Poems about My God

By John Schmidt

Here are a number of my poems. Hope you enjoy them, and are in some way uplifted.

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Poems about My God

Meet

dancing toes, meet concrete

hose water, meet hot air

mothers, meet porch steps

water cold, meet hot flesh

ecstatic screams, meet background honks

bathing suits, meet body forms

swirling hair, meet open space

open eyes, meet life

Delight of Dawn

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus

Let all our concerns

fall like dewdrops

from soft flowers.

Let us delight

more in Your sun

than our earth.

Let us be filled

with the energy

of the universe.

For in Your eyes

is the eternity

of all blessings.

From Your lips,

the words of all power.

In Your hands

is a hug

that takes us home.

Jesus, I love You.

Night Angel

“It’s not worth it.” In the dim light of the room

behind the cafe, the blond-haired boy cried.

And she listened, the vision in space that loomed

above dirty floor and faded T-shirt beside

the gun he did not use that night because

the inch of love she gave him kept him from it.

He was married with four children when he paused

long enough on his short couch to again sit

with old times, and the one night that would have

ended it. He did not pray often, but he

said a thank-you to the Powers That Be, glad

his children had a father who loved them. She

heard his prayer, though far away, above

one of his children, thanking God for fatherly love.

I Have Looked for You

I have looked for you in the eyes of children,

In the questioning grins of older ones, my

Lover’s quiet at passion’s end. And in

My work, my house, my car—everything I

Do and own. I have sought you in the space between

These things, when no children or older ones were around,

When work and possessions took a back seat

To air and flowers. And when she was gone. I found

Something of you there, but more like a foot-

print than a foot, more like a bird’s nest than the

Bird. I have sought you by seeking you, look-

ing while waiting for substance. But now I be-

lieve I will stop the search for presence, having felt

You most, always, through it all, in the search itself.

I sit

on a high

rise above

a mountain stream a bridge not far away to my right.

The air is clear,

the sky bathed in sun,

and I jump hands outstretched,

hitting the two feet of water flat, and death.

The mind is free to dissolve into the air it came from;

the emotions free to be water once again,

the body back to earth in time;

spirit back to the sun from which it came.

I bounce back up from the water and sit again,

having visited eternity, thus infinite imagination.

Morality

Something simple, like a moral life, to

Be sought after, enjoyed. Yes, enjoyed, for

Morality and harmony are far more

Closely linked than a casual review

Of causes would suggest. “Modern” and “new”

Do sound pleasure and sport to the ear, restored

To prominence by an endless stream of torrid

TV talk, selling multiplicity with few

Warning labels attached. Yet pleasure is

Older than discipline, for the latter took time

To learn. Millions of experiences without

The leadership of wisdom were found to miss

The mark of peace and hit pain. Thus often I remind

Myself of that moral life what life’s about.

both hands

are tied

until they clasp

(in prayer)

hand can only be filled

when it is first emptied

Central

Center me, Lord, in your love. Seems there is no end

To dangers, frustrations and trials—even a rain

Storm can upset my evening’s work. So when

I need you, be there. Let my good times remain

My main attention no matter what occurs,

Let my peace in your friendship walk with me

In every step, let my strength be light in your

Love. These are small requests, but we can all see

How the small leads the all. One thought sends my

Body’s numberless atoms in a walk across

The room, one center sun gives abundant life

To a vast solar system, a rugged cross

On a hill has brought hope to a world. My small

Is at peace when I connect in love to your all.

Abbreviated

I’m

an abbreviated

I Am

(hug me)

yesterday cloudy

today sunny

same tree, roof

the infinitesimal

yet infinite

distinction between consciousness

and being given consciousness

no man

is an island

unto God

Rather

I would rather

be a sun-filled

rose of light that

only angels see,

than a worldly

root

that

har-

bors

love

but

self

yet has

the earth

in its

grip

a thousand streams

rushing toward ocean,

ocean laughs

Love Made Me Do That

Probably love made me do that. If you look at

My life and see something halfway better

Than decent, probably love made me do that.

And I really can’t see a cause fitter.

I mean, reason’s always got its own ways

To stir us into motion, but love’s got ’em

Too. You can stand a man at a cliff and say,

“Don’t fall,” and reason will keep him from the bottom.

But it’s love that will lead him to admire the fall,

The bushes below, the distant hills, the clouds.

Reason’s strong, but the more I think about why God

Made all this, I think it’s a toss-up, how

God could have thought long and hard about Earth to be,

But if you asked Him today He’d say, “Love made me.”

It Touches You Deeply

It touches you deeply, the cool fascination

Of water. Of senses. Of all sensed by them. And

You dream on, as if alive, down the stream, demand-

ing only continuance, drowning objections

Before they surface, sure that you are the one

Who feeds the stream. Down, around, turn, and land.

You rest up. The stream rages back up. Your hands

Are shaking. You find a warm spot and lie on

Fine rocks. You fall asleep, not out of will,

But a deep desire to pay back the water for what

It gave you: nothing. That nothing you would, and it seems,

Will die for. That nothing that fills your being till

You wake and re-enter the water. It is sought

As you dream on, as if alive, down the stream.

Dunes

They will not destroy me by mountain.

I scale cliffs, pass crevasses a mile deep.

But by sand, by hill after hill of sand.

Sand in my shoes, in my mouth.

Every hill of sand I cross over,

another presents itself.

Until at last I see an oasis;

I run to it, immerse my face

and drink.

I lie by the pool of water.

Maybe I should have saved my

canteen’s hot water.

What if this water is poisoned?

Better to feel the stomach cramps

than be where I was.

I may never leave here anyway.

For two days I am here.

I see a caravan coming. I hide

in trees and bushes until night. I

leave the oasis and spend the

night in the sand.

I listen to their animals. What

would they do to me?

In the morning I sit behind a dune

and watch them and their tents.

One of them is walking my way.

I do not hide. He sees me.

He comes up to me in his robed

garment and headdress,

and plops by me, on the sand, long

accustomed to sitting on sand.

Mentally he tells me they

have been told to expect a Teacher.

I say, “Peace.”

He says something, a sentence or two,

in his language.

I speak back in his language,

though I have never spoken

it before.

He seems satisfied. He understands.

I say, “I am lost, but I am found.”

That is to mean, though I

be lost in the desert, it has no meaning.

If a thousand

hills of sand may stretch

before me in one direction,

I have found in me

my spiritual home.

And I am peace.

My Own Way

It’s a sad song with a happy ending,

a childhood wrapped in misery,

Mama was a woman “out-of-it”

and Papa a man I seldom did see.

They’ll do better next time,

in some other day;

I won’t have to be their son—

I’ve gone my own way.

In a house so poor it was sold for scrap,

In a town where your face

was just another billboard sign

and what you wanted most was new space.

They’ll do better next time,

in some other day;

I won’t have to be their man—

I’ve gone my own way.

I moved around for many years

with all that “stuff” still inside—

the tears I caused was just

because I was tryin’ to hide.

He was a priest on a walk

tellin’ small boys not to throw rocks,

and the peace I saw in his smile

was a key to what I would unlock.

They’ll do better next time,

in some other day;

I won’t have to be their old man—

I’ve gone my own way.

I sat down on my bed

and cried as I hung my head;

and that day forgave Mama and Papa

and myself for the rocks in my head.

I never saw that priest again

or Mama or Papa or the street kids,

but I saw in me a new man

who never again had somethin’ hid.

They will do better next time,

in some other day;

I won’t have to be their son—

I’m in a new way.

They’ll do better next time;

they’ll be street kids lookin’ for a dime.

I won’t have to be anybody’s son;

I’ve gone my own way.

Sail forth

on the boat Mercy

and the first wave back

to your island

will be mercy

and the second love

and the third peace

glass cannot know itself

until it

allows liquid to fill it

What’s More Important after All?

A matter of what’s more important after all,

Is what I’d call it. We’ve seen the rich and poor

Come out of here—same way, feet first or

In a brass container. Only one that I can recall

Ever came out alive. So I’d say to y’-all

That it’s in the livin’ an’ givin’ you’ll score

Your gains, not so much in accumulation of more

An’ more stuff year after year. That’s what I’d call

Missin’ it. One fellow I remember, Jason,

Died with only about enough to bury

Himself, but in life, if it didn’t take some

Money, he’d do it for you—whatever it was. We

Counted over a hundred at his service—

Not countin’ kin—every one done some kindness.

New Peace

Peace be to you who have had your limbs torn from

You, like so many limbs taken from a tree.

I would put you back together if I could, but for me

To take tree limbs and nail or rope even some

Of them back on, the tree would look strange. Come,

Let us forget limbs and storms and be

As a tree that lets lie what’s fallen beneath

Him, that says in his silent way, “What’s been done

Is done, and I’ll take back in time what was

Once mine and make a stronger me.” Peace then,

To all souls with lost limbs. Let morning light touch

Your leaves, and let the storm’s waters flow in

Your roots; come back to peace though tears, which like dew

Evaporate into the heaven beyond you.

Life does not forget. Only people

forget.

bird wings’ whisper

comes

rest

snow—forest hears

singing bird

knows

all

motion

gliding

wind once

a mountain

is born

on the back

of another

mountain;

a stream

is born

upon

the

slightest

rain

no one

knows

wind

better

than

wind

no one

ceases

unless

all

ceases

be peace

because

I am

sometimes no motion

is better than

some motion;

between storms

the forest

always has

a still day

remember itself

painting of girl

it reaches to the

nearest star

and says hello

Life: a maze

Love made king

Life: amazing

rapid stream

around rock

not through rock

Trials Taken

Pushed past my limits I now have a greater sum.

I have taken to tasks below me, and in

Their routine wondered why God should take the fun

From my life, until I found more patience within.

I have taken tasks more my level and after

Long trials with many small defeats between the start

And finish, learned endurance, to not alter

From purpose though pain and tears tear at the heart.

But best do I like those challenges that call

From so far above me that even the thought of such height

Makes me stare at the sun and think I have but lost

All reason, for the true reason of the measure might

Never been seen had I not scaled above

The sun and looked back down from limitless love.

a business can

be an act

of God too

The Prayer in My Soul

The prayer in my soul keeps me going.

Born to a life unknown by me until

Revealed in the living, I am flowing

To a destination forged in another’s will.

My body knows not. It feels the food enter

Its mouth and moves along recharged. It feels

The hand of another and is felt. But as to either

The when or the why, it makes no great appeal.

My mind knows not. Though proud of its past, present

And future senses, it is bound by them as

Surely as rope will bind wide sail against

The mightiest wind. And just as surely fall thin as

Calm offers no direction. The prayer in my soul

Keeps me going to what I want to know.

Mountain Again

For every spirit (man) there is a time to teach.

But do not forget that I was one of you.

See that my road is your road—

my mountain, your mountain.

We could have a thousand climbers up here—

and mountains would hold us.

We could have a thousand teachers at the top,

and have room for more.

For from here, we do not go back down,

we fall into the sun.

Clouds Withheld

Long ago clouds pushed down the mountaintops

So the firm giants would not grow so

Tall they might break off as Earth spins

And be hurled where only God would know,

Or so I was told as a child. So did I

Hold back majestic ideals, their lofty

Poise remote from my narrow valley view,

I calm in the path between shop and me.

But once, when the valley was in a fog

For days, I vowed to see the sun

And climbed up a mount until

I was clear, into light did come.

No sight of house or store below,

Not even church steeple, but above

No cloud in heaven, a pure view

Of giants bathed in purest love.

So too did I see the light of my life,

How angels and heaven can be so near

Yet go unrecognized as long

As I hold other things more dear.

Drops

The freezing raindrops

hit the petals

of the daisy, which

understands freezing,

but can only

understand falling

by coming out of itself.

we take hold

of the world

by releasing doves

The Giving

Is purpose.

Through all my years growing toward sky and sun,

I was self-contained, though concerned.

And was good, in my branching out.

Yet now, in later years, I

find the full joy of my giving,

that love that returns to God and others what

was most precious: life itself.

I discovered, that through the years before,

I was but stem, not flower.

we take with us

what was then so ethereal,

thoughts and ideas;

the material, the most comforting,

is the most ethereal,

less eternal;

we take with us the least we have and leave the

most

for others to re-examine

the importance of

transparent glass

full with my hand

not in it

a dying man makes no sense

a man dying to sense, makes

The Rock Door

Perfect stillness. All measure of action, desire,

Cut short. Not one hand to be held, not one

Word recapped by a tone, not one thought sired.

Stillness. Separated by a cavern

Of space as wide as a breath, as close as

Infinity. All my possessions

In one spot, untouchable. I duck in, past

A stone and disappear. They are not gone,

But it’s as if I never was. Now without

Them I am free of all ties to what

I thought was unexpendable. I can mount

New terrain unseen by me before. I sought

Not, yet found, for purpose is what purpose was.

I seem to rest in the stretch to what’s above.

Presents

The day they opened all their presents,

They found treasures wrapped in their hearts.

The box had been bought by childhood love,

The paper purchased by middle years of care,

The box by the older years of love for all,

The present inside by Spirit itself, its mysteries.

Each in the world opened his or her soul

And the Spirit of Earth, in his wisdom, noticed,

And the stars shown a greater light on Earth

Than ever before, for the people had opened their presents.

The word got around to God,

The One Who wrapped their first presents,

And He took notice of this singular place

Where all presents had been opened,

And He gave one present more: inside was His love.

Bring Him Home, My Captain

Through rough seas, around the Cape of Good Hope, I

Plead to you: Bring him home, my captain. Show him you

Are a man of courage when skies are blue

But there’s no wind for days, or when the ship lies

Still in a fog’s giant grip. If his friend dies,

Is draped under a flag, then let slide into

The sea, show patience in your eyes, and don’t construe

That he is less of a man if he starts to cry.

Through port after port bring him home. And always give

Him good food, good water and company

While aboard. A late knock on your door, comfort

His soul if he should ask for that. So he can live

Free of debts, pay him at the end, and see

The smile you saw the day he came aboard.

I Go to Love

I go to love, for in that is my solace;

I go to God, for in Him is my redemption.

Though it take a hundred thousand times un-

till I see His face, I will have His hand to kiss.

I know I have not always known, been remiss

In my most fundamental duty, attention

To Soul’s completion, but I am renewed and go on

To seat myself in contemplativeness.

You who hear my call, have heard my many calls,

Listen again so I may hear wordless words

From the Center of my known universe, myself.

For in my own congeniality all

Is that I ever was or I think I would

Ever care to be. That love I go to, in-held.

We hope you enjoyed the poems.

Writings to Read Home

Because he hath set his love upon me, therefore will I deliver him: I will set him

on high, because he hath known my name. Psalms 91:14