louis gander, 5 december 2012
Beyond my weathered window,
beyond my little view -
I see one from my rocker and,
I pray you see one too -
see one on each hillside,
see one on your way,
see one in each valley,
see one every day.
The moon shines on the water,
the sea reflects the light.
Boats pass through this painting,
with sails of halo white.
A sea bird glides in silhouette,
above the sails masts,
above the ropes and bollards,
as breezes travel past.
Final work arrives at dusk
before reflections cease -
on piers I've known since childhood
on this, God's masterpiece.
But few have seen this sunset,
and fewer wonder why -
God's bright and vivid colors
still wash across the sky.
And people race His colors -
oblivious and blind -
as God continues painting
so generously kind.
Wide brush strokes still continue,
with colors bold and lush.
Though 'man' has stole the meanings,
God still holds the brush.
Beyond my weathered window,
beyond my little view -
I watch Him from my rocker and,
I pray you see Him too -
see Him in the sunsets,
see Him in your prayers,
see Him in the life you live,
and see Him everywhere.
©2011 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/
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louis gander, 3 december 2012
Peered I, up to the heavens. So stunned, I stood in awe.
His hand swept over East to West and this is what I saw...
A sight exposing every truth, that made me nearly faint.
A sight, that in a million years, no man could ever paint.
A special, brand new masterpiece that God creates each day.
A special, brand new vision that He gives along my way.
I see a vast creation that is pure outside and in
before His work is tarnished by horrendous, evil sin.
He paints His skies so differently. No two are just the same.
He paints the creatures on the earth - the wild and the tame.
The sunsets over mountain peaks are not identical -
and snowflakes falling from the sky - not precisely equal.
The clouds float freely with the breeze while rolling on thin air.
Though no two skies are just alike, they share the canvas there.
And no two meadows look the same as I walk down His path.
I see no trees identical when grown through nature's wrath.
Not equal are the mountain streams or creatures of the wild.
And so unique the sunsets are - as faces of a child.
So patiently, a flower bud waits ready to unfurl.
A swirl of brilliant petals bloom. I see a little girl.
Her whole life laid in front of her that she became forthwith -
another link within the chain this world had yanked her with.
Priorities had dragged her from her work to shopping mall.
And every day, a masterpiece - yet she had missed them all.
Now richly dressed as all the rest who never seemed to care,
she peered inside a cancer ward and saw young children there.
She saw the face of one small boy with cute and chubby cheeks -
and though the tears had dried away she saw the many streaks.
They washed away the happiness in life so short, but giving -
as sin has made the sky to fall on innocent still living.
God waves His hand across the sky, but have I failed to see -
out way beyond my own routine, beyond my vanity?
God paints a perfect masterpiece on each and every child.
I finally saw His masterpiece when that young child smiled.
Peered I, up to the heavens. Through tears, I prayed in awe.
His hand swept over East to West and that is what I saw...
©2012 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/
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louis gander, 27 november 2012
They're Patriots, they're fighting! But Lord, who understands?
Their gift to heirs was liberty, was fragile in their hands.
A liberty that's priceless and was paid with hero's blood,
but liberty that's fragile and as latent as a bud.
Some day the waves of grain will grow in nation gold and bright -
but now the revolution's fight is questioned whether right...
I see a sacrifice so great, from will that never bends,
I see the loss of families, their farms and closest friends.
I see that they were tested greatly under Washington -
and they were tested all the more in battle that was won.
Yes, tested with the seasons that brought hot and cold extremes,
and tested with great trials that had crushed the smallest dreams.
So many lost a limb or two. Some others met their grave,
but great were all the freedoms that to us they freely gave.
Now we'd enjoy these freedoms, if - we care to really own
and guard with every vote so that our freedoms could be sown -
to later generations that would seize the free baton -
to hold our fragile liberties so freedom carries on.
Years later, I saw clamoring and stumbling unsure -
and one by one God-given rights were trampled here under -
the feet of every voter who demanded more and more -
the money clear from Washington 'til all of us were poor.
They argued, as in protest and they fervently appealed,
to eat up necessary seed for next year's harvest yield -
and voted for more cretins who would place their final bet
on wasteful obligations that would pile up more debt.
Naive we are and so deceived with all the 'pc' spin,
"He'll give you lots more money if you'll simply vote for him!"
They buy our selfish, greedy votes and bribe us all until
elected, they're securely fixed right there up on 'The Hill'.
So arrogant, those cretins are, that they need never hide.
They know their office is secure and wear this thing called 'pride'.
They promise us a silver moon (that's moldy old swiss cheese -
with holes in thick promises that shift there with the breeze).
So powerless we all become when they tie up our hands.
They hasten us and chasten us - yet no one understands..!
There's just no more that we can give, for they have taken all -
in taxes, fines and hidden fees, licenses, et al.
They rushed so quickly to the aid of those too big to fail -
and then ignored the rest of us that they refused to bail.
Collecting campaign contributions from the greedy ones -
they then give them the very last of our few meager funds.
Refusing to repent and out beyond the furthest hope,
I see a country dangling from an unforgiving rope -
from poor results that legalized and drove our morals loose.
I see inflated, selfish heads above a tightened noose.
The feet still kick and wiggle as we take our final breath -
and offer no assurance from a sad and certain death -
because we still refuse the God of patient, certain wrath!
Oh, how can we complain when "we, the people" chose our path?
We've mortgaged off the waves of grain and every native park!
We've mortgaged every standing tree - the branches, trunks and bark!
We've mortgaged off Mount Rushmore and the Lady Liberty -
who shines so very beautiful! It's pure insanity!!
I see a sacrifice so great - but our 'will' never bends.
We lose our farms and families - we lose our closest friends.
I see we're harshly tested from a Washington DC -
and we'll be tested all the more until our freedoms see...
We're Patriots! We're fighting! But Lord, who understands?
Our gift to heirs, true liberty, is fragile in our hands.
©2012 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/
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louis gander, 24 november 2012
BASED on a true story
during gooseberry picking season, 1934
as told to me by my mother, Ruth.
---
On our old North Clayton farmstead -
my brother, sister, I -
were picking berries with our mom,
when brother caught my eye.
In each our hands, a bucket with,
our minds on all our work.
We each were very diligent
'til brother went berserk.
Wisconsin's early summer brought us
many ripe gooseberries -
but never could we match what mom,
within her bucket carried.
God's trees stretched high above our heads,
His briers pulled our clothes -
yet creek ran faithful, east to west -
while heat, with sun, had rose.
You may not know our brother yet,
but all of us could tell,
that trouble followed him around
and knew him very well.
He said, "Look at this big kitten!"
He poked it with a stick -
but when it turned and raised its tail,
our mother shouted quick.
Although it wasn't humorous,
we giggled in our fun.
But when mom said it was a skunk -
we sure knew how to run!
Now sin can sure deceive us.
It's fun, this world thinks -
but it is not to play with so,
remember, sin still stinks!
©2012 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/
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louis gander, 11 november 2012
"What is art?” if to me, you would ask,
I'd say its a laborious, challenging task.
God creates life that we can't comprehend -
then puts it in nature, beginning to end...
We suffer the challenge to come even near
the beautiful landscapes we hold ever dear.
The brilliant full sunsets that take breath away
only proves artwork is futile and gray.
Though it’s improved and forever is honed,
creation is simply just mimicked and cloned.
With all of the paintings and all of the words,
none can replace nature’s flowers or birds.
I search, and within me, I find that great art -
comes from creation through a humble heart.
So never take credit, profits or fame -
for next to creation, our work is a shame.
©2009 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/
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louis gander, 10 november 2012
A gold fish swam to the glass.
It's tail fin made the water stir
against the glass. It peered beyond,
but it could swim no further.
I reached too - but couldn't through.
That invisible glass prevented me.
Surviving in our own little worlds
isn't always meant to be.
We have eyes but what deceives?
For everything will come to pass -
this side of the present tense,
and out beyond the solid glass.
Sins law, like glass, invisible.
It's nothing but a deadly lie.
I reached but couldn't feel His touch.
It stayed between my God and I.
I was deep in waters sin.
Within there is no air.
There is no grace inside the law -
and faith cannot live there.
But then one night some time ago,
in quiet stillness, the world heard -
a star shone bright above a babe.
Something big on earth occurred.
He reputed worldly wisdom.
His death on earth did pass,
but heard before that quiet night -
the shout that shattered glass....
"Abba, Father" shattered it.
Sin's law in pieces, everywhere -
forgotten, forgiven, gone.
Grace unlocked us from despair.
Hope washed us ever closer.
Free from circling without breath,
free from sinful bondage where,
the wages of sin is death.
Some day soon we'll see our graves -
yet sin no longer holds us slaves.
The glass is broken. Make no waves -
just tell the world that Jesus saves!
©2008 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/
Romans 6:23 (KJV) For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.
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louis gander, 4 november 2012
Nestled in a valley in a clearing of large oak,
while sunlight touched but treetops where the baby robins woke,
stood an old abandoned cabin that had seen some better days,
had once seen better fam'lies and had once seen better ways.
A little stream meandered by with water clean and pure
that seemed to say, "Come drink from me. Your problems, I will cure."
And sparkled bright, the diamonds that had glistened in the sky,
as did the dew on God's green earth that blessed the patient eye.
Hither, yon the squirrels worked and did what squirrels do.
They shared their ample spacious trees where little finches flew -
where trees wore brilliant yellow, red and golden colored suits
where leaves had wiggled in the breeze among leftover fruits.
But when the sun had cleared the hill and peeked between the trees
exposing all the guilt of man and sin that Heaven sees -
it brought to light the darkness deep inside those timbered wall,
where dust and cobwebs fought a war and won man's mighty fall.
Now just a second, let's step back and tell me how they can -
how tiny little spiders beat the big and mighty man?
Just maybe, man with ego big, was thought too big to fail -
and now the dust and spiderwebs own every board and nail.
That cabin once was filled with 'men', with love and life and health,
but now sits there abandoned and long gone his pride and wealth.
I once knew well the fam'ly who had lived inside those walls
of that abandoned cabin where our Savior's voice still calls.
If mighty man's big head was pulled along with his conceit
from clouds so he'd descend back down and settle on his feet -
then maybe he could still enjoy the cabin in the trees
and persevere through patience with the autumn colored leaves -
that dance above the cabin roof, that seem to taunt en mass -
to each and every one of us until possessions pass -
that man was beaten down by bugs who haven't any clue
that God is still in full control over me and you...
©2012 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/
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louis gander, 1 november 2012
My mama was a loving spouse who did her very best
to keep my father happy and she never did protest -
to what my father said and did to add to her abuse -
and all the things I saw him do. There wasn't an excuse.
My father was a spiteful man who argued quite a lot
and it had hurt my mama so that she became distraught..
I pulled weeds from her garden and I chopped a lot of wood
that heated up our cooking stove. I helped her all I could.
As we prepared for Christmas Day and all that was in store,
enjoyed, I did, those special times with mama even more.
Yes, more than any other month could ever even boast,
December was that special time that we enjoyed the most.
One cold December morning came when father went to find,
a full and perfect Norway Spruce. (I tagged along behind).
The woods were vast. There must have been a million evergreen
which held a billion snowflakes out in sparkling winter scene.
Reflective sunlight shimmered bright which made my eyelids squint
so I looked down and found that all my footsteps made a print -
in snow so fun to walk through as it crushed beneath my feet -
(although at times the drifts caused me to detour or retreat).
That made me pause and catch a glimpse of smoke from fireplace
meandering above our house so wanting to embrace -
a family fraught with nervous fears and silent times 'to boot' -
as father, with his ego big, had muffled mama mute.
But fragrance from the many pine had found my little nose -
and tiny snowflakes glistened while they settled on our clothes -
reminding me that all is well despite my parents quarrels
and I could choose a better life with character and morals -
to live a life, not crooked, as we trekked from place to place -
to find that perfect tree to decorate our living space.
We trampled each direction and at last he gave a sigh.
We finally found that perfect spruce - my father, saw and I.
The night was strangely silent as we sat around our tree
when mom's love and compassion had been proven true to me.
Out through the corner of my eye, I viewed dejected years -
and though she tried to hold them back, I saw those lonely tears.
Throughout that night the light escaped reflecting off the floor,
and whispered prayers were carried out from underneath her door...
But light no longer flickers from the candles flaming tips
and silenced are the verses that I heard from mama's lips.
I know that father long regrets his former wicked ways -
but through my tears, I won't forget those special Christmas days
with scenes of the Nativity and tree exactly right,
with memories of mama and the truth that came to light.
Yes, this was many years ago that father and I spied -
then cut that perfect Norway Spruce the day before she died.
I heard his weeping through the door - such deep, repentant cries -
but now he sees as mama did... through humble Christmas eyes.
©2012 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/
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Romans 10 (NASB)
8 But what does it say? “The word is near you, in your mouth and in your heart”
—that is, the word of faith which we are preaching,
9 that if you confess with your mouth Jesus as Lord,
and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved;
10 for with the heart a person believes, resulting in righteousness,
and with the mouth he confesses, resulting in salvation.
11 For the Scripture says, “Whoever believes in Him will not be disappointed.”
12 For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek;
for the same Lord is Lord of all, abounding in riches for all who call on Him;
13 for “Whoever will call on the name of the Lord will be saved.”
louis gander, 1 november 2012
In quantities, our teardrops fall,
they drip off sorry faces -
resulting from our broken hearts.
We save them in our vases -
for yet another lofty dream -
another selfish rose.
Is anyone the wiser?
Tell me no one knows.
And here, our vases set alone,
still filled with empty dreams.
Oh, everybody has them -
it's just the way, it seems.
It's popularity for some -
for others; riches, gold.
But when it's over, said and done,
their rose is dead and cold.
The tears we shed are endless,
and from our souls drawn.
We water every selfish want -
then later wish them gone.
We hold our very special vase -
we think of only 'me' -
but rather where still waters are -
our tears of joy should be.
Do roses last forever?
There is a day they die -
then scattered are the pieces of
the heart that happened by.
Lost pieces, scattered everywhere -
forever, broken are -
and at the end of shattered dreams,
there's one eternal scar.
When in, our earthly dreams, we live,
regret is always sure -
for when we grow our selfish rose,
it simply won't endure.
I often wonder why we work,
and waste away the years -
accomplishing so little with
such lonely, painful tears.
So walk beside still waters.
Through joyful tears you'll see -
a love that never wavers and,
a grace that's always free.
And if your faith is watered
and grows from day to day -
there's really nothing more to do -
for joyful is the way!
©2011 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/
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louis gander, 26 october 2012
He laid a sheet of paper down
upon a table top -
and from his chair he wrote and wrote
so faithfully, non-stop.
They laughed at him and bragged about
the works that they had done.
They filled vast reams of papers, yet -
he had but only one.
They boasted of the many works
their fancy hands exposed.
Great works in rich calligraphy
were pridefully disclosed.
Again they stood around and laughed,
but never did he gloat.
They laughed and scoffed and scoffed and laughed
at everything he wrote..
His life was written on one page -
but what? I didn't know.
The paper he had laying there
was as the driven snow.
Sorrow filled his teary face.
This world fatigued his soul.
The agony that he endured
had taken quite a toll.
I saw that many people judged,
made fun of and demeaned,
ridiculed and criticized
his works that they had seen.
Yet faithfully, he wrote much more.
Were no works written there?
Still blank, his paper had appeared.
I thought it quite unfair.
Unfair that he was working hard
on words that wouldn't be.
Unfair that he was judged by those
on work they couldn't see.
Sometimes we think life's all in vain -
those things we do for God -
but He knows every one of us
and how, through life, we've trod.
So why was his completely blank?
Confused, I sat to think -
but then I learned his words were penned
with tears instead of ink.
It's not the works that we can see
that's valued on our page -
but rather what was done in love
that God will one day gauge.
©2012 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/
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