Category Archives: poetry


by Brendon Ward


Rich in mercy

Grace and love

Born again

From above


Once was dead

Now alive

Raised with Christ

At the Father’s side


Coming ages

He to show

His grace and kindness

To those who know


Saved by grace

Through faith alone

Gift of God

In His Son


Not of works

Lest I boast

His workmanship

To glory boast


Called to works

Which He ordained

Before the world

Was ever framed



Once was dead
Tresspass and sin
Without hope
Without Him

Once this world
It’s course I walked
It’s judgement judged
It’s talk talked

Once that prince
To obey
Now still seen
Now displayed

Once by passion
I was led
Stony heart
Stony head

Once desire
Carried out
By will of heart
By what I felt

Once like all
In Adam-head
To sin alive
To God, dead



That Race

A poem by D.H. Gorberg: That Race

That Race

Whenever I start to hang my head in front of failure’s face,
my downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.
A children’s race, young boys, young men; how I remember well,
excitement sure, but also fear, it wasn’t hard to tell.

They all lined up so full of hope, each thought to win that race
or tie for first, or if not that, at least take second place.
Their parents watched from off the side, each cheering for their son,
and each boy hoped to show his folks that he would be the one.

The whistle blew and off they flew, like chariots of fire,
to win, to be the hero there, was each young boy’s desire.
One boy in particular, whose dad was in the crowd,
was running in the lead and thought “My dad will be so proud.”

But as he speeded down the field and crossed a shallow dip,
the little boy who thought he’d win, lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself, his arms flew everyplace,
and midst the laughter of the crowd he fell flat on his face.

As he fell, his hope fell too; he couldn’t win it now.
Humiliated, he just wished to disappear somehow.
But as he fell his dad stood up and showed his anxious face,
which to the boy so clearly said, “Get up and win that race!”

He quickly rose, no damage done, behind a bit that’s all,
and ran with all his mind and might to make up for his fall.
So anxious to restore himself, to catch up and to win,
his mind went faster than his legs. He slipped and fell again.

He wished that he had quit before with only one disgrace.
“I’m hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn’t try to race.”
But through the laughing crowd he searched and found his father’s face
with a steady look that said again, “Get up and win that race!”

So he jumped up to try again, ten yards behind the last.
“If I’m to gain those yards,” he thought, “I’ve got to run real fast!”
Exceeding everything he had, he regained eight, then ten…
but trying hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again.

Defeat! He lay there silently. A tear dropped from his eye.
“There’s no sense running anymore! Three strikes I’m out! Why try?
I’ve lost, so what’s the use?” he thought. “I’ll live with my disgrace.”
But then he thought about his dad, who soon he’d have to face.

“Get up,” an echo sounded low, “you haven’t lost at all,
for all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
Get up!” the echo urged him on, “Get up and take your place!
You were not meant for failure here! Get up and win that race!”

So, up he rose to run once more, refusing to forfeit,
and he resolved that win or lose, at least he wouldn’t quit.
So far behind the others now, the most he’d ever been,
still he gave it all he had and ran like he could win.

Three times he’d fallen stumbling, three times he rose again.
Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end.
They cheered another boy who crossed the line and won first place,
head high and proud and happy — no falling, no disgrace.

But, when the fallen youngster crossed the line, in last place,
the crowd gave him a greater cheer for finishing the race.
And even though he came in last with head bowed low, unproud,
you would have thought he’d won the race, to listen to the crowd.

And to his dad he sadly said, “I didn’t do so well.”
“To me, you won,” his father said. “You rose each time you fell.”
And now when things seem dark and bleak and difficult to face,
the memory of that little boy helps me in my own race.

For all of life is like that race, with ups and downs and all.
And all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
And when depression and despair shout loudly in my face,
another voice within me says, “Get up and win that race!”



Human life has value

On account of what it is

As being the One God’s image

In essence being His


In response to the question of What is Human Worth? the Washington Ethical Society answers thus:

Attributing worth to human beings is accepting on faith and acting as if each person has within himself or herself the possibility for kindness, fairness, joy, and the capacity to create ethical relationships. Given this capacity for goodness each person deserves to be treated with dignity. 

Best Dressed

“The most stylish people are not the best dressed; the most stylish are those who make caring for others a part of who they are.”

~ Joanna Lynn

I guess now that it’s been repeated, it becomes a quote.

  1. OK, I cheated a bit.  This is actually a statement from me.  I guess it really doesn’t become a quote unless someone else repeats it.
  2. I believe this to be true, though.  When someone is kind to others, there is a beauty to them that clothes and looks cannot touch.
  3. Outward appearance can become very ugly, very quickly when someone opens their mouths and their character oozes hatred and unpleasantness.
  4. I believe the main reason Princess Diana was known as The People’s Princess was because of her charity work.  Yes, she was beautiful, wore designer clothes and exuded elegance, but her kindness was where her true beauty shone.  She was at her most stylish when she was reaching out to those in need.  That stylish way of living was passed down to her children, who continue her work. This was such a beautiful and important part of their mother that to honor her memory meant continuing her work.
  5. There are many in society now who are completely self-absorbed.  They have no trouble saying that life is all about them.  There are t-shirts touting it, songs reinforcing the idea and it is everywhere in the media.  Somewhere, we have forgotten that society is built on caring for each other and working for the greater good.  Out of selfish ambition comes abuse, pain, crime, death and the loss of meaning and purpose.  There is such an emptiness to living this way and there is little chance of ever being content.  You will always want more.
  6. We were created to help each other.  “For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” Ephesians 2:10  Reaching out to others is part of God’s purpose for us.  No one’s purpose in life is for them alone.

~ Joanna Lynn

Never Fully Dressed…..

Wordless Wednesday: Sense Of Purpose

Stylish Prayer

50 Ways to Relax, Unwind, Refresh, ReNew


On Having a Rabbit

On Having a Rabbit

once we had a rabbit
too big for our back yard
knock on door from neighbour
is this yours son of bard?

handing back the rabbit
and putting him in side
embarrased by the neighbours
i wanted to hide

once we had a rabbit
as massive as could be
no longer’s he our rabbit
we ate him for our tea

no! we didn’t eat him
rather kept him from harm
and in exchange for guinea pigs
we took him to a farm


7 cups

Check out my profile on 7 Cups

About Flemish Giants

“Flemish Giants are one of the oldest & largest breeds of rabbits in existence. Experts believe that this giant rabbit breed might be descended from related breeds such as the Stone Rabbit and the European Patagonian; both of which are now extinct, but were raised for fur and meat purposes. The first recorded reference to this breed was noted as being from the Flanders region in Belgium, during the 16th Century. They were exported from England into the United States in 1893; later becoming a charter breed of the (then newly formed) American Rabbit Breeders Association (ARBA) in 1924.”

Better than Canaan

A poetic reflection on Hebrews 4:1-11


A promised rest, this still remains

Of which some may fall short

Careful be to Gospel preached

Just as to old saints taught


In us the faith that you inspire

Was in their hearts not found

Nor to them did this promise fit:

“every place, your land”


In time of anger, God did speak

They shall not enter my rest

This is a land that You prepared

With milk and honey blessed


As He rested, so shall we

If we hold fast to Christ

An eternal day, no dawn or dusk

No hunger, tear, or thirst


The day He sets, He calls today

Not like days of Canaan’s rest

Not like the days that Joshua gave

A land more and greater blessed

Jesus, Savior

Jesus, Savior

Jesus savior

Lord of all

The one who speaks

The one who calls


Calls from darkness

Into light

From law of sin

To eternal life


Jesus, savior

Gods final word

You have spoken

I have heard


You are speaking

Truth and grace

“Come and see me

Face to face”


Jesus, savior

You are with me

By your Spirit

I am set free


Free from sin

Its power and cost

Now you send me

To the dead and lost


Jesus, savior

Mans only hope

The God who saves

Is the God who spoke


By your gospel

We are saved

From wrath and hell

And from the grave


Jesus, savior

Speak, O Lord

To all you’ve chosen

To all you’ve called


As you speak Lord

We will hear

With each instruction

You are there.


Jesus, savior

My God and King

Into your kingdom

Us you bring


Give us ears

And eyes that see

All you’re saying

To us, to me.

The Aspiration

The Aspiration

Someone asked what I would be

I said to be a pastor

What I meant was not so broad

I meant a simple preacher


Along the way I caught a dream

To be a knowledge master

To engage the minds of the hoards

So I trained as a teacher


Was not to be as I snapped

The way ahead did not suit

My mind was blurred for many days

To counsel I then sought


No road a head so I felt trapped

No place to learn the route

I then asked “what is the way?”
Preach, or teach, help thoughts?


These were my aspirations

The dreams I dreamed at night

And the ways I trod by day

Did not grasp a plan


These goals formed a foundation

Though walking without sight

I heard the gentle shepherd say

“A minister to man”


I was to pastor souls of men

To preach and teach and counsel

The goal that God had in mind

To speak and really listen


Nothing seems to go to waste

But all part of His will

All of the things from which I’d haste

Of future days now glisten


A slow and glad process


A Mistaken Journey

I’ve written a lot about my journey.  I guess guests to my blog will have read some of the stories I have to tell.  Some aspects of my journey testify to the power of cowardice in my life.  Others stories speak about desert experiences.   Other still refer to that new Jerusalem that we now see as through a glass.

A Mistaken Journey

A Mistaken Journey

My job at the time was in Wellington’s CBD.  My home at the time wasn’t.  Rather, it was in Porirua, which I guess would be considered a suburb of the greater Wellington area.  This being the case, I would take the train to and from work.

The train station served as a portal between the worlds of work and home.  This particular train station had multiple platforms servicing multiple lines.

It was early in my “taking the train to and from work” experience when I found myself on a train going in a direction that wasn’t the one I had intended on.  The stations didn’t look familiar.  Was it my relative inexperience?  Or was as it because I had not committed to memory the station names and their order?

About 10 minutes in came the realisation that this was the wrong train – or the wrong train line at least.  What was I to do?  I did the only thing I knew to do.  Alighting at the next station, I crossed the platform and waited for the next train back to the station.

From there, I made doubly sure that I was on the right train – the train to Porirua.  A mistaken journey that meant I got home late.  Late to walk through the unfamiliar and dark streets of a troubled town.  I made it home.  And the journey made its way into the annals of my memory.  And these annals serve as a rich repository of potential blogging topics.