GOOD NEWS FOR YOUR BLUES (poem)

GOOD NEWS FOR YOUR BLUES (poem)

Neal Pollard

If your life is feeling fallow, your ambition sadly shallow,
Turn your eyes upon another, help a sister or a brother,
To their feet.
It doesn’t need to be dramatic, full of noise and other static,
Just a word or even smile, can lift their day a little while,
And make it sweet.
When your gaze is outward trained, that’s when blessings’ surely gained,
Your cup is fuller when you share, take the time to prove you care,
You will receive.
God has made life just that way, you gain so much when you give away,
Your treasure, toil, and precious time, service makes life so sublime,
This you’ll believe.
Before you know it you’ll have found, your trouble has turned all around,
Joy will be where there was hurt, fulfillment will spring, love will spurt,
From your glad heart.
Start today and try this out, learn what contentment’s all about,
Find someone to serve and serve them, life will be less drab and dim,
Just make a start.

blues

JAMES 1:17

JAMES 1:17

Neal Pollard

Life, love, happiness, and health,
Water, worth, worship and wealth
Food, faith, dogs and dreams
Smiles, sunshine, singing and streams
Marriage, mothers, prayer and play
Friendship, flowers, tomorrow, today
Calvary, Christ, heaven and hope
Rain, resurrection, snow and soap
Family, frost, babies and birth
Books, baking, monkeys and mirth
Mountains, moonbeams, coffee and cake
Jokes, justification, serenades and steak
Aromas, affirmation, the dawn and the deep
Holidays, hiking, snuggling and sleep
Forgiveness, freedom, umbrellas and unity
Sports, service, internet and immunity
Jesus, joy, earth and eternity
Scripture, speech, fishing and fraternity
Prayer, pillows, picnics and Pickups,
Memory, mornings, happiness and hiccups
Whether obvious or subtle, earthly or spiritual
Why not create this euphoric, emphatic ritual
Count blessings and name them, you’ll never run out
In the process you’ll challenge your most serious doubt
God doesn’t have to, but He gives a continuous lift
When did you last thank Him for His every good gift?
The more that you dwell on them, the longer the list,
Engage in this enjoyable exercise and you’ll insist,
There’s no God like Jehovah, never was, never will be,
Add up your assets and this you’ll undoubtedly see.

THE TALE OF CYNIC, CYRUS DIFFY

THE TALE OF CYNIC, CYRUS DIFFY

Neal Pollard
At the corner of Oak and Griffey
Lived an old man, Cyrus Diffy. (*)
A lifelong skeptic, centered on self
With Dawkins and Darwin on his shelf
He scoffed at those he thought “too much,”
Who leaned on religion as their crutch.
Whose faith was rested on their Bible
Were subject to his scorn and libel.
His own morality and ethics were iffy
He was his own rule, Cyrus Diffy
No one could tell him how to live
For others he had nothing to give
Scorn metastasized, and he grew bitter
Spewed his venom on Facebook, on Twitter
With chip on shoulder, he sought debate
Relished each moment “the faith” to hate
One morning in his chair in one quick jiffy
The last breath was breathed by Cyrus Diffy
He lifted up his eyes in a place most unpleasant
With him each skeptic and agnostic were present
Yet like him they no longer could fuel their doubt
Now in this painful place with no door to get out.
He’d tied his whole life to his naturalistic bent
But rejected the Savior the Father had sent.
Let’s sum up concisely, I’ll try to be pithy
Here’s what we can learn from old Cyrus Diffy
We all hitch our wagons to some conviction
Determine what’s truth and what is fiction
Design exists, it points to a designer.
We feel moral ought, know what’s coarse, what’s finer
We’re built to worship, we possess intellect.
When charting life’s course, every angle inspect.
View your worldview, consider its implications
Choose based on logic not potential complications
Christian, you might pass by a place like Oak and Griffey
Live Christ well before all folks like the late Cyrus Diffy.

(*) “Cyrus Diffy” is a random name I made up and is
not meant to refer to anyone real having that name.

The Value Of Self-Forgetfulness (Poem)

The Value Of Self-Forgetfulness (Poem)

Neal Pollard

Imagine a garden of flowers

With a rose in its midst in full bloom

This one blossom feels that it towers

Over all others sharing its space and room

It’s sure that its pedals are most plush

No other more red in its hue

No stem greener, no rival more lush

It sought every admirer’s view.

One day the gardener visited the flowers

For a customer desired a bouquet

They’d shared the same sun and showers

Shared the same rich soil day by day.

But the proud flower stretched tall its red blooming

Puffed itself to its broadest dimension

But the man searched out ones unassuming

Their modesty drew his closest attention.

For the budding roses would bloom with more vim

In the care of the interested client

Trusting food, water, and housing to him

The posy proved itself quite reliant.

But the abandoned, proud rose surely wilted

His pedals dropped one by sad one

By each customer it felt painfully jilted

Til finally it was dead and gone.

The moral of the story conjures sadness

But its truth we ought never to hide

Fullness of self is pure madness

We hurt self most when we’re full of pride

Forget self, be more modest as you grow

Don’t seek glory and men’s adulation.

The Gardener sees all and surely does know

How to use us. Trust His perfect estimation.

Only In God Is Rest

Only In God Is Rest

The governing hand of God

Traversing the universe wide

Can calm the wildest storms abroad

While standing by my side!

The discerning Eye in heavenly portals

Who watches all by day and night

Can see the trials of us mere mortals

Viewing His creatures with encompassing sight

The swelling heart of our Heavenly Monarch

Reigning with His powerful Arm

Will lead His children from the dark

And protect us from the threat of harm

Why would one search for any safety

In another port or fortress?

The Heavenly Father faithfully

Makes and offers and gives us rest!

Oh, If We Miss It!

Oh, If We Miss It!


Neal Pollard
I was out with the early rays of sunlight
Roaming the hills and dales
Seeing verdant fields and purple skies
And small animals scurry o’er vales
The clouds moved across the heavenly background
Painting a trail of delight
The cool Spring breeze made a soft, wistful sound
As the water rushed by, enveloping the sight
The hues and the noise of the morning
The feel of the air on the skin
Upon my soul was richly adorning
What a way for my day to begin.
I might have missed these blessings
If in seclusion I had kept myself pinned
But by being outside I remembered the joy it brings
And I thanked Him for being my Friend.
How life is like earth’s stunning daybreak
We might shut ourselves in from His grace
And miss the spiritual blessings, what heartache
To be blind and deaf to our exalted place.
Break out of the darkness of spiritual night,
See the Dayspring and cling to His hand.
Awake to the wonders of spiritual sight
Train your eyes on that bright, better Land!

THE CONDITION OF THE PEWS

THE CONDITION OF THE PEWS

Neal Pollard

Since I was a little boy, I’ve heard the frets and tsks

Of spilled juice and food stains, and other soiling risks

End caps have threatened to come off, legs seemed near collapse

Faithfully we’ve scrubbed and hammered, to avoid “what ifs” and “perhaps”

The fabric fades with time and use, the joints are loosed with sitting

And many the lady and the man have saved them by nails and knitting

Let’s get a few more years from them, the cost to replace is too great

We’ll bolt them down and prop them up, and save them from an awful fate

But what is the condition of the pews, when speaking metaphorically.

By that I mean the people on them, as we’ve used the phrase historically.

If too many are old and dying, and no efforts are made to reach others.

Those pews will look sparse and scattered from lack of sisters and brothers.

If those who use them think of Christian living as only time spent on them

They will not take their faith into a daily walk spent with Him.

I love the pews, the people that are striving to be more useful

Who love the Lord, who live that love, and refuse to be “excuse-full.”

They come and worship, with eyes all bright, and voices blending gladly

They help the sick, they reach the lost, they want to serve God badly.

What are you doing for the pews, for those who through Christ you’re related?

Is your love for those upon the pew growing stronger or has it abated?

The next time you go to take your seat and settle in for the worship time

Reflect a moment on these words set in this simple rhyme,

“What will I do to save the pew?  How much can I afford?

When I show care for every pew, I’m saying I love the Lord.”

The Dignity Of Snow (POEM)

The Dignity Of Snow (POEM)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Neal Pollard

A dusky silent morn, white blanket on the ground,

The earth with powder to adorn, a heaping, icy mound.

No worldly voices heard, no bustling bodies stirred,

Just God’s master portrait, as the land He gently girds.

The clouds He made to flurry, to drop its winter moisture,

With white the ground to bury flakes in a fluffy cluster.

Refreshing and replenishing, a landscape with downy finishing,

Behold the omnipotent picture, nothing the beauty diminishing.

Its purity is simplicity, it covers the dirt and the gloom.

It tells us all implicitly of God’s power to clean and groom.

Clean and distinctly bright, a terrestrial tint of white

See the Savior’s snapshot, a solemn, soothing sight.

THE HUMAN HEART (Poem)

THE HUMAN HEART (Poem)

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Neal Pollard

That part of each man crafted by God

but unseen by mortal observation,

The figurative place of our emotions and thinking,

helping our spiritual station.

A place we alone can nurture and tend,

to work to better or embitter

That directs our whole body and life on a path

That makes us a winner or quitter.

God put in place ways to help our own hearts

stay in tune with His perfect intentions.

To mold us and make us like Him in our thinking,

to stave off man’s wicked inventions.

The Bible, as His mind, He has given to mankind,

a heart monitor as well as a mirror.

It gauges our true selves and guides our footsteps,

if used it will make His will dearer.

He has given us singing, a wide world of nature,

and people as living examples,

So much that exists we can see and by seeing

can resist Satan’s slick sinful samples.

Yes, true, human hearts can be darkened and hardened,

becoming a frightful container.

That holds in the worst, the depraved, and perverted,

that becomes such a wicked retainer.

But such is the work of neglect and of lust,

a struggle that fights a higher objective.

For when in human hearts there’s willing submission,

they become more spiritually selective.

So spiritual battles are lost or they’re won

In a place where no other can see,

Keep your heart, you alone with heavenly help

Will determine your soul’s eternity.

WHERE WERE YOU?

WHERE WERE YOU?

Neal Pollard

When I constructed this ball whereupon you now stand,

When its measures were drawn by My hand,

When the stars and the angels all rejoiced in one band,

When I gave heaven its face, where were you?

When the seas reached their ends and were covered by clouds,

When the darkness over it was as billowing shrouds,

When the oceans had gone as far as I would allow,

When they stood in their place, where were you?

Do you summon the morning or direct the dawn?

To you do the gates of death yawn?

If you know the dimensions of earth, make it known!

When I invented its light, where were you?

Are you eternal by reason of birth or by years?

From where comes snow, hail, ice or dew that appears?

Tell me all of the future, the crux of man’s fears!

Or explain wind with its might.  Where were you?

Waves and thunder and lightning or rain

How and why do they work, please explain!

How they make the earth lush and satisfy its terrain

When I made wonders of the sky, where were you?

What of morals and laws with when men I have bound

Or have put in him intellect and knowledge with renown

Could you even explain dust and dirt on the ground?

When I made beasts instincts so sly, where were you?

Fair design of the earth, wonders of all that’s above,

Great mysteries and secrets, time or man can’t remove,

Held in check by My might, which you can’t fully know of,

When I was, always was, where were you?

Dear child, who in darkness or trials, often wonder

When you’re blinded by tears, crushed by weights you are under

Though you can’t see it now, through doubt’s loudest thunder

Someday you’ll know every cause when I’m with you.