Christian Horse Poems | Christian Poems About Horse
These Christian Horse poems are examples of Christian poems about Horse. These are the best examples of Christian Horse poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
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As I gazed into the sky in the middle of the night, to my surprise I saw an object coming towards me from the moon.
From an object it turned into a fascinating creature, from a fascinating creature it became an indescribable paragon of beauty.
She was so seductive and attractive. I could not resist her. Her love is like an ocean that has o end.
She is like an angel that has no spot or wrinkle.
Her hair is like the expensive wool of Lebanon.
Her lips, so smooth and attractive
Her tongue, instinctively seductive and ravishing
To my surprise and amazement, she turned her back at me methodically and rhythmically.
She mysteriously shook her waist and I saw the most well carved art work of the Creator.
I saw her well-constructed behind invitingly stirring at me.
How could I resist such one in a lifetime offer?
Then turning directly towards me, I saw the most tempting and sensuous breasts in the whole universe.
Both breasts danced like a football in the field of play.
Now, I am trapped. No way out. Who will rescue me from this illusion. Illusion? No, I would rather call it fantasy. But no, it became a reality that I cannot but face.
Oh! Queen of the night you are just a relic of pleasurable island of paradise and unending love.
Please take me on a ride to your world of Eldorado.
Queen of the night
You are my queen of the night.
Copyright © Raphael Adegoke | Year Posted 2013
The sun was rising in the east
behind some hitching posts -
and weathered boards, on buildings old,
had nothing left to boast.
But I wore fancy cowboy duds,
I was a handsome sight.
A crowd of people gathered 'round
to watch this old gun fight.
The street was dead and empty
except for sin and I.
I somehow ended up out here.
I'm really not sure why.
A bullet? Very perilous
if we've no self-control -
and sin is much more dangerous,
because it kills the soul.
Now noon met with humidity.
The sun was dry and hot.
Some beads of sweat rolled down my face -
my stomach, in a knot.
But no, I wasn't nervous -
though duel had begun.
I counted out ten paces -
then turned and drew my gun.
But sin is faster, furious -
much quicker than the eye.
Oh please! Dear Lord and Saviour -
I do not want to die!
And then... in just an instant,
I dropped down to my knees.
I fell as peace passed over me
and felt the gentle breeze.
But something stood in front of me.
Its shadow crossed my face.
I then saw Jesus on that cross.
He took my very place.
Ashamed, I dropped my pistol.
My pride was killed that day -
as I pulled off my fancy boots
and flung my hat away.
Now humbled on the dusty street
with crowded eyes on me -
my every pride had vanished as
I learned humility.
In faithfulness, I stood again,
though I was at a loss...
Oh, how could Jesus love me so
from that old rugged cross?
The sun was setting in the west
behind some hitching posts.
And weathered boards, on buildings old,
had nothing left to boast.
©2012 louis gander / www.ganderpoems.org
Copyright © louis gander | Year Posted 2016
The little creature knew the roads.
From town to town his Friend
Would seek a fitting gathering space
To focus on life’s end.
No burden he, and speaking much
To Someone Fatherly
Then speaking to assembled crowds
Pressed close that they might see.
And some would laugh with rude disdain
And some would nod assent
And some would cry out for relief
As Friend would urge “Repent”.
The creature tethered to one side
Heard thoughts rehearsed in mid-day’s ride
But now with pressing tears.
And folk came forward to the man
Imploring more of Jesus’ Plan.
Been like that now for years.
A horse would think a paddock green
A suiting place for rest
But paths of love, with Friend above
Had suited this horse best.
Copyright © Doug Blair | Year Posted 2016
Covered bridge contest hosted by craig cornish
Father's grave was across the covered bridge.
The river was cold, white, rushing.
It roared on the broken stones, as
the mare stepped onto the planks
pulling her dark carriage on its black wheels.
Her iron shoes fell, dancing.
Shade covered the wreath of lillies.
Unable to hold on to the thick petals, their strong fragrance/
slipped away in the mist of the river.
Perhaps she could have stopped
so it could find its way back,
but the mare continued on the covered bridge.
The old wood moaned, and bent, under the weight of the carriage,/
startling a barn owl from its nest beneath the span.
It perched in a tree, clutching a firm branch,
its white face looking at the coffin.
I thought it asked a question, but the mare gave no reply
as she crossed the covered bridge.
Her great head nodded with each step toward the plot,
and sunlight poured over her as she touched the edge of the grass./
August 26, 2017
Copyright © Jack Webster | Year Posted 2017