From parables and stories handed down, a glorious
Vision appears on a blank sheet of white and
As we prepare for a totally new day, we spin together
Red and green wool, and a tapestry of worship beings.
Bringing together a diverse community, the young,
The old, the married, the single, all joining together,
As those wandering the deserts, we share the
Bread and wine of a new kingdom.
Adding silver and gold threads, we weave our
Entrance and sing praises to our God, marching
Into the future, remembering the past,
The pattern is formed.
Greeting those we meet along the way, as we
Weave in the blue of baptismal water, reminded of
The Holy Trinity, (Father, Son and Holy Spirit), we
Bless ourselves and those around us.
We sincerely admit our failings, weaving in the
Black of our sins; we earnestly beg, “Lord Have Mercy,”
And when God hears our humble prayers, He adds in
The white of forgiveness.
As the introductory threads of prayers come together, the
Bright colors give a hint of the theme, as the congregation
Prepares to open their minds and hearts to the liturgy of
The Word.
Coming together to weave words from the Old Testament,
Into a timeless story full of truth, a message for all people.
today, an ageless portrait of ancestors whose struggles
Follow our own patterns.
Adding in the threads from a psalm, a sacred song of
Praise to our Lord, voices that carry His word up to
The rafters, we join together the message of the two
Readings, making them into one.
Using strong colors to proclaim the gospel, bold
And vibrant phrases that penetrate the thick walls of
Hearts torn by brokenness and pain, we share the truth
Of God's love for us.
With a pattern designed by divine interpretations from
A new community, we weave together old worn threads
With fresh new threads and create a new vision that forms
The Word of god into a modern illustration.
Hearing the homily, a message woven from the threads
Of our colorful history, breaking open the hidden
Messages, we nourish our starving hunger, for a peace that
Heals all wounds.
Connecting the threads of our lives with those from our
Homes and families, to the threads of our vocations, we are
Ennobled to make Christian choices and to share the theme
Of the tapestry with all those we meet.
Using devotional colors, we weave in the message of the creed, and
The pattern of our faith deepens our convictions and bonds us, a
Community bringing together all the loose threads into one
Creation of Catholic faith.
Turning to God for our needs, we weave the needs of our church,
Our community, the poor, the enslaved, the sick, the dying, all
Those who need our prayers, and the threads of wool from lost
Sheep, that God may hear all our prayers.
Weaving together the yellows and browns, of the many different
Grains flowing in the fields of prayer, we bring our simple
Gifts and acknowledge the multitude of God’s gifts to us.
Using the yarn of praise and thankfulness, we weave the pattern
Of words from the Eucharist prayer, one of God’s love letters to
His people, and we form the center of our worship.
Through the Holy, Holy, the Trinitarian prayer, and the
Great Amen, the fabric of our lives melds with the memories
Of Christ's death, resurrection and ascension, creating an on-going
Conversion of souls longing to follow his pattern.
Suddenly, with a blaze of brilliant red, the pattern changes.
The transubstantiations begins and as the bread and wine
Is transformed, so too, is the community that has gathered
Together as one family.
As the concomitance continues, the tapestry takes on new
Energy and meaning; as the paschal mystery of
Praise, gratitude, sacrifice and unity flows, the pattern
Converges into one caring Christ-like community.
In a time of quiet reflection, the pattern pauses, as we
Commune with the Lord, inviting Him into our hearts, we
Pray for the wisdom and courage to share our faith and
Values with a world torn by chaos and confusion.
Bringing together the initial reds and greens, combined
With the many threads from our listening and sharing, we
Weave together the diverse community, now in one mind,
Body and spirit, all going forth to love and serve the Lord.
A border of benediction encompasses the parables and stories,
Bringing togetherness to the tapestry of worship, using a simple
Cross stitch, a monstrance of hope, which holds together the prayers
Of a diverse community all celebrating the presence of Christ.
The glorious vision is complete, a tapestry commemorating the
Deep truth of our Catholic faith, our belief that Christ comes
To each one of us in the Blessed Sacrament of the Eucharist.
March 31, 2007 [
Revised March 24, 2019 ]
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Beginning with the bold, barren trees,
Unforgiving ground blanketed with cold,
Frosty branches all praying for peace.
Days spent in fasting and prayer,
Palm tree leaves dry and shriveled,
Ashes worn to beg for forgiveness.
Stripped of all ego and false pride,
We present our barrenness to God,
Prepared to do penance for our sins.
Forty days spent devoted to prayer,
Willingly giving to our loving God,
Alms as well as our precious time.
Donating food and clothing anonymously,
Turning away from the crude media circus,
To meditate on God's words from the Bible.
It is no mere accident that Lent begins,
In a cold, dry dessert of sand and snow,
Like Jesus, we need the solitude to pray.
Februrary 25, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Tiny patches of brilliant blue sky,
Shyly peeking between the billowing,
Gloomy gray, cumulous crowds.
Sparkling flecks of icy crystals,
Fluttering and falling all around,
Blown about by blustering breezes.
Covering the leaf barren brown arms,
Raised proudly up praising God,
Giving glory to Him on high.
Traveling northward on a mission,
Windshield wipers gently brushing,
Wonderful waves of white whimsical.
Solo trip on a long, lonely highway,
Seeing only an occasional traveler,
Passing and sometime being passed.
With directions in hand, seeking the church,
Seeing the steeple sitting among the clouds,
Watching over the town and its people.
Opening the wooden doors, stepping inside,
A shelter from the cold winds outside,
Feeling a warm woolen wrapping of love.
Hearing the healing homily,
For hearts broken and wounded,
Aching to feel healthy and whole.
Feeling the hope in the words,
Lovingly spoken some someone,
Who has known pain and suffering.
Marveling at the words he shares,
As he tells his own story,
A small child the doctors gave up on.
But whose faithful parents,
Turned to their loving God,
Who listened to their prayers.
Instead of curing his blindness,
God gave their youngest son,
His heartfelt gift of helping others.
Using his blindness as a key,
He has helped unlock the doors,
That keep so many imprisoned.
Those that others have discarded,
And considered to be worthless,
He reveals to them their purpose.
God has blessed him with a sight,
That sees through the darkness and pain,
Into the beautiful, shining soul within.
He sees past all the dirt and dung,
We wrap around our guilt and fears,
The pain we hide deep in our hearts.
He gives us the courage to open our hearts,
To share our pain with Mary, our mother,
The mother who watched her own son die.
He shows us ow to heal our brokenness,
Giving us courage to open our blind eyes,
To see the goodness that God created.
Father Pat's gift of blindness,
Has given him a special sight,
To see beyond the garbage we carry.
He helps us to see our God given talents,
The love of God in everyone,
The love that God has for us.
Through his love letters to God,
Along with his daily prayers to Mary,
He seeks to see God's love for him.
Through his blind eyes, we are able to see,
God's enduring love and compassion,
The love that God, our Father has for us.
November 19, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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A request from the lady in blue,
To the children who came to see her,
For five consecutive months,
Attending mass on the first Saturday,
In honor of the Blessed Virgin Mary.
A request from our sweet mother,
For those of us who love her dearly,
To make time in our lives for her,
The one who watches so lovingly,
Over all the children in her care.
Choosing Mary over our soccer practice,
Putting her wishes before our selfishness,
Taking the time to show our thanks,
Acknowledging all the wonderful things,
She does for us each and every day.
When we fall, she is always there,
Praying over our wounded knees,
Giving us the courage to get up,
To try over and over again,
Her motherly love urges us on.
Whether it be Saturday morning or afternoon,
We take the time to show her we care,
Dear Mom, please hear our prayers,
Our rosary beads, old or new,
Each bead we touch, we give thanks to you.
As children we stand in awe of you,
We marvel at the depth of your love,
Your infinite patience with our willfulness,
When we pull away to be on our own,
Then realize how much we truly need you.
Those meager five first Saturdays,
Are our gift to you, our dear Mother,
One way of showing our love for you,
A bit like the crayon color paper portraits,
That hung on the 'frige so many years ago.
November 19, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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The invitation comes in the mail,
Golden raised Arial letters, kissed onto
Soft ivory parchment, wrapped in love.
As the hand passes over the envelope,
The flap flutters open, revealing
An iridescent gold foil lining.
Soccer games, ballet recitals, PTA meetings,
Diners with executives, teas and socials,
Parties, school dances and sleep overs.
The door bell rings, echoing in an
Empty hallway, as the stranger,
Waits for someone to hear him.
In her long velvet evening gown, Martha rushes
Her high heels clicking, on the freshly polished wood floors,
As she prepares a fabulous fancy feast fit for a king.
While Mary sits quietly at his feet,
Her eyes glued to his face, as her
Soul attaches itself to his every word.
Martha storms into the room,
Welding her woeful worries, with
Her vengeful sword of sorrows.
Nouveau cuisine placed on delicate china,
Waterford crystal and blinding silverware,
Glistening while table lines.
Metaphors of meaning encased in parables,
Treasures of words falling like gentle rain,
Upon those who are tired and thirsty.
The glorious feast of love and forgiveness,
Is repeated both daily and weekly,
Inviatations are extended to all.
Bread from golden platters and bowls,
Goblets of wine mixed with water,
Served by long robed servants.
The choice is ours to make every day,
We can accept the golden invitation,
To dine with our Lord and Savior.
October 29, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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When You bestow Your glorious grace,
Upon our sorrowful souls and beings,
Loving You is easy.
When tons of troubles and temptations,
Storm our insolent souls with their fury,
Loving You is difficult.
Like sullen children, we look to others,
Hoping to find comfort from our fears,
Forgetting how Your love makes us complete.
Seeking the strength we so desperately need,
Looking in empty boxes and bottomless pits,
Doubting the truth standing right before us.
Shedding orange and yellow leaves of faith,
Crying tsunami tears of grief,
Chilled with the winter winds of worry.
Forcing eyes blinded with greed,
Ears plugged with selfishness,
To turn towards Your love.
Dragging our heaving sins,
Climbing out of the darkness,
Crawling towards the heavenly glow.
You unlock the door to our hearts,
Lifting sorrows from our shoulders,
Wrapping us with the warmth of Your love.
No matter how much we love You,
Our love for You is a tiny piece of sand,
Drifting in the ocean of Your love for us.
October 29, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Joy rushes over the waterfall,
Speaking softly in the silence,
To the heavy, but hopeful heart,
Waiting on the wings of the wind.
Infinite love, soft and strong,
A love that is passionate and peaceful,
Creeping softly it suddenly appears,
Wrapping around the wool of wonder.
The red curtain of tears,
Shed in the garden,
So many drive by,
But so few stop in.
To those that do come,
He takes their worries,
Into his fiery furnace,
And returns them as love.
October 22, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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The love in a father's eyes,
Watching her as she plays,
With her shinny new bucket,
And the shimmering sifting sand.
The glare from the silver handlebars,
And the brightly colored tassels,
Streaming in ribbons from the handles,
He holds onto her until she feels safe.
The many rainbows of brilliant colors,
As the droplets of water pass the sun,
Her little arms splash him as she strokes,
He holds onto her until she feels safe.
The glare from the windows of the brick building,
The crowds of children streaming up the stone steps,
The sun blazing off her red hair as they climb,
He holds onto her until she feels safe.
The glistening of tears in his eyes,
As he looks over the sea of caps and gowns,
Finding her among them, he walks over to her,
He holds onto her until she feels safe.
The sparkle from the beads of her long white dress,
The twinkling in the green eyes under the veil,
As he walks her slowly down the long aisle,
He holds onto her until she feels safe.
The love in a Father's eyes,
Watching her as she plays,
With her shinny new bucket,
In the shimmering sifting sand.
October 22, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Standing in front of a long mirror,
Stripes and polka dots stare back,
Different experiences of life,
All cut from the same cloth.
Wandering through the maze,
Of infinite television channels,
Searching for something or someone,
To replace the void in her life.
As the crowds of dark shadows,
Wallpaper the bars of her room,
She strives for the spiritual answers,
Not found in the books she reads.
Brilliant foliage gleams under blue skies,
As the harvest of old friendships fade,
New ones come to take their place,
No more wailing alone on the fence.
As the butterfly soars in the heavens above,
Freed from the clammy cocoon of fear,
She ventures off into new adventures,
With a new found courage and conviction.
With a new close friend by her side,
And the Good Shepherd watching over her,
She boldly flies towards her destiny,
Praising the Lord and His wondrous ways.
October 22, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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We seek . . . We strive . . . We strain . . .
For the voice from the burning bush,
We want . . . We want . . . We want . . .
And all we can hear is our own voice.
Lord, we want to sit at Your right hand,
We pray for You to help us with our needs,
But then we dictate to You what we want,
And then pout when You tell us “No.”
We blame You for all our misfortunes,
God never gives us more than we can handle,
We think our suffering is by Your hand,
Never realizing it is not You behind our pain.
You never give us pain,
You only give us love,
Whenever we cry, You cry with us,
You are always there to share our pain.
You give us the courage to fight our fears,
You comfort us when we are unwell,
You walk with us when we are lonely,
You pick us up when we fall down.
When we are able to become like Mary,
Letting go of our vision for the future,
Becoming open to a totally new perspective,
Is when we are finally able to hear Your voice.
You wait on the feathery wings of the air,
Hoping to be invited to come center stage,
Bringing with You the lights and cameras,
That will show us the way to follow You.
The poor and weary souls sitting in the back row,
Are the ones best able to hear your voice,
Over those sitting in the expensive front section,
Yelling and screaming, demanding Your attention.
Frustrated that You are not listening to them,
Their cries get louder and louder,
As their voices get hoarse and weak,
Those from the back, then come forward.
But many that are first shall be last,
And the last shall be first.1
1Matthew 19:30
October 22, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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The small, yellow bird,
Hidden beneath the leaves,
Of the tall, majestic oak.
Listening to the canary,
Singing his heart out,
Praising the Lord for all to hear.
Praying quietly to herself,
Hoping no one will hear her,
She joyfully sings to the Lord.
Lonely in her solitude,
Wishing she were brave,
Shivering in the cold and fear.
Hearing the cry of an eagle,
Peeking out she sees the canary,
Sitting proudly on a bare branch.
She watched in amazement,
As the eagle flies over the canary,
And lands right beside him.
Together they turn to her,
As the wind lifts the leaves,
They smile and look into her eyes.
Shocked, she slowly smiles back,
The both encourage her to come out,
And together they sing praises to the Lord.
October 22, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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We look for big banners with flashing neon signs,
Giant fireworks with grand designs in the sky,
But, HE sends us quiet whispers in the wind.
We seek everlasting peace and joy,
Unbounding, unending happiness,
HE gives us the grace with deal with pain.
We ask for wealth and abundant riches,
Money to buy the things we need,
Hunger and poverty is our endowment.
Fame and feelings of importance is our desire,
Wanting to be noticed by those in this world,
Humility is what HE teaches us.
Instead of getting all that we want,
HE knows what is in our hearts,
And because HE loves us,
HE gives us what we need.
September 25, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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There are those in the world,
Feet firmly rooted in the earth,
Eyes raised straight up to the heavens.
Then others of the same world,
Feet flailing and flying everywhere,
Eyes downcast, afraid to look up.
Selfish instead of selfless,
Concerned more with eating,
Than with feeding the poor.
Attending Mass with a sense of duty,
Not listening to the readings or the homily,
Trying to determine the E.M.E.1
Saying prayers only for their financial gain,
Judging those who are less fortunate,
Condescendingly praying for others.
Constantly questioning His will,
Perceiving all others as lucky,
Feeling forgotten and abandoned.
Feeling unworthy and sinful,
Unable to make good decisions,
Tired of constantly failing.
Too weak to have convictions,
Afraid to speak His name,
To those who do not know Him.
Having a clear moment,
In the midst of the fog,
An epiphany of faith.
Accepting our own imperfections,
Our inability to do it alone,
Understanding we need God's help.
Gaining the courage to raise our eyes,
To look at those all around us,
No longer expecting to see displeasure.
It is true I will never be a saint,
But Jesus Christ, my Lord and God,
Sees into my heart and loves me anyway.
1Estimated Mass Ending
September 9, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Rain drips down, steady and sure,
Dew for days without the sun,
Protected from the messy moisture,
By a shiny, glossy, glass enclosure.
Inside it's long lofty lens a mirror,
Like the movie screen at the mall,
All the past mistakes and misunderstandings,
Float by, repeating over and over.
Looking through the pink colored glass,
As the whole world walks wearily past,
Seeing everyone as perfection personified,
Feeling frozen frustration and endless apathy.
Sitting on a stool in the middle of the storm,
Smiling and waving to those passing by,
Slowly swimming in a salty sea of sadness,
As the darkness of the water seeps through the soul.
Caught in a cocoon, unable to get free,
Of the sticky gooey substance made from,
Ample amounts of self loathing and,
Mixed with minuscule pieces of self esteem.
Feet mired in the mud, murky and black,
Unable to move forward or back,
Living vicariously through those outside,
A captured fly, waiting for the spider.
Gathering courage from fields of steel,
With an old worn wicker basket,
Wondering why the courage slips out,
Just when it's needed the most.
Seeing a glimpse of the bright light,
A flicker of hope now and then,
As one submerges then comes up for air,
A breath before sinking back into darkness.
Wishing the light would reappear,
Seeking its kindness and its warmth,
Hoping against hope it's not forgotten,
The little girl all alone in the glass house.
September 9, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Within the lines of holy scripture,
In the breath between the words,
Each day is born new meaning,
He feeds us with truth.
Within the spoken language,
In the whirlwind of our thoughts,
The possibilities between the ideas,
He feeds us with wisdom.
Within the silence of the streets,
In the emptiness of all sound,
Guns spewing poison and hatred,
He feeds us with peace.
Within the milk we were given,
In the lessons learned from parents,
The new friends we make each day,
He feeds us with love.
Within the evening sobs of despair,
In the dawn moments before waking,
Our misty eyes full of dreams,
He feeds us with hope.
Within the disease possessing our bodies,
In the anguish of all our illnesses,
Baking in the intensity of our pain,
He feeds us with joy.
Within our gnawing hunger,
In the giving of food to the poor,
Ignoring a snarling stomach,
He feeds us with charity.
Within the loneliness of our hearts,
In the aching of our souls,
The endless, dark, hollow nights,
He feeds us with companionship.
Within the slavery of sin,
Caught in the cycle of poor choices,
Our hearts overflowing with guilt,
He feeds us with forgiveness.
Within the throes of dying,
Before we take our last breath,
In the bright glimmering light,
He feed us with life.
With the order of the mass,
In the colors of the vestments,
The fragrance of the incense,
He feeds us with His body.
Within the thirst of our spirits,
In the drought parching our minds,
Within the reign of Christ the King,
He feeds us with His blood.
August 19, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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The slimy, scaly, skulking green-eyed monster attacks,
He has no compassion, no mercy for young or old,
No gender preferences, no monetary preferences,
He takes his victims from all walks of life.
Slowly, insidiously he stalks his prey,
Unbeknownst to them, his armies invade,
Taking up residence in a hidden alcove,
He sets up walls and fortifies his stronghold.
He sends out his emissaries to scout around,
Hoping to spread out and augment his holdings,
Seeking the weak and vulnerable areas,
He sets out to preserve his territory.
When he is discovered, his victims mount an assault,
Determined they defend their turf with biological warfare,
Willing to experience the side effects, they assail with drugs,
Weak and bald as a baby, they continue to persevere.
Others prefer to do battle with shields and swords,
With a fleet of their own armies, they attack,
Cutting at him and his troops with a vengeance,
Thru many skirmishes, bruised and maimed they persist.
Still other take a different approach,
With homeopathy and naturopathic aids,
They strive to try to understand this foe,
They try to dissuade his armies with Love.
Sometimes he is successfully eradicated,
He and his armies are driven out never to return,
To some, however, he stealthily sneaks back in,
Reappearing through a tiny crack in the armor.
Sadly there are times when his campaign is successful,
Once his troops have gained complete control,
Nothing can stop the looting and pillaging,
With great numbers, he overruns his opponent.
However, when the day of defeat finally comes,
His opponent turns toward a greater power,
Giving everything to Him they continue on,
Protected and loved, they live forever in eternity.
August 13, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Carefully the chef selects one from the top shelf,
Its brittle paper thin shell is tightly wrapped,
Holding it in his hands, he gently removes it,
It crumbles and dissolves into dust.
The core is hidden with many mummified layers,
Each layer a trauma experienced over the years,
Man-made materials constructed from ego and false pride,
White linen layers wrapped around a fearful heart.
With care and compassion, he deftly removed a layer,
As he tenderly peels, the tears and layers fall away,
Waiting for the sheltered eyes to adjust to the change,
Old wounds are healed as the light shines on each layer.
Dry, yellowed layers are peeled away,
Revealing the crisp, white, unscathed layers,
Youthful and vibrant, full of aroma and taste,
Looking forward to fulfilling its mission.
The chef holds the bare, vulnerable one,
Confident that it is strong enough,
With tears of love, he releases it,
And carefully selects another from the shelf.
August 13, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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When HE chooses a soul,
To come to earth to be born,
Is there a farewell service,
With morners dressed in black?
When they leave heaven,
For their new home on earth,
Does HE cry and mourn,
Sad that they have gone?
Does HE see the smiling faces,
Of the proud new parents,
Does it ease the pain HE feels,
Or fill the gaping hole in HIS heart?
The years they were together,
Seem so short and fleeting,
Does HE feel like a parent,
Sending children off to school?
Although there are many souls,
Living there in HIS heavenly home,
Does not HIS heart severely ache,
For the ones that are missing?
He remembers their laugh,
The good times they shared,
Does HE still hear the sounds,
Of their soft voices in his ears?
When they come for a visit,
Dressed in their best clothes,
On bright Sunday mornings,
Is HE glad to see them?
When out of the blue,
They come to spend a hour,
To sit and be alone with HIM,
Does HIS heart bust with joy?
When they stop coming to visit,
Saying their lives are too busy,
No time for the one who loves them,
Does HIS heart shatter into pieces?
When challenges come to them,
Without recrimination HE is there,
And when they do not thank HIM,
Does HE weep with pain?
When they finally do come home,
No matter the time or the distance,
Absolutely everything is forgiven,
HE welcomes them with open arms.
August 12, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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What, could ye not watch with me one hour?1
He sits alone in his room,
A white cloak of silence covers him,
Candles flicker against the shadowless wall,
Empty chairs wait patiently.
Rosary beads wait for hands to hold them,
Books on the shelf waiting to be opened,
The precious word of God held captive,
Waiting patiently to be released.
A basket waiting to be filled,
With hopes and dreams,
Prayers floating in the air,
Waiting to be spoken.
Loneliness and despair lay in wait,
In the gloomy darkness, they skulk,
Pacing just outside the door,
Hoping to keep everyone away.
Inside with a heavy heart he waits,
Hoping his sacrifice was not in vain,
Praying for all those who are afraid,
That in time their hearts will open.
Day and night he waits and waits,
Ready with gifts for those who visit,
To those who make the time for him,
He bestows many bountiful blessings.
1--Matthew 26:40
August 19, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Homeless man sitting on a park bench,
A broken water vessel,
Useless and discarded by society.
Disheveled and dirty, he sits every day,
Watching the suits that pass by,
Mocking and looking down on him.
Laughing as he shares his meager meals,
With the squirrels and pigeons,
His only companions in the park.
His silence and solitude,
Are unbearable to them,
As they rush by talking,
Their cell phone conversations.
Their frenzied lifestyle doesn't allow them,
To stop and perceive his inner peace,
Their busy schedules and appointments,
Blinds them from seeing his freedom.
His obvious pain frightens them,
They view it as a weakness,
Preferring to hide theirs in a closet,
Thinking it makes them strong.
Unaware that reveling their pain,
And giving it up to the Lord,
Is what truly makes them strong,
He mends the broken pieces.
July 30, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Poverty is a lonely soul,
Shunned by the world,
Turning to God, he prays.
Covered from head to toe with oozing sores,
Purple welts inflicted by those who fear him,
Thorny limbs hanging limply beside his bony frame.
Limping painfully down the busy street,
Dressed in rags and covered with a dirty blanket,
Walking barefoot on the blistering sidewalk.
Listening to the moving concert,
Created by the people passing by,
With their cell phone, pagers and beepers.
Many pretend he is not there,
Other just simply ignore him,
Some clutch their coats as they pass.
As he approaches the soup kitchen,
He sees a new face handing out bread,
Standing in line, their eyes meet.
Surprised at the smile, he smiles back,
Someone who sees beyond the sores,
To the spirit beneath the sorrow.
July 27, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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A small hut with a severely sagging roof,
Shattered windows with glass strewn about,
A needle eye entrance way with no door,
Broken steps leading to a porch full of holes.
Surrounded by droopy brown plants,
Tall looming skeleton trees that cover,
Shadows of animals skulking about,
Foul stenches ooze from every step.
Many travelers pass by the small hut,
Preferring to weather the severe storms,
Afraid to enter the dreary, dark inside,
Fearing its lonely, barren rooms.
Shunned by those wearing animal coats,
Carrying large trunks loaded with jewels,
Feared by those driving big, fancy cars,
Hiding behind their dark tinted shades.
The strong winds and torrential rain,
Force one traveler to drop his burdens,
Cold and weary, he climbs the steps,
And braces the dismal, deserted hut.
Once through the doorway,
A brilliant light stuns his eyes,
Inside is a large room filled with people,
He hears their smiles and feels their laughter.
His heavy wet overcoat is removed,
It is replaced with a blanket of soft green moss,
He is led to a table next to a large brick hearth,
Fragrant with flames of red and yellow flowers.
On the table is a bowl of steaming stew,
With a plate of soft brown bread,
Caressed with creamy yellow butter,
And a tall glass of ice clear water.
He looks out the window at those,
Struggling with their heavy burdens,
And wonders why the cannot see,
The treasures with the small hut.
Looking closely at those around him,
He sees the pain in their eyes,
And the smiles on their faces,
As they gaze upon their host.
He understands.
July 23, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Wishes silently and feverently prayed,
Wrapped in an iridescent bubble,
They float gently up to God.
Holding them in His hands,
He gives them life,
And sends them back.
As tiny seeds buried deep in the soul,
Some germinate right away,
Others take many, many years.
Nurtured in the moist soil,
Resting and dormant they wait,
For the snow of time to melt.
Watered with tears the frustration,
Sheltered with God's abiding love,
From thunderous sobs of despair.
Some fall prey to disappointment,
Rising up before the snow has gone,
Crushed by the freezing rain and hail.
Others wait too long,
Afraid, they stay hidden,
Shriveling up and turning to dust.
Finally in the spring time of hope,
A sliver from the warm sun,
Peeks through the iron sod.
One by one they break through,
Reaching and grasping for air,
They yearn to be born.
Bursting forth like a ripple on a pond,
They blossom into reality,
Bringing joy to the lives of many.
With outstretched limbs,
Singing thanks and praise,
To the creator of all that is good.
Just as Sarah and Anne understood,
They reaped the rewards of waiting,
For the dream of a lifetime to be born.
July 9, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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And they went out and preached
that men should repent.
Walking for mile and miles,
Carrying no bread or money,
No extra tunic against the cold.
Relying on the goodness of others,
Preaching to those who did not believe,
The one who had his teacher crucified.
Realizing the danger around them,
They too could be arrested,
And suffer the same fate.
Yet they still went out,
Every day in groups of two,
To heal the sick and share the good news.
Their faith was strong,
They understood the risks,
But, they also knew the rewards.
Can we relate to their experiences?
Do we appreciate what they did?
Do we have the faith to follow?
Our burdens are light,
Our crosses or tiny,
But still we complain.
May we all come to understand,
The sacrifices they made for us,
May we repent and truly believe
July 9, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Good fortune comes into our lives,
But we fail to acknowledge the source,
We doubt we are worthy of heavenly gifts,
We can't believe it's true.
Our suffering we can relate to,
We believe that is what we deserve,
The difficult is easier to handle,
Than believing God really loves us.
Our faith is weak and wavering,
We doubt just like Thomas,
We really need to feel His side,
To put our fingers in the holes.
When the sea of life become turbulent,
We cry out to the Lord our God,
Not really sure that He hears us,
But deep down hoping He does.
He comes to quiet the seas,
The wind He strongly rebukes,
Our hands touch His side,
And we believe.
Blessed are those whose seas are stormy,
And are confident He will come,
They are the truly blessed ones,
The ones we all aspire to be.
August 12, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Standing in her nightgown on the porch on wobbly filly legs,
She waved good-bye to her Daddy, who was moving away,
Next morning, she heard a voice telling her,
“I say unto thee arise.”
The next afternoon, she stood on the porch in her best dress,
This time she was waving good-bye to her Mommy,
Next morning, that same voice told her,
“I say unto thee arise.”
Many years passes, but this time she was the one leaving,
The divorce was final and she vowed never to be abused again,
Next morning, the voice from her past said to her,
“I say unto thee arise.”
She understood what it meant,
Her life was not a mistake,
She knew now she had a purpose,
God was calling to her.
Accepting her weaknesses and failures,
Looking to God instead of other people,
She chose to follow in His footsteps,
This time her legs were strong.
1Mark 5:41
date
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Brightly colored balloons floated gently over each table,
Held down by a common rock cover in colored cellophane,
The room was filled with crepe paper decorations and streamers,
Tables were set with party paper plates and matching napkins.
As the music plays softly in the background,
The guest of honor sits alone at the head table,
Surrounded by many tables with empty chairs,
And a dance floor that echoes the deafening silence.
In one corner is a special large, round table,
Covered with a tablecloth that matches the paper plates,
On it are boxes covered with bright foil paper and ribbons,
Boxes filled with empty promises and selfish expectations.
Clowns are running around with red noses that squeak,
With baggy pants, red shoes and flowers that spray water,
They have painted faces that disguise their real identity,
And wearing multicolored wigs to cover up their ugly red horns.
Back home on the counter lay invitations,
Gold embossed ink on parchments paper,
Matching envelopes with gold linings,
Abandoned on the counter, never mailed.
Wishing that waiting just outside the door,
Were a multitude of true friends and loved ones,
God so wants us to invite Him to our party,
Hoping we will open the door and let Him into our lives.
July 1, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Gathering together to read His Words,
feeling them as they gently cascade
over us, melting into our minds.
Intently listening to each word and
phrase, as it seeps into our receptive soul,
merging with light from the candle,
bringing His love to the dark corners,
of our eager minds.
Using our quiet time,
to quell the flashing thunder,
and rolling banners of thoughts,
coursing through our mind,
bringing sunlight and
gentle breezes to our soul.
Stilling our hectic minds.
and unsettled souls,
shaking the dust from the rugs,
dusting off the furniture
and putting out the welcome mat,
inviting God into our waiting hearts.
As we all share our special intentions,
and our hopeful prayers,
thoughts of those who need help,
we call upon the Lord
for His spiritual assistance
and His timely guidance.
Confident that we have been heard,
we end our gathering with hope,
that God will answer all our requests,
with His unconditional love.
June 11, 2006 [Updated on July 18, 2025 ]
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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I am with you always,
even until the end of the world.1
The song the birds sing every morning,
The peepers that call just before nightfall,
The bright sun that warms on cold winter nights,
The gentle rain that cools on hot summer nights.
The whispers heard when the wind blows the trees,
The bellowing voice between flashes of lightning,
The boisterous cry from the newborn baby,
The gentle sigh from those who are dying.
The mirror that reflects in the still, glassy lake,
The smile from the cheerful strangers on a gloomy day,
The friends that come when loneliness lingers,
The bright penny found lying on the sidewalk.
The waves that beckon from the ocean's white caps,
The twinkle from the brilliant stars in the evening sky,
The sparkles on the soft blanket of snow,
The beauty we see in a flower-filled field.
The storms that blow through life,
The salty tears during times of sadness,
The immense joy when times are good,
The peaceful calm that is always there.
1Matthew 28:20
June 4, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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A message born in the silence,
From tiny seeds deep in the soul,
Planted by kind, loving hands,
Watered with a gentle rain.
Sprouts of letters bursting forth,
Being weaved together into words,
Growing with the help of the sun,
Shooting up majestic and powerful.
In the fall the authors and poets,
Come to harvest the plants,
Picking only the ripe ones,
Leaving the others to grow strong.
An idea from the Holy Spirit,
Creating sentences and paragraphs,
Molded and former together,
Shaped into their final format.
One message to be share,
All languages together as one,
God is Abbe, our Father,
We are all children of God.
June 4, 2006 [Updated on July 18, 2025 ]
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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The procession marched through the sea of red and while plumes,
Passing between the swords held by those without their shining armor,
To the altar on the platform in the center of the gymnasium.
In the rows of metal folding chairs and on the bleachers,
The congregations of all three churches were together,
Praising and glorifying God on His holiest of days.
In was the birthday of the church, the celebration of Pentecost,
Red robes were worn to represent the joyous celebration,
Candles were lit and white linens covered the altar.
Thanks for the Holy Spirit were sung and praised with scripture,
The celebration included a baptism, a new member of the church,
Prayers of thanksgiving were shared in many languages.
It is the beginning of a wonderful new adventure,
The cluster of many churches together as one,
An exciting new path of diversity and change.
June 4, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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