The Church Cupola

Beneath this dome,
we make our home,
illumined by Your light
that streams in through
the windows two
by two, enabling sight.

It's not that this
one edifice
is where You solely dwell,
but it reminds
that where God finds
us is our citadel.

The dome above,
is symbol of
Your ever watchful care.
You shield and feed
each in our need
and hear our every prayer.

Copyright ©2019, Paul H. Harder II

This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

This poem is from a Visio Divina exercise in our Sunday School class at The Woodlands United Methodist Church. The leader, Peggy Renfroe, brought in some pictures and invited us to look at one of them - or at anything at all - and try to see as God sees, then contemplate what that means to us, and write about that.  I happened to be staring out the window and saw the cupola on top of the main building.

A quick web search will let you see what that structure looks like.  One of the better pictures is here:https://djonesphoto.typepad.com/djp_studio_news/images/2008/08/01/greer018.jpg

Missing an Exit

Driving down the freeway, deep in her thoughts,
she overshot her intended off ramp.
"Stupid," she thought. "Miles to the next exit,
and I am already much, much too late."
She hadn't noticed the police action
at the bottom of the missed exit ramp.

She took the next exit successfully,
and directly made for the turnaround.
But she couldn't go back the other way;
a dozen emergency vehicles
barred the access road. She was diverted
into the parking lot of a strip mall.

Then, as she reached the boiling point, thinking,
"Dear God, what did I do to deserve this?",
she saw, just entering the coffee shop,
the very person she was late to meet.
She hurried inside and found that she was
still able to have her job interview.

Years later, as company president,
asked by a young reporter the secret
of her stellar success in "a man's job,"
she calmly overlooked the naïve man's
prejudiced gaffe, thought for a few moments,
and replied, "Just that I missed my exit."

Copyright ©2019, Paul H. Harder II

This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

Silly Billy Gong Song

Hingle pingle chingle tong,
come and join my silly song.
Make new words; you can't go wrong.
Feel the joy and sing along.

Howza wowza jowza chee,
I love when you sing with me.
When you do, it sets me free.
Try it now, you might agree.

Bada wada lada ben,
sing it once and then again.
Never stop if you've a yen.
Laugh all day and don't give in. 


Copyright ©2018, Paul H. Harder II

This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

What Are You Selling?

Everyone sells something,
whether they ought.
What do you peddle when
God says, "Fear Not"?

Think you're not selling stuff?
Just check  your speech,
anytime things get rough.
What do you preach?

Is it then fear or faith,
darkness or light?
Do you deal law or grace,
crisis or Christ?

Copyright ©2018, Paul H. Harder II

This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

Illness

Having a teen is not quite a sickness,
nor does insurance chip in for payment.
Still, you might claim reduced mental quickness,
citing your kids as causing the ailment.

But, the prognosis looks fairly healthy,
only ten years to full restoration.
You will get smart then, if not quite wealthy,
soon as your child completes education.

Copyright ©2018, Paul H. Harder II

This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.