The Pathway

the pathway poetry


Twenty Nineteen

twenty nineteen

I’m trying something new in 2019 (occasionally adding words/poetry to photos), hopefully it turns out. ~ Dave

ps…this is not a new years resolution, so it might happen more than once, lol!

Pascha (Easter)

Pascha (Easter)

Pascha (Easter)

Wanton soldiers
mock and crown a king,
thorns make for a bloody diadem.
Royal robes entwined with raw flesh,
forcing a broken man to his knees,
look upon the scarlet pulp that once,
felt my touch…
loved my embrace.

Who is this monster before me
stumbling on the cobblestone?
Look at this mob, look at this man,
he faints…
he drops…
he rises!
What a bloody nuisance…

Can’t he see I’m a busy man?

Desperate darkness, light twists away.
Nails penetrating,
he hangs…alone.
Raindrops diluting…
a crimson tide
hurries down a splintered post
into a sea of humanity,

What does he care for me?

Thunder claps over the angry clouds,
arms held open…wide
A gory headdress, thy sacred crown,
see how it glistens
life…running down,
like a river
falling from pure chasms.
twirling around the muddied ground…
the refuse…
the dug…
the underpinnings of thy cross,
thy suffering
thy passion.

Are you telling me something?

Soldiers gamble,
a mother cries,
the Father…turns away
my God…
Sour vinegar
seize thy tender lips.
Moments turn to hours,
darkness hath no grace.
His heart broken…
he slumps.
A spear pierces thy side,
and into hell he slides.

Did you really have to die for me?

In a whirl of madness,
blind for all to see.
I could not deem the grace,
hanging upon that tree.
The one who laid it on the line,
and died for someone like me.
And though he surely descended,
he rose the third day…wholly free.

~ Dave Carter

Who has believed our message?
To whom will the Lord reveal his saving power?
My servant grew up in the Lord’s presence like a tender green shoot,
sprouting from a root in dry and sterile ground.
There was nothing beautiful or majestic about his appearance,
nothing to attract us to him.
He was despised and rejected—a man of sorrows,
acquainted with bitterest grief.
We turned our backs on him
and looked the other way when he went by.
He was despised, and we did not care.
Yet it was our weaknesses he carried;
it was our sorrows that weighed him down.
And we thought his troubles were a punishment from God for his own sins!
But he was wounded and crushed for our sins.
He was beaten that we might have peace.
He was whipped, and we were healed!
All of us have strayed away like sheep.
We have left God’s paths to follow our own.
Yet the Lord laid on him the guilt and sins of us all.
He was oppressed and treated harshly,
yet he never said a word.
He was led as a lamb to the slaughter.
And as a sheep is silent before the shearers,
he did not open his mouth.
From prison and trial they led him away to his death.
But who among the people realized that he was dying for their sins—
that he was suffering their punishment?
He had done no wrong,
and he never deceived anyone.
But he was buried like a criminal;
he was put in a rich man’s grave.
But it was the Lord’s good plan to crush him
and fill him with grief.
Yet when his life is made an offering for sin,
he will have a multitude of children, many heirs.
He will enjoy a long life,
and the Lord’s plan will prosper in his hands.
When he sees all that is accomplished by his anguish,
he will be satisfied.
And because of what he has experienced,
my righteous servant will make it possible for many to be counted righteous,
for he will bear all their sins.

Isaiah 53

The Raven

The Raven

The Raven

The Raven
black as silk
and smooth
of flight,
did land
upon this
branch so light,
and as
the twilight
set her stage,
the raven
called out
like a sage,
to all the
earth and
stars alike,
tis time,
tis time…
to say


Today I visited the gravesite of Jeremy, my son. As is my habit I leave a pot of plastic flowers every spring by his headstone. It has been three and a half years since he moved on to heaven and I thought perhaps I would feel a little different with the passage of time; however, not much has changed. I still miss him terribly and not a day goes by that I don’t think of him. Sadly, Jeremy was only eight and a half years old when he died.

Jeremy had many disabilities and was not expected to live beyond a few weeks at best. I love it when the doctors are wrong. Although Jeremy was blind, unable to speak and had no motor skills he was well on his way to recovery and with each passing month was gaining little by little. He fought the good fight and now he is with his saviour Jesus.

I wrote this poem after Jeremy passed on…I believe it is prophetic in nature and I look forward to being with my little man one day soon.

I love you Jeremy. ~ Dad


You flew so high

when you let go…

grasping the wing

of an angel,

feathers soft and purest white.

A breeze brushed your lovely face

and tears raced from eyes

cherishing their first sight,

a golden city…

a nail scared hand

reached to steady that first step.

Words formed

on silent lips,

fresh like dewdrops

on a summer rose.

The taste of honey lingered

as you ran

through open fields of sunflowers,

your cheeks

glistening in the velvet sun.

Hearing your own voice…

you laughed.

And music adorned

your dancing feet;

a robin sang…

and angels cheered you on.

Slipping from my hand,

I see you now…

not as you were.

Suffering was a garment

to be discarded,

and yet…

it is what I cling to.

The pain in my heart

reminds me of you.

I won’t forget.

The tears in my eyes

sting like piercing arrows.

The scars of life seem many,

and some take long to heal.

But for now,

run along little Bear…

savour the choices

that surround you

and be glad,

for your heavenly Father beckons,

“come my little one…come”.