Poetry by Ryan Feed

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 Autum

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.


Follow Me (An Easter Poem)

 

Follow Me (An Easter Poem) Sun end of bridge 4

by Ryan M. Roberts

Where Jesus walked, the disciples followed;
But not all the way.
“Where I go, you cannot. You will follow later,”
Was all that He would say.

At 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!”

Amongst friends, huddled ‘round the fire that night;
“Hosanna in the highest!” a bright memory.
Hopes are high, resolve is low,
The glow fades into Gethsemane.

Watching ends in darkness,
Prayers turn to sleep,
And Peter’s vow, though earnest,
Was more than he could keep.

He followed at distance, into the cold dark night;
Warming hands and feet by the fire of his foe.
When asked, “You’re with Jesus, yes?”
Three times his response was, “No.”

Then came the loss, despair and 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 and 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.
Ashamed, Peter watched the Christ from a far;
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 friends, let’s eat.”
Peter pledged all his love—heart, mind and soul,
Jesus smiled and replied, “Feed my sheep.”

“Your efforts and failures, left you lost and in chains,
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.”

 


enslaved but free

 

But now that you have been set free from sin and have become slaves to God, the benefit you reap leads to holiness, and the result is eternal life.

                                            Romans 6:22 (NIV)

 

Take me to you, imprison me, for I

Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,

Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

                                            - John Donne

 

 

Even in freedom,

we are slaves.

Addictions,

where good becomes bad

and bad becomes worse.

What’s left?

Regret, pain, loss,

the curse.

Chains, shackles, traps,

they bind.

It is death we reap,

in body, heart, and mind.

 

Rescue comes;

through cross, blood, grace, love,

a Slave, and

slavery too.

The benefit?

Holiness, help, life, hope,

for me and you.

A God and King,

whose enslaved are free.

No regrets!

Bind my hands, feet, mind and

heart;

Throw away the key.

 

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the life in our hours

 

The hours of our lives—they are a precious commodity.

We don’t want to lose a single one. 

So we say to ourselves and to others: DSCF2730

don’t smoke,

stay away from fried foods,

exercise regularly,

cut the sugar,

manage your stress,

get regular check ups,

avoid the lines at the DMV,

and, be careful!

We all want to live.  We want every hour of life we can get.

But why? So we can watch more Netflix? Football? and Fixer Upper?

Too much cotton candy leaves us sick and unsatisfied.

Time flies as the hours congeal into days.

Is it time spent or invested?

Do our minutes have meaning?

We give great attention to the hours of our life;

but what about the life in our hours?