by J. Randal Matheny © 2011

The works of God inspire belief,
He shakes the heights, disturbs the deep,
He knows each flower and falling leaf,
Upon the earth his eyes sweep.

Above or below none can compare:
He does not sleep, nor does he cease
To lift the sparrow in the air,
To guide the ways of war and peace.

Of all his works one stands alone,
Greater than the heaven’s span,
His single feat to be made known:
The Son of God became a man.

by J. Randal Matheny © 2011

Before the 30 days are done,
You’ll tire of me, I know;
A poem a day is quite a run,
A longish boat to row.

The ringing rhymes, the meter’s pace,
Who stands a daily dose?
Not every day’s for frills and lace,
Turns common to stay so close.

Or does it now? When with the wife,
More dear she grows to me;
And you in a month with verses rife
May love my poetry.

by J. Randal Matheny © 2011

On Jesus’ words men dare to vote,
Mere men, who judge themselves as wise,
But blind, with only human eyes,
To what the Holy Spirit wrote.

The Word condemns our human pride,
When we refuse God’s living guide.

But scholars work with scissors and paste,
To pare away the Word’s demand;
Scripture will forever stand,
Its foes the living sword lays waste.

Have mercy, Lord! Your law’s my rule,
Keep me from playing the scoffing fool.

*”The Jesus Seminar is a group of about 150 biblical scholars and laymen founded in 1985 by Robert Funk and John Dominic Crossan under the auspices of the Westar Institute. The seminar uses votes with colored beads to decide their collective view of the historicity of the deeds and sayings of Jesus of Nazareth” (Wikipedia). See the Christian Courier articles, also.

by J. Randal Matheny © 2011

On the corner stood the death of girlish dreams,
In heels and make-up, calling to passers-by.
A slave to what? Passion, greed, some need
From an empty childhood? Who can say? Not I.

The night conceals by half a series of sales,
‘Twixt darkened hearts who blindly grope in vain;
Their twisted god holds out unholy grails;
Unsatisfied, they search, time and again.

Just finished watching a medieval movie, so what can you expect but a Beowulf style?

by J. Randal Matheny © 2011

Barbarians they were, in ages wild,
Believers of myth, practitioners of magic;
Full of violence, their crop was vice,
They lived to laugh and giggled at loss.

Trifles and baubles, while Rome was burning,
They played their games, raised debts at gambling;
Rabble all, each worse than the other,
No lords and ladies among them lived.

We judge them fast who went before us,
We know them well, their kin are we;
Our times are heartless, baser, harder —
Lord, raise and rescue a faithful remnant!

My granddaughter’s name is Eden. She went to the zoo on Saturday. So here’s my poem of the day for her. That’s her pic below, taken at the zoo.


by J. Randal Matheny © 2011

My granddaughter went to the zoo,
For hippos, giraffe, kangaroo;
She growled at the bears, caught the lion unawares,
But never saw Winnie the Pooh.

by J. Randal Matheny © 2011

The gospel arrow travels true and straight,
It bends for none, will tarry for none nor wait;

Altars, works, and goodness don’t impress
The God who owns it all, who came to bless.

The truth shines no truer in a crowd,
Nor is God better praised when praise is loud,

A bloodied frenzy does not gain his ear,
As if, without it, he’d refuse to hear.

Our Lord dismissed the throngs, held scribes at bay,
They could not see nor would they follow the Way.

He called them one by one and trained a few,
From them the message went, the gospel grew;

But fervor and love grow cold, and passion burns:
Will Christ find faith on earth when he returns?

OK, Laura, I took the challenge. One poem a day during Poetry Month. It may wind up being a quatrain or a couplet, and I may get them under the wire, just before the day ends, but here goes: 30 poems in 30 days.

by J. Randal Matheny © 2011

The young make plans for great success,
Their hearts awash in high ideals;
The old make do with less and less,
Untimely death close on their heels.

The middle ages toil for dreams,
Before they fade, escape their reach;
Hard work and progress their twin themes,
Given to action more than speech.

To one the future, another the past,
To yet a third, the present day:
All ominous signs that none can last,
The eternal tide will sweep away.

I took a break from some intense work yesterday and came up with this light-hearted poem, but oen that still has a point.

by J. Randal Matheny © 2011

I’ve dealt with heavy and important stuff,
I need a lighter moment full of fluff,
My back is sore, my arms are tired from stretching,
My feet are cracked from back and forth-y fetching;
So tell me a joke, and I’ll rest my bleary eyes,
Then maybe I’ll buy me a watery coke and fries;
If you approach when I let down my hair,
Don’t feel offended if I just sit and stare,
But not at you — my mind is off in space,
As I step off a bit from this ratty race.
As much as I like fluff, I get to itching
To return to work — the fingers get to twitching;
A restful break is good, when rowing turns rough,
But face it: life can’t all be lived off the cuff.

Do you ever have a fluff moment? To get these by email, click HERE.