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Where I Am
by Roger W HancockOn the chair of my home office;
I sit and stare at the question before me.
In the office of my home;
I raise my hands to the keyboard before me.
In my home in the city of Auburn;
"More than you Imagine." imagine me.
In my city, Auburn in King County;
I contemplate this question.
In King County of Washington State;
my state of mind is one of wander.
In Washington State in the U.S.A.;
thoughts wander and wonder.
In the U.S.A. of North America;
I wonder if anyone cares.
In North America in Western Hemisphere;
where, oh, where I really be?
In the Western Hemisphere on Earth:
when in death return I'll go.
On Earth with in our solar system,
a name, is “solar” our system’s name?
In our Solar System in our Universe;
where I am is constant flux.
In the Universe, in the Milky Way,
now so far from home but where I be.
In the Milky Way within Creation;
where ever I am, my God is with me!
(c)
August 27, 2008, Roger W Hancock,
www.PoetPatriot.com
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Hot Spot
by Roger W Hancock
Hell is Hot,
forever sin’s lot.
Heaven is Not,
Our sins forgot.
Take a shot, forget the rot.
Confess to God your lot.
You cannot within yourself,
shed the sins that Christ forgot.
In the spot where now you squat,
let Satan not your soul be caught.
Ask, repent of all your rot
upon the cross your soul God bought.
Hell is Hot,
forever sin’s lot.
Heaven is Not,
Our sins forgot.
(c) August 21, 2008 Roger W Hancock,
www.PoetPatriot.com |
Sin Decay
by Roger W Hancock
Sin, we hide down deep inside,
Festers, infects, then despise.
Body in a grave decays,
corrupted soul dismay.
Loss of life we call death,
need not die, if in Christ.
Deny Flesh, our God obey,
let His righteousness display.
Sin we give to Him who lives,
In His death our sin is dead.
Only pure, when covered by,
blood of Him who lives.
(c) 2-24-08 Roger W Hancock
www.PoetPatriot.com
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Come to the Cross
by Roger W Hancock
Come to the Cross,
Christ’s blood was spilt,
Come to the Cross,
innocence was cursed.
Come to the Cross,
burden seems heavy.
Come to the Cross,
Christ will carry your load.
Come to the Cross,
Repent of your sin.
Come to the Cross,
forever to live.
Come to the Cross,
God will freely forgive.
Come to the Cross,
live in Him.
(c)
2-16-08 Roger W Hancock
www.PoetPatriot.com
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Lies of Night
by Roger W Hancock
Enlightenment the world seeks,
running from the light of God.
Toward the sin of selfishness,
into dark of godlessness.
Running from enlightened truth,
light fading quick to dark.
Excuses called enlightenment,
a lie one buys in dark of night.
(c) 2-24-08 Roger W Hancock
www.PoetPatriot.com |
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Easter Gift
by Roger W Hancock
Death of innocence, divine gift,
this day we call Good Friday.
Taunting torment, crown of thorns,
blood drips down his brow.
My sin, your sin, sinless man to pay,
stripes of lashes by soldier's whip.
Bullied beating pulverize the face,
should have been me, or you.
Hands pierced, each staked,
scapegoat; death deserved for me.
Love, sacrifice, son's innocence,
winced in pain on pounding blows.
Another stake soldier hammers,
piercing pain through feet.
Futile scrubbing cannot cleanse,
blood stains; our sin stains.
Even when up upon the cross,
asks God, “Forgive the ignorance.”
Dead? Yet so soon?
Soldier's sword forced through ribs.
Watered blood gushed forth,
broken heart made short the passing.
The gift, the death for us He gave,
then laid within a sealed tomb.
Celebrate life's hope;
day of life called Easter.
Three days followers mourn,
rock has rolled no one inside.
Failing mission, soldiers run.
Resurrected life begun.
Dead man walks again;
doubter touches ribs inside.
Lived to die, died to live;
life renewed, a new birth.
A new life, I do not deserve!
He gives to me... and
you.
© April 3,
2007, Roger W Hancock,
www.PoetPatriot.com
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Prayer for a Brother
Inspired by Stan Jones, victim of a stroke.
Prayer for a Brother
by Roger W Hancock
My heart aches and breaks for a brother,
one who has travailed over much adversity.
My brother who's condition deteriorates,
frustration becomes his madness.
From a distance for him I pray,
that he feel the comfort of Christ.
I can only imagine my brother's plight,
darkness that dull his days.
Only from afar, for my brother, I pray,
his eyes remain on Jesus' face.
(c) 01-19-2008- Roger W Hancock
www.PoetPatriot.com
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Death’s
Glorious Life
by Roger W Hancock
Clouds darken, day becomes night.
Cries of women, mothers become whimpers.
Moans of tortured men pierce
the dark.
Aire of fear fills the air, thunder claps!
Arrogance is shaken from the Roman guard.
“Father, forgive them,” crosses the crowd,
Wondering fear of day-night continues,
Death arrives for one… so
soon?
Three day mourning passes,
Guards tremble, seal is broken.
Empty tomb of fear and
questions,
“Where have they taken Him?”
Woman, it is I, who foretold new life.
“Is it you Lord! ... My Lord!”
For disbelief He carried the wounds,
Nailed hands, feet, punctured ribs.
(c) April 6, 2007 Roger W Hancock,
www.PoetPatriot.com |
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Death’s Glory
by Roger W Hancock
Clouds darken, day becomes night.
Cries of women, mothers become whimpers.
Moans of tortured men pierce the dark.
Aire of fear fills the air, thunder claps!
Arrogance is shaken from the Roman guard.
“Father, forgive them,” crosses the crowd,
Wondering fear of day-night continues,
Death arrives for one… so soon?
Three day mourning passes,
Guards tremble, seal is broken.
Empty tomb of fear and questions,
“Where have they taken Him?”
Woman, it is I, who foretold new life.
“Is it you Lord! ... My Lord!”
For disbelief He carried the wounds,
Nailed hands, feet, punctured
ribs.
(c) April 6, 2007 Roger W Hancock,
www.PoetPatriot.com
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Light’s
Invite
by Roger W Hancock
Sky bright, of sunlight;
Night’s
glow of starlight.
Truth leads in bright light.
Fight the plight of evil’s night,
Evil cites night’s fright;
Incites, indicts, night’s blight.
Listen not to night’s sprite,
Slighted lie to kite the night.
Rite of night; lies to spite.
Site your sight upon the Light;
The Wright who writes the light;
Delight, ignite . . . invite the Light.
(c) December 04, 2006 Roger W Hancock
www.PoetPatriot.com |
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Merry Bread
by Roger W Hancock
Feast upon the living bread,
Living Word is strength.
Suckling on the Word for milk,
Security within Christ’s love.
Chewing meat of living bread,
Strength of armor, battles come.
Baby steps to warrior run,
Maturity, become God’s son.
Of the Word must eat and drink,
Nourishment of soul and spirit.
His body, blood and word,
Weapons of a spirit fight.
Yield unto His might,
Joyful victory… be merry.
(c) December 11, 2006 Roger W Hancock
www.PoetPatriot.com
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His War
by Roger W Hancock
War beyond, the Wars of earth,
Enemy’s strength, beyond my own.
Beyond my
own, a greater strength,
of righteousness, I yield.
Battle fight, is not my own;
Within my own, I cannot win.
Battle tempest, to resist.
Victory lies… beyond, with Christ.
Surrender I, to greater strength,
Release my own, into God’s hands.
(c) November 19, 2006 Roger W Hancock
www.PoetPatriot.com
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Night’s Light
by Roger W
Hancock
When left with solitary
thought,
Silence as the night is dark.
Selfishness so deafening,
When thoughts not placed on God.
Thought on Christ a comfort,
Refuge from my fears.
Strength when meditation,
On Christ, not my concerns.
Petitions placed within his hands,
Now left in trust with Him.
My thought now free to worship,
Christ who knows my needs.
Singularities of thought,
in purity, my motives.
Silence of the night now loud,
With light from God who loves.
Copyright November 28, 2004, Roger W Hancock,
www.PoetPatriot.com
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Life’s Shelter
by Roger W Hancock
Wind currents gales blow,
Rain dampens current mood.
Flood currents ebb and flow,
Firm foundations we will stand.
The house will fall when built on sand,
Cling to the one who controls the blow.
The one who restricts the water’s flow,
He shelters from harsh rain.
Christ foundation cornerstone,
Carpenter of life.
In Him a house, on solid rock,
A shelter in life’s storms.
Wind currents gales blow,
Rain of light quickens soul.
Mood currents ebb and flow,
Stabilized on stone.
Copyright November 28, 2004, Roger W Hancock,
www.PoetPatriot.com
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Founding Liberation
by Roger W Hancock
Christian duty
worship,
Civilized foundation.
To Know to worship,
Father God; liberation.
Commitment to brethren,
Of church and society.
Liberty in spirit breeds,
Fellowship of freedom.
To know to love our God,
To know eternal life,
Brings a love of freedom,
Spills to social living.
Sacrifice gave liberty;
freedom from my sin.
Sacrifice of knowing men,
For social liberation.
Spiritual dichotomy:
Slavery’s submission,
Social liberation;
Internal free foundation.
Posses the spirit soul,
Obedience to foundations,
Of nation or in spirit,
Duty to each and all.
Evokes appreciation,
Cause my activism.
Duty to the living God,
Navigates society.
Copyright November
27, 2004, Roger W Hancock,
www.PoetPatriot.com
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Morning Crowed
by Roger W Hancock
Not knowing his inward self,
Apostle professed allegiance.
One who knows us better,
Foretold his lack of faith.
Then before the morning cry,
Early; before the cock-a-doodle.
“Woman I do not know Him”
“I am not who you say!”
“I’ve not been with Him!”
---Denial once,
------ Denial twice,
---------- Denial once more.
Night silence broken by…
The crowing of the cock.
Learn to know to listen,
Words spoken by our Lord,
Be brave, be bold,
--- Be not ashamed.
He died for you,
------ Do not deny…
Lest, the rooster crows.
Copyright November
28, 2004, Roger W Hancock,
www.PoetPatriot.com
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Vessel Me
by Roger W Hancock |
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Artesian well springs forth
nearby ,
Giving life to formless blob.
Wet, clumped together one among
all,
Pooled clay slowly shifting
among firm stone.
As the fields below the humans
harvest,
Time to time a lone being
gathers brothers.
This pool of clay becoming
smaller,
As years of muddled together
huddle.
Then pulled from the nothing
comfort,
Hillside wet with time shift
clay.
I find myself in a human’s cave,
Not made of rock or sod and
such.
Massage? Twisted, flattened,
ouch too hard,
Rolled, pushed, folded under,
think I not like.
Imperfections plucked before
beating starts,
Mist of moisture more pliable
mistreatment.
No pieces of stone or other
matter,
Yesterday not matter but so
smooth without.
Slammed again on rounded table,
Round to spin more gentle touch,
Yet still my shifting form
conforms,
Creative whims of strong firm
hands.
Round, spin round, this wheel
spin,
Hands squeeze with patient
pressure.
Comfort was my formless clay,
When left to nature’s timeless
ways.
Now formed against my shapeless
will,
Now formed against my selfish
nature.
Blob less form, rounded shape
now am,
From top presses in, hollows me
out.
Harvester now looks with a
glinting look,
I’ve not seen that look before,
warms my soul.
Set aside left alone no more
shifting shape,
Beside near lifelessness who’s
dried to bone
But dry, my thirst to parch, I
yearn,
For days back with my careless
form.
Now so dry this form is set,
Those hands now so gently lift.
Placed into a large earth
vessel,
Brothers whose forms now
strange.
Sun’s light not seen but feel
day’s heat,
Temperature increased than ever
known. |
So hot, so ever hot, yet still
dark,
I hear a pop and rattle but
cannot see.
Oh to be near the well I knew
before,
Oh, when left alone to nature’s
care.
Blistering hot another pop,
Whatever can that be?
Fearing melting soon to be,
Such trials never known before.
Blasting furnace heat subsides,
I hope this journey’s over.
Bursting light illuminates,
Brothers left in crumbled piles.
Lifted out and placed again,
On rounded harvest’s wheel.
Glinting look again, ‘tween
hands befall,
Newfound shiftless shape
conforms.
Moistness once my surface
sludge,
Rough to touch now inside out.
Color sludge a distant cousin?
Horse hair brush dabs a kiss.
So many kisses I would enjoy,
Color palate on my bare canvas.
Thought, molded form, enough,
Now formed face, a painted
vessel.
Short, reprieve, reminds early
form,
Eventual drying to colored
surface.
Then again that oven vessel,
Other brothers, different
colors.
Furnace blast on surface meld,
Visual art now fused to form.
When cool again the hands
arrive,
Removes again; brothers, me.
Lifted high by master’s hands,
His eyes shine a glint
reflection.
Placed among others in honored
rows,
Others tossed on broken pile.
New form, a new creature,
From molded clay become.
Now a vessel to be treasured,
When before I was just clay.
Copyright,
August 5, 2004 Roger W Hancock
www.PoetPatriot.com |
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Crazy Lie
by Roger W Hancock
Crazy?
I’m loosing my mind?
Perhaps it is
already lost.
Kept in line by an
unseen force.
Just a trigger pull
away?
One small gap, a
short pull,
in a weak minded
moment,
to take from life to
death.
an easy pull to end
it all.
Crazy thoughts bring
reality,
Nightmare triggers
unrest,
safety catch I
cannot release.
A safety net from
one above,
Who refuses to let
me go.
When I think on Him
alone,
The lie begins too
fade,
Mind not lost… I
am sane,
Crazy fades to
devil’s dark.
Roger W Hancock
Ó April 29, 2003
www.PoetPatriot.com
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Lord,
protect me in this mission,
As
I obey the orders set.
May
we be successful,
That
righteousness prevails.
Enemies
to confront,
Hate…
not be my motive.
May
it be in love, I perform,
Duty
to kill, hope to capture.
Give
me the strength,
Give
me the wisdom,
Help
my brother soldier,
Understand,
‘hell of war’,
Lies
beyond this life.
May
they, in my life see,
Hell’s
escape is You.
May
fear not be my guide,
But
courage of knowing You.
An
example I must be,
That
my brother sees…
Life
in You however short,
Gives
courage unsurpassed.
May
I be bold not foolish,
When
“Charge” the order given,
My
thoughts on You above.
I
pray, my prey knows too,
The
joy of knowing You.
Roger
W Hancock copyright May
23, 2003 www.PoetPatriot.com
Click for more poems of Veterans, War, Peace |
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Still to Learn
by Roger W
Hancock
Teach me to hear to know you Lord,
To learn your way I must learn to hear.
Teach me your stillness to know you Lord,
To learn your voice I must learn to be still.
Teach me your stillness that I may hear,
To know your love I must listen still.
Teach me your way to die to my way,
Obey to your ways and not to mine.
In your ways of Love joy peace,
Partaker of wine and bread to break.
I yield myself, my soul to take,
Your ways of righteous sovereignty.
Teach me, Teach me glorious Lord,
To learn to praise to glory you.
As I learn to hear your love stern voice,
Your ways, now my ways, I hear you Lord.
When still to listen mysteries reveal,
To hear your voice and not my own.
Path of Mountain cleft I gladly take,
Once I’ve learned to hear your grace.
Obedience to the voice . . . I listen,
I sit in stillness and learn to hear.
Copyright May
18, 2004 Roger W Hancock
www.PoetPatriot.com
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Secret of
Self
by Roger W Hancock
Within
your innermost being,
Where the real you be kept,
Truth’s secret from they and thee.
Out of reach of touch to see,
Heart’s veil rent, complacency.
White dove’s purity to show,
Reality, truth hid by lies.
Honesty to God and self,
Brings forth the real you.
Realizing His power above,
To see the sacred, where…
Others see only the common.
Relationship ‘tween thee and He,
Shines the original you,
When righteousness your being.
Roger W
Hancock
Ó
2-27-03 www.PoetPatriot.com
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DUNGEON
by Roger W Hancock
Shoved down,
down deeper,
Musty, cold dark, damp.
Swelled cranial pressure,
Seeking to keep some sanity.
Bar doors clanging open, shut;
Moaning, groans, pleas for help.
Reverb drumming silent deaf ears,
Seeking to keep some sanity.
Slap on face is welcomed,
Diversion to my misery?
Added pain is all it was,
Seeking to keep some sanity.
Moss covered mortared rock,
A cell in bondage kept.
My mind, my thoughts my own,
Seeking to keep some sanity.
Head banged on rock wall,
Jarred gray sloshing pain.
Feeble resistance increased,
Seeking to keep some sanity.
So close so
ever close, a thought,
Jumping would end the
misery.
Edge of crest, mentally
stand,
Seeking to keep some sanity.
Tortured of pleasure
denied,
Depression sets mind’s
unrest.
Resisting trigger easily
squeezed,
Seeking to keep some sanity.
Dungeon of oppression,
Torturer’s tools no
match.
Inflicted
pain in skull’s cell,
Seeking to keep some sanity.
Dungeon’s
depression mine,
Near insanity, my misery.
So close my mind’s divide,
Power of God, kept the sanity.
Roger
W Hancock Ó
April 12, 2003 www.PoetPatriot.com
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by
Roger W Hancock
Without God creation fails to those without a faith.
Evolution
is the god of the godless,
for
the man without, who knows not God's word.
Without
the alpha, explanations lack with words.
Depleted theory
to behold of hypothesis dearly held.
Evolution
is the god of his gospel,
for
the man who seeks, recognizing not the course.
Origins
to find, few distinguish varied courses.
Science with little fact a religion it becomes.
Evolution
is the faith of lore,
to
man's godless faith, believing in unproven thought.
Genesis
alone, reveals God in all the thoughts.
The man who has no hope when he is lifeless,
Has
a void in spirit and soul.
He
does not know and so he does not care,
of
a God who knows him, of a living God who cares.
Roger W Hancock © 3-3-2001
www.PoetPatriot.com
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Life
Abounds In Nature's Sound
by
Roger W Hancock
River flows past rocks
and logs, 'round the bend it rushes by;
the water flows it doesn't
stop, ever moving ceasing not.
Forking 'round rocks it
roars, babbling in the still it soars;
ever giving life to all,
it's cries, its soothing hydrous call.
Life
abounds in nature's sound.
Trees some long and some
so wide, branches reaching to the sky,
swaying to and fro to
stretch; providing shade and forest mulch.
Ruffling leaves softly
float; snapping goes the twigs that broke;
nutrition to the forest
floor; the leaf and branch gives gentle roar.
Life
abounds in nature's sound.
Birds they flit into the
sky, wings outstretched on wind they fly;
darting here and dodging
there; swiftly soaring through the air.
Flight long, wings do
flutter; beak tuneful as they twitter;
seeds, pollen, job of
sowing; sweetly humming, chirping, cooing.
Life
abounds in nature's sound.
Deer and elk and other
game, through woods they romp, run and play;
trouncing free through dense
meadow, the buck seeks pursuing doe.
Dashing through wooded
brush, thinning thickets as they rush;
nibbling, foliage
pruning back; neighing, mooing through the flat.
Life
abounds in nature's sound.
Eco systems so complex, what
power can withstand the flex?
Moons, planets, comets and
stars, what contains to bind them there?
Electrons, protons,
nucleus; God's power is marvelous.
Creation came by God's own
work, to make it so He gave His word.
God
abounds in His own sound.
Roger W Hancock © 3-3-2001 www.PoetPatriot.com
"Life Abounds in Nature's Sound"
is the PoetPatriot's
first attempt at a serious poem.
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Not
me but He
by Roger W Hancock
Good
to all, be my desire.
My
actions do betray my aim,
filthy
rags be my attire.
Though
I do, I cannot claim.
Feeding
poor, act of virtue,
heedless of
humanity.
Its
not of me for others do.
No not
me, but He in me.
Myself
yield, to those in need,
desire
not, to lift the lame.
Strength
be his, not mine indeed.
That
I've done, I cannot claim.
Though
I sit with folded hands,
not
from me the answers see.
Thoughts
get I a reprimand.
Not
of me, but He in me.
Word
of knowledge for renewal,
of
his praise I do exclaim.
Think
not that I be spiritual,
all
I do, I cannot claim.
Though
done with his anointing,
Great
deeds and words may be.
Inner
thoughts need overcoming,
'tis
not me, but He in me.
Inspiration comes
my way,
intelligence
does feign.
Humbleness
my pride betray,
what
I do, I cannot claim.
Everything
from God we gain,
talents,
thoughts, entirety.
All
I've done, I cannot claim,
it’s
not me, but He in me.
Roger
W Hancock © 3-3-2001 www.PoetPatriot.com
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by
Roger W Hancock
Once a
poem I did write,
of God
it did proclaim.
I sent
to one I thought would like,
empty
heart did show his shame.
A brash
and crass response it was,
to me it
came a great surprise.
From
family came revile worse,
than any
stranger's criticize.
One who
balks so much at God,
has
little hope the life he walks.
His
introspect must show the sod,
to cover
guilt, his darkness talks.
The only
real escape can be,
that
grace restore, by sacrifice.
God's blood
shed for us to see,
to
abandon sin is paradise.
Roger W Hancock © 3-3-2001 www.PoetPatriot.com
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Not
Free
by
Roger W Hancock
Nothing
is ever free,
though
to you it be.
Somewhere,
somehow,
someone
paid.
Roger W Hancock © 6-15-2001 www.PoetPatriot.com
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Life
Lessons
by
Roger W Hancock
Nine months formed to
infant be,
from the womb a promise
shown.
The day my parents first
saw me,
would they see the
lesson shown?
Into life that day of
birth,
experiences to learn.
A lifelong journey was
brought forth,
would I heed and try to
learn?
God is shown in
everything.
I
learn to crawl and then to walk,
from birth the wonders
showing.
Learning, as I listen to
the babbling talk.
Confidence begins to
build,
walk, run, and climb,
with no fear.
Mom does worry, Dad
takes pride,
wrong to right is
learned with tears.
Oh, to be a grown up
now… I thought,
confidence now over
formed.
Independence
sought, with little thought,
the wisdom of my parents
scorned.
Now an adult I am by
age,
my actions show I’m
still a child.
I’m on my own, as
trials wage,
with help from parents
now reconciled.
Throughout this life
some lessons fail,
my parents kept their
vigilance.
They loved me even
through the pain,
when I rebelled in
disobedience.
How much pain would God
erase?
His love to give,
forgiveness done.
When we seek to ask his
grace.
God gave us, Himself…
His son.
Roger W Hancock ©
5-23-2001 www.PoetPatriot.com
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Epitaph
by
Roger W Hancock
To
be born first then life to death,
what
is life from birth to grave?
Living
a life of death or a life of life,
in
lasting life or fading death?
When
a life is lived in death,
what
a waste of life to live.
Iniquities
in selfishness;
life
as such does end in death.
When
that life is lived in life,
what
a gain is life to live.
Righteousness
in selflessness;
such
life lived, come death is life.
What
will tell of our life when gone?
To
what purpose to what end?
Epitaph
may last on stone.
But
what of life when all is gone?
Roger W Hancock © 5-24-2001 www.PoetPatriot.com
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Ever
Victorious
by
Roger W Hancock
Yesterday
is tomorrow but all is now,
time
is timeless unto the Lord.
In
linear time we live lives now,
through
life we struggle, onward ford,
Jesus
is the same last, this and morrow day.
He’s
ever there you cannot not hide.
To
the path of the righteous way,
cleave
unto Him to be your guide.
He
has, does now and will life preserve,
commit
unto the everlasting one.
Sins
that were now price reserved,
the
war against death the victor won.
Death
till the end polluted life lived;
life
evermore when death is dead.
Lifeblood
sacrificed that you may live,
victorious
life in the Christ that bled.
Roger W Hancock © 6-2-2001
www.PoetPatriot.com
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F
A I T H
by
Roger W Hancock
God
is there in everything,
in
all the good and evil things.
When
all goes well He guides us through,
when
evil assails He carries us through.
We
must trust in the Son of God,
He
knows and is the best for us.
We
must trust in our faith in Christ,
unmerited
faith from God to us.
He
will not fail He cannot lie.
all
we need is to trust God’s will.
From
His word comes the map of life,
in
our lives His faith instill.
Life
be great or life be damned,
trials
prevail when our faith is weak.
Faith
in God though trials rage,
peace
in all when His Spirit Speaks.
Pain
of heart His spirit to sooth,
yield
our will to the Spirit’s move.
A
little faith avails God’s power,
victorious
life in Him the Father.
Roger W Hancock © 8-26-2001
www.PoetPatriot.com
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Headache
by
Roger W Hancock
My head it pounds, it throbs.
Dull or sharp the pain it hurts.
Self-pity brings the negative.
Minor problems become large.
Positive takes second place.
It is so easy to think of self.
Depression comes within the ache.
Hopelessness is magnified.
Loneliness within the pain,
with sluggish thoughts of suicide.
There is no power within one’s self,
to fight the hopelessness inside.
Within your heart the power resides,
If within the Christ abides.
To conquer darkness with his light,
one must turn from dark to light.
Depression fades from dark to light.
to fight the darkness deep inside,
keep your thoughts on Christ who died.
His life resurrects the light inside.
Roger W Hancock © 11-13-2001 www.PoetPatriot.com
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Thanksgiving
by
Roger W Hancock
At
Plymouth Rock the pilgrims land.
The
first winter tough, over half had died.
New
found friends of the Indians made,
the
Wampanoags generosity provided aid.
Seeds
were sown, harvest reaped by hand,
the
tribe teaching ways to work the land.
Fish
to richen earth, for the corn to grow,
cooperation
proof for a great land to show.
Invite
of the tribe to show them care,
who
came with their own food to share.
Living
together that first experiment,
shows
it possible, gave encouragement.
Thanksgiving
for the harvest filled,
thankfulness
to God who multiplies.
Their
gratitude for having survived,
thanks
for friends and God’s supplies.
Holiday
tradition now in America,
turkey,
dressings, and all the trimmings.
Family,
friends, employment all,
we
give our thanks to God for life.
Roger W Hancock © 11-22-2001
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Pray for Me
by
Roger W Hancock
God
knows the circumstances,
God is in control,
He knows our every need.
We need not know the matter,
but to hear thy brother's cry,
for heart-felt prayer to intercede.
Prayer to Him; for us did bleed,
the price was paid before the need,
up on the cross of shame.
For up upon that rugged tree,
for
you and me, our failings,
shame to die, victory came.
Roger W Hancock © 1-27-2002
www.PoetPatriot.com
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Hope from
Hopelessness
by
Roger W Hancock
It is from within my God
that ableness to
overcome;
any grief or trying
time,
that makes this life so
sublime.
The woefulness in
hopelessness,
that one might in
bondage be.
Can strangle the
happiness
the victory for light to
see.
Gloom of darkness in the
soul,
a lie of one who would
destroy.
He seeks your soul to
control,
lies persuade your fear
employ.
Darkness thick all
hopelessness,
why is life worth
living?
The pain so great in
lifelessness,
what’s the use to go
on living?
There can be victory,
greater gain,
a Love to fill that soul
within.
Turn to Christ who felt
your pain,
who died for you to
cleanse from sin.
Jesus Christ the Lamb
sacrificed,
whipped and stripped,
carried cross.
From broken heart he
cried for you;
To cross the void, He
will carry you through.
I have been there so I
do know,
I feel the wretchedness
inside.
I’ve been given from
God the Hope,
to know there’s more
of Life inside.
Roger W Hancock
© 2-02-2002 www.PoetPatriot.com
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Morning (Part One)
by
Roger W Hancock
Morning
comes I live again,
a purpose
waits for dawn.
Dark still
lingers to submit
to sun’s
light upon dew lawn.
Chance to
start a new life,
this dawning
of new day.
Troubles
past solvency,
new thought
shows the way.
Crispness,
fresh morning air,
invigorates
fresh optimism.
The darkness
near gone of…
last day’s
decay, of pessimism.
Roger W Hancock © 3-19-2002
www.PoetPatriot.com
Morning (Part Two)
by
Roger W Hancock
Life anew, in
righteousness,
Let your darkness die.
Allow light of morning
Christ,
to rid your heart of
Satan’s lies.
Do not follow your own
heart,
lest your dark to lead
astray.
Follow only the heart of
God,
His Son died to show the
way.
For the darkness of your
sin,
Christ the Lord does
morn.
First begin, confess
your sin,
in Christ new life,
reborn.
Roger W Hancock © 3-19-2002
www.PoetPatriot.com
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Angels
Angles
by
Roger W Hancock
The
day man’s towers fell, tears fell.
The
day the angels cried, angels played the angles.
Some
say, “Where was God?” they do not see.
Thousands
more not there that day,
the
day the tears on towers fell.
Many
did not fly that day,
the
planes were light with load.
Brave
men on one flight were placed
to
save our nation’s throne.
Angels
may have cried that day,
elated
joy for those now saved.
A
second chance to live God’s ways.
Others,
angels guide to ‘Judgment Day’,
forever
gain or eternal pain.
Ready
or not their time had come,
Tears
for those who’s gain is pain.
Greater
joy for those saved in death to eternal life.
They
are the ones, now in paradise.
Roger W Hancock © 9-21-2002
www.PoetPatriot.com
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Angels
Are ...
by Roger W Hancock
Some say angels are the dearly
departed,
but the dearly departed they guide
to judgment.
Some say Angels are good demons,
rather, demons are bad angles with
Lucifer fallen.
Angels are not beloved pet animals,
Angels, God's messengers protectors of
creation.
Angels, servants of the master potter,
Serving God in serving those redeemed
by the Son.
Roger W Hancock copyright 11-24-2002
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Little White
by Roger W Hancock
Small or large still stay the same,
Long or short, yet still a shame.
The blame you claim your aim,
Truth defamed, exposed in flame.
Little white, fiddle trite
Concealed light creates blight,
Slight deceit when recite,
Incites, invite… death indict.
Truth is truth, takes no sleuth,
Reveal fib’s fame, of uncouth youth.
Word of truth to cleanse the mouth,
Lies will die, against truth’s worth.
(c) Roger W Hancock 2-26-06
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Prime
by Roger W Hancock
A friend dies for a friend,
with out a second thought.
Mother tries to save the child,
instinct drives her actions.
Father dives to save the son,
Duty to protect the family.
Strangers die saving others,
The moral thing to do.
God had sent his son to die,
For the sake of righteousness.
Christ the Son stood instead,
Though Humanity betrayed.
God gave His Son, Himself,
The sacrifice of prime.
(c)
Roger W Hancock 2-26-06
www.PoetPatriot.com
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Three Love
by Roger W Hancock
Love the Father
Life’s first author,
Who gave His Son,
Himself for us.
Spirit Truth,
Three in one.
Love the Son,
Author’s light,
With the Father,
Who is the Father,
Holy Spirit
All in one.
Love the Spirit,
Word’s first life,
Father’s truth,
Son’s delight.
Comforts this,
Created one.
(c) Roger W Hancock 2-26-06
www.PoetPatriot.com
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Better Than Others?
by Roger W Hancock
Pond scum of the local slum,
Unscrupulous lord of serfs.
Oil, grease, decayed food,
Floating atop, a stagnant pool.
Narrow, darkly lit, alleys, lurk,
Scoundrels, rapists, murderers.
What makes me, much more than these?
Which sin more worthy, over others?
What man is better, than any of these?
When life belongs, to a greater other?
Unworthy within, blessings given,
Undeserved, the love received.
Yet within the heart of God,
Solace love within forgives.
This unworthy wretched slime,
Cleansed, by sacrifice of love.
(c) Roger W Hancock 2-26-06
www.PoetPatriot.com
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Beside Me
by Roger W Hancock
Christ lives with us, every day,
In each and every way.
When I’m sad he comforts me,
His righteous words I see.
Depression lurks, shadow’s night
Dissipates in Son’s light.
Morning passing parent’s death,
Comfort in Spirit’s breath.
Stress of a work day’s service,
Calm, when
on Him I rest.
Temptation within my sight,
Life’s plight subdued by might.
Prince of peace, walks every day,
Beside me, lest I stray.
(c) 09-02-06 Roger W Hancock www.PoetPatriot.com
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Living Death
by Roger W Hancock
Oh, the wench of wretchedness,
narcissistic life she lived.
Sitting at the open well,
Tears for her many mussy sins.
Through the drudge of selfish wants,
Lived her life without much thought,
Of Him who died that she might live,
In Him; living well of forgiving life.
The man so proud of accomplishments,
Does not cheat, lie, or steal.
Wretched pride undoes his deeds,
Unaware of his one lone, vile sin.
Stealth of sin within each life;
Devolves the soul away from God.
Obedience to Son sacrificed,
Cleans the stench of living death.
Please the Lord in righteousness,
Disobedience brings eternal wrath.
God forgives sin, fellowship within;
Spurn His life, death will be your gain.
No sin fine or course escapes,
Need for cleansing sacrifice.
Simplicity,
evading death,
Yield ones life into God’s love.
(c) 10-14-06
Roger W Hancock,
www.PoetPatriot.com
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