Biblical poetry
Poems
Short scripture-shaped verse — a poem for the day, written to help you see God's word in ordinary moments.
- Poems
- 539
The Strangest Prayer
There once was a man with a sorrow so deep, Whose skin told a story nobody would keep. He shuffled where the healthy couldn’t stay, An outcast, unwanted, forever far away.
Writers Who Roar
Oh writers with pens and many pages to fill, Who wonder if stories are God’s perfect will, Take heart in this truth that is steady and sure— His love longs for all, and his mercy is pure.
Edge of Obedience
Clint stood on the edge with a wobble and sway, With a what-if, what-when, and a maybe-today. A whisper said, “Go,” soft and steady and slow, But the what-ifs grew loud, shouting, “No, no, no!”
Story: The Mind’s Greatest Teacher
I once met a thinker who was clever and bright, Who said, “Learning lasts only when it feels right. I can read. I can hear. I may nod and agree. But it won’t matter much until it happens to me.”
The Battle for Yes
I said, “I will follow. I’ll go where you send.” But my will had a wobble that bent at the end. For the spirit said yes, but the flesh was saying no, So I wrestled inside where the deep feelings flow.
Shaken and Stirred
A man’s mind once overflowed with noise, With worries and fears and never any joys. Thoughts haunted him throughout the night, So peace felt as distant as stars out of sight.
Divine Entanglement
Two particles spun in a mysterious embrace, Although far away, joined in a deep, hidden place. No matter the distance—no matter how far— What happens to one shapes how others are.
Tragedy Turned Over
In Christ every sorrow is shaped into song, Although the nights might feel heavy and long. For what looks like endings, like loss or defeat, Can bloom into triumph at Jesus’ own feet.
The Grand Gift from the Pen
A book is a gift you can buy in a store, You wrap it up and take it next door. But giving a book is a much different delight When you’re the author looking so bright.
The Eight Greats of 1888
In the great year 1888, on a day of feasting, a super date, Came eight great-great-great greats in a hungry state. They gathered at eight o’clock near the city’s iron gate, To dine on fine plates stacked in eight figure eights.
Heartbeat of Story
Your voice is the flavor, the fizz, and the flare, The tilt of the eyebrow you slip in, mid-air, The snap or the sigh in the words that you send— Yes, it’s you on the page, my narrative friend.
Show or Tell
Oh writers who whisper and writers who yell, Who scribble with “show it” and mutter “just tell”— There’s a rule that gets tossed like a bright rubber ball: “Show, don’t you dare tell” is the loudest cry of all.