Purple Poetry Path
Volume 6
Just as Jesus chose His apostles,
God, the Father chooses us,
He calls us to come to Him,
To follow the path He clears.
Lost and lonely,
We blindly blunder our way,
Over the gold and silver cobblestones,
Lit with dirty street lights.
Stumbling and stagnant,
We swim upstream,
Trying to find our destiny,
Confident we can do it alone.
Following the golden dream,
Blinded by our ego and greed,
For financial success and fame,
We fail to see the true treasure.
Until the day that we are called,
A voice from heaven calls our name,
He heals our pain and forgives our sins,
He changes not only our name, but our heart.
September 3, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
The lone little dear,
her soft brown coat speckled with spots
that never disappeared,
big brown eyes sorrowful eyes are drawn,
to the white tails swishing back and forth.
Seeing the herd calmly grazing,
in the lush carpet of green stocks,
swaying gently in the westerly wind.
She steps out into the open,
but stops silent and dead,
as all heads pop up and scrutinize at her.
Wanting so desperately to belong,
she forces herself to walk forward,
and although she is warmly greeting by all,
her knees fill with lead as she continues to
shuffle towards them.
The big, burly, but soft spoken leader,
getting instructions in windy whispers from those
who have gone before him,
begins to move on and the herd instinctively follows.
Startled at the sudden movement,
the lone little dear turns and bolts,
back behind the tall, dark, looming trees,
retreating into the safety of her aloneness.
Tears of terror and sad sobs of confusion,
flood over the walls of brick and stone,
battered and bruised by her own self flagellation,
she shivers in the cold darkness.
Hugging her fears close to her,
she follows the group,
walking and staring straight ahead.
Apprehensive of her volatility,
not wanting to alarm her,
the herd keeps their distance,
hoping her frightening fever will break,
They all pray for her.
She too begins to pray,
for strength and courage,
and as she feels the smooth wooden beads
of a special spiritual rosary,
a fleece of forgiveness falls gently over her shoulders,
giving her the strength to reach out.
With head unburdened and held high,
her speckled spots now gone from her coat,
she stands shyly before them,
opening her heart and sharing her feelings,
and sees the compassionate smiles,
that were hidden by her blinders of fear.
As the group comes to the end of their journey,
they hug and wish each other peace,
praying as they each go their separate ways,
with the faith to listen,
with the hope to hear
with the obedience to follows.
Promising to keep in touch,
and to share with all those they meet,
their love of the Lord, Our Savior.
August 12, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
After a mass that was breath taking,
I sat in the small chapel at St. Anne's.
Eyes closed,
As I whispered the words,
And my fingers slowly moved over the Medugorie rosary,
I felt someone sit down beside me and take my hand in his.
You don't need bandages for me to see your pain,
I know your struggles,
I hear your cries,
I love you.
The floodgates burst open and the tears flowed,
Blinking through rain drenched eyes,
I looked --
There was no one beside me.
His voice and loving words,
Still echoed in my ears.
Just as those who left their crutches,
On the walls of the Basilica,
I, too, left my pain.
Through my prayers to his compassionate grandmother,
He heard my sorrow,
And as I left the beautiful little chapel,
My legs were still a wee bit wobbly,
But I knew that in time,
They would be confident and strong.
August 2, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
Naked and beaten, we lay beside the road,
Battered and abandoned by those we love,
Vanquished by our own unfortunate choices,
Returning to our abusers over and over,
Insanely continuing the same patterns,
Believing our abuser's promises and lies.
Crying out to those passing by,
Hoping that someone will stop,
Watching them all cross the street.
Finally someone stops to help,
Pouring oil and wine on our wounds,
Lovingly bandaging our bloody bruises,
He bends down and picks us up,
Carrying us when we can not walk,
Taking us to those who will help us.
He will provide for all our needs,
Encouraging us to walk our own path,
Even protecting us from ourselves.
Although He will always keep us safe,
His path is not an easy road to travel,
We will be tempted with smoother roads.
Confident, however, that when we lose our way,
No matter where we are, Jesus will hear our cries,
His love and forgiveness will always heal us.
May 13, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
When Jesus comes to visit our home,
Do we plan an eight course fancy menu,
Ordering expensive food and fine wines,
Cleaning the dusty rarely used china?
Do we spend out time worrying,
Whatever will we wear for His visit,
Will He notice the chipped glass,
Will there be enough food and wine?
Do we spend out time waiting on Him,
Thinking we know what He needs,
Telling ourselves we know what's best,
Trying to be the best hostess possible?
Or do we sit calmly at His feet,
Listening intently to His every word,
Emptying our mind of our own thoughts,
In order to make room for His message?
Do we bring our material gifts to Him,
Giving things we don't need ourselves,
Giving our money instead of our time,
Sharing our lukewarm, mediocre faith?
Do we shine our dull incandescent light,
Instead of His brilliant light of truth,
Preferring our own air-conditioned air,
To the soft breeze of His love for us.
Please help us dear Lord and Savior,
To stop our self-centered, busy ways,
And take the time to sit at Your feet,
And listen to Your marvelous words.
July 15, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
Bright blue and orange flames,
Stamp and pace over the roll top desk,
Poking fun, at the neatly stacked papers,
Teasing, the smartly addressed envelopes
Sorted by zip code.
A butterfly, gently glides through the jello sky,
Looking up to the heavens, the face of Jesus, appears in the whipped cream
Tears, that drip down His face, as He watches
A young boy, push an elderly woman and take
A little girl, sitting in an orphanage, holding a box with a brand new doll.
Soft billowy clouds form praying hands, squeezing
Green droplets of ketchup, falling from the crown of thorny
Dirty, half dressed children, with big bellies and empty stomachs
Grumbling, through the streets
He looks down and cries.
Muslims, Hindus and Christians, all praying together
In empty villages, strewn with maimed bodies of woman and children in
Dry dusty books, filled with the hundreds of successful and unsuccessful battle plans
Of sparkling white robed creatures, flying over the smoke charred land.
A homeless man breaks bread at a mahogany table overflowing with food,
Outside ordinary pennies fall from the sky onto a barren sidewalk,
A multi-millionaire sits on the street corner begging for forgiveness,
Rain rises up to the snow-filled grape marshmallow clouds,
As a new day dawns.
July 10, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
Whenever we would lose our way,
You were our spiritual compass,
Helping us get back on our path.
When darkness clouded over our world,
You opened the door of God's love for us,
Driving away the immense, scary rodents.
Whenever we got hopelessly caught up,
In the heavy, woven webs of anxiety,
Your prayers released the bonds of fear.
Your amazing perseverance and willingness,
To help even those who cursed you,
Modeled how we could emulate Jesus.
Although you exchanged seminary classes,
For your yearning for a medical training,
You saved so much more than earthly lives.
Your love of music and of the arts,
Brought a beautiful breath of fresh air,
Making your ministry bold and vibrant.
Your book suggestions and reading lists,
Awoke a largely lethargic community,
Asleep to the wonders of the written word.
Your heartfelt and sometimes humorous homilies,
Tying together personal stores with the gospel message,
Fed both the hungry and the copious parishioners.
Your infinite kindness and ceaseless compassion,
Was echoed by your immeasurable caring actions,
As your journeyed each and every day by our side.
Your availability 24/7 to the sick and the dying,
Sitting calmly beside their bed, holding their hand,
Showing them what God's peace and love looks like.
The fear-filled path you cleared for the new evangelization,
Is a narrow trail for the courageous few that will be following,
Trying to fill the enormous footprints you left to guide us.
July 8, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
In the flowing water of baptism,
Our souls become born again,
We are cleansed from original sin,
However, as we walk our path,
Fear follows in the shadows,
We stumble and fall many times.
As life strikes with a vengeance,
Deluges pour down upon us,
Drenching us to the very bone.
Addictions to alcohol or drugs,
Illness or other physical challenges,
Rain down on our sunny days.
Afraid of our own pain and suffering,
We deny Jesus, forgetting all He taught us,
Fearful we run and hide in the darkness.
Wallowing in our pain and misery,
We sink into the subterranean of Good Friday,
Like the apostles after the crucifixion.
Alone among the throng of thousands,
Shivering in the darkness of doubt,
Weeping rivers of loneliness and grief.
Until one day something happens,
The voice of a loved one cuts through,
All the layers of gloom and hate.
Frustrated with our own human frailties,
Wanting more, we creep out of the cave,
Drawn by the warmth of the voice.
Sensing the strength of His awesome love,
We feel the fire of His breath within us,
We step confidently into the light.
Leaving the dry barren desert of Lent,
We pass through the 50 days of Easter,
And arrive at the plateau of Pentecost.
Once there our journey is not complete,
We walk a new path with new challenges,
Bringing the wisdom of a new language.
A language that all people can comprehend,
Caring and compassion for all of our neighbors,
All humanity from countries both near and far.
Whatever their history or place of origin,
We converse with them and they understand,
The language, is the language of God's love.
May 28, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
On a day focused entirely on mothers,
Childless women all over the world,
Inundated with a media circus,
Reams of folder printed cardstock,
Vases of colorful effluviums.
Woman forced to abandon children they were unable to care for,
Those who lost their children through death or greed of divorce,
Those emotionally or physically unable to bear children,
Women, who through pressure from others have abortions,
Those married to narcissistic or self-centered neanderthals.
Desperately groping for a switch that would alleviate,
The darkness of depression continually hounding them,
Driving them deeper and deeper into the dark recesses of oblivion,
Where they encounter a slow stealthy slithery substance slipping,
Over their generally silly, sunny existence.
Praying through the tears that flood over closed lids,
Apathetic to their own words, but hoping their message is conveyed,
Needing to feel something concrete, their fingers move over the rosary,
Flickers of memories sweep through the spaces between the beads,
Until swatches of spiritual blue descend and the hands slowly relax.
On this special day, childless women have a special Mother,
A woman who suddenly and brutally lost her son,
Women know the Blessed Virgin Mary understands their pain,
They know she can relate to their unending sorrow and grief,
So Mary leads them to the only one who can heal them.
Through the Blessed Mother, we see a Father who loves us,
Enough to give to the world, His Son, to help all women in need,
Through Him all childless women can feel a sense of purpose,
He is the light that illuminates the deepest depression,
His grace gives women the strength to overcome all obstacles.
May 13, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
And when they were come, and had gathered,
they rehearsed all that God had done with them,
and how he had opened the door of faith
unto the Gentiles.1
Lord,
With the help of the Holy Sprit,
May all those who gather together,
Open their hearts to the doors of faith,
So that all languages and all ancestries,
May come together to praise Your name.
And I saw a new heaven and a new earth:
for the first heaven and the first earth were
passed away; and there was no more sea.2
Lord,
With the coming of a new heaven and new earth,
May the sea of discontent within our churches,
Come together as a new compassionate community,
Willing to follow Your commandment to love.
A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love
one another; as I have loved you.3
Lord,
Help us to follow Your new commandment,
Let all see Your love in all we say and do,
Give us the strength to love all our Judas'
Just as much as we love those who love us.
Lord,
As our churches proceed forward with new plans,
Help us love all our neighbors, both near and far,
Especially those who are part of the new cluster,
May they feel warmly welcomed and loved by all.
1Acts 14:27
2Revelation 21:1
3John 13:34
May 5, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
h1>Peace, I Leave With You
Coming together for one reason,
To praise and glorify Your name,
We leave behind our selfish nature,
And willingly bow to your holy will.
You are the only light we need,
We have no need of the sun or moon,
As your light guides us on our path,
The light of the Lamb is our beacon.
You sent the Holy Spirit, our Comforter,
To teach us many wonderful things,
To help us remember all we need,
To follow your footprints in the sand.
So let our hearts be not troubled,
As you protect us from all our fears,
As we allow the peace only You give,
To come into our hearts and souls.
May 5, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
Now when Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord,
he gift his fisher's coat unto him, and did cast
himself into the sea.1
Lord,
When we see you, give us the courage
To jump into the water and swim to you,
Remind us of our baptisimal promises,
Rejecting all that is evil in the world.
Jesus then cometh and taketh bread,
and giveth them, and fish likewise.2
Lord,
As we take the bread and wine you offer us,
Every day or every week at your holy table,
Remind us, when dressed in white, we received,
The love embraced in your body and blood.
Jesus said to Simon Peter, Simon son of Jonah,
lovest thou me more than these?3
Lord,
Confirming our pledge to love you completely,
Teach us share that love in a world filled with hate,
Help us to find all those who are lost and weary,
And, by our example, lead them back to You.
Lord, thou knowest all things; thou knowest that I love thee.4
Lord,
Whether or vows to you be religious or matrimonial,
Help us the keep them and honor them in Your name,
Give us the strength to endure the hardships that come,
So we may praise and glorify your presence in our lives.
When thou shalt be old, thou shalf stretch forth thy hands.5
Lord,
When our time on this earthly plane is over,
Give us the sight to see your hand reaching down,
That we may have the courage to fly with the angels,
Who come to take us up to You in Your kingdom.
1John 21:7
2John 21:13
3John 21:15
4John 21:17
5John 21:18
May 5, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
Waiting for a vision that will not come,
Understanding the persistence of patience,
Willing to wait for His wonderful words,
Knowing they will be well worth the wait.
Ignoring the vulgar, annoying voice of an anxious ego,
Trying to douse us with darkness, doubt and despair,
Angry with our patience in the dryness of the desert,
Jealous of the joy that comes from closeness with Him.
Filling our minds with clutter and dusty distractions,
To drown out the fertile voice we so long to hear,
Straining and struggling through the silvery silence,
Finding peace in the solitude and serenity of our Savior.
Passionate about pursing His will and not our own,
Praying for a portion of the depth of His love for us,
Eagerly bowing low so others can see the true author,
Of words chosen to create a covenant to our Creator.
Confident the architect has an awesome, glorious plan,
That in time will shape a sound, spiritual structure,
Constructed from a foundation of heavenly phrases,
Gratefully bestowed on a humble common laborer.
Molded with marvelous endorsements and praise,
Encompassed with walls of words, solid and true,
Windows to bring in the glorious light from above,
Covered with a roof of reverence for its designer.
When completed many will come and loudly acclaim,
The glorious gift of words from volumes filled with grace,
Built from the timid, little letters of our love for Him,
Into a cathedral of thankfulness for His unconditional love.
April 29, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
Afraid of the Jews, they huddled behind locked doors,
Clouds of concern and confusion hung limp in the air,
Some of them believed because they had seen Jesus,
Others had blind faith, believing without seeing.
Tortured with thorns of anxiety, they sat in silence,
Questioning just what the future held for them,
Jesus understood that they did not comprehend,
The truth behind His parables and teachings.
He came to them performing all kinds of miracles,
Hoping they could grasp the reason for His rising,
Peeling back the veil of darkness to reveal His plan,
A glimpse of the new life He was preparing for them.
Spiritual gifts of wisdom and knowledge,
Faith, healing and working of miracles,
Prophecy and discerning of spirits,
Gifts designed specifically for His disciples.
As the disciples received the Holy Spirit,
Each was given a special and unique gift,
A new language that would take them,
To places they never dreamed possible.
We, as disciples, can experience new places,
Once we open our hearts to the Holy Spirit,
And acknowledge our blessings from God,
Our lives will be forevermore changed.
Each new day can be a Pentecost for us,
A chance to become Gods chosen disciples,
When we use out talents to praise God,
We proclaim His greatness to the world.
But the manifestation of the Spirit
is given to every man to profit for all.
1 Corinthians 12:7
April 16, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
As a mother guides her child,
Gently taking his hand in hers,
Leading him safely down the street.
Jesus, who died on the cross,
Took all our sins in his hands,
Hands that were nailed to a tree.
Now we are His hands and feet,
And He gently guides us down the street,
The spiritual path he has chosen for us.
When we stray he searches for us,
Quietly following and calling our name,
Patiently waiting for us to hear Him.
He cries out for all His lost ones,
Beating his heart and mourning,
Not resting until they are back home.
When we finally do hear Him,
A tender voice from our childhood,
One we know that kept us safe.
He leads us to the promised land,
To a life of eternal bliss and glory,
With Him we shall always be safe.
April 22, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
After Easter, Simon Peter went fishing,
His life as a disciple with Jesus,
Had not turned out as he planned.
So he returned to the life he knew.
The long night of fishing brought them nothing,
Their nets focused on catching fish came up empty,
When they returned home in the early morning,
Jesus stood on the shoreline waiting for them.
If only he had not run away,
If only he has not denied Him,
If only he had paid more attention,
If only he has tried harder.
Jesus had not become their king,
In the way they thought he would,
The spiritual life Simon Peter imagined,
Died the day Jesus was crucified.
Even though Jesus appeared to him,
Simon Peter had forgotten His teachings,
That Jesus needed to die on the cross,
So He could be risen on the third day.
Going back home may be the thing to do,
When our lives do not turn out as we plan,
However, without Jesus by our side in the boat,
Our nets will always come up empty.
When we think our life is on course,
We forget there is also a starboard side,
With wondrous, unimaginable possibilities,
Hidden dreams known only to God.
Butterflies can not return to their cocoon,
Knowledge once gained can not be forgotten,
The disciples misunderstood His kingdom,
They did not understand His resurrection.
Once we hear the call of the Lord, our Savior,
And stand up to testify how He died for our sins,
He will take us down a glorious new path,
And our nets will be filled to overflowing.
April 22, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
There is a hidden self,
A part of our being,
Known only to God.
To find this piece of us,
We must first look to God,
For He has the only key.
The search is ongoing,
The journey is long,
The path is arduous.
We can feel this hidden being,
But we can not see its shape,
Or hear the sound of its voice.
It lies hidden deep in our soul,
Buried deep within our heart,
It is the answer to all our prayers.
Our strength when we are weak,
Our courage when we are afraid,
Our love when we are lonely.
This hidden self in each one of us,
Is waiting to be acknowledged,
It is the Lord God Our Savior.
April 22, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
Day after day we sit beside the road,
Blind to the potential deep within us,
Relying instead on the goodness of others.
Somewhere buried within our subconscious,
We know that God our Father will help us,
So, we patiently wait for His glorious arrival.
However, when he comes a crowd surrounds Him,
We can not see, so in a loud voice, we cry out,
But the crowd turns on us, rebuking us to be quiet.
Determined not to allow the noisy crowd,
To silence the truth we know in our hearts,
That Jesus will heal us from all our sins.
Refusing to follow the dictates of the crowd,
Hoping that somehow He will hear our cries,
We call His name and beg mercy for our sins.
As the larvae struggles to free itself from it's cocoon,
Our persistence to call upon the Lord is rewarded,
He turns to us and gently calls us to come to Him.
The waves of the masses slowly parts for us,
Throwing off worldly things, we run to Him,
Exhilarated that he finally heard our cries.
Already knowing what our request will be,
He turns to greet us as we come to Him,
He asks, What do you want me to do for you?1
Oh Master, let us see again, we earnestly beg,
To see all the goodness there is in the world,
Help us to see your awesome love for us.
Go your way then, He lovingly tells us,
Stretching out His arms over us,
Your faith has healed you.2
With our spiritual sight restored,
We see clearly the path ahead of us,
We faithfully follow His Goodness.
1Mark 10:51
2Mark 10:52
Feburary 18, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
They were all filled with the Holy Spirit
and they spoke the word of God with boldness
--Acts 4:31
Shy as a silvery moon hidden behind clouds,
Is the crippled voice without courage,
Many voices in this world are silent,
Filled with self-doubt and low self-esteem.
Invisible beings who survive,
Within their hard solitary shell,
Occasionally peeking out,
To catch a glimpse of the world.
Hearing a soft voice calling their name,
Curiosity brings them to the edge,
Blinking eyes accustomed to the dark,
They cautiously step into the light
Understanding their fears He leads them,
To a very small group at first,
And as He bestows courage on them,
He brings them closer to Him.
Little by little their fears abate,
He brings them closer and closer,
As they feel His abiding love,
The last of their fears fall away.
Writing the words He gives them,
With the support of their loved ones,
They follow with faith and courage,
And convey His message of love.
April 16, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
As the storms of life,
Blow into our calm lives,
Along with the wind,
Come confusion and doubt.
Struggling against the rain,
Causes us to contemplate,
Thinking about our choices,
Decisions made over the years.
It is human nature to ponder,
God bestowed upon us the power,
To think things thru and process,
To weigh all the pros and cons.
Stumbling thru the maze of our thoughts,
Running into brick walls of confusion,
Despair and desolation lay waiting,
Ready to leap out of the darkness.
Doubt is the catalyst of faith,
Giving us a golden opportunity,
A chance to rise above the muck,
And view life from a different level.
The times we are lost and lonely,
Give us a chance to experience,
Places in the dusty, dry, desert,
We would not normally see.
The vision we have as solitary seekers,
Is different from those with a focus,
When we are on the lookout for signs,
Is when we see the beautiful flowers.
Whether we take the expressway,
Or the slow and steady back roads,
The destination is always the same,
Our discernment chooses the path.
With doubt comes clarity,
With darkness comes light,
With prayer comes peace,
With God comes love.
April 16, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
When troubles tumble upon us,
And darkness seeps into our souls,
We listen those dreary, dark voices,
And we turn away from our God.
We blame Him for our sins,
Our weakness in mind and body,
We call the Lord unholy names,
And worship golden images.
But the Lord, God has eternal patience,
As He waits in silence to hear,
That quiet whisper of His name,
Flamed by the tiniest spark of hope.
He sends the Comforter, the Holy Spirit,
To convey His message of forgiveness,
That all those wandering alone in the desert,
Are welcomed home with loving arms.
For the Lord they God bringeth
thee into a good land, a land of
brooks and water, of fountains and
depths that spring out of valleys
and hills.
--Deuteronomy 8:7
April 16, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
Like a shiny, new, glittery diamond,
The fifty days of Easter has many facets,
Depending on how the light strikes it,
Determines the depth of color and light.
Some see the Passion as too violent,
Yet they watch the evening news,
They only see the death of Christ,
And not the life He gave for our sins.
Like Thomas, many refuse to believe,
Lacking faith, they need physical proof,
But blessed are the many who do believe,
Without having to feel the hole in His side.
Like Peter, we too, deny knowing Jesus,
Fearing the ridicule or scorn of others,
However, Jesus loves us so very much,
He forgives our every transgression.
Just as Paul and Barnabas taught,
We hear His voice and follow Him,
No matter how far or how often we stray,
The shepherd calls and we know His voice.
A new commandment was given to us,
To Love One Another as He Loves Us,
By doing this, we become His disciples,
And by our actions, we are His hands.
The Lord bestows a peace the world cannot,
When life blows in with gale force winds,
God is there besides us with a strong ship,
To help us sail safely through the storm.
Some understand how much Jesus loves us,
His prayers to the Father on our behalf,
Remind us that our love for Him is but a pebble,
On the endless golden beach of His love for us.
As the diamond moves and refracts light,
So do the many perspectives of the parables,
Shine light and color into the darkness of our lives,
As we gloriously follow the light of Easter morning.
April 15, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
The single pointing finger, condemning and
Accusing, focused on the sins of another,
Forgetting entirely the three other fingers,
That point back at the accuser.
Oblivious of the sins hidden within our own,
Hearts, smoldering and festering, fostering
Disease and decay, Keeping us stuck
In the past, reliving the same mistakes.
Living under the fear of being stoned, an
Eye for an eye, forgiveness was never
An option, Until the day Jesus brought
Light and forgiveness into our hearts.
Protecting us from those who would hurt
Us, He grants us the courage to stand before
Him, Allowing His Light into our hearts, He
Frees us from the darkness of our past.
With the help of the Holy Trinity,
The Father, The Son and The Holy Spirit,
Those three fingers can remind us, to focus
On the healing we need for ourselves.
Standing beside Jesus, our loving Savior,
We walk towards a bright new future, full
Of the grace to change our old ways, and the
Potential of wondrous new dreams.
March 25, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
You have been with me a very long time,
You have helped me in difficult times,
But now it is time for you to go.
Although it will be hard to let you go,
It is something that I really must do,
I need to grow and you are holding me back.
As a child, you were my closest friend,
You kept me safe, guiding and protecting me,
You knew all my nightmares and secrets.
No matter the time of night or day,
When my loved ones abandoned me,
You were there, right by my side.
I am not sure when it happened,
But at some point in time, you took over,
Perhaps subconsciously, I gave you permission.
The time has come for me,
To get my life back on track,
To learn how to live on my own.
Before you leave, I want you to know,
How grateful I am for all you have done,
You have been a very big part of my life.
Perhaps one day we can work together,
But until then, my dearest friend,
I must you leave you here with God.
HE is going to help you find a new home,
With someone who needs your special gifts,
Go in peace, my dear friend, Fear.
March 12, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
In a world overflowing with fear,
The seeds of peace lie dormant,
Waiting for the fertile rains of love,
To awaken them from their slumber.
Over the years the tiny seeds struggle,
Waiting for a world to love and care for them,
As violent wars and hatred choked them,
Bombs blast them from their warm beds.
The tiny seeds cower in the slimy shadows,
From those afraid of their great potential,
To wrap the world with their warmth,
To blossom over mushrooms of fear.
Praying for a light to dispel the darkness,
To break down the walls of isolation,
Giving courage to all who were afraid,
And hope to those filled with despair.
Patiently waiting with their message of peace,
A message that would sew a world torn apart,
By those greedy for money and power,
Unwilling to search for commonalties.
The battle lines are fiercely drawn,
The seeds of peace and the weeds of hatred,
A world of war ruled by powerful people,
Or a peace that comes directly from Him.
The tiny seeds of peace all need our help,
Everyone in the world needs to do their part,
To rain their love and affection on all those,
He lovingly planted for each one of us.
February 12, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
Not a baritone crooner's Blue Christmas,
But a station emptying code red holiday,
Complete with ten thousand gallons,
Of pressurized fire hydrant tears.
Not spent on a lonely park bench,
Cloaked with yesterday's Daily Gazette,
But sitting comatose in front of the TV,
Wishing for a "happily ever after" life.
The television, a welcome companion,
Noise to shatter the glistening silence,
Fancy meals, from freezer to microwave,
Eaten with plastic ware on a TV tray.
A fair maiden locked in a second story tower,
Trapped by her own fears and phobias,
Bound to her chair by the chains around her heart,
Blinded by the raging river of muddy, mascara tears.
Weak and helpless, s damsel in distress,
So wanting to be rescued, swept off her feet,
Saved her from the agony of loneliness,
By a strong handsome knight in uniform.
Wanting the unrelenting pain to end,
To stop the gushing geyser of blood,
From a heart punctured and fractured,
Walled up with jagged stone shields.
Frigid numbing grief choking her,
All her hopes and dreams crushed,
She visualizes her abusive ex-husband,
So wanting to believe his silvery apology,
Terrified to look beyond the shiny surface,
At his rusty, corroded coil of intestines,
Of the rage that boils under his sweet smile.
Forgotten are the machine gun volleys of poison,
That over time assimilated into her blood stream,
Dredging to the surface, her sewer level self-esteem,
Dragging her screaming down into deep, dark despair.
They small cry of a baby, yearning to be heard,
Over the detonation of depression's discord,
Bringing a holiday message of peace and joy,
Relief for the loneliness of the desolate heart.
She walks toward the sound of the baby's cry,
With hands extended she longs to hold him,
Instead strong arms come down from heaven,
To cradle her and hold her close.
And she shall bring forth a son,
and thou shalt call his name JESUS:
for he shall save his people from their sins.
Matthew 1:21
January 15, 2007
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
A soft fuzzy peach,
Depressed and impatient,
Waiting for its time.
Born from a tiny seed,
Alone among its siblings,
Hearing voices from neighbors.
Enduring harsh rain and wind,
Developing a cast iron exterior,
A solid cocoon against the world.
As the days began to lengthen,
Finally those cold, lonely nights,
Grew shorter and shorter.
A warm, gentle sun shown down,
Wrapping his infinite, enduring love,
Around the fragile, fearful little peach.
The hard shell starts to soften,
Its confidence began to grow,
Raising its eyes, it began to grow.
Hearing a small, soft voice,
Rising gently over the chatter,
A call of care and compassion.
Wanting to hear more and more,
It left behind the hustle and bustle,
And followed the small sweet sound.
Finding a life of simple pleasures,
A quiet and serene existence,
That replaced the old hectic life.
Where all the greetings were genuine,
Complete with sun kissed hugs,
And raindrop diamonds of dew.
Slowly the peach grew and grew,
Developing an orange coat of soft fuzz,
With an inner core of gentleness and love.
December 17, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
He walks beside us everyday,
He is the friend who listens,
The stranger who shares a smile.
The soft voice we hear in our head,
That drowns out our noisy ego,
Telling us that we are forgiven.
He heals all those that are sick,
The lame pick up their mats and walk,
The deaf can hear, the blind are able to see.
Without fanfare he comes among us,
A small helpless baby in a manger,
Honored by three kings from afar.
Destined to do great and wonderful things,
He came to us as a small, helpless babe,
A man like us in all things but sin.
This hectic holiday season,
Busy with shopping and wrapping,
The perfect gift is there for all to see.
The small infant baby,
Lying in a manger of hay,
Jesus, our Lord and Savior.
December 17, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
Walking backwards gives a different perspective,
Whether we are single or have husbands or wives,
As we grow older, we become more introspective,
Replaying over and over, the events of our lives.
As young children, we can not wait to run,
Aching to grow up as fast as we can,
Pretending to be adults, it's all about fun,
Spending our boyhood wanting to be a man.
During our crazy, confusing adolescent years,
As we go through the many changes in body and mind,
While searching for strengths, we discover our fears,
Instead of gaining our freedom, we develop ties that bind.
We question all the choices we have ever made,
And wonder what the outcomes would have been,
The reason for our decision slowly begins to fade,
We wistfully want our childhood back again.
The answers we seek are born deep within us,
Instead of looking to the road that lies ahead,
We need to calmly sit down and ride the bus,
Have faith that we will be warm, clothed and fed.
Remembering the simple moments in time,
How we never appreciated the little things,
Realizing how truly compassionate and kind,
Those friends with the hidden angel wings.
Over time the colors become dull and faded,
Filmed from a different view, we begin to feel,
What was once black and white now turns shaded,
As the pain lessens, we slowly begin to heal.
In slow motion, in front of the screen we stare,
As the film runs backwards over the reels,
We see the hidden moments of love and care,
Mysteriously nested within those family meals.
The things treasured in our lives,
All those people that we hated and blamed,
Friends and family connections and ties,
The values we once lost are slowly regained.
Watching the parenting skills handed down,
Hemmed up, with patches sewn over the holes,
Altered by the society within each small town,
All the rules determined by taxes and tolls.
From the big screen comes a different view,
Actors speaking their lines without a flaw,
Behind the scenes, the truth no one knew,
Reality TV, the everyday life with Ma and Pa.
Seeing the past from a projector's distance,
The pain and loneliness of a small child,
Thinking herself a horrible nuisance,
Seen by God as meek and mild.
Abandoned by both mom and dad,
Seeing the pain they must have felt,
Watching their life, we can not stay mad,
Learning to accept, our heart begins to melt.
The past, good and bad, is there for a reason,
All the people, places and things in our life,
Each of the scenes, each of the events in a season,
Watching the characters, as they grow from their strife.
The moral of the story is crystal clear,
Walking backwards gives us the sight,
The pictures and sounds we need to hear,
To know God loves us with all his might.
December 17, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
Standing on the edge of a lush field of green,
A lonely soul prepares for a gruesome battle,
A heart heavy with emotional armor,
Protection from an onslaught of pain.
Hopelessness falls from the gray gloomy clouds,
Feverishly floating over everything in the field,
Loneliness lingers longingly in the air,
Patiently waiting to be inhaled.
The dew slowly undresses the long blades of green,
Shivering as the cool breezes blow across their barrenness,
Waiting for the sun to rise and reveal itself,
To warm them with his all encompassing love.
Facing the faceless warrior cloaked in darkness,
Extending his long black arm over the field,
Creating an infinite force field of fear,
And time stops for those within its boundaries.
Standing unseen on the hills overlooking the field,
The troops for each side are closely assembled,
Guns primed and aimed at their targets,
Swords drawn and ready for action.
Shots are fired and many fall,
A desert of tears flow from above,
Course and dry they flood the field,
Followed by loud thunderous sobs.
Crippled and wounded, they crawl,
Too weak to cry out for help,
Lured into the enemy camp,
With mirages and empty promises.
Kneeling and begging for mercy,
Relinquishing swords and guns,
They surrender their weary souls,
Heads bowed, they await the deadly blow.
Hearing a soft gentle whisper call their names,
Turning they feel their spirits being lifted up,
The enemy is vanquished and the sun is bright,
Blinding their eyes as they blink at the light.
The lonely soul awakes from his dream,
Strangely strong and confident once more,
He rises to greet the dawning new day,
His heart overflowing with peace and love.
November 26, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
His kingdom is not of this world,
Instead of mere flesh and bone,
He reigns over hearts and souls.
Not a monarch or a dictator,
He welcomes all to come to Him,
He gives His grace to one and all.
A champion of the poor and needy,
He protects the meek and mild,
Giving them strength and courage.
Children of all ages flock to Him,
They know His as their true father,
The one who loves them unconditionally.
He seeks the lost and lonely,
Shepherding all those in need,
Bringing them home to Him.
He heals the sick of their disease,
Removing the demons from their souls.
Shining His light into the darkness.
In prayer we give Him our needs,
We sing praise and glory to His name,
We bow to him as God Most High.
Bountiful blessings He bestows,
To those who truly acknowledge Him,
As king and ruler of eternity.
November 26, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
The Lord himself will give his benefits;
our land shall yield its increase.
--Psalm 85:13
The wind gently carried the seed,
As it fell from the old fern,
And landed in the moist rich soil.
God shined his sun on the tiny seed,
And showered it with his gentle rain,
As it turned from seed into a plant.
The transformatin was slow,
So slow the seed barely realized,
That a change had taken place.
Its parents had gone away,
Replaced with family and friends,
They helped the tiny plant to grow.
The days passed ever so slowly,
The morning sun with its warm hello,
The silent moon with its silver dreams.
When the storms came to the garden,
With their fearful cold winds and sleet,
God was there to protect his garden.
The little fern began to wonder,
Why it was so different from others,
It had no talents or special gifts.
Other plants would drop their seeds,
The seeds would then sprout and grow,
Filling the garden with their children.
Some plants even left the garden,
Admired by their beauty and color,
Traveling to far off places to live.
Watching friends come and go,
Feeling left behind and useless,
The little fern started to fade.
Its leaves turned dull and brown,
It slept in its bed all day long,
Feeling listless and forlorn.
One day the garden rained with bloody tears,
As the little fern turned its eyes upward,
It felt the presence of its creator.
Feeling re-born the fern turned to God,
Asking for his help and guidance,
Listening to his soft, soothing voice.
The fern was no longer blind,
It was able to see God's love,
To feel the warmth of his touch.
Each of us is unique,
And God has a plan for us,
We just have to be open.
When he comes into our garden,
Turning our leaves toward the sun,
We must be willing to follow Him.
October 24, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
Walking and running and walking,
A tiny tree toad hiding under a basket,
Wishing she were a frog on a lily pad,
So she could be waiting for her prince.
Drifting down a dry, barren, city street,
A beach ball being bounced back and forth,
The bustling, bunches of faceless drones,
Going about their business, no time for her.
Working in the middle of Grand Central Station,
Everyone with deadlines and back-to-back meetings,
Buzzing locusts hovering around the water cooler,
Feeling alone and exposed all at the same time.
Creating an impenetrable force shield of fear,
Constructed with bricks of solid self loathing,
Motored together with a mixture of jealousy and self pity,
Feeling comfortable in her ceiling high, concrete cubicle.
Surrounded by a milky blue haze of despair,
Grieving for all those lovely lives left behind,
Streams of crystal droplets fall on the dry pavement,
Torrential tsunamis that terrorize the tourists.
Hearing a voice through the haze calling her name.
Ignoring it, thinking it is meant for someone else,
Hearing it again and again, that soft voice gently calling,
Curious, she stands up and begins to look around.
Seeing no one around, she slowly sits back down,
Smiling for no reason, she feels a calming presence,
Working with an air of contentment, she starts to hum,
The concrete cubicle of fear begins to descend.
Feeling the warmth of a light on the horizon,
Cutting through the frozen haze of gloom,
The shadows in the darkness slowly recede,
Bowing to the greater power coming up the lane.
Recognizing the friendly face and outstretched hands,
Falling to her knees, she begs for forgiveness,
Taking her hands, he gently raises her up,
All is forgiven as he loves her unconditionally.
Singing his praises, she has found her prince,
Realizing she must stay vigilant and pray everyday,
As the shadows of darkness are never far away,
Dear Mother Mary, please help me see God's love for me today.
September 29, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
From the relentless drone of the insomniac media,
Buy this, guaranteed to make you rich and popular,
Buy this, guaranteed to make you look younger.
The voices are subliminal,
Their message is the same,
The material world has all you need.
However, there is another voice,
His message is softer and more loving,
His world is one that last forever.
From the stillness of the chapel,
In the holiness of the Mass,
From the depths of our selfish hearts,
He calls to us.
The choice is ours to follow Him,
To pursue His will not ours,
However, this is not an easy task.
We must give up our pride,
Banish our self-centered ego,
Take up our cross and follow Him.
To Him, we must give total control,
From only Him we seek our true direction,
When we turn to Him, he grants us guidance.
Although the burden feels momentous,
And lonelier than one can ever imagine,
When the time is right, He gives us His grace.
September 25, 2006
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
Back to Poetry Links
