Poetry by Ryan Feed

This Tree (a poem)

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This Tree (a poem)
by Ryan M. Roberts

This is a picture of our Christmas tree,
and it may be, that it means nothing to you,
but to me . . .

It was adorned by hands that I love, love, love,
and is topped by a star of promise from above.

The ornaments that fill the branches and boughs,
hold stories that range from then until now.

They are memories of God’s faithful hand in our lives,
they tell of His goodness and keep Hope alive.

The lights that shine brightly into the night,
remind us it's time for joy and delight.

The wondrous sight of our Christmas tree,
calls to mind words the angel said unto me,

"This day is born a Savior—Jesus your Lord,
who paid a price for you, that none could afford."

So, when I look at our tree, I see Jesus in all,
I hear “Come unto me” and harken His call.

This is a picture of our Christmas tree,
And it may be, that it means nothing to you,
But to me . . .


Anniversary #33

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Dina, today we celebrate our 33rd wedding anniversary. Looking back on 2020, what a year . . . It has been one of immense joy, intense struggle, and God’s abundant faithfulness and blessing in our lives. You have been with me every step of the way and for that, I’m thankful. You are God’s gift to me. Looking ahead, I like what J.H. Jowett says, “The knowledge of the future path really matters nothing: the perception of the present companionship matters everything!” I am so blessed to have you and Jesus in my life.
With all my love,
Ryan

A cord of three strands is not quickly broken. (Ecclesiastes 4:12, NIV)

Anniversary Poem—I’m Blessed

Dina,
They say a picture’s worth a thousand words
but I say ten thousand is too few.
As I struggle, slip and slide through life,
I’m glad that it’s with you.
Your smile, your love, your constant care,
steady me as I glide;
and even when I trip and fall,
you’re there right by my side.
As the days fly by, the seasons pass,
and the calendar hints we're old;
I’m blessed by God, and this is true,
that the one, whose mittened hand I hold,
is you.


Friends

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𝐹𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑎𝑔𝑜 𝐵𝑒𝑐𝑐𝑎 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑆𝑎𝑟𝑎ℎ 𝑚𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑆𝑜𝑢𝑡ℎ 𝐾𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑎 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑌𝑒 𝐸𝑢𝑛. 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑔𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟. 𝐻𝑒𝑟𝑒’𝑠 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑒𝑚 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝. —RMR

Friends

The morning bright is crisp with the delight of child's play,
Three souls from worlds apart share of themselves this day.
A simple wave, an outstretched hand, a smile beckons fun;
A time of joy is had by all as they slide and swing and run.

Laughter, hugs, squeals and shrugs serve as the talk today,
There is no language lost in words that love can say.
As our hearts reach out and lives extend, unstopped till each day's end;
May we find great value in each other, the treasure of a friend.

"𝑨 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔..." (Proverbs 17:17, NIV)


But Now . . . (An Easter Poem)

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But Now . . .   by Ryan M. Roberts

Where Jesus walked, the disciples followed;

But not all the way.

“Where I go now, you can’t.  But later . . . ”

Was all that He would say.

 

After midday prayers, Peter’s words rang out,

“No matter what or where or who;

You are mine, and I am yours,

I will die with you!”

 

Amid friends, huddled ‘round the fire that night;

“Hosanna in the highest!” a bright memory.

With hope high and resolve low,

The glow faded into Gethsemane.

 

Watching ends in darkness,

Prayers turn to sleep,

And Peter’s vow, though earnest,

Was more than he could keep.

 

He followed Jesus at a distance;

Keeping warm by the fire of his foe.

When asked, “You’re with Jesus, yes?”

Three times his response was, “No.”

 

Then came the loss, despair . . . the death.

A look, the whip, a crown, the hill,

A cross, the cry, a spear thrust forth;

The King of Kings to kill.

 

Three days passed, Peter sat alone;

With guilt and regret—his choice.

Now what? Now where? Now who?

“He’s gone!”

Peter leapt at Mary’s voice.

 

He ran to the tomb, bent low, went inside,

Echoes, predictions, rags filled the space.

“Tear down this temple and in three days it will rise.”

Peter left, wonder full on his face.

 

There were sightings and sayings that, “He is alive!”

Stories no book could contain.

Yet ashamed, Peter watched the Christ from afar;

He should laud, but his failures remained.

 

Peter said to his friends, “Let’s fish,” and they went,

To row and to cast was no chore.

The fish, they were few, but the company good;

Then they heard a voice from the shore.

 

Jesus was there, by the fire, cooking fish.

He said, “Come my friends, let’s eat.”

Peter pledged all his love—heart, mind and soul,

Jesus smiled and said, “Feed my sheep.”

 

“Your own efforts and failures, left you lost and in chains,

But through my wounds and my death you are free.

Where I went, you could not go on your own,

But now . . . in my power, Follow Me.”

 

 

 

 

 


This Tree—Merry Christmas!

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Here is a picture of our Christmas tree,

and it may be, that it means nothing to you,

but to me . . .

 

It was adorned by hands that I love, love, love,

and is topped by a star of promise from above.

 

The ornaments that fill the branches and boughs,

hold stories that range from then until now.

 

They are memories of God’s faithful hand in our lives,

they tell of His goodness and keep Hope alive.

 

The lights that shine brightly into the night,

remind us it's time for joy and delight.

 

The wondrous sight of our Christmas tree,

calls to mind words the angel said unto me.

 

"This day is born a Savior—Jesus your Lord,

who paid the price for you, that none could afford."

 

So, when I look at our tree, I see Jesus in all,

Saying “Come unto me” and harken His call.

 

That is a picture of our Christmas tree,

And it may be, that it means nothing to you,

But to me . . .


stand forever in him

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Like grass we rise with the

morning, yet wither so soon;

long days of summer, too few.

As wildflowers—unexpected,

resplendent, yet fading—we bloom,

beautify, blaze and then “poof,”

so good, so brief, so gone.

Nothing lasts. But wait . . . the love

of the Lord churns in the wake

of those who fear Him. Salvation

reaching and rippling to children’s,

children and more. Your life matters.

Don’t toil or spin. Be faithful, obey,

love wholly, live wisely. Stand forever

in Him.

(Psalm 103:15-18, Isaiah 40:8, Luke 12:27)


ten thousand is too few

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Dina,

They say a picture’s worth a thousand words,

but I say ten thousand is too few.

As I struggle, slip and slide through life,

I’m glad that it’s with you.

Your smile, your love, your constant care,

steady me as I glide;

and even when I trip and fall,

you’re there right by my side.

As days fly by, the seasons pass,

and the mirror hints I’m old;

I’m blessed by God, (and this is true),

that the one,

whose mittened hand I hold,

is you.


Autumn Hope . . . a poem

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Autumn Hope

by Ryan M. Roberts

Autumn leaves flame out as they make their descent 

through the cool harvest air.

Their brilliant colors wane under foot;

    broken and crushed into the darkening earth below.

Yet even in death they yield a harvest.

Hidden in winter depths, their embers glow;

waiting,

    fueling hope,

expectant for the spark of new life.

 

- Isaiah 55:8-9 -


A School Yard in Autumn

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A School Yard in Autumn

by Ryan M. Roberts

 

Fall blankets the way;

         adorning the path as

                  little feet scuffle off to class.

Beauty abounds;

         in brilliance, color, leaves,

                                            and children.