Archive for Poems

Peace Like a River

Why do we find it so difficult to love the Lord and pay attention to His commands? His commands are not hard to pay attention to, loving Him is certainly no chore, and the reward is great. Why then is it so difficult?

woman in riverGod offers to each of us

His unconditional love

And when we heed His commands

His abundant peace

Like a river flowing full

And steadily to the sea

Is ours

I suppose we could coin the phrase, “if it were easy, everyone could do it.” But it is easy. I can think of nothing easier than loving God, who loves us and chose us to be His. I believe everyone can do it, and the rewards are fantastic!

When we accept these gifts

His righteousness returns to us

Washing over us

In powerful and never-ending waves

As we wade

In the calm waters

Of His peace

If only you had paid attention to my commands, your peace would have been like a river, your righteousness like the waves of the sea. Isaiah 48:18

 Copyright © 2012 C. Mashburn

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A Soft Knocking

A Soft Knocking” was originally a rather long short story, which I whittled down to just under 500 words for a contest a few years back. Every time I come across it, I can’t resist toying with it, and on one of those occasions I re-wrote it in poem form. It’s rather long for a poem but give it a read if you’ve got the time. I think you will find it quite entertaining.

A Soft Knocking

In my very bones I could feel the morning dampness

   My dark and dreary world having steeped in slow rain

      Throughout the long and silent night

writer at desk 

The lamp flickering on my desk

   cast a warm glow upon my work

      But did nothing to ease the chill in the room

 

A faint ringing in the distance

   A carriage bell

      Not something I often heard

         Rushed a chill through my veins

 

Then a woman’s scream sliced the cold morning air

 

I moved quickly to my window

   And with trembling hand eased the curtain aside

 

A coffin-like visage approached

   The light snap of a whip sounded

        The steed… paying whip no mind

            Continued at a slow trot then fought the bit with turn of head

                 When the driver pulled back on rein and brake sliding the coach to a stop

 

I turned away

   Knowing with sick dread the carriage had come for me

      Then… wishing not to see, yet knowing I must

         I turned back to the window

 

The driver stared forward

   Face hidden by shadow of brim

      The stallion looked over its shoulder

         Eyes wild and gleaming

            Snorting steam from black nostrils

As…

 

The door swung slowly wide

   And a slender leg clad in white silk stocking

      Appeared at the coach door then fell to the muddy road   

         A river of blood flowed from the severed limb

 

Again, I turned away

   An angry fist squeezing my heart

      And I knew with instant dread

         Never more…

            Would my pen scratch the page

 

I heard the “Yaw” of the driver

   A crack of the knotted whip

      The scream of the beaten steed piercing the damp air

         Like an ice pick

            Through a warm beating heart

And then…

   There came at my door…

      A soft knocking

 

My aged eyes watered as one icy tear trickled

   Slowly… down my rugged cheek

Then…

   Not knowing how I’d arrived there

      I stood looking at the great door

         My mind fighting to stay my hands

             As they moved toward the bolt

 

And … once again… there came…

   A soft knocking

 

Of its own accord

   The door swung slowly open

      And from behind me

         A small hand gently pushed

 

I tumbled into the deep blackness outside my castle door

   Light had fled my world

      Tumbling… tumbling…

         I floated through the darkness

            Lungs burning as I breathed

               The vile substance in which I flew

 

Suddenly…

   I knew with solemn certainty

      It was the taste

         The smell

               The feel…

                  Of ink

 

I knew, too…

   Who it was had come to fetch me

      ‘Twas all those of whom I had written

            In my years at the desk

               Those whose lives I had created

                  Then… taken

                      Oft in brutal fashion

                          In the dark stories I’d told

 

But the cruelest of my acts

   Was the shunning of the one in white silk stockings

      Who wanted naught from the world but my ungiven love

 For this sin

   I will forever hear

      As I tumble through my madness

         … a soft knocking

 

Copyright © 2012 C. Mashburn

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Heartaches and Such

 

feel real good (3)When I was a boy, and I’d get hurt, my dad would sometimes grin and tell me, “Son, that’s gonna feel real good when it quits hurtin’.” At the time, I thought he was making light of my pain, but looking back I wonder if there wasn’t a bit of wisdom hidden in those words.

We all suffer pain, whether it be physical or emotional, and I know for certain, it will one day quit hurtin’. Because… if the pain isn’t gone by the time we leave this world, it will vanish in an instant when we rest in the loving arms of our Lord. He says it is so.

 

And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away. Revelation 21:4

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The Good Times

just us kids 2We weren’t poor when I was a kid. We didn’t have a lot, but we always had enough. There were bad times and good times, but we were happy for the most part. I give Mom credit for that. Read the rest of this entry »

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Come Hell or High Water

I haven’t written a short story in ages, but for some reason I’m feeling a bit creative today. I used to write a lot of them, before my good friend, Kellie Elmore, decided she wanted to be a photographer. She used to do a “Free Write Friday” on her blog, and I enjoyed the heck out of it. So here ya go! Hope you enjoy it! Read the rest of this entry »

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Laughing Horses

horseI seldom edit my poems–if that’s what they are. I’m not sure what the definition of poetry is, so I’m assuming, and you surely know what’s said about that. I put my thoughts down and toss them to the world; easy to do these days with this Internet thing we have. My thoughts are sometimes strange, and I love to picture a classroom full of students trying to figure out what I meant, or what I was trying to say. And then the one–there’s always one–mumbling, “That guy was messed up.” Read the rest of this entry »

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Sometimes We Cry

This morning, I came across this poem I wrote several years ago, and I couldn’t decide if I should re-post it. I wrote it on a day I was feeling like I wasn’t worthy of God’s love, much less anyone else’s. We all have those days, and sometimes they come down on us hard. I truly wish we could’ve known then what we know now, but… we don’t get a do-over. We do, however, get a start-over.

The reason I hesitate to post things like this, is because I want to encourage others—I feel it’s my job now—and, on the surface this doesn’t seem encouraging. But on the other hand, it is, because it encourages me—and you, I hope—to forgive ourselves our mistakes and misdeeds. God does.

I Cried a Lot Today

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