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