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Ode Religion Poems | Ode Poems About Religion

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Details | Ode | |

A Spirtual Warrior, prayer

God of most spoken literature and default, 
muted delima, 
frozen and site as peace was the crown, 
to lead.

Light of revealing smiles, 
I as a man look to heaven above, 
Like a sonnet of defrost ice, 
that prove there something is stiill above my kinging thoughts, 
and lost material.

Last of the saints and many eyes held high, 
founder of revolve plate stand still do to lack of gravity, 
my thought grow in patient of rules, 

like the souls of the warrior priest, 
stunt and honor, 
 only to the heavens to trinty meet  this deed. 
what more can man i ask but plenty lost hands of trees. 

bless it and translation the belly of the beast from east, 
with such sand to mount a 1, ooo diease fill find beads, 
 
god where is this hand? 

bless it again to know the words of the garden
 and the creature that once live, 
 i hope that history never fold in meaning as we see fit! 
counterpart, business and chancher what wars could be for saw through man eyes, 
I question the fold of the deck of cards, 
please reap to the barrier of lost soul.

Dividend in passage ultimately salavation, 
start which the eyes of our lords lost and barring fruit, 
hearts of all hearts look to know what a saint is but for me...,  
my self would dine last to see chance of man will and god, 
 bless me again for the words i speak once again, 
, 

Moving the crown to frowns of the holy spirt, 
dampated from the fire of the well, left with mystery of? 
or you could call it a sinner misfortune, 
rich with style, 
appeal in darkness and swim to profanation, 
sparkle as wine should, 
noise loose to up due a  crowd lookes to ruinies, 
the color of sky and sweep the wind to ashes and the sky is left roaten, 
where is the 
hand of god

fruit left by limits, 
the staff of wrath shacking to point to the direction of lost tactics, 
fitting as the back of quick sand what obsession, 
could hear this angel sing, 

This the legacy of a thosand saint march, with white horse and the immortal weapon  
where is this last son that the bible speak of, genesis 2: 13, 
the river of gihon seek sin

good grace, food and shelter, 
salt of lost throne, 
keys that hold no barrier where is a lost soul to at sea,

what men of all men would endurance such hurt, 
in the eye of the kindom it not women that knows there place but better yet the soul 
of a man, 

bless the hearts of all men....


Details | Ode | |

AN ODE TO HER

AN ODE TO HER
 Honour whom shall we raise high
With her i always stand and sigh
Your love is what i see at home
To whom shall you be made known?

Cleopatra-can she ever stands your tide?
The mediator o! She stood the time
She is a way easy and safe to Christ grace
And intercessor of the worn out age

She is of heaven alma-mater
Tabernacle of our lord and master
O! Virgin our gracious mother
Full of grace humble and greater


Etal Gracias Light







Details | Ode | |

In Reverence To The One Up There

How did we acquire the knowledge of getting food following all protocols and procedures of knowing when the Earth is in a fine mood to give a handshake of bountiful harvest? In search of knowledge and understanding man has explored Nature, down to its hood and due to his short comings, treated humanity unfairly and rude. Knowing the mechanics of an existing phenomenon makes one a happy and creative dude but having no idea how it even existed makes his understanding still bare and nude Under a higher authority, we’re all nursed be it a gentleman with the fine name-Jude or matter in a non-stop pause having no artery of sustenance like the wood Life and existence, wisdom and health, He’s the source Him- not even the microscopes can elude He is existing, everlasting and much more than a force He is no other than God and He is good.


Details | Dramatic Verse | |

Ode to the unsung hero

I salute the devotee of his craft
who diligently pursued perfection
with no recognition
but remained true to himself
and trudged along but lost
to the dynamics of politics and the bottom line
He was not in his time and space
of Fame

I lift my glass to her, the Fool
who trusted them with a better idea
only to lose it anyway
but remained true to herself
She knew not how to play
the devious Game

To the saints unselfish
who cared for humankind
but were overshadowed by
by fanatics religious, emirs and kings
Heaven was not theirs to Claim

To the writer not read
and the artist well dead
and the musicians who longed to play their songs
and share in their glory
but not to Be

So let us applaud them loudly
they remained true to themselves
Let them bask in the sunshine
if for only a brief time
or at least until the sun goes Down


Details | Ode | |

Pride of a Woman

I was walking 
absentmindedly on 
the street
When I saw a sight 
luvly to behold.
This sight fit to take 
a man off his seat
Cos it's one that is 
but for the bold!

I have been 
oblivious of its 
presence
Thinkin and gettin 
used to the anomalies
That assault many a 
sense
That to us,the sight 
is nothing but 
abnormalities!

What did you see
That makes you 
ramble and rumble
As a restless sea?
Shall you tell that 
which is making you 
tremble?

I shall tell and sell
Cos it's not meant
for me alone.
From afar, the sight 
greeting my eyes 
was a damsel
Covered gracefully 
in a hijab looking but 
not alone!

She was different 
from the crowd
As the sun from the 
cloudy cloud
She was hansomely 
beautiful
Cos covered all over 
was she to the full!

She is different from 
the naked
And clothless ones 
who assault our 
eyes naked.
They it is that are 
molested
By men who the sight 
of them had tempted!

But she is not,but 
she is respected,
And shouts of 
'Alhaja,Alhaja'
Makes me know she 
is not to be 
suspected
Of the evils 
committed near and 
far.

The reason for her 
reverence
By all and sundry I 
seek to know,
The Hijab she wears 
is the essence
That protects, guide 
and make evil men 
say No.

So, friends this is 
the sight
I think is nicely right
For the ladies both  
near and far from us
IF not like hers but 
something close thus!

At least,
They should 
upgrade their rags
To cover and 
protect themselves 
from the beast
That dwell in the 
soul of the man that 
sags!

?To my lady in the 
Hijab, I
Will say mighty and 
high 
Surely is thy beauty, 
worth and ways
That uncomparable 
is the sun and its 
rays!

To my lady in the 
Hijab, I
Will say mighty and 
high 
Surely is thy beauty, 
worth and ways
That uncomparable 
is the sun and its 
rays!

To you I pray
Never let anything 
make you
Drop your pridely 
covering and go gay
Like the ladies in this 
worldly place do!

You are pride and 
hope
To those that look 
up to you
Many a man will want 
you and is ready to 
cope
And meet your 
demands if you say 
'I do'!

Oh GOD, my Lord!
I Make a shout and 
plea to you
To bless and 
preserve these one 
who use
The Hijab and invite 
others to come 
onboard.
And those that to the 
Hijab's use, they say 
I do.
And not those who 
think it is but a ruse!


Details | Ode | |

i remember,

		


                I remember*

I remember someone calling my name…
I remember someone whispering in my ears…
I remember someone calling my name,
Calling my name, when I was so in deep tears…
And found out that he was our father…
I was willing to conceive his word, thou’ I nev’r knew how to read through his lines…
I remember someone calling my name….
Calling my name, 
The only person who remember’d me even when all others were forgotten about me…
I thought I was alone,
Because I nev’r knew that there is a bride who’d still marry me even when I was living under the skin of nobody…

I remember someone calling my name…
Calling my only name out of nowhere…
A man who which came to me and prove to be a good friend indeed…
He came in a bad time and proves to me that there’re still moments that worth to be celebrated…
A man who came when I was in a verge of despair…
And teach me how to act in the story full of tears and pain…
He gave me a reason to say thank you for every little piece of breath I take…

I remember someone calling my name…
When I was in deep, deep’st pain…
He came and offered me something, something that is rare to find…
He offer’d me love, peace and happiness in the world that celebrates a hobby of hate…
He came and offer’d me a drink,
In the world packed by drunken masters…
He came to me when I was in deep pain…
And surely taught me how to babysit my pain…
For I knew not who’d sell his only home for me,
But anyway, he has surely proved to be the architecture of my soul…
For I knew not who’d love like him…
But surely he has proved to be a good friend…
who’ll always be there for me even when the world falls into sleep…

I remember someone calling my name…
For I knew not who’d be…
But he came one day,
And teach me how to sing a happy song in the choir that sing a song of hate…
He came to me when I was nobody…
And transformed me to a body that anybody wo’d dare for to build upon it…
Our father, the born warrior and the conqueror who nev’r used power…
A man of many gentle men…
Who’d love like him, make me understand…
So keep looking for his presence, 
For there’re so many places where his love would dare to dwell upon… 
So keep looking for god’s presence,
For he has so, many corners in this world that we could find his presence that we fail to dwell upon…

End of poem18



  


 

  

 


Details | ekphrasis | |

AN ODE TO THE HANDS

On Grandma’s bedroom wall hung pencil sketches
To inspire me and draw me in, never fail
The hands in prayer our daily blessing fetches
The cuffs rolled back, work ready, in the detail

The fingerprint motif of light on hands
To give us notice we are unique – and His
Strong thumb accentuating Holy Bands
Steeple elongated fingers, preaching Bliss

On The Tree, He died for our earthly sins
(The cross marked in the veins of the left hand)
He wished to spare us the suffering since
Love and compassion, for which we should stand

Only in Truth can we realise beauty
The Hands setting the example of: “Thank Ye!

[Poetry form used: Sonnet]

If we do not live in Truth, a God given opportunity which we must embrace, then the beauty of all that we perceive will pass us by. ~ Su Crous 

Inspired by: ‘Hands of an Apostle’ by Albrecht Durer: http://uploads4.wikipaintings.org/images/albrecht-durer/hands-of-an-apostle.jpg
DEPICTED IN THE ABOUT SECTION

28/1/2013
Sponsor:	Heather Ober
Contest Name:	Famous Art |


Details | Ode | |

Ode on Sorrows

A traveler has traveled far and wide,
Lost in the plains of yellow flowers and Poppies
He saw the tree that stood
An Oak tree it was, with stream of water from underneath.

A reflection of his image he saw,
A fallacy he denied. 
Like a fool he talk to trees and skies
The west wind blew and his heart felt
Heard his name sorrow, thus the wind Whispers
“A man is weight by the sorrow in his heart”

Thirsty, he drank from the stream.
Bitter it was, but the stream was as clear as the sea
An epiphany he had, the taste of bitterness,
Was from his heart, the taste of sorrow.

Green grass withered and the sun died,
Illuminated by the night skies;
He mocks the heavens
And he curses the ground.

The heaven cried out,
“Man is imprisoned in the passage of time”
The stars died too
The stream dried out and came a man
“I am thy sorrow, thy need, thy fallacy”.
“I live in denial, for I know not the man I see,
I know not of my weight, my sorrows”

“The yolk of life that I carry has undone me”
“Emptiness in a man’s heart is the presences of grief
Atlas! How well did my heart grief” said he
“How well did my heart swallowe’d” 

Darkness came over the plain,
the beauty was shunt from man.
A voice he heard,"nature of man is beautiful and deceitful"
Dawn came, blissful, as the early birds began to sing
the dew drops that fell on the grass, illuminated the plains
his heart was filled with tears of truth.


Details | Ode | |

A Portrait of A Pastor

a portrait is a picture or a likeness of an object, person or place
a rendering, a representation of something in all of its grace
but a portrait of a Pastor is more than just a facade
it's not an image of what man thinks but a reflection of God

people come with their own agendas about what a Pastor should portray
but it's not his clothes nor his cars it's the message from God he conveys
a Pastor should be pictured as a faithful speaker who reveals the truth in his speech
an under shephard of our Lord Christ and it's the Gospel that he'll preach
a Pastor should be drawn as a mentor to his members and circumspect in his behavior
a prayer partner in conjunction with the Holy Spirit and Jesus our Savior
a Pastor should be an image of one who comforts all in their times of need
a teacher of the Gospel who in his flock tries to plant God's righteous seeds
a delineation of an obedient servant leader who stands firmly on God's Holy word
and he should not be the subject of gossip nor the pettiness of this world

a portrait of a Pastor should be a comment on his spiritual calling
an anointed man whom God will use to catch us when we've fallen
a portrait of a Pastor should be an exhibit of compassion, wisdom and respect
a display of leadership, kindness, humility and intellect
it should be a picture of a potter who tries to mold us into godly shape
a silhouette of a counselor who doesn't judge but advises when we make mistakes
a portrait of a Pastor should be a reflection of the image of our Lord Christ
a man who will always allow the Holy Spirit of God guide and rule his life


Details | Ode | |

Pyramid-Maker

From a three-sided angle
Astrological purpose is unmangled
Triangle on top
Square on the bottom
Bright halo around God
Our tears fill His bottle
A Pyramid is a monument to death
A Tabernacle of wealth
Which comes into effect
When there's no longer breath
Is it mourning or celebration in stealth
Beyond Technology
Architectural prophecy
Geometrical philosophy
The place where Kings and Queens lay
Buried on a sun-disk
Dedicated to Day
The final form to decay
Hands form this shape
When they're positioned to pray.


Details | Ode | |

-Ode To Spring-

The telephone rang, I answered cheerily
When the niceties were over, the voice inquired
"How is it going with the gardening today" quite sincerely
I could not refrain and out of exuberance, desired
to extol the virtues and due attribute to the joy that Spring is bringing.

The Birds are chirping away
gleefully abound at their playing
rejoicing the rebirth of Spring today
and now have more hours to bask in the sun
That's the glory and joy that Spring is bringing.

The Winter's gloom of body and mind is now done
the Trees and Shrubs, in the breeze can't restrain their greeting,
The Peaches are busy Peaches-sing
the Figs are Figging away
and the Apricots are buckling in their blooming.

The Guava's graciously budding and Guava-ing the whole year 
as with the Parsley's and Celery's luscious greenery,
The Paw-paw's are Paw-pawing, the Avocado-pear
so generous in their giving, through-out the whole year,
It's amazing, all the joy that Spring has sprung.

The Quince's are heavily wincing
the Mango's are flowering and ready to Mango-ing
the Banana's are Banana-ing
and the Plum's, purplish in their Plum-ming
so too are the Tamarillos heavy in Tree-tomato-ing 

While the white and mauve blossoms
of the Yesterday Today and Tomorrow's, soften's
the most perturbed mind with their heady aromatic scent
and the Jasmines exudes a fragrance extraordinary,
As with the Clivia's in saffron pride, glistening in sun-lit dew.

What an awesome, wondrous sight
to see Mother-nature's beauteous, creative delight 
blending so, with the Omnipotent Creator's panoramic scene   
Set so, that we the Immortal Mortal care-takers bear in mind
that His Garden and the giving Spring, is of the sharing Kind.
   


 


Details | Ode | |

O Muslim

Muslim who influenced by westernize, 
Lost name and Identity, drowned in Occidentalize, 
Got accuse of terror and blame of activist, 
Oh the Muslim, thou lost thy illuminant, 
 
Thou turn away face from lessons of Quran, 
Ever thou remembered the moral of surah Aal-e-Imran, 
Betrayed thy self through curse deed, 
The Almighty bondman what’s thee need, 
 
Lead thou self toward astray, 
Turned attention to infidel way, 
Forgotten the worry of last abode, 
Repent thy sins by viewing this ode, 
 
Eager thyself of virtue, thirst of hay, 
Inertial thought turns thou rough and clay, 
Vivify thy self, You the Muslim and still alive, 
Strong enough as the pillar of five, 
Worldly life is not more than amusement and joy, 
Be prepare for hereafter, as you have to die.
Written By
M. Shahid H. Chouhdry
Bahawalpur, Pakistan
All Rights Reserved.
shahid817@gmail.com


Details | Monorhyme | |

ODE' TO JANELLE'S PIANO

Seems it stood there all the time
her good piano ~ church now closed,
she used to sing her songs in rhyme
made church folks happy, in the rows.

The years went on ~ church once so gay,
for Indians, preaching love and truth,
the cafeteria, filled with food
in gatherings weekly, old and youth!

New folks came in ~ they disagreed,
soon land was bartered, no reprieve,
Janell's piano, left behind,
folks ventured on with their remind.

How long it stood, I just don't know
the sign in front, said "We're just closed",
a family fortress, her folks old
now no one else could bear the load!

Just signed it over ~ bigger group, 
a year or two, then no one came,
a handful made the Sunday loop
'til just a few, still not the same!

Why is it, when a church is meant
to change unrest to Godly scope,
brave persons with deliverance sent
become deceitful, losing hope!

     . . . . . . . . but wait . . . . . . . .

Tucked in the hills, yet hardly seen
except for one lone light, kept lit
could see it from the highway's glean
was smallest church that faith could fit!

First Indian church, ministry sown
with vigils, reservation's pace,
no carpet, curtains, sagging down
cracks gave the mice some interface!

Been closed down a might you see
the same as uptown, but hardly
as prominent, still the Indians went
when it was open, their God sent!

Older piano, maybe in State
playing hymns mostly Sunday
in local antique shop's equate,
with lots of things, sold for funding!

New ministers, with their Indian root,
determined to begin just there,
guitars, and crosses, simple ways
back from Virginia, heart's aware!

Attending at the closed down church
I gave this new group one more try,
after six months a newness came
ages of church don't qualify!

And only couple weeks ago,
a new piano was in front
they said "donated" was there more?
I asked ~ Janell's stood on their  floor!

I wondered had she kept her word
to serve those that her parent's could
believe she did ~ she understood
their merits were in grace, not wood!




















Details | Dramatic Verse | |

-An Ode To Jesus From Simon of Cyrene- 1

                                               (Part One) The first few hours.
I was just a ordinary man
caught up in the unruly throng,
The mob jeering and ranting
insults on the road along,
I pushed and shoved my way
through all the furore
to see what all the fuss and melee
was all about at the fore.

My heart shrunk as I eyed
in total dismay that ghastly sight,
From what befell my eyes, that Friday morn
befouling that dawning day with blight,
Was a Man sparsely clad, and bloodied soiled,
And about fifteen and a half hands tall,
His nut brown shoulder length hair
now caked and matted in disarray.

The way His hair and beard
was parted in the middle down
i knew that Man then
was belonging to the Nazarene Sect,
And brutally entwined upon His head
was a brambled thorny crown,
What more torturous and bestial
torment can a naked body be subject,
His body oozed and dripped sweat
all mixed with blood and grime,
And even more the gruesome
was the criss-cross lashes mark,
So visible, as He staggered along
on that arduous path that morning time, 
Dragging a fifteen cubit long sycamore
torture-stake on His shoulder, bared stark.

His back bent and racked in obvious pain
bearing that one and a half hand in diameter log,
Then when, He stumbled in His stride
and before the Roman Centurion Him wanted to flog,
For that Man's wretched agony
and pain, I no longer could bear to stand, 
Then in haste that Man to help
I shed my outer garments and tossed it to another man,

I stayed the Centurion's hand
and hoisted that stake upon my own broad back,
For I was Simon an Grecian man from Cyrene
and favoured arduous labourous toil, 
When that frail worn-out Man turned
with blue-grey eyes and looked at me,
I saw in that look, relief and gratitude
then I knew, I did just right,

He sadly smiled as He said these words to me,
"Do you too now drink from this bitter cup?",
And added, "You shall indeed sip
its rim with Me to the end of time",
I knew Him then no ordinary, man could be
His voice so gentle and mild,
And I truly then wandered who this Man could be?
to suffer so cruelly, in the hands of man,

When He lightly placed His hand
upon my shoulder, I felt the load lightened,
as if I walked with a feather
on my back, and not His gruesome burden no more,
As we together trudged, on that path
that road, to Calvaria, that place of death, 
I then knew that Man at my side
Was a Holy-man by His touch alone.


Details | Dramatic Verse | |

-An Ode To Jesus From Simon of Cyrene- 3

                                       (Part3) Home, The Realization and Blessing,Finally.
Here where I reside in Cyrene in the country
of Cyrenaica later to be known as Libya, now in Africa
so far has the news hailed, to cheer me on,
For that Holy-man of Judaea never died
my days henceforth shone bright above for me,
They said too that He truly was a King
a Son from the Davidic Royal line,
A King without an earthly throne to sit upon.

But for me that Holy-man will forever be
A Prophet on High, a Son of God
so much more than, a mere earthly king,
And all this I say without a doubt in mind
for I was there, I felt His touch
I heard His words, I saw the look in His eyes
because of Him I tread this earth
so much the lighter now.

Now at the close of day and at my hearth
bathing in the warmth of the fires glow,
My thoughts are more and more upon
that Man of God, that man Jesus
whom I helped that awful day,
And I wander if He knows He has helped me more
than He will ever know for now I feel so
much closer and grateful to my God.

To my God whom I Worship every day
even more so, now that I have met His Son
His Son, who so has suffered, the the hand's of sinful man,
He suffered shame and degradation
all to redeem Men, all to show Man the Resurrectional Way,
All for Man's sake and for that day, I am so truly blessed,
And His words to me "You too will sip this cup
with Me unto the end of time", those words now seared into my soul.


Details | Dramatic Verse | |

-An Ode To Jesus From Simon of Cyrene- 2

                                         (Part 2) The Next Few Hours,Then Homeward.
To soon, the road an end did come
and I that dreaded stake to the ground did lay,
Where without ado, they laid that Holy-man down,
Over that stake and through both His hands
that they placed above His head, and home they drove
that awful iron spike, and not a murmur or cry
did that Holy-man uttered in pain, that morn,
Not even when they spiked His feet, apart to the post

Then three plagues in mockery was nailed to the post
above His hands, in the languages used most common
at the time, one in Latin, I read out to myself
reading, Iesus Nazarenus Rex ludaesrum,
Then below another in Greek and one in Aramaic,
The latter I could not read and spoke but a bit,
Now anger and rage was seething through my veins
away I had to flee, away from that gruesome scene.

Away I fled, a half league or more, I paused
my need to rest and myself to calm,
Never could I understand the bestiality's of man
there under a barren Olive tree, I laid me down
and soon asleep I fell, for the horror to escape,
It was the chill of the afternoon that woke me
in the haze of sleep I heard an anguished
cry, rendered from the heart in a voice loud,

In Aramaic, I could tell sounded clear
"Eli, Eli Lema Sabachthani"
which meant to me "My God, My God why have you
abandoned Me", and of a sudden the sky
grew dark and foreboding, and a lull fell over the land,
Enough now had I of ludaea, enough
of cruelty, and of mayhem rife, home-ward
I decided to steer my way, home to my land,
Just on a score of days I traveled
to my home, my family and land,
Now often as I work the fields and plough
I still feel His hand, His Holy hand
upon my shoulder, see His gentle smile
and His voice sweetly, coursing thro' my mind
"You too will sip this cup with Me
to the end of time", and indeed truly blessed I felt.

Now I have heard along the grape vine
that Holy-man was called Jesus by name
and that as His name implies, meaning
a Savant Saviour for all, that and much more He was.
And wonders of wonders they said
He rose from the dead, He never died
Praise God I said, He never died on
That torturous detested stake.











Details | Ode | |

FAITH IS STRONGER THAN RELIGION

What religion has created through the ages 
is a false gospel with much incredibility;
a helpless Christ on that cross...
instead of a resurrected One 
ascending to His glory;
He's still mocked and alone!

Faith is stronger than religion,
it trascends all souls
in search of truth and hope;
and it can't be taught by words alone!
Faith was the stronghold
of prophets and saints!
Let it become our fortress
in the days of weakness,
and fervently pray with confidence
that no harm will come from others!

The sacrificial altar needs no lamb,
the ultimate sacrifice was made...
the reconciliation between Man and God,
and a Mediator to atone every sin committed;
many still believe in a harsh punishment...
by demons who dwell in Hell!

Let's be like David who exalted Jehova God always, 
and proclaimed His greatness for all ages!
Let's fear no man, but trust in the God of Moses...
who parts our waters in troubled times,
and lets us walk safely to our shore;
let's be as faithful as they were!