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Religious History Poems | Religious Poems About History

These Religious History poems are examples of Religious poems about History. These are the best examples of Religious History poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse | |

War Mentality

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 | Year Posted 2007

Details | Rhyme | |

Man's Corruption God's Redemption

Man's Corruption...  God's Redemption!

The Bible speaks of man's sin and corruption.
That's why God has offered us, his redemption!

The heart is desperately wicked above all things.
There's an evil corruption that sin brings!

The Lord searches our heart and tests our ways.
He watches our lives, all of our days!

There's nothing good in ourselves.
Not now, or ever!
Without God's mercy...
We're doomed forever!

But, through Christ, there's a way and a plan!
He made this available to every woman and man!

His gift of salvation is a message of love, made clear!
The coming of Jesus Christ,
 draws ever so near!

We can trade our sinful corruption, 
for a new way of living!
Won't you come before the Lord,
with a heart of giving?

Giving our life to Jesus,
 is the best thing to do!
By his power and grace, you can be
made BRAND NEW!

I'm thankful for his salvation! 
 Mercy has been applied!
Because of Christ' death on the cross…
I'm now sanctified!

By Jim Pemberton   

Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2013

Details | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: III

Beauty of nature
Why condense it down to God?
Isn’t life enough?

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse | |

Mind and Sound

Only light can penetrate the 
darkness
that resides in the default state 
of mind
I descend from beta to delta 
through
binaural beats; instantly caught 
between frequencies beyond 
time 

I absorb amplitudes of acoustic 
energy
and I learn to just be earth 
Since I am the earth 
and because I am of
the one that is the source of its 
existence, 
I've owned the power of 
omnificence 

I realize now that I AM because
HE is since I am from that, a 
descendant 
Created in the image of a 
thought
and a feeling from the 
Universal Mind
I tune in to this vibration from 
rhythmic
pulse that manipulates 
subconscious minds

Immersed  between 4 and 7 
hertz;
brainwaves halt to a conscious 
sleep
All  chakras are aligned shining 
crown energy 
and now my consciousness 
begins to reap! 
and light begins to penetrate 
the harmonious beams
that were already there
constant and always there 

is now flooded with sound 
patterns
that force brainwaves to submit 
to power
of omnipresent sound that 
always was 
and always will be connected to 
the Source from which I came
so I extend exponentially 
beyond;
physical time and space

I long to embrace the intensity 
of gamma rays
I give way to the coded sounds 
that resonate from the inner 
core
and continue to connect 
through the binaural beats that 
-  
remind me of before

Always familiar but ignored
until found by gaining 
knowledge of self
I listen with the intent to excel 
while reaping an abundance of 
benefits and rewards
Listen!! 
It's already yours

Just reach out and grab it 
as long as intention and ego is 
checked
the universe will correspond 
accordingly
it will deliver a life to you divine 
and orderly
Just listen to the sounds that 
were there from before
They will guide to to the 
vibration from the core
and it will guide you to connect 
directly with the source 



Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012

Details | I do not know? | |

A Story My Mother Told Me

someone always told me this with tears in her eyes...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


a wife left South Africa in the 1960’s to join her husband 
who was in exile at the time...

in 1970 the husband was sent by the African National Congress to India to be its representative there...

the husband and wife spent two years in Bombay...

one afternoon the husband fell and broke his leg...

the wife knocked on their neighbour’s door, in an apartment complex in Bombay

the neighbour was an old Punjabi lady...

the wife asked the neighbour for a doctor to see to the injured husband...

a Parsi ‘Bone-Setter’ was promptly summoned...

the husband still recalls his anxiety of seeing ‘Bone-Setter’ written on the Parsi gentleman’s bag...

by the way, the ‘Bone-Setter’ worked his ancient craft and surprisingly for the husband, his broken leg healed quite soon...

but still on that day, while the ‘Bone-Setter’ was seeing to the husband...

the wife and the old Punjabi lady from next door got to talking about this and that and where these new Indian-looking wife and husband were from as their accents were clearly not local...

the wife told the elderly Punjabi lady that the husband worked for the African National Congress of South Africa and had left to serve the ANC from exile...

and that they had left their two children behind in South Africa and that they were now essentially political refugees...

the Punjabi lady broke down and wept uncontrollably...

she told the foreign woman that she too had had to leave her home in Lahore in 1947 and flee to India with only the clothes on her back when the partition of the subcontinent took place and Pakistan was formed and at a time when Hindus from Pakistan fled to India and vice versa...

the Punjabi lady then asked the foreign woman her name...

‘Zubeida’, but you can call me ‘Zubie’...

the Punjabi woman hugged Zubie some more, and the two women, seperated by age and geography, wept, sharing a shared pain...

the Punjabi woman told Zubie that she was her ‘sister’ from that day on, and that she felt that pain of exile and forced migration and what being a refugee felt like...

Zubie and her husband Mosie became the closest of friends with the Hindu Punjabi neighbours who were kicked out of Pakistan by Muslims...

then came the time for Mosie and Zubie to leave for Delhi where the African National Congress office was based...

the elderly Punjabi lady and Mosie and Zubie said their goodbyes...

a year or two later, the elderly Punjabi lady’s daughter Lata married Ravi Sethi and the couple moved to Delhi...

the elderly Punjabi lady called Zubie and told her that her daughter was coming to Delhi to live and that she had told Lata, her daughter that she had a ‘sister’ in Delhi...

Lata and Ravi Sethi then moved to Delhi...

This was in the mid-1970’s...

Lata and Zubie became the closest of friends and that bond stayed true, and stays true till today, though Zubie is no more, and the elderly Punjabi lady is no more...

the son and the husband still have a bond with Lata and Ravi Sethi...

a bond that was forged between Hindu and Muslim and between two continents across the barriers of creed and time...

a bond strong and resilient, forged by the pain and trauma of a shared experience...

and that is why, and I shall never stop believing this, that hope shines still, for with all the talk of this and of that, and of that and of this, there will always be a simple woman, somewhere, anywhere, who would take the ‘other’ in as a sister, a fellow human...

and that is why there will always be hope...
hope in the midst of this and of that and of that and of this...

hope...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: V

Omniscient guy
Yet he lets bad things happen
How can he exist?

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: IV

God made all people
But some better than others?
Stop being silly.

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse | |

US in JesUS

Before we were thought of or time had started, 
God put US in His Son’s name.. 
 
And each time we pray, you'll see its true, 
You can't spell Jesus without including US.  
Were a pretty big part of His wonderful name, 
For US, He was born; 
 
And His great love for US is the reason He died. 
Isn't it thrilling and splendidly grand 
He rose from the dead, with US in His plan? 
 
The stones split away, the gold trumpet blew, egospelexpress
And His resurrection was for US.  
 
As JesUS left the earth with His wonderful ascension, 
When He felt there was one thing He just had to mention. 
 
"Go into the world and tell them it's true 
that I love them all - Just like I love you." 
 
So many people are Christian brothers and sisters, 
Don't all the others have a right to know JesUS too? 
 
It all depends on what we do, 
He'd like them all to know, 
But it all starts with US. 

Rev. Samuel Mack, OMS
Copyright   2011

VISIT US AT; http:paladinnews1.blogspot.com

Copyright © Rev. Dr. Samuel Mack | Year Posted 2011

Details | Dramatic Verse | |

The number the brand

When I met her , a very old lady she was , yet inside lay a frightened child .
I felt my heart cry , I felt as if I was touching history itself , as I made this older lady, child,  chai .

I remember the day , and so many tears I have cried
I have cried before she and I met 
As a child , so many tears, left confused inside .

Not understanding Why , and how could we stand by and live our lives as if this never happened ?

It happened , we are left in dismay of the movies seen the accounts taken of History 
My self ..I have caught stereotyping the very people whom did this to she , the rest of her Family erased .


The white candles we light , we try and forgive , or just simply block this pain out completely.

It occurs , over and over , as it has been said History will repeat .
When thinking of my children , when I think of that little girl losing ,  cold and scarred , feeling only defeat .

There is a lesson here and I pray , that all whom have been taken from life , have no pain and are gifted spirits throughout eternity . May they be warmed with love,  and reunited with the ones they lost .

The first time I met her , her old hand I took and warmed it with mine , I held it for a long time . 
You could not,  but notice ..the Evil imprinted on skin , the Evil only to remind.
This very old Soul , in her eyes you could see . 
The child that once lived , so innocently free, not aware yet,  of the Hostility .

I speak of a Little girl, I speak of a old woman , I speak of a Jewish,  chosen Religion.

There as I held her frail , old hand  , a brand , a number stamped in Evil a long time ago .   In 1945  , once in our distant, yet Frightening  past . 

We should never forget , never forget it happened , never forget all the names .
If we do , we have learned nothing , A World living in Shame .
                                " Etta Babooshka Kofman  "

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

Details | Couplet | |

First Murderer in Human History

The first murderer in human history
      Cain

Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2014

Details | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: VI

The body: sacred
We’re all made in God’s image
Hence... circumcision?

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

Times of Trouble Are Ahead

Read the Bible and the words that are said. Times of trouble and tribulation are ahead! All one has to do is read the book of revelation. To read about this world and this nation! Days of wickedness and evil that abounds.. Shall very soon. Come “crashing to the ground!” For our sin, there’s a price that has been paid! Many have become sin’s servant and slave! Many will not escape God’s judgment and wrath! They’ve chosen the wrong direction and path! Right now... There’s a path and a way to “escape!” Please do it right now! Before it’s too late! The right path to take, is through Christ alone! He must be the lord of your heart and home! Jesus alone, can bring hope to your soul! He’ll never leave you! Is what he wants you to know! Times of trouble and uncertainty are well on their way! Christ can help you to overcome! He can do it TODAY! By Jim Pemberton

Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme royal | |

Who Do You Say I Am

Who Do You Say I Am?

Who do you say I am, and who am I to you?
Is the resurrection so very important to you?
Am I such a genius in my deeds, so futuristic, 
That you cannot vindicate me by them? 
The Roman government felt threatened by me, 
Because I had medical techniques in my hand, 
For all for the first time, such that I did stand. 

Jesus never called himself god ever, 
Not ever, in any way at all;
But believed in societal stability so much, 
That he considered the government officials sane, 
To judge and do with him as they saw fit, 
So as to reconstruct their land as best they could, 
Such that their allegation that he was god stood. 

When Jesus replied to Caiaphus the Roman judge, 
Upon the question concerning whether or not he was god, 
He just said “You said it,” your term, not mine, 
Yours is the discernment, and not my frown; 
And when he asked Peter “Who do you say that I am?” 
He only reckoned that a personal view was inevitable, 
When there’s such a fracas all around, a kerfuffle. 

Who Jesus is today doesn't matter any more, 
And who the living Christ is to you has no importance, 
Since Jesus is dead and not relevant;
But it may help to know who he was back then;
He was a doctor who treated the sick,
Those in need rather than those who had money, 
Such that he made life and their lives a lot more sunny. 




          Common English Bible used.





Piece for Richard Lamoureux’s Contest, Who do you think I am?, September 2015


Title of poem: Imagine if you can 
Lne: My Savior brings such comfort to me

I believe that you believe in Jesus, Richard, as your saviour, so who you are will partly be about who Jesus is, so my poem talks about Jesus. I think that understanding Jesus is different from being religious and going to church, and that the truth about Jesus can be worked out historically, given a certain amount of thought. As long as who Jesus was is with the church, you’ll always be a dreamer maybe, but I believe that anyone can read the Bible or the Gospels for themselves, without contemporary church dogma in mind, and get an apparently clear view of him using an historical context. Jesus the man never existed but a medical man must've if we are to respect literary integrity. I think his death and his own view of himself pertain to the problem, and would enable politicians and teachers to stop bad Christian fundamentalism and to stop the spread of the Islamic State. But can I just say and remind people that I am an atheist.

Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative | |

-Jesus- A Portrait-

 

   That curious Roman official

   named "Lentulus" with foresight recorded

   his description of a Man controversial.

   And His name too, for prosperity accorded

   That Man who the Roman so aspired

   was named Jesus, that Man of Awe,

   And Lentulus was one of few who desired

   that Man Jesus to portray and hence to annals store.


   So wont was Lentulus to see and hear

   what that Man Jesus preached and said,

   That he followed Him for a while, everywhere,

   So that the verity of his narration could by all be read,

   Then went on to relate what he saw,

   A Man of serene composture who courtly stood

   and how His prescence the crowds would draw

   and hungered the more on the words that inspired good.


   Of average height, just on fifteen and a half fists tall

   His nut-brown hair smoothed down at the side

   forming soft flowing curls, that did fall

   to below His shoulders with luxuriant pride,

   His beard boasted long and full, the same colour of His hair,

   Both His hair and beard neatly parted the middle down,

   As with the way that all of Nazarines share,

   And on a reddish face not a wrinkle, spot or frown.


   His eyes wide set with an unusual capacity for expression

   coloured blue-grey, exuding a sadness from within,

   Yet cheerful of countenance with seriousness held in remission,

   Sometimes seen to weep, not ever to laugh or sing,

   Though His feet were bare, He stood regally composed

   He lived in troubled times with  much woe abound,

   For there were those around, who would oppose

   Him for the freedom and peace His voice did sound.


   Now through what Lentulus and others alike, did relay,

   Artists and painters centuries ago, with care

   did Jesus to canvas, with dilligence portray,

   And His likeness to the world's peoples share,

   So that His teachings now so revered

   became all the more potent with vision aglared,

   For His words of enlightenment can so astound,

   But just in His Prescence alone can the Spirit abound.


                     

Copyright © Christopher Stopford | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? | |

For Mother Teresa

For Mother Teresa

to see...

the clarity of beauty between the murky folds of life

to see...

the simple truths of living
between the horror and the endless strike

to see...

the innocent smiles of the children at play
while the elder preach hate and division and continue to slay

to see...

the endless yearning for that simpler better place
away from the hollow emptiness of this ostentatious space

to see...

the open vistas of this pale blue dot
the soft reds and fruity greens as this home is all we have got

to see...

the tears of the dispossessed who have been cruelly cast aside
and while we look the other way from their tears we may never hide

to see...

the endless hunger and despair and killing and greed
in the name of God or of ideology or of some or the other creed

to see...

and to see it all

and still stand tall

to hold on to the humanity

that resides deep within us all

may be our only saving grace

and though all of this sounds quaint and saccharine sweet

I need to remember all that I've said

the next time I look into a teary-eyed desolate face

to see...

that being human is simple if we only look beyond ourselves and see

that we are all one, him and her and them and us and you and me...


Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ballad | |

THE WEARING OF THE GREEN DETAILS

On Roman ruled British isles,
   On a sunny morn
Forth century on the day of Ides  
   Our Patrick was born
To the deacon and his wife fair; 
   A beautiful morn
And priest grandfather who care’
   Their Patrick was born

He, young and bright as a button 
   This could be clearly seen
Was Patrick the lad and glutton
   Tall for his age at sixteen 
 Taken as a slave to nearby Eire 
   At tender age sixteen
by knavish raiders – this not fair
    Long time not to be seen

God visited Patrick in a dream 
    On this Emerald Isle
 When revealed to him to stream
   Patrick broke rank and file
He boarded a ship and set sail 
    left this unwelcome isle
In Britain to tell all the tale
   Then Gaul - priesthood and file

In 432, back to Eire to convert them 
   A land green with shamrock
From their polytheism to stem
   Worshiping even a rock
To explain the Holy Trinity 
   He used the shamrock
Enlightened them till affinity
   They accepted *The Rock

To explain the Holy Trinity 
   He used the shamrock
Enlightened them till affinity
   They accepted The Rock
They are wearing the Green
They are wearing the Green...

*Rock of Ages

21 January 2013


BALLAD METER

Copyright © Suzette Richards | Year Posted 2013

Details | Limerick | |

THEO-OLIGARCHIC HAPPENINGS IN SLOVENIA


URAN'S WILLY

Taking sides in discussions holily
About whether Uran used his willy
Means you're trapped in their game -
Either side is the same:
Cock distracts, cash departs, crowd stays silly.



Story:
http://www.sloveniatimes.com/scandals-in-the-slovenian-church-to-go-on


The National Poet Of Slovenia In A Language People Understand interprets important Slovenian affairs for the non-Slovene speaking world. 


www.maria.si

Copyright © Julian Bohan | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Christ Child

In eternity past, the Father asks the Son to go down.
Having equal Love for humans the "Yes" comes fast.
When Creation leads to time, the world waits for 4 BC
Marking the start of the end of Satan's long rule at last.

Did Satan laugh at the poor setting for Jesus' birth here?
A cry in a cave for animals pierces the night, changing all.
Shepherds worship; later wise kings give precious gifts.
Mary and Joseph marvel, yet Herod's rage soon gives a call.

A call to leave quickly to Egypt where they'll live as refugees.
Sparing the Christ child a merciless death of those under three.
When Herod finally dies, Jesus' parents head back to Israel.
Still not fully safe from mad rule, Nazareth is their destiny.

Here the child will grow to be a man, following His parents rule.
Surprising the Pharisees with His wisdom at 12, at 30 riling them.
Preaching with authority, healing the incurable, loving the humble.
Women weep repenting at his feet; one's healed by touching his hem.

Zacchaeus risks going into a tree and finds Jesus' salvation so free.
Nicodemus comes at night to ask and ends amazed he's met God's Son
The Woman at the Well gets far more vital water than the usual kind.
And many healed can't but tell others of the miracle God has done.

The babe in the manger now stills the storm and his disciples believe
Even seeing the dead arise, like Lazarus in the tomb for four days.
Foretelling a greater rising coming but not before immense suffering.
The sword Mary was told would pierce her heart is soon on its way.

For most religious leaders cannot tolerate Jesus' lack of respect for them.
Calling them whitewashed tombs and pointing pride out to Pharisees.
Not endearing Himself with the establishment, but following God's way.
Knowing soon He'd be betrayed, arrested, tried and tortured brutally.

Still, he calmly feeds them body bread and blood wine in a final feast.
Tells them the Spirit comes, and prays they'd be one like Father and Son.
Heads to the Garden, prays to His Father for another way if possible.
Your will be done ends and the soldiers come and with Judas kiss it's done.

The most pure, innocent Man who's ever lived is now in hostile hands.
A trial by dark without witness or any rights – and off to Pontius Pilate.
Then Herod then back to Pilate whose wife dreamed Jesus was innocent.
But the people's cries to crucify win over – Jesus caught in intrigue's net.

The child of Bethlehem now hung on a Cross between two criminals.
The Light of the World by darkness and our sins is being slowly slain.
Feeling forsaken by God, but then "Into Your hands I commit my spirit."
Reunited and soon to show the world that this Child was no ordinary one.

Risen as Jesus predicted, for how can death conquer everlasting, perfect life?
From childhood to adult not one sin, not once yielding to Satan's temptations.
Proving we can have life eternal if we confess and believe in Jesus as our Savior.
Calling His followers in risen form to await the Spirit and share Christ to the nations

Copyright © Scott Bronner | Year Posted 2012

Details | Sonnet | |

CIL MAOLCHEADAIR

    CIL MAOLCHEADAIR   (Kilmalkedar)
On such an Irish spring and drizzle morn,
she wandered through the graveyard, looking for
the Celtic dream from which her past was born,
and every sight brought her to wanting more;

she dreamt her roots from carvings on a stone
as if she understood each chip as real,
passed down to only her, and her alone,
from pagan worship she could almost feel;

and she could bundle them within her mind
to share with Pennsylvania kith and kin,
perhaps the magic, if still there to find,
would be an understanding where they've been;

and she will burn her candles every night,
hoping Kilmalkedar will make it right.
       ©  ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here

Abandon Hope All Ye
 Who Enter Here



Ever the edifice
The bold and self-serving statue
Proud ego stamped
In the courtyards and squares
Of those who have diminished ( ordinary )

Ever the hero who by guile
Steals the heroes burial
With self sacrificial offerings of ballot boxes ( rigged )

Ever the flag waving
For the faceless dictators
Who by money and army medals adorned
Assume control
Via  coup d'état ( or money )

Ever the religious fanatic
Behind Iattola, priest, missionary and Papist
Ever the quiet and raucous rapist 
Of faith

Ever the secret of power hunger ( sanctioned )
Allowed to dictate
Through political expediencies
Ever the murder of country men
To rule the country

Ever the nationalistic barrage of pride
For coloured cloth
Defines identity
And not humanity ( human )

Ever the innocent left to bleed
To fill the coffers of nameless greed
And ever the hate to feed
The racial, political and religious idiocy ( bigotry )

Ever the door which opens
For men and women returning home
With the triumphal marches
Of black body bags

Ever the tear gas, riot shield and rubber bullet
Ever the faces of Tienanmen Square
Ever the bodies of The World Trade Centre
Ever the terrorism of lies
Ever the truth denied
Ever love defiled

Ever the innocent left to bleed
To fill the coffers of nameless greed
And ever the hate to feed
The racial, political and religious bigotry ( idiocy )



Ever the door which open
Welcoming home
Mothers and Fathers
From their long days labours ( ordinary )

Copyright © colin mitchell williams | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

A Visit From a Social Worker

His hand reached out to mine, open, 
Holding it, I smiled, our eyes danced with understanding, 
Form and blush outlined his expectations, 
But I could see that there may be fear inside. 

Mary restated their predicament, 
That the child was born out with the marriage bond, 
And that people were swaying to the opposite side, 
And course dialogue, laughter and spitting were norm. 

So I asked the two for their thoughts and predictions, 
About the child, if he perhaps could be like, special?
And they specified that he would cure, heal and exorcise, 
And also promised that they’d talk to him about the poor. 

Could this baby be the messiah?
I pondered and hoped in their certainty; 
Was this the predicted son of god? 

He would be free from aggressive victimisation, 
If we could just name him as god's son.

So I suggested to his parents, 
That if the wise men came with a quest, 
To accept the name Jesus Christ, 
And certify the census, no less. 

Freedom for some is in lying, 
When there’s no possible alternatives, 
But I believe Joseph never lied, 
In the population census of Bethlehem,
That just so happened to pass by. 

The baby hadn’t been named, 
Only the parents last name was changed, 
Made credible for interaction, 
For currency and ware to be exchanged. 

The child would have been suppressed by all, 
Assumed to be dirty and unclean, 
Not for chat or dialogue, 
And certainly not for work in a trade of his call, 
Or for work in any trade for that matter. 

Nothing would ever have been done, 
The poor would never have been healed, 
Or not so quickly for sure in history;
The government would not have been rifled, 
And Christ would not have come. 

Treating the poor for health problems,
Would have come through government legislation,
A long time after Christ,
In an austere, aloof manner.

People to people relationships,
Would not have been respected,
If care had been awarded top-down,
By bureaucrats and officials: 
As supervisors of the protected.

Society at that time was narrow minded,
Stuck in traditional religion;
There were outcasts, sinners, infectious people,
And assumptions were remedial and red:
There were no special people,
No exceptions to the rule,
Only one place for the messiah confided.

One baby matters to me, 
A life should be saved at any cost and risk, 
Because the abilities you show when young, 
Shouldn’t be muffled or labeled regressive, 
But nurtured in acceptance and love.

Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sonnet | |

Book Launch

The generous seas do roam vividly,
And sacred words spoken earnestly.
People suffer and people go to war,
I just hope these words will go afar.

Yesterday I published a FREE book,
Indeed a feat of altruism, no crook!
I suffer in silence in every moment.
I have no money to publish a stunt.

I was just hoping for word-of-mouth
And email propagation as loudmouth.
Book is at: http://bookbooster.com/newage.htm
I accept feedback just at: percarus@hotmail.com

OFFICIALLY THE MOST ELOQUENT STORY TELLING POETRY BOOK EVER WRITTEN
-ALL NON FICTION- (This spiel typed in the spur of the moment - God Bless you)

Copyright © Lexmilian de Mello | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

In a Welsh Chapel Darkly

I know you see me from up there,
from halfway up the steep and twisting lane.
In early half-light as you take your walk
I no doubt seem to loom as you descend,
appear to grow, to rise from earth,
my boxlike rectilinearity,
severe and unadorned geometry,
a silhouette against the solitary sodium source.

I once hosted fiery-throated hymns
from dedicated souls in Sunday best:
“Marchog, Jesu, yn llwyddiannus”,
“O! Iesu mawr, rho d’anian bur” –
voices rich and raised and resonant,
so filled with faith, so gorged with God.
My pitch-pine pews were polished
by coat and skirt and trouser twill.

Abandoned now, unloved, slab-still,
void and stark and desolate,
with quarry-tiled floor that would resound
with joy were anyone to walk upon it,
I present gaping emptiness, a thing felt,
a cave whose darkness, palpable,
is peopled by retreating echoes of my past,
like timorous ghosts far too afraid to speak.

But there is One I must not name –
though He might be known by
the four letters of the tetragrammaton –
who lodges in my roomy quarters,
cowers within my tight square corners,
seeking shadows when the sun stares in.
I hear Him breathing as
He sweats in His remorse, a thing smelt.

He hides from the accusing eyes of every nation,
the eyes that witness daily His forlorn creation.

Copyright © Andrew John | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

Living the Dream

I am living the dream.
I stand here today,
Cannot believe what I am about to say,
But I am living the dream.
At times, it's tough
And it is not always easy.
I might be condemned
For choosing this path in life;
Some may think it's too bag of a risk.
When we give it our all,
Our passion and our might,
We can overcome and forget the fear
To become who we are meant to be.
I stand here today,
Another tear ready to wipe away:
You can do all you aspire to do!
Set your mind and never give up!
If I can do it,
You can too!
I can't believe I'm about to say this,
But I am living my dreams.
I am living the dream.

Copyright © Kevin C. Martin | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? | |

The Cowardice of the Taliban and The Silence of The Good Muslims

The Cowardice of the Taliban and The Silence of The Good Muslims.


When hot lead tears the flesh of a 14 year old girl,

ripping through her skull,
leaving her to bleed out and die,

does Allah not recoil in horror,

to see His child whimper,
to see His daughter cry.

Where is the indignation,

the anger that often boils over and manifests itself as flags and books and videos are burnt in mass orgies of hollow piety,

where are the voices that scream so loud,
that denounce all but their own creed,

where are the men, the impotent men who crave for nothing more than their fascist egos to feed,

where are the voices that so loudly proclaim,
enemies here and enemies there, always quick to condemn,

where are those voices when the enemy walks amongst them.

14 year old Malala Yousafzai was shot in cold blood,

her crime?

Advocating the rights of girls to an education.

Shame on you, men of bigotry and men of cowardice.

Shame on you, silent and mute accomplices in this carnage.

Shame on me,
for my inaction,

Shame on us all,
who proclaim lofty ideals,

yet are conspicuously silent,

when a 14 year old girl is shot in the head,

by fascist fundamentalist bigots who only worship bullets of hot lead.

Not in my name!

Not in my name,
shall the cowardly men rain down abuse,

Not in my name,
shall the bigoted men light the communalistic fuse,

Not in my name,
shall Malala Yousafzai be shot in the head,

left to bleed out,
while countless mothers' tears are shed,

not in my name,
shall religious murderers,
be left to wander free,

not in my name,
for I dare all believers to open their eyes,
to see!

To see,
the innocence of a 14 year old girl,
wanting only an education,

as the men of the cloth,
prance around with their pathetic self-righteous indignation.

I write this today,
the anger raging in my veins,

yet I fear,

that I shall write more of this,

unless we stand up and say 'no more',

I fear that I shall be writing this again,

until we all,

reclaim the true principles of humaneness,

until we silence the voices of bigotry,
of rage,
of fanatical insanity,

I fear I shall be writing this again,

and,

until the muck-ridden bile,
is not excised,

I shall continue to say,

NOT IN MY NAME!

Or else I shall have nothing,

but my unending shame.



(for Malala Yousafzai, 14 years old, in a critical condition after being shot in the head by the Pakistani Taliban, for her work as a young activist advocating the rights of girls to attend school)

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

Luke The Drifter

Is he here?
Can it be?
Straight from Nashville, Tennessee
Luke the Drifter 
or a mortal shape shifter.
Hank come here
is it really you?
your tearful words helped me through.
Did really write all those songs
about Miss Audrey and the man who done her wrong?
You smell like beer
and your trail leaves behind a single tear.
You look grim and reek of fear.
Your skinny face leaves a trace
of weakness.

I suddenly woke up!




Dedicated To Hank Williams
1923-1953
R.I.P.

Copyright © Blake Holland | Year Posted 2016

Details | Epic | |

He Had To Come

He looked upon the ones He loved;
So innocent and so free;
Their beauty was beyond compare;
Of all His creation they were the best;
Instilled in them was freewill;
Could they survive the test?

He had to come.

The serpent was so crafty;
The serpent was the enemy; 
It set out to deceive His love;
Things would never be the same;
The serpent would cause Him so much pain.

He had to come.

The fruit appeared so tempting;
The serpent's words rang true;
Was the man to trust in God;
Surely he would not die;
Yet die he did for a single bite.

He had to come.

There was now a new man;
This man was Abraham;
He set out for a new country;
It was a country yet to be;
The promise was to be fulfilled.

He had to come.

Abraham had no children;
Yet God's promise was to be fulfilled in him;
How could this come to be;
When he had no offspring;
Yet Abraham never doubted God.

He had to come.

Some generations later;
The characters have now changed;
The children of Abraham are slaves;
Their groaning reaches God's ear;
He will not leave them alone.

He had to come.

God plagued the nation of Egypt;
The Passover was put in place;
The children of Abraham escaped by His might;
A new nation was now born;
Moses was their leader.

He had to come.

At a place called Sinai;
The covenant was given;
It pointed out to man what sin was;
It could not redeem them to Heaven;
It was sealed in blood.

He had to come.

The covenant required obedience;
It required the sacrifice of a lamb;
Sin was atoned for by the sacrifice;
Yet no lamb could be found to fit the bill;
It had to be the perfect Lamb.

He had to come.

He was born in Bethlehem;
The gift of God to man;
He would preach for a mere three years;
During that time He would change the world;
He would be murdered for His effort.

He had to come.

The cross was cruel and agonizing;
He could have came down and walked away;
This was why He had come;
It would set things right;
It was His Father's will.

He had to come.

When He died the curtain was torn in two;
The dead came from their tombs;
The soldiers themselves knew then who He was;
He was the perfect Lamb;
He was the end of sacrifice.

He had to come.

Death could not hold Him;
He rose to walk again;
He finished what was started;
Now he was seen by many witnesses;
He ascended back to His throne.

He had to come.

He looked upon the one He loved;
Restored back to her first state;
It had been worth the price he paid;
His glory was now supreme;
She was His bride forevermore.

He had to come.

Copyright © Marvin D. Schrebe | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

What Is Your Answer

His head lifted, and looking for his brothers, 
He found his mum, sanely able again to relate to him, 
Cold, death-like figure, icy face, warm outline of a kin, 
Grieving, her brave face emanated hope for him; 
His head stayed up, but only for a few more moments, 
Then it dropped causing more pain from his hands, 
Which held his body up on a wooden cross. 

Did he expire for me? No, I think not:
Only that he died for his life’s work on earth, 
Which the government objected to so strongly: 
Crucifixion was their penalty for dissidence; 
People wanted to pay taxes to him, 
Not ordinarily to the state, the Romans, 
Who had to uphold government as functional, 
A structure for the people’s good in every way, 
Or in this case, as an ultimately good structure, 
As that’s what did transpire; 
So they had to dehumanise and demote him;
God did not appear so as to invoke his torture. 

When asked by ministers, leaders and Christian friends,
If Jesus died for me, I reply no, 
But that the answer is not not:
I then proceed to say that I’m not excluded from its effects, 
That he didn’t not, and that society has evolved,  
From previous societies as history is humanity’s driver.  

Martin Luther King did not die for me, 
And it would be insane to say that he did, 
But I cannot help but think that I have benefited sadly, 
From the assassination which caused such a hue and cry, 
Everywhere, in all nations, amongst all people.

So no, Jesus didn’t die for me, 
But I appreciated taking communion once, 
Although my problem is I’ve had it too much since,
Felt I didn’t need to have it ever again, 
And I sometimes appreciate Colin Peckham’s arrangement, 
Of the hymn ’Tis Finished, The Messiah Dies.

I understood that Jesus did something, 
For disability and health, 
Let the people speak and converse with others,
About their bodies, conditions and care needs, 
Not just the sole problem of a doctor;
They had the absolute right to life like everybody else, 
Out with government, gossip or religious creed, 
But human to human, 
They stood tall as people amongst people. 

My disability heritage is my disability heritage,  
Just as it is, not constructed or fictitious, 
But a text, open for all to read; 
The man Jesus drowns in the theology of the church,
So you can just ignore its doctrine and catechisms; 
Jesus is not alive for me, but dead, 
And I think that if you think that he’s not alive,
You won’t be mentally ill, sentimental or emotional, 
But an alive, rational, sane person.

Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015

Details | I do not know? | |

MLK - 1929 - 1968

MLK...
(January 15, 1929 – April 4, 1968)


they shot you down
all those years ago

but

your dream lives on
and always will

for though much has been
gained since you dreamed
your dream

there is much to fight for
and much more to struggle for

and much, much more
to fight for still

so
your dream resounds in
our hearts and we pledge 
this to you today
for though they shot you down
all those years ago on a memphis day
we shall overcome
this we do believe
deep in our hearts
that
we shall overcome
someday...


(for Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.)

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? | |

Blasphemy

Blasphemy

The caustic tongues of the evangelists,
Across all creeds and faiths,
Seem as brittle as an old bone.

For they promise heaven and they spew forth threats of hell
While neglecting the words of that man who walked in Galilee

'let him who is without sin, cast the first stone'

the caustic tongues of the evangelists...

across all religions
new-age and the ones of old
baffle me even as I hear
a single simplistic sermon

for they really do, view us all
as blind imbeciles
scurrying around like faithless vermin


the caustic tongues of the evangelists...

wag on and dazzle us with visions of an eternal paradise
while here and now
their hypocrisy festers
within their earnest
well-meaning eyes...


'...dil mein hai khwaaish-e-hoor-o-jannat
aur zaahir mein shauk-e-ibaadat
bas hamen sheikh-ji aap jaise
allah-waalon se allah bachaaye...'


'...in your heart you desire the maidens of heaven
yet in the now you practice the rituals of piety
o' sheikh, may allah protect me
from the people of allah like yourself...'

is my tongue as caustic as the tongues I write about?
if so, then glad am I
for they shouldn't be the only ones
who preach and rant and continually shout

from their pulpits ever so high in the sky
from their hubris of comfort in possessing the 'truth'

from their 'knowing' that heaven or hell
awaits both the strong as well as the meek

while oblivious to the reeking foul smell
that encourages prejudice and hate
and visions not of peace
but of endless chants and prayers

which they, in their opium haze
rattle on and on
as they never seem to cease to speak

and though I’m sure that all this bile that I have spewed
will threaten
hurt
and offend

friend and
unfriend and
acquaintance alike

but...

take pity on me instead
for it'll surely be I
who'll burn eternally
impaled by a benevolent god
on a slightly warmer than normal day in hell

on a crude wooden spike.

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013