Poetry Published by Greg Allen

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THE CROWD – (6/09)

A number of souls stroll past.
The size of ‘em all rain vast.
They range large to small, young and aged.
The facial expression of each could stir varying thought.
Waves of various skin tones are shades of humanity.
Degrees of emotion are on display through beaconing behavior.
Each has a story, some spoken, others, often not.
None are a like, not one, need it matter, for He loves ‘em all.
God’s hand upon an endless sea of souls is undeniably true.
A crowd once stood to stare at His sacrifice for all.
Many have suffered for just cause.
He cares for us, believer, or not.
Christ, I see His love in a choice few.
How can the crowd not know of a Savior?
That we’re called to spread the Word in a world – lost.
Proclaim this day, His love for all!
Don’t drown in an indifferent sea.
For we are to love the crowd, lost, or found.


At times, life’s like a maze.
Where to go?
What to do?
Our land reeks of daze.
The News paints a shade of grave.
Satan’s task – twist, puzzle, confuse.
Don’t venture that way.
Life’s maze will fluster.
Faith’s never void obstacle.
Usually somethin’ in the way.
The chore’s till the end.
Chalk it up for the walk.
Counted joy or sorrow.
You aren’t lost with the One called true.
Lay hold the tangible.
Show me the way out of this maze, Lord.
I’m lost without You.

MERE WORDS – (5/08)

In any language there’s a definition of hope.
In any language there’s a destinction of love.
In any language … He’s King.
In any language … He’s worthy of praise.
In any language … He deserves honor for who He truly is.
Mere words can’t depict His worth.
Mere words can’t portray the glory of His reign.
Mere words could never illustrate that awful pain He endured.
In any language … He loved us that day at Calvary.
Mere words like gratitude and thanks aren’t enough.
Mere words can’t convey the ultimate price He paid.
Mere words can’t characterize that type of love for anyone.
In any language … He’s Christ … the Prince of Peace.
In any language … He’s Jesus … Savior of the World.


I peer upon two sets of stairs.
One soaked in ascending light.
The other shrouded in a cloud of descend.
The stairs of success one must choose.
It’s lonely at the top.
Many, outside looking in.
A horde file to the plunge – wanting more.
Few dare look up.
Several stand at the stairs to glare.
With what would you do more?
A test of moral fiber’s the curve.
Steps of ascend can be long and narrow.
That stair may take a lifetime to climb.
Some try, then fall.
Many have the thought “The climb’s just too much!”
The steps downward are quick and few.
How does one measure the fare?
Why do the ungodly prosper?
It’s by worldly cause they turn.
The downward flight will be crowded with many claiming to have it all.
Although the ascent will be with nothing, they’ll be told “Well done!”

CONTENT – (3/08)

I’m content with where I’m at.
Been there done that.
Lived the high life.
Millions claim to be bored.
Longing for more.
Not really knowing what they ask for.
I got a place, somethin’ to eat.
Isn’t that what He meant by supply our needs?
What’s the ideal job anyway?
You’ll have to decide.
Is more all that better?
The world yet knows.
Contentment can be an evasive word.
When you lose a grasp of true measure.
Why do we think we need more stuff?
When it’s all just dust.
I wonder at times about the rich.
How they frown on the poor.
Whom doth have true peace?
Of a phrase spoken long ago.
“Be it I’m content in all things.”
There’s a lot lost in the translation now days.

JOB’S TOIL – (12/06)

Consider Job’s toil.
Once rich, beset, then twice blessed.
Our days are of similar circumstance.
Count it joy or sorrow.
It’s easy getting caught in the shuffle.
Life is short and troubled.
The plight isn’t master.
The soul hungers to know someone cares.

AUDIENCE – (9/06)

Imagine the end for a moment.
An auditorium vast in expanse.
Several thousand seats to be filled.
A symbolic stage down front.
It’s representative life and awaits.
Many prepare their recitation in the wings.
For the podium of account they must speak.
Soon a horde boast of self-acclaim.
The absence of faith is their shame.
A dark curtain of finality the fate.
Several then take a turn to brag of spiritual insight.
Their description of self-glory resonates with disturbing echo.
They gloat amidst the dim light to a crowd of one.
Then the meek begin to file on stage.
Their words are few, but the lights rise to reveal seats filled.
It’s the Creator who has a hand on the spotlight.
Those in the audience are now numerous souls.
For they represent all one has touched.
They’re the definition of heaven’s aim.
The humble shall exit with reward bestowed.


The violent taketh by storm.
Just hold an ear to the wind.
Expectation of a sighting heightens by passing day.
Anxiety has gripped the fearful.
The prepared aren’t frightened by such grave news.
A world darker with every dawn weeps true.
There’s a ray of hope shining through the peril.
A stretched forth hand says you’re not alone.
It belongs to Christ Jesus … a trustworthy Savior.


Life’s full of game, vast in resource.
Many fare a cast; others venture but dare none.
What we seek is sizable, due determination.
Destination, be it muddy creek, translucent pond, crystal clear lake, or vast sea of blue, only imagination will apprize.
Days, be there a portion, are numbered at best, cast while they last.
Faith’s castin’ that line of expectation.
Complicated won’t always hook ’em; simplicity will surely do.
It’d be boring if all we could hook were trout, oh, the beauty of variety.
Set realistic goals won’t you; don’t fish for whales in a pond full of minnows.
Strategy’s key, not always productive however.
Success and failure go hand in hand, straddle a thin line indeed; it’s all about perception.
It’s important to view the experience as far greater than the feat.
The net of “NO” isn’t always the end; it’s usually safety beyond fathom.
Hold the prize in your palm, smile, then let go; much like He does with defining love.
Catch and release is a merciful term to learn.
Fill the boat with hope, you never know what the day may hold.
Prayer never hurt either; a great fisherman’s persistent.
Life’s a bit like fishin’ you know, it’s unpredictable, and the fish aren’t always bitin.’


It’s craft turning nothing into something.
The Lord’s given task.
Glance upon this way of humanity.
Man lack not a blotch.
But what of life’s troubled spots?
Toiling over some personnel smudge.
What lies beneath the flaw?
Etched upon the very soul.
A vast shade of reason lie there.
One struggling with this, another with that.
To love those with blemish boasts of humility.
After all, Christ chose to rub out the stains plaquing us all.


Man’s asphalt fares and glowing structures have little appease.
The sum of mankind’s creation crumbles with time.
Yet my Lord lives on.
I can see His hand in the slender grass, waving in the breeze.
That child’s laugh, a little wink.
I can envision His glory amongst the rustling leaves in the trees.
Love; the sight of a couple holding hands.
It’s stirring, those ripples a-sway across calming waters.
That bird soaring aloft effortlessly.
His presence reigns adrift forever more in a sky so blue.
A fingerprint of never-ending clouds speak of Majesty.
This life is a wonderful one, Lord.
I can see You in it all.


At the water’s edge, I stare to ponder days prior.
A scare of gloom the enemy’s brewed.
Upon none of that a believer should dwell.
At the water’s edge.
At the water’s edge, I marvel at the reflection of the heavens.
That hope in a believer’s peace.
The ripples stir a calm within me.
At the water’s edge.
At the water’s edge, I think back to when He gave it all.
Those days of fishers of men.
No different than today.
At the water’s edge.
At the water’s edge, I ponder my life’s call.
What I’ve done for Him of late.
This faith’s all in all.
At the water’s edge.
At the water’s edge, the storms of life no longer have a hold.
At the water’s edge.


The Prophet cries out amidst it all.
It’s God’s proclaim he’ll raise.
Many will refuse to lend an ear.
For they reason it’s not for a modern-day.
The Prophet is called and can’t relent.
Some are no doubt false, others true.
Stand in judgement of what they say.
It need be true to the Word.
God’s servant recognized through and through.

THE GRIND – (3/08)

An ocean of faces I see.
Piled high, all of these.
They’re a splash of humanity.
Stacked far and deep.
Upon an emptiness I stare.
Blankness has a hold on each.
So many flounder in the depths of an unimportant sea.
I can feel that scare of reality.
My mind is racing with thoughts all-too-familiar.
This heart’s a-beat with the rhythm of pondering reason.
Those faces oh so many a blur.
Too busy to seek a real Savior.
It’s wise to slow and know Him more.
A focus on abounding love will abide well.
I shall bid farewell to that grind of self-affliction.
For it will drown my relation.


I gained a foothold amidst depravity today.
It was a shed of light upon that chasm of gray.
While on bent knees a washing of my tears occurred.
I believe there’s passion in the rain.
I could hear the theme of, “I’ll never leave or turn away.”
Poetic, for there was a voice in it all.
A rustling all about me.
The wind has swept over me.
That sensation of His presence brought me low.
For I could feel a gentle breeze.
That invisible hand upon my cheek.

SKID ROW – (5/07)

My place of employment is a classroom today.
Thanks be to the One for educating me.
Out back lie a bunch of pallets, ones long forgotten.
As I throw another on the pile I can’t escape my thoughts.
The sight of stained bleeding rust, the nails driven deep.
These were once trees.
Then it hit me.
Christ hung on one for me.
Stack upon stack of old gray skids no one wants.
I was once like them, tossed for junk.
Now they lie a waste, rottin’ in the sun.
Rugged, breached, tattered, often torn.
I was once amongst the pile, no better than those of skid row.
Lying a waste, rotting in sin.
As I gaze upon the worthless, I ponder my depraved prior ways.
With a chuckle, the feeling stirs within me “There’s no takers for these.”
No outstretched hand to take em’ in.
They’re just trash the world would say.
Just a little trimmin,’ sandin’ here and there.
Others could foresee my thoughts as a begger’s plea.
They don’t share the vision.
Cause Jesus saw something in me.
I’m thinkin’ a crafted heirloom them all, that He has fashioned of me.
Which one do I choose?
My heart says, “Take em’ all!”


Life is filled with many a hint.
He’ll never broker attention’s battered blow.
His essence we oh so often ignore.
That recurring dream a deemed wash.
The bent grass, the wind, nothing more.
The One called Love is far more.
A babe born bares witness alone.
That dove just beyond the pane speaks peace.
A tear welling in sight of need.
There’s always a hint … always.
A glimpse of the forest amidst the trees.


In the midst of trial we long for rest.
A promise of peace the heart seeks.
The Lord has reassured with His Word.
Told of great things.
Beware for the fowler’s snare is prepared.
The noose’s held tight and awaits.
Satan’s trickery will entangle thee.
That waiting shoulder of despair his lair.
There’s no departure from a truth kept.
We serve a risen Savior whose always there.
In Christ we’ll find that hope sought.
Rejoice in that an arisen soul now soars.
For great and mighty is the table He’s prepared.


The newly tilled, but fragile soil of life sifts through yet another season again.
A dormant, but often unspoken spirit of love it springth forth again.
Our love, our being, our existence, it not only dwellth, but it soars within.
The beauty of spring and the birth of life I cannot ignore.
Life as it may seem, is like a seed adrift upon the wind.
Your beauty now rough and worn with time is what the world may preceive, but the Creator, He seeth the love that dwellth within.
The wind may come and it may blow, the storms of life they seem to never end.
Yet, you stand in defiance of its calamity and live to love those all around to the end.
The fragrance of the soul within is all I ever need, my love is till our season of bloom cometh to an end.
That will be the day when the fruit of life we share with each other will end, but the reward of eternal life will just begin.


* This poem was published in the July – August 2006 issue of The Conqueror Magazine. (Volume 34 Number 04) The magazine is a ministry of the General Youth Division of the United Pentecostal Church International – www.pentecostalyouth.org

Would you sell your car, your boat, your craft, to leave more time – Because of Him?
Would you tell your friends, no its wrong – Because of Him?
Would you lay awake just a moment more to pray – Because of Him?
Would you go where He says to go – Because of Him?
Would you say I knew you once, but I would love to know you again – Because of Him?
Would you lay down your life, knowing full well you could lose it – Because of Him?
Because of Him – We now live!
Because of Him – There is now hope!
Because of Him – Yes – It’s all … because … of Him!

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