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Best Poems Written by Helen Murray

Below are the all-time best Helen Murray poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Helen Murray Poem

Your Wedding


This is your day in the sun,
Your day of triumph,
Of commitment,
Of promise and intention,
Of New Beginnings,
The end of loneliness.
This is the new foundation,
The plying together of bricks and mortar
The bricks to give colour and shape,
The mortar to give structure and soundness,
So that together you are an impregnable fortress
With doors of heartfelt love,
Windows of vision,
Rooms of peace and generousity, 
Furnishings of service and beauty,
And a garden of sweet memories to grow.
I wish you success at every turn,
Joy on every path,
Delight in all the little things of life,
Deeply rooted and vigorously sprouting shoots of loyalty and love
Nurtured on the fertiliser of experience and wisdom,
And
LONG LIFE TOGETHER!

Details | Helen Murray Poem

Stage Centre

Christmas Sestina: Stage Centre!

A Child is born!  Of Life this is beginning.
His cup is to defend the truth and right.
A stable now becomes of earth the centre,
At this, as yet un-named but very first “’Christmas”.
Of pain and misery soon He’ll make an end,
For God, the Holy One, has entered time.

Some wise men saw a star, and said “It’s time
To see the newest miracle beginning –
A great King born – Oh what will be the end?
We thought that in the stars we had it right, 
But what is this new saga?   (Call it Christmas)
When stars show a new King at creation’s centre?”

And yes.  Indeed.  A scream erupts at centre
Of attention as the knife cuts deep in time.
Old Simon lives a happy day this Christmas –
Now satisfied with death, his new beginning,
While Anna cries rejoicing as the right
Messiah comes, to bring to death to end.

But this could never ever be the end
As baby Jesus will yet take stage centre,
As is his mortal destiny and right,
To come fulfill the prophecies in time,
To bring salvation as a new beginning.
Such a day will ever be known as Christmas.

Now men the whole world over celebrate Christmas.
Of blindness, ignorance now there is an end.
Of truth and life He brings a new beginning
As in the hearts of men he builds his centre.
Justice and compassion have their time,
And a man can set his Heavenly heritage right.

So know that everything will be set right
For Jesus came at night, on that first Christmas,
To start the final era – the last days of time.
His Spirit births in men who’re at an end
Of self, and who will gladly make Him centre
Of their death, and so engage the new beginning.

The earliest beginning was at Christmas.
Narcissism is right at its very end.
Now Jeshua has the centre of the stage of time.

Details | Helen Murray Poem

Grattitude First Lesson In Christian Living

Dear little pony, the children’s clown,
Rough mane stands tall, his thick tail tumbles down.
Jiggety, jog.  Yes, some riders have frowned.
Dad can ride him with two feet on the ground!
 
He’s a tough little, nuggety, wonderful chap
Who can live on the roughest of diet mishap.
We don’t feed him oats much, he’ll founder on those,
But if you can ride him you’re right home and hosed!
 
He’s full of the tricks that intelligence brings.
He’s always a challenge until mummy sings
Out loud, lets him know that he can’t get away
With presenting his backside to children today.
 
The children must learn how to command him too.
It isn’t the easiest thing they must do,
But they look for the pleasure of riding again,
So they learn how to handle tough diamond disdain.
 
They must learn how to stop him from racing away
Towards home when his head is turned facing that way.
His mind is on resting with food in his trough,
But his job is to teach, and he does it but tough!
 
Tough diamond’s a doorway to wonderful thrills
In the glorious world of the horseman’s spills
And great challenges.  Once you can master this rascal
Nothing can daunt you.  Introductory sample
 
Of every excitement that riding can offer,
He’s cute, pert, adorable, and he can proffer
Essential abilities.  Gratitude is
The gateway to mastery, sire of bliss!
 
Every offence becomes laughable when
You think back to this tough little customer. Then
Your mind turns to teaching, as Daddy once did.
No more can the mud of offence cause a skid.
 
You’ll go round it.  Or jump it. There’s no need to fall
 When Gratitude’s mastered.  Remembering all
Those scuffles you had that your dad helped you through,
You’ll mother, or father, or teach others too.

Details | Helen Murray Poem

Lost and Found

To lose one’s faith is such a great disaster.
Life falls apart, disintegrates, and dies.
Climb back again. We have an amazing Master.

A man I know lost faith, and his life’s design.
He gave up hope, and took to pity’s resign.
To lose one’s faith is such a great disaster.

He broke a heart, a marriage, and kept the kids
But shredded them too, for lack of vision’s skids.
Climb back again.  We have and amazing Master.

His wife forgot her passion for truth’s wild fire,
And wandered, lost, into world’s framed by desire.
To lose one’s faith is such a great disaster.

But God was on her case.  He never left her,
And brought her longing heart within His spur.
She climbed back again to her amazing Master.

The tale goes on, for the children need to know
Why father’s fall had made them suffer so, 
Why losing faith is such a great disaster.
Climb back again.  We’ve such an amazing Master.

Details | Helen Murray Poem

January Stance

Look and review.  Look and review.
The New Year is coming.  Review’s what we do.
What have I believed in? What lies have been told?
What truth has ascendance? For truth is my gold.
What lies have invaded and reworked the Truth?
Where have I departed, diminished forsooth?
Where have I veered off from true Liberty’s path,
Compromised integrity, brought on God’s wrath.

The New Year is coming.  A new slate is here.
History’s drawing new pictures of fear.
Will it be fear of what people might say,
Or fear of the Good Lord who loves us today.
Shall I pay attention to cultural lies?
Or shall I look Heavenwards, one of God’s spies
Who constantly roam around Heavenly places
To bring back its perfumes in kindness and graces.

The spies of our Father have wisdom to go
From a closet of prayer to the big world below
With the gifts of the Spirit, of wisdom in kind,
Knowledge  un-natural, miracle mind.
So how may I check that my pathway lies true?
More time in the Heavenly places is due,
That the words of my mouth, which are weapons enough,
May achieve on this earth all His miracle stuff!

Details | Helen Murray Poem

Soul In Travail

Soul in Anguish, 
Soul in torment,
Soul in delirium, 
Soul in pain,
Soul in ecstasy, 
Soul in anxiety, 
Soul in frustration, 
Soul in disdain.

Soul in passion,
Soul in laughter,
Soul in death and 
Soul in life.
Soul in penitence,
Soul in reflection, 
Soul in love and
Soul in strife.

Oh my soul you
Keep me dancing.
I can never 
Dance alone.
I search for my 
Soul’s companion.
Who will offer?
Is there one?

Here are now my 
Suitors willing.
There is Envy,
Look at Hate,
Bitterness and 
Self-Absorption,
Pity looking 
For a date.

What of Vengeance
Narcissism,
Self-indulgence
Dressed up fine,
Pride and Guilt with
Sad Depression,
Desperation,
What a line!

I have danced with
Every suitor.
And I’ve wondered
Who is mine.
I don’t want to 
Lock into a
Partnership that
Doesn’t shine.

All of these have
Looked attractive.
Yet they weaken 
On the spins!
Where is one that
Lasts for ever?
I will only
Look at him.

I need one who
Will not fail me,
Leave me when the
Going’s tough,
One who’s strong and
Knows the dance steps.
Treading on my 
Toes is rough!

Something deep
Within me tells me
Suitors there are
More than enough,
I must search the 
Highest mountain
For the one whose
Name is Truth.

Mr.Truth will 
Undergird my 
Weakness, lift 
My spirits high.
Warm my coldness,
Light my darkness,
Hold my trust as 
He draws nigh.
.

He will lead me
Without falter
To a banquet 
Richly spread.
I will follow
Every dance step
Waiting for the
Day we wed.

Then for ever
All those suitors
And their lies will
Disappear.
There will only 
Be the glory
Of beloved 
Jesus here.

Details | Helen Murray Poem

Red Dust Australia

Australia sings a song of serpents rising up, creating life:
Of rainbow colours pouring out their hope and yet delivering strife.
Came some strangers, brought a Spirit waving truth and love profound,
Freedom banners o’er her flying, raising up most glorious sound.
A hundred years she waved this banner. Then the rust began to creep
Soul-lessly across the landscape, making tracks and digging deep.

Doors were opened. Yet more strangers trod her roads and dug their caves.
‘Truth,’ they said, ‘hath many meanings. We would like to dig some graves.
There we’ll bury gentle grace – erect the boot-legged female tower,
Raise the flag of left-brained reason o’er the right side sensing power.
Cover up the mast of truth and on the ground confine its length,
Let the winds of other options blow away the nation’s strength.’
We have need of nations’ favour.  We will let all peoples in,
Not discerning how they’ll answer to the truth we held within.

We will wave the flag of freedom, even though the mast is gone,
And that flag has perished weakly, divided for the invading throng,
Yet we’ll splutter our pathetic hope they’ll like us if we do,
As we hand the dream of freedom to the dictates of the few.’
‘See what once was great Australia squirming in its own red dust.’
That’s the future if we do not rise as one in faithful trust,
Yet believing in the Father who inspired our elders past
To begin a practice of the faith that ever will outlast

Every other.   Great Australians, let this toleration cease
For a system bound religion currently on the increase,
Having just one single interest – that is taking prisoners fast,
Waging war on those opposed, whose faith and courage does not last.
Open up your long-lashed eyelids just enough to see the steam
Of the train that’s slowly coming with its own imposing dream.
Please cease flagging secularism - humanist faith that has no legs.
There’s some quicksand in our future, if we hang out with these dregs.

Details | Helen Murray Poem

Identity

IDENTITY

My Identity’s in question.
Who am I?
What am I doing here on earth?
Oh Jesus, tell me why?
It’s difficult to understand.
My query is “Where will I land?”
I sometimes feel in party mode
And then I crack.  A heavy load
Of expectations crush my spine.
I wonder how I’ll ever shine.
The scene looks dark and I despair.
What happens if I enter there?
If I go with the seething crowd
And take the view that’s all around,
The smiling face that’s trouble’s mask?
To find the truth is all I ask.
“And are you now prepared to pay
The price?  That’s all I have to say.”
The price?  Of truth? I see, you mean
To stand alone in victory’s scene,
And sometimes take derisive news
Right on the chin if that bemuse
Some power-playing man-excuse.
And to respond with love alone.
No curse is uttered.  I am one
With Jesus, cursed on hanging tree,
Yet risen, alive and driving me.
The truth alone is worth the fight.
The love behind it shines the Light
Upon the path that I must tread.
It’s love alone provides the bread
That I must feed on.  That’s my choice.
I’m singing now.  I have a voice!
The truth is worth proclaiming loud.
I stand averse to the liar’s shroud –
That knotted pack of misconstrued
Intros to a life of lewd
Malfunction.
At this junction
I’m decided
I’ve collided
 But I’m up again and following
The Mastermind Who, creating 
Amazing Life, has won my heart.
So from His presence no depart
Will satisfy the likes of me.
Come walk with me and you can see
That truth is all our hearts beat for,
And Truth is Love.  He is the door
To LIFE.
That’s me
I’m loved you see.
And love is all I want to know.
Whatever the cost that’s where I go.
He loves ME!
He LOVES me!
HE loves me!
That’s my identity!
There is in Heaven a scroll
Where my life’s plan’s enrolled.
It’s mine to discover, and mine to find out
It’s mine to fulfil
And Mine to shout.
That’s me.
God knows me
Inside out.
There’s a plan for me
And that’s what I’m about!
I was made for this.
I was made for joy.
I was made to dance,
I was made to sing.
There’s a plan for me and 
I’m right here in the ring
To the end.  The last day,
When I shout hurray,
Jesus waits for me
His reward in hand.
I’ll persist till I’m there
At the very end
Of the Beginning.

Details | Helen Murray Poem

The Poet's Task

A poet is a man with words,
And words a weapon are.
His words are sharply stropped and so
He makes them travel far.
He makes them cover many miles, 
Emotive  ones at that,
Digest those miles, absorbs their styles,
Gestate them, thinking back.
Then, having indigestion, our
Young poet now must crumble,
Or re-invest those travelled words
In a new song, strong but humble.
He reaches in to get the feel,
He crawls to depths un-shared.
He wonders is that’s all there is
And dances with despair.
But he reaches out to touch
The great Designing Hand
By whom all things were made, who took
That great creative  stand,
Whose mind spun wildly when He thought
Of making man like Him,
With vivid sensitivities,
A heart to reach and dream.
He stretches, and the Hand is there
To touch and know the power
Of gentle sensitivity
In this harmonious hour.
He starts to write he knows not what,
Marvels at the sight
Of these rich words that tumble out
In order neat and tight,
The words are sharp.  They know their place.
Their rhythms dance and play.
He dances too, though the tune is new,
The words make no delay.
They place themselves before his eyes.
His eyebrows on the rise,
His eyes wide open watching while
His hand the keyboard plies.
He takes a breath before he reads
What he has written down.
His heart expands, and satisfied,
He thinks of what he had inside
And finds it grandly multiplied
While he seems just the clown.

Details | Helen Murray Poem

Viva La Difference

I can’t imagine where I’d be
If Jesus had not come to me.

I knew Him once, so long ago
But life pressed in and so, you know,
I quite forgot His loving ways
And trundled on in those dark days

I can’t imagine where I’d be
If Jesus had not come to me.

Divorce hit hard and more than that
I found myself alone and sat
In gloomy, hopeless misery,
Feigning that contentment I might see.

I can’t imagine where I’d be
If Jesus had not come to me.

The New Age failed to win my trust
And Buddha couldn’t help me.  Thus
I looked and looked for something good –
Invited Him to share my food

I can’t imagine where I’d be
If Jesus had not come to me.

He sat at table’s feastless head,
My female self in witchcraft mode,
My male adorned in handsome garb,
My child at play.  No sound was heard –

And then he left – out through my door,
So I went too.  It would be poor
To lose so sweet and true a friend.
I followed him right out.  The end

Of lonely effort, point bereft.
I’d follow Him with footsteps deft.
I’d never let Him leave my sight,
For He had loved me.  Sweet delight!

I can’t imagine where I’d be
If Jesus had not come to me.