaged up my wound,
then cradling me within His arms
He listened to my cries.

I felt true peace
this morn at dawn
while down upon my knees;
for lowly creature as I am,
I felt God smile on me.

The sun outside is shining
oh, so brightly!
I see, my heart,
that God’s so good;
let’s praise His name today.

Turn in your sword,
relax your guard -
your battle’s done -
Christ calls you home.

Compassionately, gently,
You link Your arms
around my soul
and fold me
to Your chest.

Let my life portray
the auroras of Thy love,
oh Lord,
and Your immortal heart.

I have done
all I can do;
please, my Lord,
do all the rest.

Ask miracles of God
but grant Him the prerogative
to choose the time
when to answer.

The more my prayers
to You enlarge,
the richer grows
my praise.

The fullest bank account
can never over shadow
the wondrous joys
of answered prayer.

Awakened to the
breath and love of
You, my Lord,
my soul has found
swift wings.

Faith’s realm
encircles evening
and dawn.

If God directs
your victories,
He also conducts
your trials.

Please, God,
take away the selfish thoughts
which slowly rust my mind
and fill it with the things
only You know
how to give.

Like a magic reamed rainbow
weaved through black clouds,
take my trials, Lord Jesus,
and tinsel with love.

Do not rebuke
your failings, dear Christian,
for God may be preparing
to show you
His strength.

Help me, oh God,
for if it is within my power,
I wish to create beauty
in my world.

Christ asks me to love,
yet, so fumbling in deeds
I can only cry.

What mighty works
are born from prayers
when all our pleas
are turned to praise.

Blessed is Adversity,
the tiller of the soul
and holy is his wrenching touch
that brings us to God’s breast.

Help me to realize
that You are not a limited God
hampered by the lack of omnipotence
to perform miracles.

The soul sings in harmony
when it’s in tune
with God’s melody

My soul must magnify, You,
in silence, oh Lord,
for my tongue lacks the
necessary vocabulary
that would acclaim
Your mighty omnipotence.

Quietly treading,
marching in beat,
parting the silence,
eternal temptation
strikes deeply within
ousting the vision
of cherubs and saints.

Help me, oh Lord,
to project my capacities
into the realm
of Your omnipotence.

The Engraving - by M. Robbins

Before the beginning
of man’s beginning,
even before the worshipful angels
had taken time to discuss
with one another
what their mighty Lord
might have meant
when He commandingly said,
“Let there be light,”
God had already envisioned
the engraving of His people
upon the palms of His hands.

Adam - by M. Robbins

While Adam lay upon his bed
he heard new sounds today:
frantic running,
thrashing corn stalks,
and a snarling kind of noise.

As Adam quickly went outside,
he saw new sights today:
a wide-eyed doe,
a fleeing fawn,
and a leaping lion.

Then Adam falling on his knees,
did new things today:
felt split blood,
touched a corpse
and cried out remorseful tears.

The Result - by M. Robbins

The doe had sauntered past cougars before
while eating succulent grass;
but now she lay beneath one’s paws,
and oh! the bewilderment!

She peered into his emerald eyes,
her own were wet with blood;
and while he hovered o’er her form,
she felt his massive strength.

“Why have you changed?  Why this attack?"
Then as she closed her eyes in death,
the cougar screamed victoriously
and tersely replied, “Adam has sinned.”

Did Adam - by M. Robbins

Before the Fall
did Adam brush his teeth
even once, let alone twice a day?
Did his hair get dirty
from lying in the grass
making a hair wash a necessary
thing on a day’s agenda?
Did he ever get cherry stains
all over his arm and chin
necessitating a good lathering of soap;
in fact, did he even have soap?
These questions and answers
of his life with God
are nonessentials;
they have no importance
and the Bible is silent
about these areas;
but one thing we do know
is Adam talked with God.
Do we?

Moses - by M. Robbins - 2 versions

(1st version)

I heard You in the desert,
saw the plagues in Egypt’s midst,
felt the tug of good and evil
from within the Pharaoh’s heart;
yet I who witnessed all these things,
cannot comprehend Your deeds.

I saw pursuing warriors,
heard their cries of utter hate,
then safely crossed the dry Red Sea
which brought but death to Egypt’s
yet I who witnessed all these things,
cannot comprehend Your acts.

I tasted manna rained from heaven,
implemented Your great laws,
drank flowing water from a rock
which represented Christ;
yet I who witnessed all these things,
cannot comprehend Your ways.

I, who through these many years
have seen Your wondrous deeds,
am overwhelmed by Your great acts,
am amazed by who You art;
Almighty God, You’ve just begun
to show me Your great self!

(2nd version)

I heard You in the burning bush,
smelled the water turned to blood,
felt the locust’s swarming mass,
saw the first-born Egyptians slain,
but I who witnessed all these things,
cannot comprehend such power.

I saw pursuing soldiers,
heard their hate-filled cries,
walked upon the Red Sea’s path,
watched the mighty Egyptians drown;
but I who witnessed all these things,
cannot comprehend such acts.

I tasted manna rained from heaven,
wrote Your mighty laws,
drank flowing water from a rock,
saw a dead branch bloom again;
but I who witnessed all these things,
cannot comprehend such works.

I, who through these many years,
have seen Your wondrous deeds,
am overwhelmed by Your great acts,
am amazed by who You art.
Almighty, God, You have just begun
to show me Your great self!

     When you think of Moses, your spirit probably is struck
with great wonderment upon all he saw, did and accomplished
as a prophet of God.
     In fact under the Egyptian law, Moses shouldn’t have even
lived past birth, because any Hebrew baby boy was to have
been put to death by the attending midwife.  Exod 1:17 states -
“But the midwives feared God, and did not as the king of Egypt
commanded them, but saved the men children alive.”
          So as we look back upon the life of Moses, we see a man
who escaped death at birth, was considered a “son” of the
Pharaoh’s daughter and was raised in court luxury.  We know
that when Moses was 40 he killed an Egyptian who was hitting
a fellow Hebrew and shortly afterward Moses fled for his life
from the wrath of Pharaoh.  He lived there for 40 years.
          But hundreds of years earlier God had made a covenant
to Abram as recorded in Gen 15:13-14 -  “And he said unto
Abram, Know of a surety that thy seed shall be a stranger
in a land that is not theirs, and shall serve them; and they
shall afflict them four hundred years; And also that nation, whom
they shall serve, will I judge: and afterward shall they come out
with great substance.”
     And since Moses was the man God had chosen to fulfill His
covenant.....when the time came, God finally spoke to Moses
and sent him back to Egypt.  Exod 12:40-41 states - “Now
the sojourning of the children of Israel, who dwelt in Egypt,
was four hundred and thirty years.  And it came to pass at the
end of the four hundred and thirty years, even the selfsame
day it came to pass, that all the hosts of the LORD went
out from the land of Egypt.”
     Today, we would say that Moses was THE MAN FOR
THE OCCASION.  But for Moses and for all the other
Hebrews, everything had just begun.
     All.......all that Moses went through the next 40 years
was a time of testing, trials, endurance, joys, and triumphs
and the Bible records some of those experiences. 
     But everything.......yes, everything that Moses experienced
in the workings of God, he summed up in a few brief words
of amazement, awe and anticipation of God, Himself.  In
Deut 3:24, towards the end of his life, Moses writes - “O Lord
GOD, thou hast begun to shew thy servant thy greatness, and
thy mighty hand: for what God is there in heaven or in earth,
that can do according to thy works, and according to thy might?”
     So whenever you consider the life of Moses, go ahead
and be in awe of all he experienced and accomplished as
a prophet of God.  But be sure to put things in their proper place.
     Though mighty and great, Moses was still just a servant of God.
     And God?  Well, the great I AM, the God of whom nothing
is impossible, the God who blots out our transgressions, the God
who inhabits eternity......this same God had just begun to show
Moses His greatness and His might!
     And this God in 1 Cor 12:6 - “is the same God which worketh
all in all.”
     May you know His greatness and His might for all eternity!
                                                                    by M. Robbins

The Data - by M. Robbins

The inaccurate data,
the missing reports,
even the typo error which read,
“the most high god”
instead of “the Most High God,”
led to King Sennacherub
underestimating the omnipotence
of Judah’s Jehovah God
and ushered the Angel of Death
into his very camp.

God’s Vessels- by M. Robbins
(Daniel 1:1-2)

Into the temple of God,
into the presence of Him
who designed us with joy,
the conquerors came
their arrogance unchecked.
Then to find our true worth,
they peered at us,
leered at us,
and gleefully said:

“God’s vessels of silver,
God’s vessels of gold,
we should not destroy;
they’ll nicely conform
to our own god’s commands.”

From the temple of God,
from His temple of love,
past corpses of cities,
past corpses of men,
we were quickly exiled
to a different place
where lewdness dwelled,
to strong Babylon;
yet our worth was still known
and Baal’s priests did proclaim:

“God’s vessels of silver,
God’s vessels of gold,
we will not destroy;
they’ll nicely conform
to our own god’s commands.”

From the temple of Baal,
who is no god at all,
unto Belshazzar’s own feast
we were brought forth one night
where man’s drunken behavior
tried the patience of God
till our Lord intervened
with a bodiless hand;
then we wanted to shout
so that all men could hear:

“We’re God’s vessels of silver,
we’re God’s vessels of gold,
and we’ll only conform
to our own God’s commands.”

To the temple of Baal
in haste we were brought back
by priests mystified,
for our God had decreed
that Belshazzar would fall;
and the reveling cries
of women and men
warmed not the air
that hung heavy and cold
but drowned out instead
our repetitive cries:

“We’re God’s vessels of silver;
we’re God’s vessels of gold;
and though you destroy us
we will only conform
to our own God’s commands.”

Now, many years later,
the scene has since changed;
laughter, scorn, even tortuous deaths
are accorded to men
who follow our God.
Yet, we sit in God’s presence,
we sit where He wills;
His costliest vessels
waiting the day
when He, Himself, shall declare:

“My vessels of silver,
My vessels of gold,
I’ve kept from destruction;
and they’ve only conformed
to My own Son’s commands.

Supposition - by M. Robbins
(2 Chronicles 20:15-20)

Distinctly perplexed
by the stifled sneers
of his fellow peers
in the battle line,
the soldier stood
as all soldiers should
with chest held high
and legs tautly locked.

But his feelings
of perplexity
turned into anxiety
as down the line
his commander paced
as all commanders should
with penetrating eyes
and ears which hear discord.

“War necessitates our readiness,”
the commander said,
with a graying head.
Then seeing in the line,
the anxious soldier, he stopped,
stared, then asked disdainfully,
“Why are you dressed in battle clothes
and yet you stand there weaponless?”

by the rebuking question,
knowing well its deep suggestion,
in the battle line
the soldier even straighter stood,
then said straightforwardly,
“Sir, our God’s explicit orders were
we’re to watch; He’s to fight


Unanswered Question - by M. Robbins
2 Chronicles 20:15-17

I wonder if on the day of battle
when Judah formed battle rank,
if there might have been a tender maiden
that grew frightened when she saw
her betrothed, the one she dearly love,
emerge from his dwelling place
and stride with manly, determined steps
toward the warrior’s meeting place?

Did she hasten after him, I wonder,
with her billowing skirt hampering
every anxious step she took?
Did the cry that refused to be stifled
call to the young warrior’s attention
the young figure now close behind him?

Did he stop?
Did he gently touch her hair
and wipe away her tears?
Did he kiss her?
And if she clung to him in fear,
did he remind her that there
would be no need in this battle
for him to draw his sword -
that the battle was God’s and His alone
and no one from Judah would die that day?

Jesus Speaks - by M. Robbins

I heard the hammers singing
vibrant songs of strength today
as muscular arms of carpenters
struck consistently strong blows;
and joining Myself unto them,
working beside the men,
I heaved the lumber upon My back
hoisted it into place.
Yet, while I swung the hammer,
urging on songs of strength,
I faintly heard within My mind
another hammer’s voice
painfully guiding Roman nails
into My hands, into My feet.

Disintegration - by M. Robbins

I spoke to you
of My Father’s glory,
His wondrous love, His care;
and in the abyss of your soul
tendrils of His light
lightly brushed across the
killing chains of sin
disintegrating totally
Satan’s deadly grip:
and responding to My voice,
you owned Me as your Lord.

Contemplation - by M. Robbins

As men with hearts like stone
murderously seize up rocks to kill
the One who is the Life,
I hide Myself, eluding their hatred;
and walking through the temple,
I can only contemplate the time
when My hands did tenderly mold
the dust that formed his being,
and with My breath
within his nostrils,
how man acknowledged
Me as his God.

The Observer - by M. Robbins

Entering the temple
with poverty tugging
at her faded clothes,
the widow gave her
all to God,
but no one cared
and no one noticed
except the Lord; yet,
what an observer was He.

The Lad’s Question - by M. Robbins

Forgive me, Lord, for being so bold
as to tug on Your robe;
but I gave You a present once
that somehow fed the multitude
of people following You around that day.
And though I couldn’t expect You to remember
a lad’s mere lunch of loaves and fishes;
I can’t help but wonder, Lord,
if You wouldn’t be able to use me again
....say, perhaps on a regular basis?

Strike Me - by M. Robbins

Strike Me, Father! Stay not Your hand
from laying low Your Son
in whom You are well pleased;
nor delay by a single day
the punishment that’s due;
for all earth lies in godlessness
with only Law for light
and time is now for man to know
the pain of sin - its wretchedness.
So strike Me, Father, now, today,
let not Your hand be stayed
from crushing blows and scourgings deep;
time now for Me to bear Thy wrath;
time now for Me to taste of death
for my brethren.

They Asked Christ to Leave - by M. Robbins

Galilaean, go away;
we have no need of You;
we’d rather keep the lame,
the blind, the helpless ones
within our binding midst
then have Your walk of righteousness
disturb our way of life.

Galilaean, go away;
go quickly from our midst.
What right had You to think
You could walk upon our streets
healing our ill, healing their pain
yet, making we, who are righteous,
sick with Your talk.

Whether it be Heaven
where Mighty Jehovah reigns
or whether it be in Satan’s land
where he shall be exiled,
we really do not care;
just quickly go away from here,
You, You Galilaean!

The Gift - by M. Robbins

Clasping all her wealth
within her callused hands,
the widow walked with a single mind
unto the house of God.

“This is His house, His earthly home,”
she whispered overwhelmed.
“A place where I may worship Him,
where I may sing Him praise.”

Then, beneath its massive entrance,
into its spacious frame,
she walked slowly and lovingly,
into her Beloved’s house.

Its lustrous gold, its marble stones,
its beautifully textured wood,
each treasure sought competitively
to dazzle her the most.

Yet as her mind was spinning round
at the temple’s mighty glory,
she saw at last the loveliest thing,
the treasury of her Lord.

She walked toward it with eagerness,
not seeing those around,
for this was what she had longingly sought,
this was where her love could glow.

But the widow’s joy began to fade,
her heart began to sob,
for wealthy sums were being dropped
into the treasury.

The widow’s love towards God was pure;
He was her Master, her King, her God;
but as she saw the lavish gifts,
her own gift seemed so small.

Dejected now, she walked ahead,
then facing the treasury,
she cryingly gave to God her all,
two tiny copper coins.

The Lad Who Gave His All - by M. Robbins

They were all he had,
for the moment that is,
two tiny fishes -
five meager loaves;
and in giving these
to the chosen twelve,
the unknown laddie gave his all
for the Master’s use.

How touching was his offer;
how kind was his intent;
the disciples even voiced a thanks
in a condescending kind of way;
but really! couldn’t he now see
the five thousand hungry men
sitting on the grass
all waiting to be fed?

So Peter looked at Philip,
Matthew glanced at James,
and while Andrew saw a puzzled frown
on John the Beloved’s face,
no one saw the Saviour’s smile
as He took the laddie’s lunch.

The disciples understandingly
were perplexed at what to do;
but Jesus, never wasting gifts
given lovingly to Him,
lifted up His eyes,
breathed a simple prayer,
then, while giving back
the laddie’s lunch,
Christ fed the thousands also.

No Eyes to See - by M. Robbins
(John 6:2)

Though earth’s frame was yet not made,
though man hadn’t yet been made,
before I brought Him forth from clay,
signs were left which point to Me.
Still, man has no eyes to see
that I wish to set him free.

Rich bright hues that floods earth’s dawn,
honey colored spots of newborn fawns,
flowers nestled in the lawn,
these are signs which do point to Me.
Still, man has no eyes to see
that I wish to set him free.

Heaven’s stars which lace the sky,
mountain crags which tower high,
tiny birds which sing and fly,
these are signs which do point to Me.
Still, man has no eyes to see
that I wish to set him free.

Now I’ve come - man’s debt to pay;
Father wills; I shall obey
though it means Myself I’ll slay;
these are signs which point to Me.
Still, man has no eyes to see
that I wish to set him free.

The Tulip - by M. Robbins

A long time ago there sat in a garden,
surrounded by stately, ancient trees,
a tiny, lone tulip that sat in obscurity
feeling forgotten and unknown to the world.
And on certain windy days when her tiny leaves
were rustled about in the wind,
she would bow her head in pity
wishing she were dead and gone.

But one night as the moon cast silvery beams
along the garden’s twisting paths,
a man called Jesus silently entered
and kneeling beside the lonely tulip,
He prayed in anguished sorrow.

And as He prayed there emerged
out of the portals of His eyes
a single, pearly teardrop,
which glistening in the moonlight,
fell into the tulip’s red cathedrals.

Thus awakened by the teardrop’s dampness,
the tulip raised her sleepy head
and saw Jesus, the Man of sorrows,
praying for the world.

But strangely amidst all that anguish,
a wave of cleansing peace flowed through the
tulip’s tiny frame.
And with a sigh of gentle peace,
she closed her red cathedrals,
holding next to her heart
the teardrop of God.

Peter After Denying Jesus - by M. Robbins

Oh, fallen lamb, I pity finding you
upon these jagged hills
and weep to find your small remains
almost obscured by nightfall’s haze.
Yet, death decrees no rough hewn line
where its realm is stayed,
nor does its hands yet cease to seek
man’s constant frailties.
‘Twas yesterday the grass was lush,
the clouds breathed silky rain;
and I, supremely full of life,
so vibrant with each breath,
boasted to my gentle Lord,
amidst a crown of pride,
that I would never leave His side,
nor yet forsake His name.
Ah, wretched night, all hell’s in thee
unrelenting in its force
bringing back remembrances
of healing hands, of cleansing words,
of eyes that shone with love.
Think it mad to merge with death
yet have no loss of breath?
Yes, man may think that I am mad,
but you, oh precious lamb...?
You have no breath to answer me;
yet, oh fallen lamb, I too have died
upon the rocky plains.
For ‘twas last night near Pilate’s court,
half crazed by stabbing fear,
I cursed all knowledge of my Lord,
renounced His very name,
and felt within my heaving chest
the gaspings of my soul.

God’s Word Becomes a Reality on the Cross - by M. Robbins

Your Word in ages past has now come true,
“the soul that sins must die;”
and fading fast within My mind
are the cries of tethered lambs
before the great high priests;
and what were once omniscient thoughts
are now reality.

And today I have no rest
for heavy are Your stripes
and this My pain is agony.

Oh Father! Almighty God,
though I know Your Word is truth,
it is the knowledge of My soul
bearing mankind’s every sin
that pierces through My very essence;
and what were once omniscient thoughts
are now reality.

And I’m a worm and not a man
for Your chastening is just
and this My pain is agony.

I know our wills are merged as one;
for while earth’s frame was yet not made,
before man’s breath was even made,
I was the sacrificial lamb,
the redemption of all men;
still, what were once omniscient thoughts
are now reality.

And I’m forsaken by My God
for You abhorrest sin
and this My pain is agony.

Now Your Word is active
and none can stay Your hand
from every record of My death
becoming syllables of life
unless it is I...and I won’t;
for what were once omniscient thoughts
are now reality.

For I delight to do Your will
and this My bruising pleases You
yet, this My pain is agony.

Your Word is settled in Heaven, oh Lord;
the future and past are as one;
and this enduring of the cross,
the travailing of My soul,
gives everlasting glory to My name;
and what were once omniscient thoughts
are now reality.

And I’m the King of Glory
for You have crowned My head
and now, My agony has ceased;
My blood has paid sin’s penalty.

The Wounds - by M. Robbins

When the soldiers saw
Christ’s whip scourged back,
His thorn pressed wounds,
His pummeled face,
pity glimmered
in their steel tipped hearts
and they forced an alien
to bear the Saviour’s cross.

However, there were wounds
that day which God could only see
in our humanity -
mortal wounds
caused by souls
torn from God by sin;
and so Christ took again the cross
and died on Calvary.

Glorified - by M. Robbins

“Glorified” is a pretty word!
It ripples on the tongue
in triple ecstasy;
yet unaccustomed is the ear
of hearing its joyous tones
for it carries a costly truth.

“Glorify Thy Son,” is what Jesus prayed
in the Garden of Gethsemane;
then pleading for its syllables
to be etched upon His life,
our Lord was “glorified”
when He died on Calvary.

No Camera - by M. Robbins

No camera captured
the horrendous sight
of Jesus upon the cross
mangled in body,
slumped over in death
with a Roman spear
upwardly poised to pierce
His scourged, sacred side;
but it’s probably just as well;
the camera’s eyes
would only have seen
Him as a victim
caught up in a
religious power play
and not the promised
Victor over death
paying for my
own sin’s penalties.

Before His Cry - by M. Robbins

Before His cry, “I thirst!”
knifed through Golgotha’s crowd
in righteous utterance,
Christ, scanning through
the years of my humanity,
saw my soul so ill,
saw my soul so parched
and knew that His own thirst
was nothing compared with mine.

Sing a New Song - by M. Robbins

Sing a new song, my soul,
in praise of Him
who left His kingly realm
so I might enter in.

Christ knew earth’s richest morsels
fed not my famished soul;
in the wilderness He fasted
so I might eat His bread.

He knew the purest stream
quenched not my thirsty soul;
tormenting thirst He did endure
so I might freely drink.

Christ knew the blood of lambs
healed not my sinful soul;
the wounds of death He suffered
so I might be made well.

Repeat again, my soul,
this lowly hymn of Christ
who became the drunkard’s song
so I might sing of Him.

Satan So Coldly - by M. Robbins

Satan so coldly
looked on so boldly
as my spirit so lifeless
lay righteously sightless
within my human abode.

But leaving His hearth,
Christ traveled to earth
where with His last breath
His flesh bearing sin’s death
Christ’s soul cleaved unto mine
became intertwined
and my spirit experienced birth.

The Only Consideration - by M. Robbins

Consider now Christ’s Calvary
where He, to set us free,
suffered much in agony
while pinioned to a cross.

Think of the Saviour’s ears
how they were forced to hear
the rabble’s taunting jeers,
“Himself He cannot save!”

Weep for the thirst He bore,
for since He is the door
which leads to Heaven’s shore,
He refused the drug of myrrh.

Let us now sing thanks to One
who, when His life on earth was done,
considered His the battle won,
considered we were worth the cost.

The Journey Home - by M. Robbins

The journey had been weary,
The battle had been long,
earth’s light had been so dreary,
at last He was at home
where angels now were singing
new triumphs to His name,
where angels now were singing
new glories to His name.

Amidst a hail of praises
serenely Jesus walks;
in love His Father gazes
upon His beloved Son
while the angels gladly sing
of God’s triumphant Son,
while the angels gladly sing
of God’s triumphant Son.

Ecstasy and agony
are etched upon His frame;
His cross had been sin’s penalty,
yet mercy’s greatest touch
but tearfully the angels sing
while looking at His scars,
but tearfully the angels sing
while looking at His scars.

“This is no time for weeping,”
the Saviour gently says.
“These wounds are for man’s keeping;
they are the wounds of love
and soon you’ll hear the singing
of a mighty ransomed throng,
and soon you’ll hear the singing
of a mighty ransomed throng.”

Christ’s Hands - by M. Robbins

Christ’s hands? They are wounded!
His side? Wounded too!
The Lord has gone wounded
back to His throne!

Should I ignore Him?
I think that I will
for the natural man
recoils from such sights.

Yet? My soul has no fear!
But His wounds! Dare I walk near?
Can the King in His Kingdom
His mercy withdraw?

“No!” Oh, I mean, “Yes!”
There’s still mercy for me!
For when I said, “Master!”
His wounds cried, “My Beloved!”

Love in Silence - by M. Robbins

As shadows hasten night
amidst a mirrored sky,
drawing out the honeyed colored fawns
to sup the velvet dew,
I shall speak to you in silence
holy, supply thoughts of love,
unable to convey in words
the swelling of my heart.

(I wrote this the evening before my brother went away to college.

Peace Yet? - by M. Robbins

Shall the plebeian man find peace?
Will he barter a plot of shore
lavishly framed with tinsels of sand,
and there raise a sacred flag
decreeing with a multitude voice
that he has captured war?
Shall vagabond lands be hypnotized
to cease their makeshift hell?
Will the plebeian man entomb his gun
and drink the cup of peace?

Walk of the Soul - by M. Robbins

Rushing, rushing
in gypsy spheres
beckoning the dawn,
swaying earth’s breaths,
surely, surely
my soul strides forth
with rose bud hopes
and sea green sighs.

Rushing, rushing
with an infinite pulse,
treading across
the prisms of time.
But rushing forever?
Surely, but surely
my soul is as infinite
as the rushing sea tide.

Why Tarry Long - by M. Robbins

Why tarry long o’er righteous deeds
that worldly men misjudged?
Why weep young tears so crescent shaped
for perished dreams half bloomed?
Thy mind, the mold of sapphire stars
that lights the eaves of space,
has never felt the shagged shears
of shrewd lies, or mocking trials
which men can well contrive.
The patient smiles of disguised friends
who know your deepest thoughts
have not yet turned to baited ships
that rock with weight of gold,
they have not traded yet to men
the secrets of your heart.
Thy lustrous soul that lights a path
round virgin truth and emerald peace
has never viewed the gnarled forms
of men who lost to war;
nor have you dreamt the hopeless thoughts
that line a cripple’s brain.
The taxes have not lashed thee low,
the fattened pig thrives well,
and zealous mobs of whisked lies
have threatened not your life.
So rise, oh soul, stride boldly forth
these fears enslave you not.
Earth still claims you as an heir
and Life still cradles you.

(I wrote this poem after seeing a TV series on King Henry VIII
and his wives.)

Your Realm - by M. Robbins

Your realm is night, oh mystic moon,
velvet, stainless space
with whiffs of clouds a skimming by
thy latent Eden parks.
And studded with the radiance
of heirloom crystal stars,
your realm clasps the transparent robe
of Time’s infinity.

My Child, You Held - by M. Robbins

My child, you held the sun about your neck
‘midst raptures of delight
and strove in vain to grasp the clouds
that floated ‘bove the breeze.

Your outstretched hands did heal the scars
of passing burdened men
and zestful eyes did give them wings
who quivered at life’s touch.

And, oh dear child, your eager smile
so expectant, so sublime,
has put to shame my futile thoughts
has put to shame my goals.

A Clash of Souls - by M. Robbins

A clash of souls,
a prick of pain,
the conflict’s done,
the seed is sown.

One walks away
unleashed to care,
the other bids
the seed to grow.

For Time glides by
with neutral wings
and lets the seed
gain manhood.

And then as summer
gains repose
reclining ‘neath
the shroud of peace.

A cunning mind
with steel fist thoughts
reaps quickly the grain
and takes revenge.

Feel Creative? - by M. Robbins

Feel creative?
Do plays, paintings or symphonies
way heavy in your womb?
Is your vibrant soul contracting,
pushing, urging the birth of tremendous ideas?
Does your pulse gallop and stretch
for the goal that towers near?
Oh, pregnant men,
Oh, pregnant women,
the grinding of worlds
are muffled to hear
the earnest young cries
of healthy new thoughts.

Let Happiness - by M. Robbins

Let happiness
be routine,
a brother to your soul;
and as years go by
in cloudy haste
encumbering your life,
let happiness
caress your soul
with bluebird rhapsodies.

Sometimes - by M. Robbins

Sometimes when Heaven
lies peaceful and still,
there is a touch of movement,
a soft swishing of gowns,
an eternal sparkling of hair,
and Heaven’s glowing stars
dance slowly with fleeting clouds.

Upon a Rainy Night - by M. Robbins

The sky is filled with sorrow
at the loss of a tiny star
and the heavens are dressed in mourning
in memory of the one that died.

Happiness - by M. Robbins

Give me a pup
with prancing paws
that’s growing up
under nature’s laws
and give me a boy
with an eager mind
with a heart of joy
and I will find,
if the boy is five,
all the world’s alive;
and I will find,
if the boy is five,
all the world’s alive.

Give me a day
that’s warm and fair;
that will make them gay;
for the puppy has no human cares
to droop his wiggly tail
and the boy imagines with his mind
sand castles in his pail;
oh yes, I’ll find,
if the boy is five,
all the world’s alive;
oh yes, I’ll find,
if the boy is five,
all the world’s alive.

Give me a night
with a shimmering sky;
that’s all they need in light;
for the puppy’s eyes
have ceased to stray
while the young boy tries to keep his mind
awake enough to pray;
ah, what a wondrous find,
if the boy is five,
all the world’s alive;
ah, what a wondrous find,
if the boy is five,
all the world’s alive.

A Father’s Lullaby - by M. Robbins

Come here, my child,
sit on my knee,
entwine your arms through mine;
and I shall share
with you, my dear,
though heavy hang your eyes,
the mystery of my love to you,
the gladness of my soul.

No redbirds waltzing through the air,
no rainbow kissing the clouds,
no snowflakes drifting towards the earth,
no stallions frisking wildly,
no, my child, not one of these
know my love towards you;
and, oh, my child, it’s wonderful
the love I feel for you.

Just try to count the sifting sand,
try to harness the wind,
reach out your hand and order life,
touch and feel the soul.
Do all these things, my little child,
and you shall know at last
the surging love I have towards you,
for, oh, it’s wonderful.

Greet Joy - by M. Robbins

Greet Joy with open arms my love,
come sit beside my soul;
and we shall watch the sunlight rays
flit through the foliage trees.

For we are one, not two, my love,
since yesterday at noon -
when vows were pledged
midst a flowered church
and rice spoke forth our joy.

Greet Joy with open arms, my love,
come sit beside my soul;
and Time shall pass on muffled wheels
of silent destiny.

If I Were - by M. Robbins

If I were omniscient,
sweet Mother of mine,
I’d weave you a headband
of April’s bud trees,
I’d capture the dew drops
on a thousand rosebuds
and coax them to form
a necklace for you.

If I were omniscient,
sweet Mother of mine,
the June winds would fan you
with tender, soft sighs,
the clouds would enwrap you
in silky spun threads,
and dawn would salute you
biding you peace.

If I were omniscient,
sweet Mother of mine,
I’d search all creation
for the finest of gifts,
and on sweet winter days
your heart would be filled
with the love I would give
as I give you now.

To Wed Two Lives - by M. Robbins

To wed two lives
through sifting time,
though unhewed rocks
twist round the path
and death obscures the way,
the pair must trade the very key
that bares their soul’s complexity.

Downy White Lilies - by M. Robbins

Downy white lilies
pressed to the earth,
crescent shaped moon bells
linked to thin reeds,
pealing forth triumph,
toiling with hope,
holding in secret
love letters from life.

I’m a Daffodil - by M. Robbins

I’m a daffodil, as you can see.
Long and thin are my leaves.
My bud is a brighter yellow
than that of the pussy willow.
Early in spring I come out.
I am totally alone
in a garden of my own.
When it’s windy, I bow low
as round my head it blows.
But no one seems to care
of the clothes that I wear.
I look so noble in the soil,
as a snake in beauty coils.
For the end I patient wait,
as I stand so tall and straight.
For a period, then I’m gone,
free at least from my bond.

(This was an early poem assignment either in 8th or 9th grade.)

Sometimes When - by M. Robbins

Sometimes when the sky is so huddled in cold
that it seems to find warmth
in another galaxy,
and sometimes when man’s society has
posted vacated signs upon
their hearts and banished tears
from within their eyes,
a throaty, voiced cricket
reclining ‘neath a potted plant
lets loose a song of strong contentment
and braves Oppression’s face.

Mama, Come Away - by M. Robbins

Mama, come away with me
where humans never walk
and let me share the majesty
of time that’s never caught;
for I have found a secret place
untouched by human hands,
where comets dance ‘midst starry lace
and angels sing in bands.

Below are Either Brief Thoughts or attempts at Haiku/Tanka writing

Spiraling upward,
surging with strength, potently
grasping brisk currents
of air, the falcon alone
swiftly aligns with the clouds.
- by M. Robbins

The gate of my heart is open
longing for your soon return.
- by M. Robbins

Gregarious bird,
I sense a love of summer
days within your songs.
- by M. Robbins

Trill joyfully sweet
mocking bird; I sense a love
from within your breast.
- by M. Robbins

Death is a tumbling
sort of gypsy,
dispelling the atoms
of memory and hope
and envious of no one.
- by M. Robbins

Silenced, not voicing
our pattern of joy,
holding communion
through tunnels of thought,
we walk together,
you and I,
across a prism sky.
- by M. Robbins

Beauty takes the
form of ashes
when worry enters.
- by M. Robbins

Daydream mightily
only if you are
prepared to act.
- by M. Robbins

Revenge plays havoc
on brotherhood.
- by M. Robbins

An apology is
a volcano
pulling inwards.
- by M. Robbins

The soul is a
three dimensional object
attempting to understand
the complexity
of the world and itself.
- by M. Robbins

The wind is blowing
from the west; ah night wind breeze,
take me to my friends.
- by M. Robbins

Peeping through the earth
the purple tinted crocus bud
signifies rebirth.
- by M. Robbins

Prancing into view
the chestnut colored horse
scatters all the dew.
- by M. Robbins

Prancing through the grass
sweeps the chestnut colored horse
scattering the dew.
- by M. Robbins

Crystal gowned
in purest white, the snowflake
alights on the ground.
- by M. Robbins

Swaying in the breeze
the twig accommodates the
nymph like chickadee.
- by M. Robbins

Southbound geese this night
are briefly silhouetted
in the moon’s bright light.
- by M. Robbins

Manila Bay’s sun
breaks into a thousand hues
when each day is done.
- by M. Robbins

Multitudes of hues
blast across the sky while I
stand and watch entranced.
- by M. Robbins

Raising to my lips
the cup of ginseng tea, I
mask my grimaces.
- by M. Robbins

Spiraling upward,
the falcon alone swiftly
aligns with the clouds.
- by M. Robbins

Floating in the breeze
the petals has no
knowledge of the winds.
- by M. Robbins

Rose petal floating
in the breeze so tenderly
sings of life anew.
- by M. Robbins
Rose petals drifting
in the breeze so tenderly
sing of summer days.
- by M. Robbins

Fair apple blossoms,
floating in the morning breeze,
speak to me of spring.
- by M. Robbins

Cascading water
breaking on the mossy rocks
fills again the pool.
- by M. Robbins

Cascading water
streaming down the mountain side
disappears from view.
- by M. Robbins

Satiny dressed
in hues of cream and pink the
butterfly alights.
- by M. Robbins

Iced o’er from rain
even the mighty maple
finds the breeze a strain.
- by M. Robbins

Emerging hesitantly from behind
the mountain’s crags
unto the solemn sky,
the bagpipe’s voice forlornly rends
a simple wounded cry.
- by M. Robbins

Floating in the breeze
are groups of
apple blossoms.
- by M. Robbins

Scenting the air
with a gentle droplet mist
the lilac presses to my mind
a fragrance most sublime.
- by M. Robbins

Resting on a bough
the red bird rhapsodizes
of her newborn chicks.
- by M. Robbins

Single rose petal
floating in the breeze asks not
where she is going.
- by M. Robbins

True fun lets
the soul ring out laughs
and jeopardizes no one.
- by M. Robbins

Poverty is having your piggy bank
tell you to come in
and get him.
- by M. Robbins

Love in haste
so scarcely sown
prepares for sorrow
to be born.
- by M. Robbins

Daydream mightily
then do not linger
in putting concrete foundations
beneath those dreams.
- by M. Robbins