God's Treasures

I'm greedy for the treasures from on high,
I have God's love, but somehow I want more,
for them I'll work and pray or beg or buy,
I won't just knock, I'll pound upon the door.
If I could get away with it, I'd steal
those precious jewels from the bank above,
and stash the timeless spiritual loot that's real,
to funnel it to everyone I love.
I seek the secret finest gold and search
for things that thieves can't break or take or trace,
the sacred riches mostly mined in church,
each gem of them bright polished by God's grace.
Please, Christ, give me the key, a clumsy clod,
to open up the treasure chest of God.

                                     -- by Pete Voelz      3/09

God Here

O God, when no one’s there, You're always there,
when everyone is far away, You're near,
when no one hears, You still can hear my prayer,
when all the rest are gone, You’re always here.
When I need help, Your help You always bring,
You fly to dry my eye when I must cry,
You offer me enough of everything,
I know You will be there when I must die.
I sense You closest when we are alone,
I know You deepest when You speak to me,
You take away my fear of the unknown,
forgiving all my sins, You set me free.
Our closeness, Lord, I feel will be complete
when I see You in everyone I meet.

                          -- by Pete Voelz          6/09

Colorado Dove

No cowboys sport their spurs like Columbines:
the proud state flower Rocky Mountain Blue
by mountain meadows, cliffs and ancient mines
distends to drink of Colorado dew.
The Common Wild Canadian Columbine's
five scarlet and yellow petals droop and nod,
as bee or hummingbird dips down and dines
in three-inch nectar spurs stretched up to God.
The yellow hybrid Longspur Columbines
have eight-inch spurs that hang as petals rise;
the Meadowrue, King of the Meadow shines,
as its pink tassel-like blossoms tantalize.
Columbine's from a Latin word--for dove,
a bloom--quite like that peaceful bird--for love.

                              -- by Pete Voelz          2002

Less Afraid of Love

I wish that I were less afraid of love,
to let it in, to feel it, and to know it,
to live what I’ve been always dreaming of,
to let it out, to share it, and to show it.
Love often comes, love need not be so rare,
love starts, love lives, love does not need to end,
love grows, love spreads, love nurtured’s always there,
for family, children, lover, God and friend.
Love dribbles over time, don’t let it slide,
love must be challenged, love must take the risk,
love lurks, love lures, don’t let it run and hide,
write boldly love--without an asterisk.
I freely choose to put love into action,
by loving, I will give love lots of traction.

                      -- by Pete Voelz        12/27/11

Flying Without Wings

I cannot see you, Angel,
but I know that you are there;
you watch me in the dark of night
and in the sunlight's glare.

You look at me from pictures,
and in books I've met you too,
so even if I tried I couldn't
get away from you.

I've heard a lot about you
from the people that I trust;
I can't help but put my faith in you,
and so I know I must.

The Bible tells us there are lots
of angels just like you,
and Jesus vows you guard me,
so I know it must be true.

He says you stand in heaven
before His Father's face
and pray for little ones like me
to share in all His grace.

God's love entrusts me here to you,
and so I have to care
enough to show my gratitude
by greeting you in prayer.

So I pray to you, dear Angel,
when I see the morning light,
that you guide and guard me all day long
and when I sleep at night.

I'd recognize your face
if I could see it, so it seems,
for once on Guardian Angels Eve
I met you in my dreams.

So when I try to sense you here
but cannot find a trace,
I'll just set my sights on heaven
where I'll see you face to face.

We'll become the best of friends
while the angel choir sings,
and forever we together
will go flying without wings.

           -- by Pete Voelz         1999

God Is So Great

God is so great, what heroes He inspires,
for once you know one, how great is a saint,
how great God's Church, that such great saints it sires,
how petty, silly those who say God ain’t.
How great God's Son, Who came to save us all,
Who suffered, died, then rose and conquered death,
Who opened heaven's gate closed by the Fall,
Who loves us so He gave us His last breath.
How great God's Holy Spirit Who sanctifies,
giving God's grace to all in their own way,
offering the gift of faith before each dies,
helping each soul to heaven every day.
O God, so great, yet by some so reviled,
I'll take and give Your love, Your little child.

                               -- by Pete Voelz        4/09

(Dedicated to the famous Christopher Hitchins, who wrote:
“God Is Not Great” and who died a few weeks ago, 12/11.)

God's Pristine Routine

O God, original and ever new,
with routine, when we meet, always pristine,
like crisp new dollar bills, You crackle true,
and being with You never is routine.
We’re busiest when thinking all alone,
so too with You my mind is ever racing,
inspiring me, You make Your thoughts my own,
and in my soul, my ways Yours keep displacing.
But You don’t rest, O God, You want some action,
encouraging me, provoking me to move,
Your only force, the power of Your attraction,
my thoughts and words, You want my deeds to prove.
O pristine Lord, with routine never old,
freely I follow You as I am told.

                                  -- by Pete Voelz     12/21/11

All of Pete’s published poems are on
pmvoelz.blogspot.com

A Birthday Cake for Jesus

My Mom would bake a birthday cake
for Christmas Eve and Day
to set before the manger door
where baby Jesus lay.

What He'd not taste we wouldn't waste
cuz we wolfed it down ourselves,
except a piece that we'd release
for Santa and his elves.

But then I thought what Jesus taught--
'tis better to give than take,
so for Christmas cheer I'll make Him here
His very own birthday cake.

I won't make nice with the sugar and spice
and frosting that we eat--
no, it has to be a specialty,
a more spiritual kind of treat.

I'll cut eight shares to fit eight prayers
with parts of the manger scene,
and each piece will be a gift from me,
to match all with what they mean.

The first piece to make is of carrot cake
for the stable and the manger,
protecting Jesus with a prayer of good wishes
to show I'm really no stranger.

The next to bake is a jello cake
for the Christmas star so bright,
a thankful prayer to the baby there
for His coming this holy night.

The third so nice--a chocolate slice
for the fire to keep Him warm,
petitions of mine like clothes divine,
swaddling His tiny form.

Then a share I'll cut of banana nut
for the donkey and the ox,
in different ways our prayers of praise
ring out to the coming flocks.

Because the fifth one--a marbled bundt--
is for the shepherds who kneel in awe,
and their lambs will greet with a reverent bleat
the Little Lamb of God in the straw.

An angel food cake will make them quake
to angelic hymns outpoured;
and with a glorious song the angel throng
will glorify the Lord.

For number seven--German chocolate heaven--
like frankincense, gold and myrrh
from kings of three to a king so wee--
a majestic prayer of honor.

And then for the last a delicious repast
of strawberry shortcake sweet,
with Mary and Joseph a prayer of love
makes the birthday cake complete.

But a cake, it's true, has frosting too,
made up of tasty beads,
formed in a ring of celestial icing,
a rosary of good deeds.

On each Hail Mary a red raspberry
for acts of obedience,
with Our Father strips of chocolate chips
and Glory Be peppermints.

Then I will light some candles bright
for all of the sins I've done,
and to show that He has forgiven me,
Jesus blows out every one.

And I request the angels blest
to let baby Jesus wake,
so He'll smile to see the gift from me--
His spiritual birthday cake.

-- by Pete Voelz     1998

No Trembling

Why don’t I tremble when I talk to God?
He made the universe, the stars, the earth,
to shake in fear of Him should not seem odd,
Who set my soul and self before my birth.
Yet He’s a personal God that I address,
Who holds me in His palm with tenderest care,
Who asks that I His Godliness confess,
and finally His divinity to share.
He wants me personally Himself to know,
He orders me Him personally to love,
He hopes that I will personally serve Him so
He personally takes me to heaven above.
Why should I so in fear and trembling be
with One Who’s, oh, so personal with me?

                     -- by Pete Voelz      12/23/11

The Trillium Trinity

The Trillium Trinity Flower has three parts,
as live three Persons in the Trinity.
The Painted Trillium flashes red blazed hearts
inside its snow white petals' fleur de lis.
Each Trillium's three parts has three equal sites--
three petals, three leaves and three sepals too.
From large White Trilliums to the small Dwarf Whites,
three trinities in one great triple crew.
If Nodding Trilliums dangle 'neath their leaves,
and Drooping Trilliums lean and almost nod,
the Trillium Luteum's petal never grieves,
but stretches, gold and sweet, right up to God.
O God, You shower this Trinity Flower with threes
so we can see Your three in Thee with ease.

                               -- by Pete Voelz      2003

Faith and Miracles

When God makes me a little miracle,
my faith is strengthened for His next demand;
one first believes in them on principle,
then God does some--as much as one can stand.
Each time He sends a sign, my faith grows deeper,
then more and greater wonders I receive,
but with each one, the price grows ever steeper,
the more I see, the more I must believe.
God’s not outdone in generosity,
Christ did His miracles to really show
He was God then to those and now to me,
so I’d not just believe, but really know.
The miracles boost faith as their reward,
and then more miracles You send me, Lord.

                          -- by Pete Voelz     12/20/11

Knowing God

Since You, O God, know everything of me,
how much down here can I, Lord, know of You?
You’ve charted out to heaven our destiny,
and given us a book to guide us true.
You’ve left us with sufficient Revelation,
enough to know Your love and how to serve,
to know You in Your Son, His Incarnation,
Your Church He founded to our faith preserve.
There’s more in quiet prayer that’s so insightful,
when You converse with us with whispering voice,
and tell us of Yourself in ways delightful,
to know and love You better and rejoice.
O Spirit, I don’t have to fly to college,
to be inspired by all Your Godly knowledge.

                               -- by Pete Voelz      12/19/11

Galloping Gilias

The Gilia Flower gallops in the West.
(How many mustangs gobble up its blossom?)
It covers mountains--hillside, slope and crest.
(The Skyrocket Scarlet Gilia is awesome.)
The Downy Gilia desert sentinels
(in red, blue, pink, white, purple, orange or yellow)
have pentagon petals shaped like tubes or bells
(its rough stem makes it quite a sticky fellow).
The sixty kinds plus new varieties
(especially the Gilia called Prickly),
adapt to newer habitats with ease
(as Gilias create new hybrids quickly).
When God made galloping Gilias He smiled
(so fast His Gospel spread, though not so wild).

                             -- by Pete Voelz       2002

Infinity God

What does it mean that God is infinite?
What does it mean God loves me infinitely?
Just like the expanding stars He does not quit,
God’s love expands unto infinity.
God did not make me for the universe,
instead He made the universe for me,
and gave me power to make it better or worse,
with strength to use and a will to choose so free.
If God attends me constantluy up there,
He loves who He created me to be,
He coaxes me to visit Him in prayer,
and leads me to the heaven He made for me.
O infinite God Who loves with infinite love,
let’s be the team You’re always dreaming of.

                           -- by Pete Voelz      12/18/11

Love's Risk

Each kind of love involves a risk we take,

 the child who loves her parents risks correction,

what parents do not love kids for their sake,

yet risk with discipline their child's rejection?

Who has not risked in youth a broken heart

and felt the pain of risk when love’s rejected,

or has not risked for truth the tearing apart

a friendship that could not stand being corrected?

Love is a risk enough without the sex,

to risk the heart with lust is risk too much;

a blind love goes beyond what love expects,

for true love, it’s enough for hearts to touch.

Bad risks end mostly bad, good risks can win

when love sails far above the love of sin.

                     -- by Pete Voelz        12/16/11

Sudden Patience

My heart fails when I see Your sudden ways,

O patient God, Who strings along our life,

then strikes to bring a quick end to our days,

and cut the cord of life with death's sharp knife.

When, patient God, You take someone so young,

do they know the condition they are in,

the slender thread by which their life is hung

is cut, like Hamlet's dad, with every sin?

Sometimes God takes the young before they're old

enough to have the time to sin much more,

they also miss their chance for deeds of gold,

O patient God, mysterious to the core.

Let me be patient with You and Your care,

but most, like Boy Scouts, Lord, let me prepare.

                                      -- by Pete Voelz      2/10

Soul Crowd

How deep's my soul, that it can hold God too,
sometimes I think my soul cannot hold me,
it's not just time and past my soul can do,
nor that I sail beyond the stars and sea.
What's there and here that space and time can't hold?
What's then and now that only souls can share?
Some heights and depths originally ensouled
my heart explores without a then or there.
God's whispering breeze can silently steal in,
to plant the infinite seedlings of His love,
and sweep away the cedars of my sin,
to bring to real all I am dreaming of.
Go easy, God, with all You have allowed,
for You and I and my soul make a crowd.

                            -- by Pete Voelz      3/09

Meniscus Hibiscus

Preserve the uninhibited hibiscus  

to propagate proboscises prodigious  

in prodigal profusion so proliferous  

with showy shrubs of evergreen deciduous  

and rosy buds of velveteen floriferous.

Observe its large pink swanky Swamp Rose Mallow

share East Coast shores of brackish marshes shallow

with its white cousin Crimson-eyed Rose-Mallow

whose red or purple center so unsallow

is sim'lar to pink Halberd-leaved Rose-Mallow

in Midwest swamps or lawns or land left fallow.

Some forty cultivars of family Mallow

from China to U.S. by lake and hollow

include the Eastern Europe plant marshmallow

whose root first made confection sweet to swallow.

Conserve your haste, unhesitant hisbiscus;

your florid blossoms flit so fast they miss us;

your quick quotidian quota so capricious

denies our eyes your stamen's size ambitious

that three-inch crimson filament officious

with yellow anthers clinging avaricious 

as at the tip its five red styles rise vicious,

their dull dark scarlet centers so malicious

with short pink hairy borders raised to kiss us.

Reserve some time to scan the hibiscus petal,

when not rose, yellow, blue or other mettle,

the five bright orange-red two-inch wide ones settle

fused at the center like some scarlet kettle, 

their trumpet edges spread as if to peddle

 a song of long life strong like thin tong metal,

yet curved out meniscus-bent stamen and petal,

they last one day then roll up like some nettle.

Deserve we any more than this hibiscus?

Our lives, to us so thick, are thin, not viscous,

as we puff out ourselves bent so meniscus,

about as far as we can throw a discus.

Then in one lifetime's day sunset delicious

arrives to roll us up and then dismiss us.

Serve me so well no flower more than hibiscus,

each day they cause me pause and so judicious.

God made us the hibiscus repetitious

with beauty great but also so auspicious,

reminding us how fleeting are our wishes.

                        -- by Pete Voelz     2000

Long Dark Prayer

Christ, let me wash Your feet with my sad tears,
and gently dry them with my long dark prayer,
may I stop up Your ears from all the jeers
by flooding them with words of love and care.
Lord, let me close Your eyes before You die,
and bring Your sight and soul a shred of peace,
pull out the thorns and wipe Your red brow dry,
and bind Your side to make the blood flow cease.
I’ll kiss the clots from both Your wounded hands,
then gently pull the nails from out the cross,
and wrap Your cleaned up corpse with linen bands,
then bear away Your bones and mourn my loss.
Christ, for my sins Your blood You did outpour,
I’d do all this if I’d but sin no more.

                         -- by Pete Voelz       12/13/11

Master Trust

Why did God put me here instead of there?

Why did He make me now instead of then?

He could have made me any time or where,

why here and now is way beyond my ken.

Why was I born to Mom and Dad at last 

instead of all these people at the mall?

Why not in China or some time long past?

All part of our gross ignorance since the Fall.

God knows the answer to these whys of mine,

the purpose of my life that He has planned.

Can I trust in His mystery divine?

Shall I just put my faith in His strong hand?

Lord, You’re the Master of this mystery,

I’ll trust You and Your mastery of me.

                    -- by Pete Voelz        12/12/11

The Wax Begonia's Face

The wax begonia makes a face at me,
thrusts up its crimson shiney forehead wide,
sticks out its full red tongue for all to see,
as if to say I've nothing here to hide.
Out juts its stringy yellow stamen-nose,
a pair of pinkish broad-stretched squinty eyes.
What fearsome feelings 'neath this face repose,
what thoughts behind its all-defiant guise?
The bold begonia's face veils mystery,
as if some personality lurks buried there.
Might not all pretty flowers' faces be
a secret mask to us all unaware?
Just as the human face like some black hole
can mute the love and beauty of our soul.

                     -- by Pete Voelz         2000

Son Sun, Mom Moon

Son Sun, Mom Moon

Christ is the sun, and Mary is the moon,
we cannot see at day without the sun,
if Mary rules at night, Christ rules at noon,
for light at night, the moon’s the only one.
There is no challenge from the moon for light,
we sleep by night, we do our work by day,
but Mary’s moon reflects Christ’s sun at night,
and by His light, she shows at night the way.
‘Tis Christ the light we worship and adore,
her, by His light, we honor and revere,
His shining light shows us the way before,
when things get dark, she leads to Him down here.
To Christ, the Son, through Mary is our prayer,
we know our Mother’s moonlight leads us there.

                           -- by Pete Voelz      12/10/11

(Inspired by the full eclipse of the moon early this morning in
Thailand and here the beautiful full moon shining in my window.)

Personal Rose

A photograph of a rose
may not decompose,
but it will, I propose, son,
not do much for your nose.

For just seeing it rosier--
go ask the gardener, son--
it is best, you can be sure,
to meet a rose in person.

And to feel its curveture,
or get some scents of its allure, son,
don't go to the photographer,
just approach it in person.

So if it's really amour,
a picture would only worsen
what it means to your paramour
to meet roses in person.

   -- by Pete Voelz      2000

Ingredients of Care

God has all the ingredients of care,
He has a great infinity of love,
His Providence, providing everywhere,
has all the care mankind is dreaming of.
God cared for me or I'd have never been,
His gift of life is proof how much He cared,
He still loves me as much as He did then,
a home for me in heaven he has prepared.
God's always cared for me, He always will,
He's given me the same capacity,
no matter how I sin, He loves me still,
His mercy and forgiveness shelter me.
O God, all Your ingredients of care
with others, please, I pray You let me share.

                            -- by Pete Voelz       4/07

My Envies

The lilac swims in beauty,
its fragrance fills the air,
but it is stuck,
though with some luck
it might help someone care.

The lark looks a bit duller,
it doesn't smell so sweet,
but it can fly
the endless sky
and sing the day complete.

The shark claims all the ocean,
it grows to mamouth size,
it sees the sea
then looks at me
with those omnivorous eyes.

The fish and foul and flowers
seem fruitful, fresh and free,
still I discern
that they in turn
are envious of me.

For nature has decreed to end
their fleeting life so free,
while from kind heaven
I've been given
a whole eternity.

    -- by Pete Voelz      2002

God's Close Love

God’s love means He’s more near than far away;
it’s true He tends for fourteen billion years
the universe He made in just a day,
but He tends more my soul when it’s in tears.
Our world is just a toy with which He plays,
but never does He toy with my poor soul,
especially does He care for one who prays,
He takes my broken self and makes it whole.
The world and time will pass, His words will stay,
I too will stay in His infinity;
He hears and gently weighs each word I say,
He’ll pass up everything He’s made but me.
Finally will pass my sins, my feet of clay,
if I myself don’t stray too far away.

                      -- by Pete Voelz      12/6/11

Open-ended trust

I ask You, Lord, what am I going to do?
I need Your help, I come to You in prayer,
I’m hoping You can tell me something new,
how I can somehow get from here to there.
I pray You, Lord, what would You have me do?
It’s not I need to follow Your commands,
I’ll go on pause and put my trust in You,
instead of doing, I’ll place it in Your hands.
If I do everything You want me to,
and leave it open-ended, You know best,
but pray a lot You help me muddle through,
I’ll trust You’ll find a way I pass this test.
“Let go, let God,” I have been taught to say,
so I will trust You to show me the way.

                       -- by Pete Voelz      12/5/11

Tickseed Stars

The tickseed, bright perennial, comes each year,

its yellow lanceolate blossoms small,

some spring to early summer will appear,

while others wait for mid-summer to fall.

Both wild and garden varieties can be found,

good for floral arrangements or outside;

despite abundant flowers eight petals around,

its deep green bushy foliage cannot hide.

It likes the hot dry season and full sun,

and so needs lots of H2O to grow;

its hardy and free-flowering florets run

acclimatized to an East Coast tableau.

If sunflowers spread their large gold blooms by day,

the small sunflower-like tickseed colors flame

against their olive boughs in ricochet

and put nocturnal twinkling stars to shame.

Does God gaze at our dark and fallen world

to relish sparkling tickseed souls aglow

with all their virtuous beauty full unfurled,

a coreopsis verticillata show?

                         -- by Pete Voelz        2003

No Lovelier Love

No Lovelier Love

There is no lovelier way to love than Yours,
of all the ways we choose to love down here;
You, God, are love, and all Your love endures,
so it's Your love that I shall volunteer.
If I must love, let it be like Yours, Lord,
and I must love if I'm to really live,
with love like Yours, I never will get bored,
for Your exciting love I'll love to give.
I choose to love, yet love at Your command,
for what is truly love but to obey?
You planned my love, yet too I love unplanned,
for love obeyed is unplanned ricochet.
O Lord, I live to love just like You do,
for I shall love no lovelier love than You.

                                  -- by Pete Voelz      2/10

Flower Colors

"My luve is like a red, red rose . . ."  -- Robert Burns

I wonder who assigned red to the rose,
the blackeyed Susan's black, the bluebell's blue?
Whence dawns the white while wild the whitebeam grows,
the pale pink gloss that paints the moss pink's hue?

Does not the yellow trumpet swell her color
from yellow insects who would win her nectar,
like some firefly just dropping by to gull her
she traps to bite before it might suspect her?

So how do other floral colors flood
from similar seeds with equal needs to grow?
Do tiger lillies kill to swill hot blood
while Easter lilies feast on chilly snow?

And so what if a flower turns different hues,
the stem and plumes grow green while blooms blow blue?
Why does the parrot tulip share and fuse
its yellow leaves with red-streak sleeves askew?

Do blooms galore arise before their name?
Or come to exist after their christening?
Do lady killers plot to fill their fame?
Or dew drops list their birth by glistening?

How does God settle on a petal's blush?
Does He let Mother Nature smother all,
or, God-like, draw His artist's awesome brush
and paint each particle through art so small?

So where do all these myriad colors start?
You can't get water from a pot that's dry.
The bloodroot's bud bursts from His flooding heart,
the goldenrod's bright glow shows God's own eye.

The orchid's joyful purple royalty,
the lemon lily's yellow spilling light,
the bugle's boyish blue for loyalty,
the Christmas rose with pure clothes so white.

These color qualities are all of One
Who paints His clever spectrum everywhere,
 a riot of zestful dyes and festive fun  
 that beam out proud and scream out loud His care.


With cherry plum He plants hope from above,
  the sweet pea's charm to help us harmonize,
the crimson glory vine the more to love,
the bird of paradise our fairest prize.

You see God there with utmost care at work
to shape the belladonna's shell and tone,
the monkshood's power, the monkey flower's smirk,
the crosswort's love reflective of His own.

The laurel's white, the buttercups bright, and more,
the myrtle's blue, the lilac's too we see,
the honeydew He's willing to outpour,
and love-lies-bleeding's red all shed so free.

You wonder Who assigned red to His rose,
whose molecules all His own rules control?
A rainbow new, His prism beauty flows
like God's great grin from deep within His soul.

                    -- by Pete Voelz       2001

Free to Love

God wants our love and so He made us free,
our freedom thus makes no sense otherwise;
this freedom often seems a mystery,
except when love and sin we exercise.
Love is our use of freedom to obey,
when we, as free, choose to respect God's law;
if not, we sin, and there's a price to pay--
that evil comes when we lose fear and awe.
For knowledge of God's greatness makes us fear,
just as to know His goodness makes us love;
a healthy fear to not hurt One so dear,
and love that brings His favor from above.
Such drama shows that freedom flows both ways,
though more is won from God by one who prays.

                                  -- by Pete Voelz        7/07



  

Mild Wild Pinks

How tame and mild are the Wild Pinks,
so-called because they grow in wild places,
because they have so many flower links,
because they grow so free in various spaces.
In upland, marsh, wood, waste, roadside and field,
 we see the Allwood, Indian, Maiden, Moss,
their starlike blossoms' many colored yield
as fifty species' cultivar hundreds cross.
The hardy families Pink, Carnation, Phlox
join Lily, Orchid and Dianthus breeds;
good for ground cover, border, window box,
most show notched petals prettier than weeds.
The Greeks named the Clove Pink the "divine flower"
while God's Pinks brag His versatile beauty power.

                                      -- by Pete Voelz      2002

Irregular Prayer

My regular prayer I pray irregularly,
there’s always something getting in my way,
while my soul prays, “Nearer my God to Thee,”
my prayer life tends to drift from day to day.
I take each prayer and try to nail it down,
attach it to a regular thing I do,
if I just let them loose, I almost drown,
but one Hail Mary goes on with my shoe.
I grab a Morning Offering for my sox,
an Our Father with a shirt to wear,
each floating prayer ends in a little box,
my wardrobe--on and off--becomes a prayer.
If this, Lord, helps make it more regular,
my prayer life is more likely to endure.

                    -- by Pete Voelz      11/25/11

The Car Ballet

(My favorite poem of all)

My son and I were five years old
when we met at a car ballet;
the street we rolled was a carpet gold
for the auto play-by-play.

I had never seen this boy before
when our rendezvous began;
he was crouched on the floor as I stepped in the door,
so I knelt down beside a sedan.

It followed his car as if by design,
and his squealed without surprise,
but he checked the whine when his glance met mine
with a curious look in his eyes.

His car was a little red tin Ford,
mine a green Chevrolet;
his screeched and roared at a high-pitched chord
when my growl warned his car away.

His crashed on the ground and flew through the air
while mine meandered by;
he streaked with flair down a thoroughfare,
as I drove into the sky.

I was forty-six going on five
as my car swooped over a bridge,
but I was young and alive and I sure could drive
in that dim old orphanage.

We had left America far away,
my daughter, my wife and I,
to fly all day to a car ballet
across the bright Asian sky.

As we walked down the Bangkok boulevard
I suddenly just had to run,
and my heart beat hard as I raced through the yard
to see my adopted son.

He climbed atop an old divan
with his tin Ford tightly clutched,
and our two cars ran along man-to-man
'til our bumpers barely touched.

Then sped away to almost hide,
but before I could count to ten,
all mischiefied he pulled up aside,
and we bumped again and again.

His speedy car I could not outchase,
as the sun could not outshine
the grin on his face at the end of the race
when his eyes looked up into mine.

Oh, East is East and West is West
and never the twain shall meet,
except when you're five in overdrive,
two boys on a carpet street.

Yes, my son and I were five years old
when we met at a car ballet,
and that hour of gold has never grown cold
through our years of play-by-play.

                -- by Pete Voelz        1998

Faith Flowers

Our faith, like flowers, leaves us desiring more--
the tulip could not satisfy demand
until the bubble burst with bulbs galore--
so God as we approach withdraws His hand.
Each garden for all our sweat seems incomplete--
perrenial lilies disappoint again
as our unanswered prayers fade in defeat--
so Christ made Easter bloom beyond our ken.
No matter how much flowers may fade away--
more daisies come again as we but gaze
and dandelions swamp in ricochet--
so saturates the Lord our faith malaise.
As we await Impatiens impatiently--
our faith is restless 'til it rests in Thee.*

                      -- by Pete Voelz          2000

(Paraphrasing St. Augustine: “Our hearts
are restless, Lord, until they rest in Thee.”)

God's Promises

God keeps His promises, I keep my prayers,
I ask for bread, He will not give a stone,
I keep awake so not caught unawares
by God’s dear call, nor by the devil’s drone.
God keeps His promises, Our Lady said
in her magnificent Magnificat,
for humble, hungry poor, a lot of bread,
and finally heaven, better than Camelot.
God keeps His promises, believe the psalms,
on Judgment Day, the proud will reap the sword,
but for the humble there will be no qualms,
especially for the ones who fear the Lord.
The God Who keeps them for eternity
will faithfully keep His promises to me.

                        -- by Pete Voelz      11/26/11

Faith Is Not Blind

Faith is not blind,
there is a world to see.
Sorrels and stars,
quasars and gars,
pulsars and knars--
made for us free--
did not just come to be.

Faith does not bind,
but falls on feet fixed firm.
Planted in picotees,
rooted in rosaries,
girded in galaxies,
(or professed in poetries),
no squirming wraith or worm,
faith is a pachyderm.

Faith is not seen,
yet it has eyes to see
love--in the moon above,
gene--in the evergreen,
God--in the goldenrod,
Word, from the Gospel, heard
softly in me.

Faith's not routine,
for it comes with a price--
cost of what has been lost,
doubt that we're missing out,
between unseen and seen,
always some sacrifice,
but, by the best advice,
well worth it--paradise.

-- by Pete Voelz     2000

The Poor Flowers

The poorest flowers are richer than we know,
drenched in a beauty far beyond our yield,
no Solomons arrayed in all their show
can match a little lily in the field.
We dress our homes with blooms we like so much
and plait the purple larkspurs on our clothes,
the violets feel like velvet to our touch,
our perfume is the aroma of the rose.
Like cloistered nuns whose spirituality
lies hidden behind bars and under veils,
the sanctity of sage is hard to see,
God lurks beneath a daffodil's details.
In all our works of beauty we are rich,
but nothing like a daisy in the ditch.

                  -- by Pete Voelz          2000

Fragile Freedom

Fragile Freedom

Each day I go to church because I wish,
my radical autonomy secure,
I could as well go to the lake to fish,
or go online to some website impure.
God made us free with every little thing,
with choices lasting to eternity,
of my own thoughts and aims I am the king,
I can disdain most rulings over me.
I choose to make God master and my Lord,
His gift of freedom I return to Him,
His slave a while, His heaven my reward,
though He fills too my cup here to the brim.
O God, help me to choose You every day,
in case my fragile freedom starts to stray.

                          -- by Pete Voelz       7/08

Painted Fire

The Indian Paintbrush seems to be on fire,
this flashing flower named also Paintedcup,
its green bracts streaking red as they grow higher,
'til all their tips are scarlet highest up.
On hillsides, ledges, prairies, meadows, fields,
the painted blossoms' hundred species glow,
from Maine and Canada on West their yields
on upright stems from one to two feet grow.
The state flower of Wyoming is the Red,
though some are red and yellow or just yellow;
the painted tips all cluster at the head,
like painted feathers on an Indian fellow.
Who paints these bright blooms with such fine finesse
fires us with warm love too--and tenderness.

                                -- by Pete Voelz           2001

Faith and Fact

I love You, Lord, in faith, if not in fact.
How can I love someone I’ve never met?
Though met in faith, God always does attract
our love, for we owe Him so great a debt.
And yet this God, in fact we sometimes meet,
we constantly find Him in history,
when He makes miracles, it’s God we greet,
He intervenes with His theophany.
And when God came from heaven in Jesus Christ,
as much by fact as faith we have believed,
Who lived, then for our sins was sacrificed,
Whose factual, credible story we received.
O God, my love for You has solid ground,
yet fuller felt by faith than fact I’ve found.

                        -- by Pete Voelz      11/21/11

What Does a Flower Say?

What does a dahlia have to say
inside its scented resume?
Do you think horticulturalists
may miss a bit of analysis?

Prune around a rosary,
contemplate a fleur-de-lis,
take a whiff of potpourri,
see there's more than we can see.

From when the lilacs reappear
to when chrysanthemums grow sear,
listen and let the violet volunteer--
"there's more to us than you can hear."

Plant magnolias on the boulevard,
hoe the rhododendrons around the yard,
look for poison foxglove or healthy goldenseal--
"there's more to us than you can feel."

Gather perfume from the spotted touch-me-not,
the Spanish jasmine and blue forget-me-not,
as the bloodroot, bleeding heart, and sumac tell,
"there's more to all of us than you can smell."

Hail the honeybee in his Holland hyacinth,
the hummingbird sipping in her nectar labyrinth,
willing to admit of the sepals they have traced--
there's more to them than the honey you can taste.

Christmas red poinsettias and mistletoe,
and Easter's pure white lilies know,
like Bhuddist lotus and orchid pink,
there's more to them than thieves may think.

Stem and pistil, stigma and style
hiding narratives all the while;
petal and pollen, bud and bloom
speak out loud--though silent as a tomb.

The tiger lily when uncontrolled
gossips silly with the merry marigold.
And everyday dainty daffodils rehearse
the mystic secrets of the universe.

Wild and perrennial, fern and frond,
with whom do they commonly correspond?
weed and garden, seed and sod,
ricochet radiograms from God.

Every blossom is a family even--
black-eyed Susan or purple Steven--
male and female, if not self-mated,
by the birds and the bees are pollinated.

From heather and petunia and sweet William
the winds blow a veritable emporium,
as little children flower seeds go on to become
gardenia, begonia and geranium.

Fields full of poppies and tulips too
sing the seasons' life-death song anew
and in the dawn's breeze genuflect
to all that we of little faith neglect.

Behold all the flowers around the earth
flow up together to heaven's girth--
from buttercup and beautybush to goldenrod--
to grow a majestic robe for God.

If a diamond's hidden, a dandelion's in view,
if diamonds are forever, morning glories are new;
see the dead diamond, its secrets unfold,
while the honeysuckle's stories live untold.

Are we like columbines, our features in view
with real hidden selves inside more true?
Unlike the diamonds that someday disappear,
we will, like the sunflowers, return every year.

If we, like a daisy, remain faithful to
our great Creator and the inner self so true,
then our life, like the larkspurs' brief blossoming,
will be resurrected in a glorious spring.

As forsythia reveal their golden-bell career,
can we unlock our inner selves as clear?
Does the bird-of-paradise give a gentle hint to us
of the need to remember our final terminus?

Once I prayed for St. Therese the Little Flower to bring
as a favor some roses in a melancholy spring;
they appeared as if by magic everywhere I turned
for St. Therese delivers whenever asked, I learned.

The last that arrived as if in a mirage
a dozen giant roses on a bush by the garage;
I picked the largest rose for the mantleplace
to enjoy a while longer in big green vase.

Finally I tested her with a hopeful prayer
to show me some rose petals falling through the air,
and at midnight so gently like evening snows
there floated to my feet half the petals on that rose.

If a zinnia's secrets are mostly inside,
can Christ in the Eucharist also hide?
If God can put so much in a crocus bed,
can He secret Himself in a wafer of bread?

Why are there two hundred fifty thousand kinds?
Why were two-thirds of plants and vines
created as flowers, every color that's seen
in a multi-varied rainbow breaking up the green?

For parades and arrangements, festivals and floats,
for landscaping and leis, dresses, shirts and coats,
for corsages and still life, swains and cavaliers,
fragrances and photos, songs and sonneteers.

For seasoning or a hobby, gardening or a wreath,
or maybe just a lovely rose for Carmen in her teeth;
for holidays and seasons, Valentines and prom,
for secretaries, lovers, religious feasts and mom.

We need them for the wedding, altar, bride and nave,
they salve our grief at funerals and rest upon the grave;
in botanical city gardens and nurseries they are bred,
living in the greenhouse or cut and dried and dead.

We pick a favorite flower for nation, state and self,
for table decoration or just to set upon the shelf;
they symbolize expressions, emotions or respect,
we give them in remembrance or just for an effect.

We hardly know they're coming from such a tiny seed,
and some we kill or just ignore and treat them like a weed;
yet they bring us joy and beauty, the best that we can see,
so we often give to those we love a flower's poetry.

Apple, orange and cherry, peach and elderberry
blossom into food that we pick from a tree;
do we alike bloom on our itinerary
to bear healthy fruit like the broccoli?

So how to say goodbye to a princess Di,
or to children gunned down in a schoolhouse hell?
With bouquets of belladonna at the site to beautify,
with laurel, pansy, peony and canterbury bell.

What does a clover have to say
as a part of His blooming menagerie?
Do you think we all may tend to miss
a bit in our analysis?

                       -- by Pete Voelz         1999

(Dedicated to my sister-in-law, 

Becky, who will likely enjoy

this more than anyone else.)

God Open

I want You, God, but first I must be open,
yet how to have You if my heart is closed?
Your Holy Spirit I will put my hope in
to see true me, not just the one I’ve posed.
To have faith, Lord, I open up my mind,
to gain some knowledge to find some belief,
I want informed faith, not just faith that’s blind,
full faith in You, God Father, yields relief.
O Christ, I’m open to Your charity,
I want my soul to welcome in Your grace,
to give Your hope and faith and love to me,
so I can openly reflect Your face.
Please open, God, my heart, mind, soul to You,
so You, Lord, I may be more open to.

                   -- by Pete Voelz      11/19/11

(Inspired by a friend who opened himself
to God and God came in.)

Flower Faith

The flowers show their faith in many ways.
Some, like the Velvetleaves, will hide for years
their seeds within the ground 'til better days,
while Larkspurs thrive despite their Mary Tears.
Some, like the Snow in Summer, mock their date,
to cover sunny ground with their cold white,
as others, like the Dandelion, wait
for dawn to end their covering up at night.
Some, like the Toadflax, wait for hummingbirds
to drink the nectar from their long spur pipe,
as others, like the Pitcher Plant, draw herds
of protein laden bugs of every stripe.
If helping life or as assassinator,
the flowers show their faith in their Creator.

                            -- by Pete Voelz         2000

Dignity and Worth

I am worthwhile, that’s what God says to me,
God don’t make junk, I never should get down
on myself since He gives me dignity,
He’s saving up for me a golden crown.
The troubles that I struggle with down here,
I know God lets them happen as a test,
He helps me pray so He can interfere,
together we can fight, together rest.
I must be worth a lot for Him to share
His mighty Godliness with me so much,
His love, forgiveness, mercy, constant care;
my stubborn heart He reaches out to touch.
Amidst my problems, Lord, I’m still worthwhile,
with dignity from You enough to smile.

                    -- by Pete Voelz        10/18/11

How Does a Flower Pray?

How does a little primrose pray--
better alone or in a bouquet?
Whatever would it have to say
if it's only programmed DNA?

Is a gladiola glad
to make us so instead of sad?
Does it rejoice itself in ways
that only God can see as praise?

And does St. Peterswort somehow
sail its prayers through heaven's gate,
while poor Job's tears, despite its bow
and pearly seedpods, has to wait?

Is there some fragrant mystery
in the hibiscus' history
that telegraphs by roundelay,
a secret God-communique?

Which aspect pleases Him the most--
the scent or shape or color?
Of pink or red that hawthorns boast,
do brighter beat out duller?

Can we with an arrangement make
a hymn more lovely than a mandrake?
Can landscaping or a flower show
worship as well as a tuckahoe?

Would bunches of mock bishop's weed
pray near a drooping devil's bit?
Would a scarlet cardinal flower bleed
if a devil's paintbrush painted it?

Doesn't the Jack in the pulpit preach
as powerful as human speech?
And don't Madonna's songs seem silly
next to a Madonna lily?

Do petals in a cruciform,
like colorful St. Andrew's cross,
raise up their arms throughout the storm
like Moses did to block the loss?

So why do flower prayers not have pull
like that of our prayers, sinners all,
and fade, for all their beauty full,
like freezing frostweed in the fall?

              -- by Pete Voelz     1999

Love and Sin

Though full of sin, I still am loved by God,
my sins hurt Him, yet He loves me a lot,
that I keep sinning anyway seems odd,
my sins should end His love, but they do not.
I am commanded to love God the most,
with all my strength and heart and mind and soul,
yet my obedience I cannot boast,
for don't my sins on His love take their toll?
St. Paul says love is patient, love is kind,
in psalms God's merciful, to anger slow.
How long will He to my sins be resigned?
How far can I presume before I know?
God's love will separate my sins from me,
but first my own free choice must set me free.

                        -- by Pete Voelz        11/10

If All Men Stopped Their Love

If all men stopped their love, would I stop too?
If all would cease to care, would I still care?
If no one loved You still, would I love You
in that same way that even now is rare?
If mankind watered down its love for God,
would I stay faithful to His love for me?
If I felt following Him was truly odd,
would I give up and from His rule break free?
I see our paganing culture drift apart
from all God's loving ways I know are true;
I feel the constant tugging at my heart
to quit unpopular paths and try the new.
O God, if I do drift I pray the more--
take me to loving You the day before.

                  -- by Pete Voelz        2000

God's Care

God cared for me before I cared for Him,
in fact, He had to teach me how to care,
that caring’s real, the opposite of whim,
so when my care began, He put it there.
This God of care gave all our care a name,
and taught me through the family that I knew,
and once I cared, I never was the same,
and being loved, I said, “I love you too.”
It was His love that made them love me so,
I came to love Him by love they showed me,
He teaches love through caring ones I know,
and then to love or not, He made me free.
O God, Your loving care’s both skill and art,
I practice it with loving hand and heart.

                         -- by Pete Voelz     11/13/11

Flower Grams

God strews about His news without a blossom,
though He'd prefer some seedlings were nearby;
it's not He can't without them plant so awesome,
but so His view they grow to beautify.

All flowers hold His powers told anew
with prayer the eye can barely spy at first;
some botany, theology and too
some art we need to chart His seed dispersed.

The goldenrod has told us God exists,
in thirty kinds of flowers our minds behold
its big invasive vigor--O atheists,
you might as well deny the spell of gold.

A bud's color shows God's eternity,
the hue within is true infinity,
its own undying tones' variety
quite is akin to His divinity.

The Triune God shown by the nodding trillium,
that sigh to set their triune petals low
with stunning heads so unlike red sweet William,
draws honor three in one, a free tableau.

Clearcut the bachelor's buttons match the tincture
of Incarnation's male display of blue,
His belly button tells they cut the cincture
all we attach, and He was bachelor too.

Few strive so fleet and thrive--like sweet daylily,
which stay for just a day then must be gone,
to grin a lot again though not look silly,
so He the Light might re-ignite the dawn.

The butterfly bud is but a dud at first,
Christ's natural home a catecomb of power,
the larva's hewn cigar cacoon will burst,
display Transfiguration's bigger flower.

The bird of paradise is there like heaven,
racemes aglow, it gleams corolla bright,
red stamen sticks are rayed to six or seven,
with plumes that shine in blooms enshrining light.

                             -- by Pete Voelz       1999

The There God

It does not matter where, You are with me,
it does not matter where, I am with You,
You are, O God, where You’re supposed to be,
when I’m with You, that’s where I should be too.
If we’re not close like we were, guess who moved,
sometimes I want to run away and hide,
by distancing myself, what have I proved?
Can I escape a God Who lives inside?
From Your love I can never get away,
impossible! I shouldn’t even try,
it’s only good You give me every day,
You guard my sorry soul until I die.
O God, You strengthen me no matter where,
I know without You I don’t have a prayer.

                        -- by Pete Voelz      11/11/11

Flowering Freedom

Do daffodils love God more so than I,
locked as they are into obedience,
their golden trumpets blaring to the sky,
their lovely petals drenched in innocence?

Does God enjoy the dainty dittany
that bows its blossoming buds in pure respect,
as much as my prayed cadenced litany,
as each adores our common architect?

Does He love more than me the butterfly flower,
its golden-red leaves faithful unto death,
a fragrant corolla crowned with worshiping power,
while I awry sin nigh to my last breath?

Why can't the little creeping St. John's wort
sneak humbly, gently into heaven's court,
or large and golden St. John's chamomile
make brighter old St. Peter's generous smile?

Yet coneflowers can't compare in innocence
to my soul freed from disobedience;
the unfree rose knows no eternity,
while I win heaven with one faithed deed done free.

Such power to grant so great a gift to me,
O freedom, seems a mighty mystery;
could it be when God put His spark in me,
the major part was His own liberty?

Why can I raise my eyes to heaven's gate,
while birds of paradise just vegetate?
O freedom, why must I give God His due?
His merciful love is mightier than you.

                         -- by Pete Voelz    2000

Fierce Love

Love’s wimpy, Lord, so that’s how I love You,
yet it’s fierce when I love someone for real,
so if I want to really love You true,
Your sword of love I need my soul to feel.
For love means sacrifice, and love means pain,
there is no lover does not suffer love;
fierce love’s a blessing, wimpy love’s a bane,
the sacrifice makes love I’m worthy of.
Wimpy’s the love that puts my self out front,
the love that’s just romantic or just lust;
fierce is the love that makes me take the brunt,
that puts the loved one first and’s full of trust.
God, I must love You first by Your command,
fiercely I place my soul’s love in Your hand.

                            -- by Pete Voelz      11/8/11

Sincere Prayer

How can You tell when my prayer's most sincere?
Is it, Lord, when I look You in the eye,
when with my heart I shout so You will hear,
or am I more sincere because I try?
Am I more real when I want something bad,
or I shed tears because I want it more,
or make demands, pray like I'm almost mad,
or pray more prayers than I have prayed before?
I add a sacrifice for quality,
I do persistant prayer stretched over time,
I pray with trust to have humility,
I work to put some praying into rhyme.
O God, so that my praying will be true,
I focus less on me and more on You.

                     -- by Pete Voelz        10/10

Morning Glory God

Our God of glory is a morning God,
at dawn He rises, hasn't been to bed,
to work so early on His morning flowers,
and make sure that His glory has been spread.

God puts a lot into His blooming blossoms
for those that briefly last only a day,
but it's worth all the beauty that He gives it,
for all the glory that won't go away.

God paints the bud blood brightly in the morning,
but then a purplish-blue bloom after noon,
and finally it fades to a lighter hue
before there comes the glory of the moon.

God gives this brightest flower lots of glory,
so much it is part of its bright name,
and as perennial it climbs up a story
to add more to its glory and its fame.

God has more plans to flower its sweet glory,
to charm, amuse and delight humankind
and then to show if blossoms can reveal Him,
and how much He can glorify the blind.

God showers lots of glory on His flowers
and shows His morning glories now to us,
but most of all God spreads only His glory
to here express His own gloriousness.

                        -- by Pete Voelz       2000

Love Mystery

Love is a mystery so it is of God,
true love's a gift from God and thus is given,
as mystery, love's still normal, not so odd,
as gift, love's natural and other-driven.
God does not take, so mostly love's not taken,
love's not just for a part, but for us whole,
love does not leave and leave loved one forsaken,
love leaves a heart and leaves behind a soul.
Eternal God does not just come and go,
true love's from God and so will last the same,
true love must be for real, not just for show,
love cannot go by any other name.
Though mystery, God tells us enough of love,
that love’s from God so must end up above.

                              -- by Pete Voelz        12/10

Flowers Tell Us

Take my hand and then let us not dally
on the moisture, the roots, and the sod,
as we see how each lily of the valley
sings out to the glory of God.

Let us look close here at the hibiscus,
that is so much more pretty than we;
so why does God make such a big fuss
 over little old you and me?

The tulips so rich in their color
give off a most beautiful shine;
though your two lips often look duller,
they're the ones I want closest to mine.

A rose is a rose is a rose,
somebody once pompously said,
but heaven will still fill your own smelly nose
when all the sweet roses are dead.

The showy red live-for-ever flower,
that's loved by the butterflies and bees,
reminds us who see it of our power
to live just as long as we please.

                     -- by Pete Voelz     2001

I Love

I love, a love that comes from God Who placed
His love within my heart so it is good
because it comes from God Who loved and graced
me with His love and showed me that I could.
I pray, the kind of prayer from Him Who planted
it in me by One Who saw my need
to know and love His love and took for granted
I would see His love become a seed.
I see, a seeing made by Him so clear
that if I love the love He gave to me,
my seed of love would bring His love down here
and spread it to the unloved ones I see.
I want, O God of love, to love You more
so I on those You love Your love outpour.

(Dedicated to St. Theresa the Little Flower of
Jesus, who said, “My vocation is to love.”)

                        -- by Pete Voelz      11/4/11

No God Words

One of the defects of the Fall--
we don’t have words to tell it all,
sometimes without the words to use,
mysterious meanings we can lose.

What is the mix of love and fears,
when loving mighty God appears?
And how does He appear to me
with only eyes of faith to see?

How tell the sorrow that we feel
when we can see our sins so real?
How tell the mix of joy and shame
when we’re forgiven for the blame?

And how describe the sense of peace
when all the grief and sorrow cease?
And the affection that we share
when God’s love covers every care?

The limits of our language show
when God lets us His presence know,
and so we’re forced by faith to pray
without discovering the way.

And if no eye has heaven seen,
its happiness no words will glean,
in hope we place our wordless goal,
and in His hands our silent soul.

      -- by Pete Voelz     11/3/11

Adventure God

God’s an adventure like none other here,
one we are barely able to control;
our fearless God tells us to have no fear,
as His adventure role excites the soul.
God takes us by the hand to the unknown,
we follow Him wherever He might lead;
we may feel lost though never left alone,
as He Who feeds the birds fills every need.
He gives us strength where we are mostly weak,
from all the dark, He leads us into light;
out of our silence, teaches us to speak,
our heavy soul raised up, we take to flight.
Far to Your west and east, Your south and north,
with You, Adventure God, we venture forth.

                      -- by Pete Voelz     11/2/11

To Love Christ

O Christ, if I don’t love You with my heart,
then maybe I can love You with my deeds;
to feel affection flow at least in part,
then let me try to follow where love leads.
John writes we only love if we obey
God’s loving laws that He commands us to,
so let my acts speak more than what I say,
for I, like love, am mostly what I do.
Love’s not in only what we sense or feel,
love comes to life and thrives most in our will,
that strong, brave part of heart we must reveal,
that marks our destiny for good or ill.
If I, Lord, want to love You more today,
both heartfelt and true love are on the way.

                             -- by Pete Voelz     11/1/11

The Only One

The sisters told us when we were in school,
that Christ would die if there were only one,
and if that one were only me the fool,
that God for me would send His only Son.
What is my value that I'm worthy of
God leaving heaven to come down to earth,
and suffering and dying for the love
of one who is not worthy of his worth?
O God, this is a mystery but true,
that one so small can drain divinity,
if I could be the only one for You,
then You should be the only One for me.
I know, O Christ, Your love for me is endless,
if there's just me, I cannot leave You friendless.

                      -- by Pete Voelz       11/10

Real Art

One prayer is worth a masterpiece,
one loving kiss, a gem;
no Rembrandt glows so like a rose
or Star of Bethlehem.

No work of art can match a heart
that warms us from the cold,
and mudworts mark God more than all
of Ali Baba's gold.

               -- by Pete Voelz       2003

God and I

God did not make a group, the human race,
He made each as an individual,
God does not give a bunch of us His grace,
He gives me grace up close and personal.
God is our Father and my Father too,
we worship Him as Church community,
but He asks me to be faithful and true,
He loves us less as units, more as me.
Alone I die, just as when I was born,
we rise on our own merits in our prime,
and when we help the needy and forlorn,
I “feed the hungry one mouth at a time.”*
In my hands first, Lord, lies my destiny,
for me I take responsibility.

           -- by Pete Voelz      10/27/11

*Mother Theresa

Defiant God

God, I defy You to inspire me,

I prayed; He did--the inspiration for

this poem He gave with such alacrity,

I was amazed, for letting me explore

how swift He struck like lightning in response

to my defiant and most daring prayer

to show He wants to satisfy my wants

and prove effectively He's really there,

attentive, waiting just for me to pray,

oblivious to any other one

at any moment, hour, or any day,

reacting now before my prayer is done.

I am in awe, Lord, that You're quite at home

with my defiant fifteen-minute poem.

                           -- by Pete Voelz      10/28/11

The Fruit of Faith

I pluck the plum but do not plan to plumb it,
I will not wait to trace its history,
to understand its depth or soul or summit,
before I chew its juicy mystery.
I pick the peony before I probe it,
I do not wait to analyze its smell,
to note its origin or write its obit,
it is enough to fall beneath its spell.
I pet my poodle with no plot to pry
into its molecules or DNA,
I cannot wait at all to verify
its essence, for I love it anyway.
But, God, until You've proved that You are true,
I'll wait before I place my faith in You.

                          -- by Pete Voelz       2003

Thanks, Lamb

Our sins hurt God, and only God can heal
the wounds we visit on the Trinity;
Christ opened heaven, allowing us to steal
what was not ours, a perfect destiny.
God is so good, offending Him so bad,
our sin closed up the door to Paradise;
the Son of God, the only hope we had,
becomes a man, is crucified and dies.
Only God's love is stronger than our sin,
only His love could send His Son to die;
in evil’s war, only God’s love could win,
and with the glorious cross, kiss death goodbye.
The Paschal Lamb chose to be sacrificed,
forevermore You have my thanks, O Christ.

                          -- by Pete Voelz         4/08

God's Best

More than He's far away, God is right here,
more than He loved before, He loves me now,
since God is love, His present love's most dear,
as bad I am, He loves me anyhow.
More than He comes to all, God comes to me,
He does not wait for me, He's right here first,
He spends His power on me, yet I'm still free,
He gives His best to me, He gets my worst.
So He can raise me up to be divine,
He left divinity to be a man,
while I hoard me and everything that's mine,
for me He's given everything He can.
O God, though You're so big and I'm so small,
You ask but little while You give me all.

                             -- by Pete Voelz      4/08

Great God

(Dedicated to Christopher Hitchens,
     author of “God Is Not Great”)

If God's not great, then neither great is love,
for God is love, and we all think love's great;
if love's not great, what are we thinking of?
Without great love, there's nothing left but hate.
If God's not great, why is He on your book?
You think our faith you can persuade us from?
To know great God, all you must do is look,
and see Creation great 'til Kingdom come.
If God's not great, then nothing's left but fate
to make this great Creation we can see;
and how can fate then all things great create?
Fate can't decide to be or not to be.
O God, for You there is no substitute,
if You're not great, then I don't give a hoot.

                          -- by Pete Voelz           7/07

Spirit Real

God is a spirit, there's reality,
if our material world were the most real
then that is where the great good God would be,
and Him we could then see and hear and feel.
So are we left with just the physical?
Don't we have spiritual experience?
Like God, love's also quite invisible,
yet we know both well by our spiritual sense.
God made the physical world, it is less true,
our spiritual mind can conquer time and space,
with spiritual truth our world's shot through and through,
with eyes of faith we see that all is grace.
Your physical world ends, Lord, the body dies,
that spiritual souls live on is no surprise.

                                           -- by Pete Voelz       10/23/11

Christ Rains

I fished all day but could not catch a one,
when Christ put out my net it came back filled;
the storm so great I thought our boat was done,
'til Christ awoke and all the storm was stilled.
I walked on water, then thought I would drown,
but walked on waves again He took my hand;
a house on sand the storm will tumble down,
so Christ advised we build on rocky land;
on everyone, He said, the rain will fall,
with just and unjust known on Judgment Day;
as gentle rain comes down to water all,
His words and mercy wipe our sins away.
Our souls, washed clean by water in a wink,
are soaked by grace for giving just one drink.

                       -- by Pete Voelz       2002

Head Start Christ

In heaven I will meet Christ every day,
so why not meet Him every day down here?
In heaven I will never walk away,
so on my way there why not keep Him near?
Here is where we find out if we go there,
here is the only place to be afraid,
the only place we know we have a prayer,
and here so close to Him we're glad we've stayed.
To pray down here is indispensable,
but prayer up there we will not need at all;
here sins forgiven seems quite a miracle,
no need for that once where we'll never fall.
We'll be together for eternity,
Christ, give a little head start here with me.


                           -- by Pete Voelz       10/21/11

Relentless God

Our ruthless God seems just a juggernaut,
relentless with the force of nature’s law,
His fallen world has us poor creatures caught,
once knowing Him, we stand agape in awe.
The winter’s cold, and yet God’s love is warm,
when I am hungry, God provides the bread,
He always gives me shelter fom the storm,
the earth may quake, God steadies me instead.
Nature may bruise, I’m none the worse for wear,
my body suffers yet God guards my soul,
if I but turn to Him in humble prayer,
I see His hand is always in control.
God’s ruthless and relentless in a sense
within His overarching Providence.

                     -- by Pete Voelz      10/20/11

Message Free

God throws His message out and leaves me free
to take it or reject it on my own,
yet He comes round and sorta bothers me,
showing His hand, making His presence known.
God won’t leave me alone, He’s always there,
how free am I if He can dry my tear?
He counts my hairs because He’s in my hair,
I like Him there, He drives away my fear.
God leaves me free to sin, then gives me grace,
within a fallen world, a fallen soul,
He sees His message dim in this rat race,
He sees me fall apart, then makes me whole.
I know down deep Your message, Lord, is true,
but I must freely choose to follow You.

                           -- by Pete Voelz       10/19/11

Great God and Me

Because You stand outside of time and history,
You are too far for us to really know;
and since You've built a universe of mystery,
our puny minds see only what You show.
Yet though You transcend everything in glory,
Your presence permeates what worlds there are;
Your Providence patrols each human story,
Your care controls from molecule to star.
O mighty God we know from Revelation,
O God of infinite power and majesty,
the beauty, good and truth of Your creation
point through Your Word to my true destiny.
Shall I reject Your love as I am free to?
How can I when You shower all this on me too?

                            -- by Pete Voelz        1999

Celebrity Prayer

I see these great celebrities afar,
yet never get to talk to them at all,
but every saint I pray with is a star,
and for my prayers they’re at my beck and call.
To speak to popes or kings I have no hope,
to meet a movie star would be so scary,
but I can pray with Blest John Paul the Pope,
or those long gone, Saints Peter, Paul and Mary.
To golf with Phil or Tiger would be great,
to play with pro sports heroes might be odd,
but in some prayers sweet Jesus is my mate,
in all my prayers, I play around with God.
Prayer’s not just for some saint celebrity,
God then makes a celebrity of me.

                       -- by Pete Voelz        10/17/11

Why Was I Made?

What good am I to God, why did He make
this funny, fickle and fainthearted fool,
this silly, sneaky and self-centered fake,
this bungling, inept, ineffective tool?
He takes this tool, this pencil in His hand,
this vain yet humble creature that He made
and draws a picture we don't understand
and carves a soul with just this rusty blade.
God takes my thread and weaves a tapestry,
God joins His whim to my inane caprice,
from acorn me, the Lord designs a tree,
my simple seed, a garden masterpiece.
All this from me, I cannot fathom why,
my faith makes me the apple of His eye.

                    -- by Pete Voelz       3/04