On the day our eyes open to the prism of the sun
On that day, Winter solitude would be gone
The avalanche of differences melts into nothingness
Through the same breath,through the same soul
We would live again as one ,no matter who we are
No matter the colour of our skin,Gay or straight
rich or poor,innocent or once found guilty.
No matter if We are lawyers,prisoners,doctors or pheasants
No matter our political believes ,nor our different religions
A catholic,a muslim,a buddhist , a hinduist,or a jew .
On that day,we would all wear identical dresses
We would all be the significant other ,because He has died,
and He has died for all. Jesus died for Peter,John and Judah
for Lazarus and Maria Magdalene, Jesus died for me ,
He has died for you ,for him ,for her,and even for them.
He gave up till the last drop of blood and painful cry
for each and every name engraved upon our Father's palm.
He was born to die,but its not his death that we celebrate ,
We celebrate His life ,because we believe in life
We celebrate His forgivness ,because We experienced
the beauty of forgivness ,the happiness ,the return of blissful joy.
and , We celebrate the ever present love
Because it is the gift of love that He bestowed on us
Jesus was born to die , but He was born to rise
Upon death He has risen , through His death We survived
Because of Him , in the darkness ,in the labyrinth of our night
There will always,always be the little flicker of a candle
that fills our hearts with hope ,and warming light.
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop
I watch this world pass by,
miracle after miracle,
overcome with thoughts
of life and death -
heated in a buttery sky;
the air melts into far corners,
farther than my eyes can see.
Faster, this world spins into
eternity, faith, and possibilities.
An open window becomes a gate
to step through, a starting place -
as a bluebird dips in the birdbath,
squirrels scurry across green grass,
a blue horizon darkens like a memory.
Those who hurriedly pass by feign contentment
with plastic smiles, earbuds, cell phones,
a false sense of purpose.
I feel content, at peace, and yet, I ache for more -
a yearning from deep within.
I feel it wash over my skin.
Cars drive by, everyone’s going somewhere,
but not I. I sit here…I watch.
I whisper a short prayer for a friend,
I remain silent with His answer –
patience…all will work out in time;
head bowed, I pray for His healing hands
to touch me. In my father’s arms,
I am comforted and whole.
I am who He sees…
sunlight traces storm clouds
painting rainbows over shadowed trees,
a beautiful canopy.
His love flows through me,
pouring out at Calvary.
In the afternoon rain,
I see each drop of blood.
A choir of clouds congregate.
I hear their worship song.
I see a crown of thorns around them.
I feel the weight of the cross
He struggles to carry.
Mangos fall with the rain
from a shaken tree,
then lay bruised on limp, wet leaves;
flies begin to swarm around them;
following the clouds trajectory,
I envision more than I can bear -
His slashed skin and mangled bones
flash before my eyes.
With hands nailed, He's hung
on the cross in shame and suffering;
every labored breath taken
until death for an ungrateful world…
my soul seems to understand
what I cannot grasp…all of this,
He did for me….and you.
Love becomes more than a word,
a blessing becomes more than a concept.
I sit at my window unnoticed;
I watch the world pass by -
every leaf, pebble, bird, raindrop
and new life, I see,
like a child with a loving father,
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
Under the Christmas tree sits a nativity scene in the old town square. I sit on a rustic wood bench and reminisce on the stories I’ve been told about Jesus being born on Christmas Day. When all of a sudden I hear movement in the bushes; I turn my head and look over my shoulder. With a sudden fright, a tall pure white stallion with feathered wings, steps forward and says, “My name is Peg, climb on my back and I’ll take you to where it all began.” I arose to my feet and got on Peg’s back, held on tightly to his mane. He galloped off at full speed facing into the wind and took off soaring into the night full of stars, being guided by a large, bright, glowing star.
Peg turned his head and said, “That is the Christmas Star ahead.”
As I looked down below, I saw coming from the east, three men. Could they be the three Wise Men!
As we reach the star we slow down to a town. Peg said, “This is Bethlehem down below.”
Peg starts descending close to a stable and lands. I anxiously dismount and we both walk towards the stable. My spirit was overpowered with awe, there in the small dim lite stable, we found a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger, with his mother Mary kneeling beside Him.
The shepherds that were watching their flocks near the stable also came all elated, one of them said, “An angel appeared and told us a Savior, the Messiah, had been born and that we would find Jesus laying in a manger. So we immediately came to see if truly Jesus our Savior was borned. ”
Heaven was rejoicing at the birth of a Savior for all people.
The three Wise Men arrived and said, “Where is He who has been born King of the Jews? For we have seen His star in the East and have come to worship Him.” They gazed at the young Child and immediately fell down and worshiped Him, they presented their gifts to him of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.
We stayed for a while in admiration of our Lord Jesus.
After a time Peg said, “ I need to get you back before you are missed.”
Together we flew into the endless night back home to the Christmas tree where I had been before.
By Eve Roper 11/18/2014 © 2014
Copyright © Eve Roper
Why do we persecute this Jesus?
this Palestinian Jew, with claim
to one almighty God?
Ahh! let me home, it’s all too
much, and no avail.
so I Longinus, leader of Pilate’s guard,
which nailed him up, (he never complained)
gave him up, his broken body to his
mother and the crowd; Oh! pitiful
crying and moaning, gnashing of teeth
in their pious, bloody grief
yet….he spoke to me, this Arab, this Jew,
with his eyes, he looked resolute and calm:
and a smile (aghast!) he had for me.
and the earth trembled and shook;
they loved him the many, I could see,
and I spoke out loud the words that I
believed, that he was real, and one with
and they looked at me, my men, and scowled,
ahh!...who are they to know?
and time and days passed. And I deserted:
and I took on the garb of wanderer, so as to
be free, and sensed a great commotion;
“he’s back!. He’s never dead!”
and I was led by disciples’ horny hands, for they
knew me now, to a tomb, gaping hole and door-stone
and they shouted “where is he? where’s the master?”
and a passing storm became a torrent and the rivers
swelled and the winds blew their strong wind,
and took away the grave’s harsh stink: then as
quickly as it had begun, a sound like the rumble
of a quake, split the sky and sunlight, warmed
and dried the earth around.
and there the master in shining white,
fresh with neat trimmed beard, as if out
for a walk with kith and kin, came.
and up on a mountain we followed to the
top, and he spoke; but because of the great
clamor all about him, I could only catch a
“make new disciples,” “ teach” and something
about him always being with us.
and then (I tell no lie)…his body took up to the
warm sky, with flowing robes and a choir of heavenly
verse, the likes of which I had never heard.
and he was gone.
and I taught his words, for some time after; and each
time I spoke I felt grown; and so, I lived my life:
but not for long; and soon I took his place and bid
the sorry world, this place, a painful goodbye.
and when next I saw his smile, his tearful foreign
eye; I swelled; and went to his side:
and he placed his hand in mine.
Copyright © Peter Lewis Holmes
Genial to avoid confrontation
Baseborn kind, complaisant character
A spurious recital, a cheap imitation
Apocryphal mind, and comical creations
An unholy effusion
Sons of Belial
Clutch arcane knowledge
Delve into oracular verse.
Recondite belief denuded denials
Portentous and abstruse
Divested of the truth
Traveled day after day
Seriatim in miles
Strangled in hyperbole
Do what art wilt
Deliver the chosen
Derision to the destined
To learn love over hate
Adoration to inculcate
Imbue their sick lessons.
Copyright © Joel Thornton
Yes, it was real, it seared like desert sand;
I sensed a scorching sandstorm stirring:
warm winds whipping, hot cinders blowing in.
And you were there - compassion shining
in eyes that could read me,
a smile that could still a thrown stone.
Hostile tongues flung names at me like stones -
whore, slut, harlot.
When we met I was slinky-silken in scarlet;
your eyes, your smile, unpicked my harlot.
You loved the sinner in me,
embraced my human frailty.
Oh Lord, my lover,
how many times did my tears anoint you
as molten beads of your sweat anointed me?
I bent low at your feet, lowly,
like a fig tree bending to earth.
Was it tears or spheres of perfumed oil
that fell? I couldn't tell,
but I caressed away your cares,
wrapped you in silk spools of my hair.
Your memory is fire.
Your skin was desert,
burning bronze, scourged and scoured
by scalding winds of the puritanical,
yet thirsting for sensuality's oasis;
raindrop touches of my fingertips.
Liquid love poured from every pore
like aromatic oil.
I loved the man as they loved the myth.
And I could love you only like this:
pulsing in my arms with a human pulse,
incandescent with the zeal of my kiss.
Hot winds brought on hard heat.
Our final hours together were shifting sands
sifting through an hourglass, funnelling away.
But even as they drove each nail in
I felt the hot shuddering within,
knew that this was your release
from mortal flesh and sin.
Three days, three nights,
weeping at the womb of your tomb.
And now they find you risen, but I recall you risen
in my hands, your mouth pressed to mine.
So desert becomes oasis; arid earth
softening to the green of rebirth,
and I am a seed of love about to break,
my belly stippled and rippling with our child.
Copyright © Charlotte Jade Puddifoot
Went through a phase....thought maybe I should live life to the fullest,
and stop giving away 8 hours of each day, towards sleeping.
After the first week of sleep deprivation,
Buddha and Jesus both appeared simultaneously,
started following me wherever I went-
couldn't tell between hallucinations and reality.
Buddha helped write my final exams,
and Jesus always made sure that I didn't forget to eat.
After the second week, I was floating above my body....
no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't fall asleep anymore-
didn't just have second and third winds....I was having winds
to the 99th power extreme.
Jesus was telling me to try again and again,
while Buddha told me to hang in there,
for Nirvana was just around the corner.
Asked my buddy for some help,
and he gave me this little blue pill -
don't even touch aspirin anymore.
Well, the pill knocked me right out!
Tried so hard to fight against it,
having some doubts about what I had just swallowed.
Metallic galaxies of inner stars began pulling at my eyelids,
adding their massive core-gravity to my temples.
Red turned to black inside of my mind,
as little globules of pulsing light
floated before my inner-eye.
d o w n,
down, I spiralled,
thinking about picking cherries from the apple tree in Eden....
beautiful Japanese Geishas propping up the ladder
that pointed down into the rabbit hole.
Up was down,
as cherries were apples?
The branches of the tree resembled its roots in the ground-
perfect mirrors of each other,
as I sat in both places at once;
dream double looking back at me.
ZZzzzzZzzzzZZzzzZZZz....for almost 62 hours straight.
Must have lived a thousand lives in those dreams.
Woke up, wasn't sure if I was still sleeping?
Awoke into sweat and stale urine.
Started falling asleep in school.
Fell asleep at work.
Once you swallow the blue pill,
you can never go back-
the rabbit hole stretches into eternity.
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner
Will someone please help me!?
I think Satan has possessed my gastronomical juices,
twisting up my stomach like a full garbage bag.
Please go and call over a Priest
to exorcize this demonic grip from within-
but I beg of you to get a heterosexual Father,
not one who will take advantage of my weakness.
I have been swallowing my own vomit for many days,
and can no longer hold back this thick, spewing craze.
My stomach feels more queasy than a seasick little girl,
the time is coming to launch forth my most foul hurl.
Pray to Black Jesus with my loud, retching vomit-song,
I do not want to be Vomiticus Grammaticus, for too long.
Oh! I just filled up both large-sized garbage bins up to the brim,
with ghastly floating chunks that look so very, very grim.
Two seagulls have started slurping up my rancid spew,
filthy, feathered swine, lapping up this most sickly stew.
Ugggh! Now my cat is licking up the vomit from off of the floor,
she is purring away, gobbling up my slimy, viscous gore.
The sight of her lapping up my....
Oh hot damn, shazzam! Vomit on the keyboard! Vomit dripping from my hair;
plugging up my ears, crawling up my nose with its terrible stench! Despair!
1 fish, 2 fish, 3 fish, 4 fish.
Red puke, green puke, yellow puke, blue puke.
No Sam, I do not want any more green eggs and ham!
Will someone please help me get rid of this Devil!?
I truly only mean well; I really, really do!
Pray to Black Jesus with my loud, retching vomit-song,
I do not want to be Vomiticus Grammaticus, for too long.
*Twisted poem, in the sense that this is actually a cryptic response
to my personal dealings here @Poetrysoup.com.
I don't think a lot of people realized at the time
how Vomiticus Grammaticus was really a hidden message about
some of the social politics that goes on @Poetrysoup.com,
and most other group settings as well.
May 10th, 2010
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner
I wish I could write you a love song
Fill with heart felt words
I wish I could say that I love you and meant every word
But as you know I am just a man
And even now as I have grown
I still cannot understand the meaning of those three letter words.
I spent my life searching
I spent my days hoping
Even now as I have aged and have a family of my own
I still do not understand the meaning of those three letter words
They say, that they love you
They say, that they care
But their words are cheap and weigh no value.
My heart is still broken
My bones are weak
My nights are restless
And my soul is asleep.
I feel so hopeless
Defeated and crush
These burdens I carry
Have me buried in a dump.
I try to call out
I try to shout
But these words I speak
No one can hear me.
God take my hand
Lift my pain
Save me from this cane
I am afraid its about to leave a big old stain.
Lord I am in so much pain
These scares bring nothing but shame
Jesus please let it rain
Save me, I think I am about to go completely in sane.
Copyright © Patricia Garcia Howard Bramble
Though you slay me yet I will praise you
You gave me this life, a precious, precious gift
I am so unworthy of Your blessings Lord Jesus
Holy Spirit, make me whole, uplift my spirit to praise You
Give me boldness to bless the name of my creator
Forgive my doubts, sins, and weakness
Lord you give to the grass, birds, and the earth creatures
Their needs for the day lord...
Bless my family and those who read this poem
Give me strength for my daily tasks
Hold me close to your chest, I need You!!
Copyright © Doris Culverhouse
Surrounded by your glory- what can I feel?
Surrounded by your glory - what can I fear?
Surrounded by your glory, there is no pain.
There is no fear, there is no sorrow, because
You are my glory...
I Give My Love
To you JUSUS I am ready to give my love.
But I want it to be clean and pure. I come to
you to clean my soul and make white nas snow.
To you JESUS I bring you my heart. It is full of sacrs
that I could not heal, but you JESUS, will touch it and
make it new, so as of today JESUS my heart and my
love belongs to you...
JESUS MY Light
To me, you are my my guide. You are also
my light. You are what I need to make my
please JESUS come into my life. Come into
my heart. Please come and change my life.
Please shine on me your light.
Copyright © Lucilla Carrillo
When we were lost,
How did we feel,
Before we came to the cross
Is God real ?
Before that day,
When we turn from sin,
In a world in which we play,
Tired of the pain deep with in.
Jesus came to show a way,
To make stright the path,
For narrow is the gate,
Yet here we are at last.
Thru the days of wonder,
Now you can see his Glory,
His word are as Thunder,
Now can you see the true story ?
Yes, Our God is real,
My eye's have seen from where i've Been,
His love and grace my heart is sealed,
He calls me friend.
Forgiven, made whole,
I now walk and talk to him,
from the pit of hell from I was entering
Jesus saved my soul from all my sins.
Copyright © Philip Welch
Life is precious , therefore he cultivates it
it's vastness among all his compositions
they flow like an aria from many instruments
you are excellent , oh my beloved
your handiwork threads all that surrounds me
the displays of your gifts
our rooms are overflowing and the table
with every good and perfect present
all completed by the workmanship of your hands
your visions perceive the finality
before even the crafting of it has begun
amply actualized by the fertility
of your own mind
your occupations are productive
as the lathes of heaven they turn
upon the axis of your thoughts
formulation upon formulation
their energies inexorable
the molding painting weaving casting
carving shaping and engraving
of the objects to be constructed
the movements of your mind
stretches into the grand designs
the substance of wealth
and nothing that does not delight
Your furnishings occupy the expanses
the depth of your artistry
the pressure of your furnaces
mold our gems and ornaments
whose color radiates their clarity
the vaults are well lit
each rooms lighted chandeliers are suspended
in their canopies
each room sprayed abundantly with blooms
their fragrances permeate my soul
our curtains a covering in every shade
surrounding our homes
you have carpeted its surfaces with a mosaic
of brilliant treasures and whose form
is harmonious and pleasing
here every beautiful creature
play among their pillars
you have chiseled out the high ranges
the carvings of many sculptures
their dominion overshadows the landscapes
with an awl you split open the rock face
and release the mantles of the deep
where the water courses rush
to the well watered resting places
you churn the soil until it is fertile
and the tender sprouts spread
like legions of armies
every touch by you is nourishing and flourishes
those whom you apprentice
are bound to the ways
of the Master
where creativity has no boundaries
and every field is full
of life's expressions
Your instructions are in precision
and your skills you effectively teach
your productions are exquisite
your activity is ceaseless
as the burning energy of a Son
Genesis 1 Proverbs 8 John 1:1-18 Colossians 1:16
COPYRIGHT © 2015 C Michael Miller
Poetry of Providence
Copyright © Poetryof Providence
~An Artist for the King~
She stood there in awe
Captivated by His eyes of peace
Attempting to recreate on a canvas the love that He delivers to mankind
She is new at this
She just met Him the other day
She only had to see His eyes once to know that she would be His subject
She only had to see the rainbows and prisms of kindness trapped within His eyes
To know that He was a wonder
He is a one of a kind
He is the King
She wanted this painting to be the most perfect painting of all time
She carefully arranged each brushstroke in a smooth circular fashion
It just could not be done
For there was only one that was perfect and that was the King
When she finished her work she presented it to her new Master
He stood there in awe at the heart that she had for His eyes
Within His heart stirred a deep unexpected emotion
A single tear fell down His cheek
And in amazement she captured it an mixed it in with her paint
“It is finished now, she said
Now I have captured your essence
I have captured your true emotion
You are a King filled with love for your people
And I will study your eyes forever
Written by Gwendolen Rix
Copyright © Gwendolen Rix
To be called ..
~ Grandma is a Honor ~
I have been blessed with 4 Grandchildren
~ one lays in Heaven " Kaleb " He is God's Angel ~
~ His twin brother he will always watch over , and be in his soul~
For he loved his Brother so much in the womb ,
he chose Heaven which gave life to his twin
~ I feel his spirit when I see the other Grandson ~
Time passed another gift to see
we are " Mickes" and Loved
Our Dad held the title in Baseball
~ that's how we roll ~
those children are Grandmas hero's
The Irish they love big and Family is everything
The brothers will protect the beautiful sister
~ as many lads will be calling ~
Every time my Grandson hits a home run
There will be a Angel watching proudly in the stand
It will be as if the Angel lifted him when he runs
~no one runs faster then my Grandson~
either baseball or Art ~ you shall find your gift given
These children have been blessed~
~ a beauty to hard to describe
If you think not ~~ Take a look at the Mom
That girl can stop Traffic
after raising three and still~
"Inspired by the gift and loss of Grandchildren "
May our precious " Kaleb " softly rest where Angels only Dwell
Copyright © Shanity Rain
Good Friday, is the day Jesus was crucified on the cross.
Jesus was willing to give His life for ours in order to give
us eternal life.
Easter Sunday, is the day Jesus rose from his tomb.
This is a joyous day and reminds us of His love for all
This is why I celebrate Easter, because I love Jesus for
all he did for you and for me.
He has prepared us a home in heaven and filled it with
his everlasting love for us.
For Linda-Marie's "Easter Inspirations" Contest
Written by: Carol Brown
4th Place Winner
Copyright © Carol Sunshine Brown
The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark
The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark.
Copyright © John Paluszek
There's power in the name of Jesus
There's power in his precious blood
His word is power when you begin to speak
There's power within his name.
There's healing in the name of Jesus
Authority is yours to take
Satan is DEFEATED the victory is yours
There's power within his name.
This poem is also a song and is now on Youtube
Copyright © LEON WILSON
When I was a child,
I had a wonderful dream,
In my dream,
I saw Jesus Christ,
By the road He passed by,
And He was riding on His bike;
Then, when He saw me,
In front of me, He stopped
And He invited me to ride.
His hands were so soft,
He extended and I hold;
With a smile, he said,
"Come to me my child,
Come with me, I am Jesus Christ.
Like your father,
I drive you safely to school,
Don't be afraid, I am not a ghost.
My clothes show
That I am Holy and Pure,
Come with me,
Because I love you forever more.
--FEATURED POEM FOR THE FIRST WEEK OF OCT,. 2012-- Thank you so much PS for featuring my poem!
Copyright © Leonora Galinta
On the day your eyes open
to the prism of the sun
On that day, silent Winter
would be gone
The avalanche of differences
will melt into nothingness
Through the same breath
through our shared blood
We would live again as one
No matter who we are
No matter the colour of the skin
Rich or poor,innocent or guilty
a lawyer,a prisoner,a doctor or a farmer
a catholic,a muslim,a buddhist,or a jew
On that day we would all wear identical dresses
We would all be the significant other
Because Jesus had died for all
Jesus had died for Peter,John and Judah
for Lazarus and Maria Magdalene
Jesus has died for you,for me
Jesus has died for every name
engraved upon God's palm
and through each and every one of us
He will be born to rise again
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop
They come from a different era
where patriotism is a just cause
they would fight for the true blue
never mind who was right or wrong
they stood staunch and egos proud
their chest out, backs straight and chins up
they come from an old style of thinking
I fight today as my father and grandfather did too.
fighting for an eye for an eye tooth for a tooth
I will die to serve my country even if its a lie
if you try to invade our land
we will come and conquer you
we are defenders of the truth
but the old timers forget
and the young ones have a narrow point of view
there was a time when the immigrants were Irish, Italians and jews
racism was rampant and that hasn't changed
Christians today still preach
'Jesus is savior they say repent your evil ways
pushing their rhetoric just like the roman empire did
amazingly America seems to be doing the same
history seems to repeat itself time and time again
war, religion, oil and what we perceive as freedom
we invade again and again and call it defending democracy
yet the intelligence comes from spies and other governments
because they have shared interests in different types of policy
they all carefully choose their words
because one slip of the lip could trigger war as it has happened before
todays war on terrorism is a campaign designed to instill pain
and un-trust to drain our resources from us
And our leader claimed up front this is not a religious war
yet he paraphrases from the bible we'll get those evil doers
you see bush fooled our religious leaders too.
he used their belief in Jesus he tricked 'em all just to get their vote
he claims he's a born again Christian and this Christians embraced him holly
but then one day bush spoke to Jesus and asked what to do with Iraq
Jesus responded Invade that country
Now dont get me wrong Jesus was not about war
he taught of peace, love and compassion
however his message has been twisted and turned over time
and history shows the hands of Christian religious leaders are always bloody
because they twist the truth to control dictatorship is always the goal
Bush had been plaining war before a judge handed him the seat
on his first day he signed a bill into law prevent any criminal charges against him
Copyright © Ron Flatow
If You could Talk To Jesus
If you could talk to JESUS - what would you say?
If You could see him face to face - what would you do?
Would you tell him about your problems, or would you
just ask him to be your friend?
If you ever meet Him face to face - would you know who
He was? Well let me tell you - that he is not far away. He
already knows about you and sees you everyday. He is just
waiting for your call.
Jesus knows you very well ever since you were born, so
don't be afraid to talk to him. He is like your best friend.
whatever you tell Him - He won't tell a soul. He is very good
at keeping secrets, like no one else in the world.
If you can talk to JESUS - bare to Him your soul. Don't ever be
afraid , for He is the best friend that anyone could ever have.
Go now and talk to Him. He is waiting for your call....
04/14/2013 Written by
Lucilla M. Carrillo
Copyright © Lucilla Carrillo
Sometimes when the road gets short
and your body becomes weary
It seems difficult to keep your eyes open
There is someone who will carry you
Have you met the man named Jesus?
Not the man of churches
He's not waiting to rain down fire
He wishes to embrace you in his arms
Forgiveness and rest are his to give
Have you met this man named Jesus?
Your burdens may be heavy
There is no reason to carry them alone
You can give them all to him
He's a God of flesh and bone
Have you met the man named Jesus
Have you accepted the gift that he offers?
Fully paid through his great sacrifice
Not a religion a relationship
He will never let you down
He is the man named Jesus
He knows everything about you
He accepts you as you are
It's not about being good enough
He patiently waits at your door
Respond to the gentle knocking
You won't be alone anymore
Religion teaches us we have to earn our way to heaven.
God knows this is an impossible task for us humans. I am
thankful that Jesus paid the price for our salvation and I accept
his amazing gift. Have you met the Man names Jesus?
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux
Sitting in an ultra-modern café,
sitting among people too cool to be warm,
sipping on a coffee with a long, fancy name,
I ponder about how far I've come
since making coffee over an open fire --
brewing it like a true desperado.
There's a poster pinned up on the wall,
an image of Black Jesus staring down at me,
causing me to feel guilty
for hanging out with all this money,
for hanging out with all this decadence.
Black Jesus stares down at me,
causing me to feel guilty.
Is this how the madness starts?
I can hear Black Jesus talking to me,
while he hangs there on the wall.
"Why have you turned your back on me again?"
"Black Jesus, I haven't done such a thing, why I still...."
"Oh please man, don't tell me how I died for your sins, because my message was lost in translation. I didn't die for your sins, your egos are massive. I was merely made into a mirror for you to pick up and see your flawed reflection within -- to see how many sacrifices you need to make for this world."
"But, Black Jesus, I am trying so hard...."
"Stop. Son, you haven't been trying hard enough, mainly faking mere forgeries to make yourself feel better, is all. I was the beggar you passed before coming in here. You turned your back on the beggar, you turned your back on me."
"You mean -- he just wants another fix. If I give him money, he'll use it to buy another hit!"
"Nonsense. I gave you a test, and you completely failed it again. You should've brought me home, offered me a hot meal and a place to hang my weary head."
"That dude! He might have lice or worse. He might be a crazy, slit my throat from ear to ear while I sleep."
"Please kid, don't talk to me about sacrifice. You can't just walk around singing praise, thinking, 'Jesus loves me this I know', or 'Jesus died for our sins.'
Nah, it isn't easy like that, it isn't easy like that at all. You have to make a sacrifice each and every time, no matter how high the cost. And not because someone might be watching, not for the reward of a make-believe heaven, but because it feels right.''
I stare into my ten dollar coffee,
wonder if someone had spiked it hard,
spiked it with Uptight-Timothy Leary's magical carpet ride,
Black Jesus looming over me, causing me to feel guilty.
Hanging on the wall, Black Jesus looks straight through me.
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner
I'm only happy when I'm sad, she said.
When people say their glad,
I get mad because,
they used the word glad, she said, we laughed.
The sings she said, I guess,
wouldn't seem important.
If you asked if she knew Shakespeare, she'd say,
when I was born he was already dead.
She liked autobiographies because, she said,
they were books about history,
written by people who were there.
She loved the new testament,
because of what a mess it is, she said,
how great it was that Jesus gave,
gave such a big storytelling gig,
to his four buddies who couldn't write a lick.
That Jesus must have been a piss,
to hang out with, she said.
Important or not,
I didn't want to miss a word,
whatever she said,
I never waited to talk, with her,
I was happy to be,
Copyright © joe fisher
The lion roars
while the lamb bleats.
He paces and prowls,
savoring the kill.
I would like to roar.
I hate this bleating.
I want to see them
quaking in fear.
I have not the claws
to rip and tear,
nor teeth to devour
the roaring lion.
So I must be wise
and follow the Shepherd
who slays the beast
and gives me rest.
I need not bleat
but praise the one
who causes the lion
to lie down by the lamb.
Copyright © Cona Adams
I can only seem to watch over the world,
as it sleeps.
With my eyes closed tightly and a motion of minds' breath,
I can see brief glimpses of where I need to be,
to find my rest.
It's so beautifully odd....
like seeing Jesus in a hat.
I've taken many a circle walk, at night.
I've stopped and kissed Lestat,
while stealing lilacs in the comfort of the dark.
I suck on the candied faith,
that somehow grows from the pores of the peaceful.
I do all this, while sitting on the curb.
Standing, may cause my balance to drip,
but I will learn to dance,
inside the timesteps.
Copyright © Rebecca Brown
Copyright © Rick Parise
Through each moment
In this life
You can be Blessed
With Love Truth & Desires
Of Pure Happiness
Only if you look
Seek & Find
God's Beautiful Kingdom
True & Divine
Then each moment
You shall be Blessed
With desires of your heart
All Pertaining to God's Will
Through Life and more
When you give yourself
To Our Savior.. Our Lord..
Heart.. Mind.. Body and Soul
Moment in Time
You shall Find
Ever so Divine
Jesus is Waiting
Just for You..
Come give yourself to Jesus
Copyright © Star Light
Who are you, my Lord?
And what am I standing here as a weather-beaten tombstone,
O Lord, reveal yourself to me on the tombstone standing here alone.
Long, long ago
Cain averted his face from the light,
the condemned river, surrounded by a dead
Cain laid atop of his own brother, flows into the valley
carrying the curse.
And the condemned river flows to the dark side of the sun
since the time Abel’s blood cried out.
My eyes grew so accustomed to the darkness
and, thus, though I am no longer able to stand in light,
I face you, the Lord of the origin of light,
standing here as a tombstone.
O Lord, are you the very person whose voice I hear?
are you the man who is rolling and tossing on the ground
under the out-pouring lashes who moans:
“forgive them,” each time I call for aid of my destiny?
O Lord, are you the one who crawl on the path
that leads to the Place of the Skull
in the mixed air of cries as the fools shout,
mockeries of the evil ones affront,
and the useless tears the women shed?
Are you the one who mutters: “forgive them,”
while falling under a rootless tree
for the weight of the tree is too great to bear?
For the good nature of humankind is numbed
by the weight of sins too deep to break loose.
The emotion of human kind becomes cold and cruel
and, therefore, O my Lord,
do you groan with pain unbearable:
“forgive them,” when those stone-hearted drive spikes
pierce your hands with no compunctions?
Are you the one who stands as a decaying wooden pillar
on atop of Golgotha with a darkening sun on your back
to close the shamefully-mistreated hard life,
the miserably-humiliated painful life?
Are you the benevolent kind-hearted one who looks up at heaven,
and at mobs who accused you, appealing with tearful eyes:
“Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”
When the wooden pillar collapses from its own weight
and darkness falls onto earth to cover the unsightly world,
I, the tombstone with no name or epitaph,
see a sad image standing atop of the Place of the Skull
tightly holding the world’s anguish.
Copyright © Su Ben