Cover by Peter E. Abresch

   This page updated 10/01/2015


Cover by Peter E. Abresch

   This edition published 03/11

Welcome to Burnt Offerings
    by Peter E. Abresch
    This is the new, second edition of Burnt Offerings, just published in October, 2015.
    In December, 2007, I started sending put Burnt Offerings to friends, acquaintances, and fans of my fiction writing--I have thirteen published novels now. I started with a small reserve and sent them out each Monday in the hope they would cheer the day. The idea was to continue until I ran out but through the Holy Spirit the list kept growing so that in September, 2015, I sent out Burnt Offering #370. Burnt Offerings 2 is the second collection numbering some 170 poems.
    These are really only black squigglys on white paper, a jumble of letters I worked to string together by the grace of God. They are the sole gift I have to return.
    Even so, in the vastness of time and space are not our lives but whiffs of smoke? Burnt Offerings? Here today. Gone tomorrow.
    But Godís love for us is eternal, higher than the stars above the grass of the fields. And if these black squigglys help you connect with that grace, if they give you comfort, a chuckle or two, a prayer, if they prompt a closer relationship with God or help deepen your faith, than dip your bucket in the water of hope and drink so that your heart overflows.
    You have become the eyes on the other side of the paper. You save me from being a seed pod rattle in a desert wind. And the squigglys become words of love for both of us.
    Love is forever.
    So let the universe ignore us. We don't rule it after all.
    But take heart, our Father does.
    PEA, October 2015

    If you have enjoyed any of these poems over the past few years, may I suggest buying a copy as a gift, or placing a copy in your church chapel and marking it please do not remove, then if anyone receives solace or a new faith from these burnt offerings, then you and I in a small way have helped in evangelizing the world. Thank you.

    The Burnt Offering books are priced at $9.95. To purchase the new Burnt Offerins from Amazon.com, please click on [Burnt offerings #2].
    For the original collection, the lower book cover, please click on [Burnt offerings].
    For information or requests to copy please email Peter at sidewalkbooks dot com, taking out all the spaces and using the symbols for at and dot.
    Below are some past poems that I have sent out periodically update (hardly ever). I have other things I need to do.
    Thank you for visiting. This page last updated 10/3/2015

[Return to Index page]


Fifteen Burnt Offering poems last updated 10/8/2015


              Cockcrow
       Before the day star
       I begot you.
       Before the night stars,
       I gave you your name.
       Before time thickened,
       I prepared you a home.
       Before I ordered light,
       I gave you my love.
       Should ever light fade,
       My love remains.
            Peter E. Abresch
            May 22, 2015


              Unclean
       Sometimes
       in the loneliness
       of a moment,
       through despair
       or sickness,
       I feel a leper
       among man
       and call out,
       Lord,
       is there not
       a place for me?
       You reply,
       yes,
       here in My heart.
            Peter E. Abresch
            March 12, 2015
   For all those battling
   terminal illnesses.


              Airborne
       If I look for them, Lord,
       there are moments
       in my day
       when You show me
       something new,
       a surprise
       that gives flight
       to my soul.
       But fail to notice,
       I just slug along.
       Please help me
       stayed attuned
       so at day's end
       I may be called,
       frequent flyer.
            Peter E. Abresch
            April 14, 2015


              Fruit Cocktail
       If an odd sperm cell
       from your father,
       or a different egg
       from your mom,
       united in the womb,
       think your eye color
       would be different?
       No, you would not exist.
       Scramble the pieces
       of your DNA,
       and it is not your DNA.
       So thank God
       for carefully putting
       each strand into place,
       and be joyful of
       your extraordinary
       you.
            Peter E. Abresch
            August 18, 2014


              Bouncing Along
       I saw a play once
       where laughing children
       rushed onto the stage,
       and tall in their midst,
       the man called, Jesus.
       And where else would He be?
       Talk of heaven's rewards,
       of castles and mountain keeps,
       things the tongue cannot tell,
       the mind cannot conceive.
       All the same to you,
       I just want to be
       among those laughing kids
       skipping along
       in Jesus' company.
            Peter E. Abresch
            September 18, 2014
   In memory of Pat Yatsko,
   no doubt skipping along,
   and for Jack.


              Riding The Wind
       Your love, Lord,
       walks on the wind,
       bending prairie grass,
       turning windmills,
       stirring the sea.
       I want to breathe it in
       till my lungs burst,
       spread my shirt
       to gather it like a sail.
       Thank You for this
       gift of love You give
       to all the world,
       but, most humbly,
       thank You, Father,
       Brother Jesus,
       Teacher Spirit,
       for Your love for me.
            Peter E. Abresch
            July 22, 2014


              Focus
       I awoke, dressed,
       walked in a world
       with fuzzy edges,
       things barely familiar.
       Was I losing my mind?
       Then a voice called out.
       You idiot!
       Put on your eyeglasses.
       My world focused
       with a new clarity.
       Life made no sense
       without my faith-glasses.
       They sharpen
       the black and white
       laws of physics
       by coloring them
       with hope.
            Peter E. Abresch
            January 14, 2014


              Super Surprise
       Asking for God's grace
       to increase our faith
       is like asking for pizza.
       Extra cheese and pepperoni.
       And if the grace we ask
       is to love others as ourselves,
       He gives us a special topping,
       super surprise.
       The path forward
       won't be easy,
       there's still the cross,
       but with a full stomach,
       pizza and toppings,
       who can stop us?
            Peter E. Abresch
            June 22, 2013
   For Joe Mills and Jim Caldwell
   on the occasion of their ordination
   with stolen words from son Stefan


              Whining
       One Sunday my son whined,
       Why do I have to go to church,
       why can't I stop like other kids?
       I charged toward him,
       filling him with terror,
       me with consternation.
       To the surprise of us both,
       I hugged him and said,
       because I love you too much.
       Now I have no purview
       of God's thinking,
       He often ignores
       my advice,
       but sometimes,
       when I whine about
       unanswered prayers,
       perhaps for things
       that will do me no good,
       I think He embraces me,
       and whispers,
       because I love you too much.
            Peter E. Abresch
            May 28, 2013
   For Marc
   who still goes to church


              Knowing Poop
       I tell you right off,
       I don't know poop.
       And my actions
       may be sacrilegious.
       But I often ask
       my oldest Friend
       to join me in enjoying
       a cup of coffee,
       in watching an eagle
       soar in the sky,
       having a secret lick
       of ice cream,
       or smile at dandelions
       which only He plants.
       Unorthodox perhaps,
       but it's my way
       of showing love
       to my oldest Friend,
       He who knew me
       before me.
            Peter E. Abresch
            October 10, 2013


              Alone?
       I am alone
       in the vastness of space,
       and the whole universe
       shouts,
       who are you?
       But I cannot answer.
       No voice, no tongue,
       no words have I.
       Then the Spirit
       touches me,
      
       and I shout out
       to the farthest star,
       I am a child
      
       of the living God.
       No one dares dispute it.
            Peter E. Abresch
            June 26, 2012


              Word Monger
       As a writer,
       staring at a blank page,
       I complain to God.
       I need to create
       something
       from nothing.
       Do You know how
       difficult that is, Lord?
       Create something
       from nothing?
       Have You any idea . . .
       Excuse me?
       Oh,
       You mean like,
       Let there be light?
            Peter E. Abresch
            April 23, 2012


              Dismas
       Talk about a screw-up?
       Did you ever do anything right?
       No one knows your life,
       nor why you were condemned.
       Was it for your only infraction
       or one for which you were caught?
       Benign as the taking of bread
       or deadly as taking a life?
       We only know you ended on a cross.
       So what possessed you to ask
       the Man hanging next to you
       to remember you in His kingdom?
       No matter.
       You give hope to all us screw-ups
       that the grasp for grace
       is always there for the asking.
            Peter E. Abresch
            December 2, 2010


              Rinky Dink
       Ever just shout out
       to the Lord in joy?
       Spontaneously?
       Great job
       with the sunset, Lord.
       Someone called these
       Rinky Dink Prayers
       as opposed to formal
       or rote prayers.
       Nothing wrong
       with any kind of prayer,
       but I happen to think
       He prefers Rinky Dink,
       those that pour
       from the heart.
       Yeaaa, God.
            Peter E. Abresch
            July 25, 2012


              A Man's View
       I see a bird riding the wind,
       roller-coasting without effort.
       That has got to be heaven.
       But hold a moment.
       God blessed the bird with flight
       yet it's stuck out in the cold and rain,
       it eats road-kill and smelly food,
       it has no beer.
       Obviously not heaven.
       No man nor creature
       gets off scot-free here,
       but when we reach the other side,
       we shall swoop and soar like eagles,
       we shall have shelter from the cold,
       we shall eat really really good stuff,
       we shall have beer!
            Peter E. Abresch
            September 29, 2010
   For the men of
   203 Washington Cursillo


Burnt Offerings 21

              Wind Chimes
       We could be wind chimes.
       You and I.
       Wind chimes.
       Even the words have a musical rhythm,
       evoking sea breezes, sunlight, salt air.
       They are different from gongs, doorbells,
       things we have to ring,
       slam a clapper, tinkle a bell.
       Only God can play a wind chime,
       the Spirit gamboling in like a zephyr,
       blowing from where we know not,
       nor where she goes,
       but if we are quiet,
       if we leave off slamming our gongs,
       tinkling our bells,
       she whispers as she passes.
       And each hears music entrusted only to us.
       Songs we are given to sing.
       Knowledge to share.
       May my melody be one of love.
       Give it wing on the wind
       to blow where we do not know.
       Oh Lord of love and laughter...
       come ring my chimes.
              for Annemarie
              Peter E. Abresch
              July, 1995



          

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