There must be a place


I stand here at the edge of the road

The cross road…

The edge is the ditch of shame

How can one so zealous for his saviour be in such a place as this…

There must have been a wrong turn a planting of some sort that didn’t grow

And I came alone so I am

I go on but to what point and cause

Go to the North

Will I find one there

Go to the South are there any there who care

What if

Were I to the east where all the harsh storms come

Oh maybe to the west to the setting of the sun

But if I here remain

How ever shall I find life and change

Was I not planted long ago

What uproot now and where to go

Seems a fools foul game unwittingly I played

But still look I and believe

There must be a place



There Must Be A Place

Hubert Rondeau



The Pen : poem


The Pen

The Pen the sword – The ear the word

The spear the heart – The flesh the will

The sword the cross – The telling sound

The driven nails the solid ground

The life the Rock the sand the time

The Son the King – the life the line

Unto all time the song to sing – written in

Blood of the king

The pen the song – The sound the line

The song the ear the nails

The Son the King

The Son the song the heart to sing

The word the pen the song

  Hubert Rondeau

photo borrowed onlie

Quiet / Poem



Quiet…  its so quiet I thought I heard an angle cry.

I thought I saw within my heart, as with his wings he hid his  eyes.

Crying Holy! Holy! Holy! Then faded off into sacred   silence of  his own place.

Sitting down I took my pen to capture such a sight, my heart reeling, tearing, and moved to tears, as deep within I cry —  Holy, Holy, Holy!

And I drift off into a quit, silent sigh.

Blessed are you Lord, Blessed is  Your Holy name.





Hubert Rondeau

Gods Pavilion


Photo borrowed online

As I entered into His pavilion, through streets of Gold clear as crystal glass yet solid as mountains firm .

My heart pounded in my chest, and the blood surging in my temples made me nearly stagger in the presence of His Majesty.

Although this was my first time here I strangely felt as though I had been this way before.

Crumbling within, crashing suddenly my strength failing me my eyes and mind only  working any more, spirit soaring yet terrified in Holy fear.

This is my Fathers house, stunning in Glory.

Hostile… His presence to mortal flesh, I collapsed to the ground when I came to rest.

“Oh Jesus! Oh Jesus I’m not worth to be here!

But by your blood… only by your blood

Thank you!

1 cor 2: 9-10 “Eye has not seen, nor ear heard,

nor have entered into the heart of man

The things which God has prepared for those who love Him.”

But God has revealed them to us through His Spirit.

For the Spirit searches all things, yes, the deep things of God.

Hubert Rondeau

Straight: a poem


 Straight is the gate narrow the way

Clear is the mind that stays

Walk your long road carry your cross

Count all you thought gain to be only loss

Hold on dear heart hold tight to the beam

That keeps your steps here closer to Him

For straight is the way narrow the gate

Long is the suffering that makes one walk


Loud is the sound of the trumpets call

With hearts set on Christ we shall stand and not fall

“He” is life”


photo borrowed online

Hubert Rondeau

Must be close to Home

So long I’ve walked so far alone

I must be close close to my home

So cold the nights so bare the walls

No window lights the lonely halls

The light within this light of mine

a glowing ember true

It burns a flame of deep desire

My Lord to come to you

The nights been long I say again

So dark outside but not within

Make this light of your to grow

Like the dawning of the Lord in me

In you I trust in you I hope

So long I’ve walked I must be close

To home

All my fountains are in you my hope of life each day

My chance to breathe

My heart that beats thanks to God my king

Hurriedly I go to do to do my daily things

To work to to toil to strive to live to life to life to bring

To home to come at evening time to sit with you and rest


To smile and just to know

That though I’m grown

A man I’m like a child father

Father I’m your child

Thank you

Hubert Rondeau