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Best Poems Written by John Stasukevich

Below are the all-time best John Stasukevich poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Psalm For the Broken

Desperate, broken, needing love
Descending low through the air
Your Holy Spirit like a dove
Came to me in my despair

Confused, tattered, bitterly torn
Needing a full release
By your grace I am reborn
Now I know your loving peace

Day by day I’m seeking you
In your Word you are found
It tells me that I’m brand new
Your mercy and love richly abound

I am filled with joy and I sing
Blessing you with all my heart
Worshiping and praising my God & King
Honor and glory to You I impart

Thank you, Lord, for calling me
Out of the muck and mire
You opened my heart and eyes to see
It is truly You that I desire

		John Stasukevich
		3/20/2023

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About the Meadow

Listen to the billowing wind
The cool oak tree’s shadow 
Renew while sauntering in
And gaze about the meadow

Watch the daisies dancing
Birds and bees romancing
Radiant sun enhancing
Beauty about the meadow

Oh how it warms your heart
Soothing and healing you start
Pondering that you are a part
Of the bliss about the meadow

Jumping, skipping, frolicking free
Laughing and rejoicing that you see
That soon you are about to be
Wandering about the meadow

Suddenly dark clouds appear
Rumbling thunder and lightning you hear
Startling you as rain draws near
Trouble about the meadow

Off to the barn you run and hide
It’s cold, damp and musty inside
Patiently there you wait beside
The storm about the meadow

An hour later the rain stopped
You wonder, has the storm dropped?
You opened the door and out it popped
The sun about the meadow

Oh, lovely and fresh the smell
The ambience makes your heart swell
Capturing your heart that’s dying to tell
Your adventure about the meadow

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Lovers' Stroll

a cool evening moon glows
    she peers with sudden intent
        the stars glisten as the wind blows
           the clouds flew swiftly as they went

               her mind strains with blissful wonder
                  the moment so fleeting yet cherished
                     trees bent over as she looked under
                        oh, that moon wistfully vanished

	          smiling she pondered the gift
	       her heart rejoiced as he spoke
	    her soothed mind gave her a lift
	 her love so strong in her awoke

       ah, romance dwells sweet
   our spirits are uplifted
praising each other we repeat
   how blessed we are and gifted

       said he “you’re beautiful and fair”
          smiling she received his praise
	    his love for her transcended there
	       she hugged him after a gaze

		their walk continued near the beach
		   the sun reflected on the water
		 a precious moment they did reach
	       as their love welled warm and softer

	   day after day they walked along
         sharing their hearts’ desire
     mending wounds in silent song
eternal union to inspire

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This Is Fun

I wish I were a poet.
I think I am, I know it.
My mind says “don’t blow it.”
I think I’ll give it time.

Poems I’ve read a lot, you know,
I haven’t read enough, although,
to make a mark in time and show
I think I’ll give it time.

This is fun. It gives me rest.
Especially when I read the best.
My soul and heart they do arrest.
I think I’ll give it time.

Sauntering, laughing, skipping, beguiling,
thoughts and words, visions compiling.
As I write, my heart is smiling.
I think I’ll give it time.

	TIME’S UP! ??

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What Love

What love,  what love, what love,
Flowing gracefully down from above
Like sunlit glistening crashing waves
His radiant powerful sea behaves
Swiftly beckoning the morning dove

Oh the majestic soothing splendor
of His love so rich, so tender
Our God is strong, a brilliant light
Warmly, loving, granting sight
Charming our hearts in soft candor

Over and over, the Lion displays
His power and strength¸ His masterful ways
Wistfully, wonderfully bringing us joy
He builds in us His will to employ
In service to others all our days

Filling our souls in blissful rapture
Enjoying this rush our hearts do capture
The fruit of the Spirit, He loves to bring
It inspires our worship as we sing
His Words of love in holy scripture

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The Source of Love

The Source of Love

Oh dear Lord as I come near
My praise and adoration you will hear.
I enter into your courts with praise
And hinder not my voice to raise.

You are the mighty omnipotent one,
Holy, righteous and compared to none
Omniscient, omnipresent, majestic King,
To you my offerings I do bring.

Creator of the universe,
In you I will my soul immerse.
To lift you high on eagle’s wings
Oh, most glorious King of Kings.

You sent your son to show us the way, 
And to give us hope for that coming day.
When he shall return and the trumpets sound
Oh, what jubilee and joy shall abound.

Where Oh death is now thy sting?
Thy mercy Lord is a blessed thing.
When I consider all Thy ways,
I’ll rest in you for all my days.

Your love is like the setting sun.
So beautiful is our redeeming one.
Who paid the penalty for our sin.
And now allows us to enter in.

How wonderfully soothing is your grace.
It makes my heart continue pace.
And comforts all who know your love.
That glorious bliss from above.

You are full of loving kindness.
Gone forever that crippling blindness.
Indeed you’ve opened all our eyes,
Who’ve been rescued from our demise.

Oh what joy comes from salvation.
You have given to every tongue and nation.
We worship you with sweet oblation.
Your Word is truth and our sanctification.

Now our joy is entirely complete,
As we look forward to when we’ll meet.
Our triune God in heaven above,
Who alone is our source of love.

John Stasukevich
8/25/2011

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Bucolic

Bucolic

Bucolic, what a word.
I learned it from John Lloyd.
A poem like this, is it absurd?
And will it get you annoyed?

Imagine the grassy countryside.
The milk & honey flowing land,
or waves breaking at high tide,
crashing loudly at God’s command.

Bucolic, what does it mean?
A pastoral poem, beautifully written.
A scenic view, very serene.
There we were, completely smitten.

I love this word, bucolic.
I learned it from John Lloyd.
She blessed me with a frolic,
her loving arms I enjoyed.

As we drove down the coast,
bucolic views of ocean blue,
they were indeed a glorious host,
honeymoon passion we did pursue.

Now it’s done, no more left.
We’re parting ways too soon.
My heart so broken and bereft,
surely it’s not a bucolic tune.

Yet God is in that word,
I learned from John Lloyd.
It sounded wonderful as I heard,
bucolic now, no more deployed.

John Stasukevich
6/12/23

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Mitch

Mitch

My friend is my brother
from another mother
who is like no other.
In Christ, he’s my brother.

It’s my privilege to utter
and I do not stutter,
nor would I mutter,
In Christ, he’s my brother.

He’s certainly no nutter,
as smooth as butter,
like a ship’s rudder,
In Christ, he’s my brother.

In line, he’s no cutter.
His house has no clutter.
He’s firm without judder.
In Christ, he’s my brother.

He’s surely not a hutter.
His roof has no gutter.
His garage has no putter.
In Christ, he’s my brother.

So now it’s time,
to end my rhyme
for he is sublime.
In Christ, he’s my brother.

He’s not poor nor rich.
In him I find no glitch.
His name is Mitch.
He’s my brother.

John Stasukevich
6/24/2023