"Poetry can be the bridge, the crossover point in the mind between
the physical and the spiritual. A place where the two can meet."
~Don Pendleton

I went in search of God today
and climbed a hill where I could pray,
I walked through fields of fragrant grass
and found a brook where He might pass,
then launched a boat upon the lake
but nowhere did the silence break;
I sat beneath the starry night
and waited signs of His great light,
then tired, dejected, I went home,
back through the fields, cross mountain's
without my God, without his grace,
no hand from heaven to embrace.
There, in the silence of my bed
made one more search, right in my head,
and cried out, "God, why do you hide?–
What game is this? How hard I've tried!
I've stalked you through the waiving fields
and waited where the water yields,
I've called to you ‘til voice is gone,
in darkest night and brightest dawn–
O God, why can't you hear my plea?
Please, God, don't turn away from me!"
So in the torment of that hour
I'd turn within to seek the Power,
and found there not the trumpet's blare,
no angel's song, no heav'nly glare;
‘twas but a candle flick'ring low
in soft and peaceful wav'ring glow;
a voice, gentle as a dove,
then spoke to me in tones of love
and said, "O Brother in the night,
why seek so loud the heav'nly light?
Does one fine spark within thy breast
not far outshine the heav'nly best?
Why seek me in the fields and sky?
Are we that separate, you and I?
No power in heaven can command
that part of God that's found in man."
This, I knew, was what I sought–
this, ‘tis true, is what was wrought;
I went in search of God today,
and found him there, right where I lay.
~Don Pendleton

Once upon a day so clear
I thought I saw a falling tear:
A wrinkle in the sky so huge
Then caught me in its centrifuge;
Speak to me, the wrinkle said,
And tell me what is in thy head,
Why let the children wane and die
When all beneath this glorious sky
Is meant for them, was built for them,
We planned it to the hilt for them;
Why do you let the children die?–
Why are you deaf when children cry?–
No pow'r in heaven would condemn
Thy children to this stratagem;
O man, awake, and see this tear,
Mark it well, and learn to fear
The teardrops from a cloudless sky
That always fall when children die.
~Don Pendleton,
A Search For Meaning From the Surface
of a Small Planet

I thought I heard an angel sing,
I know it's not imagining,
Beyond a rainbow, arching wide,
I heard an angel at my side.
The angel's song was sweet and clear,
And meant for me–no need to fear–
It told of love beyond compare,
And high adventure, if I dare.
The song went shining through my heard–
A moment there I thought me dead–
Then came out on another plane,
Without my head, without my brain.
"The heart rules here," the angel said,
"No need for thoughts of wine and bread,
Just let me take you by the hand
and show you the enchanted land."
I heard an angel sing, that day,
No need to rationalize the play–
I saw the land where I belong,
And now I sing that angel's song.
~Don Pendleton,

A Search for Meaning From the Surface
of a Small Planet

The meaning of life is within itself,
It needs no further scan,
The Secret of life is within the face
Of every boy and man,
The beauty of life is within the gaze
Of every female eye,
The wonder of life is within the grasp
Of every human sigh.
It's being in love, and it's giving love
In everything I do,
It's receiving love, and it's knowing love
In everything that's due,
And it's finding love, and uncov'ring love
Whenever I may pause,
It's treasuring love, and rewarding love,
With no thought for applause.
The meaning of life is within the life
That may consecrate,
The beauty of life is within the strife
That knows no blame or hate,
And the love of life is the perfect plan
To perpetuate the race,
The perfected life is the chosen stand–
My point in time and space.
When my life is gone and the time is come
To say my fond farewell,
I can only hope that the final sum
Of all that I can tell,
Is that I have loved, and have been loved too,
Have left no stone unturned,
That I've left this world a much kinder place,
To await my next return.
–Don Pendleton,
A Search For Meaning From the Surface
of a Small Planet

I fell into a bright sunset
and watched a golden earth slip past
As wondrous sights and silent schemes
produced the next transfixing cast;
A lover's kiss, a baby's smile,
reminded me that all the while
the world's immersed in noble needs
beyond the planet's scattered seeds;
The dream alone makes life worthwhile,
not causes, politics, or fame–
To lose the dream, in any realm,
extinguishes the cosmic flame.
~Don Pendleton,
The Dream

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Don Pendleton's Poetry

All poetry © Copyright by Don Pendleton, All Rights Reserved. The poems may not be copied, reprinted, published, quoted, electronically transferred, posted to web sites, or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, without the written permission of Linda Pendleton. All requests for permission for use must be obtained in writing from Linda Pendleton.

Copyright 2015 by Linda Pendleton, All Rights Reserved.