Narrative Religious Poems

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Details | Narrative |
One summer eve in Galilee
I stood before my open door;
to me it seemed just one more night--
like all the others gone before.
Someone would come and, passing by,
would hear the tinkling of the bells,
would see the garish harlot's robe
and painted eyes beneath my veil.
Someone, a man like all the rest--
it did not matter much to me--
a nobleman, Samaritan,
a Roman or a Pharisee,
someone would pause and with one glance
strip me again of maiden pride,
and leaving, later, never know
the shame and shattered dreams I hide.
O, he would think me very gay;
he would not see my hollow heart
nor hear me curse him for his pay.
Just then I saw a band of men
approaching down the narrow road;
there should be one among that crowd
aho wants the favors I bestow.
Kind eyes met mine, and with one look,
He saw what others could not see;
He saw the hunger of my soul,
my loneliness and misery.

I only know that since that day
I live to walk along with Him.
His look of love has changed my life;
I need not sell my love again.
Tonight He dines at Simon's house__
all day the dusty paths we roamed;
but, still he waits, unwashed, unkissed;
small courtesies no one has shown.
My love for Him! It rolls and swells
till from His side I cannot stay;
I will wash His feet with tears of love
and with my hair wipe the sand away.

Copyright, 1987, Faye Gibson

Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
A little girl lost her home this year, for her, Christmas wouldn't be there.
Her family was angry from all the troubles, they simply couldn't repair.
Don’t bother us about presents her parents said, they were depressed by their fate.
With bitterness they said, you’d be lucky to have dinner tonight, or even a plate.
Life was harsh, nowhere to go, anger and fear had put their souls, in a terrible place.
The little girl had found no hope or joy, lurking near their old car, of late.
The car was their home, gas money was scarce, and with few places they could park.
Yes, their troubles had slowly extinguished, that precious hopeful spark.
Without that spark, they’d never find their way, from this terrible place of cold and dark.
And life’s darkness grew deeper nightly, as hope vanished under a reality so stark.
Even the very fiber of her family, seemed to be shattering slowly, slowly, apart.
The child felt alone here in this dark car, as sadness tried to engulf her little girls heart.
The future seemed filled with hopelessness, as shame and dread, were leaving their mark.
Embarrassment to be seen and turned away, made it hard for them to reach out, to restart.
But life goes on, and we can’t fear to rebuild, or the future will be hard to impart.
The girl suddenly declared there’s more to life, and she wouldn't let it conquer her heart.
She decided triumphs will come, and all will get better, if she held to that hopeful spark.
Seeing the desolation and anger here, she couldn't stay around, she had to get away…
So she climbed out of the car, and she walked into town, not so very far to stray.
She went and looked at the store windows, where Christmas was being displayed.
The music and people filled her heart, lifting her spirits, deep inside, that day.
She noticed a store, way down at the end of the row, on the next block, where it lay.
No one was there, it seemed lonely, and the darkness was again, spreading it’s decay.
She ran there in time to see an old man closing up, with sadness on his face betrayed.
What use were his goods, if no one would shop, or come down along his way?
The super store down the block, was daily making him lose more and more in the fray.
He could no longer afford to hire people, and the season had very little time, to stay.
As they talked the girl saw that she couldn't let the darkness take another, so she prayed.
Then she told the old man, if he’d open the shop, she’d bring customers down his way.
She added, she’d find reasonable workers, if her family could live upstairs, she portrayed.
First bring the customers, he said, and the rest will be yours little friend, he conveyed.
She had him put his best toys, as a contest prize, and to add lots of lights on the display.
He set a contest, “Winners-the best collectors for families in need” on Christmas Eve.
He put out a bright contest sign, but still nobody came to his end of the block, to survey.
So she had him call the Salvation Army, for a kettle, Bell ringer, and Carolers, who came 
Lickety split, their way.
Then she had him call a dear old friend, and farmer, to bring a tractor full of bails of hay.
Another volunteered his horse and sleigh, both, to see the city lights thru New Years Day.
This was a great idea, since the older drivers, could use the help, for their bills to pay.
The girl ran all over spreading the excitement, and to come see the prizes, his way.
The families suddenly started heading toward his door, and to those wondrous rides.
At that moment her parents came, and she explained what her hope, had improvised.
Her father talked a contractor into building a disabled family a home, to help advertise.
He could get a tax break; come to this store for supplies, and hire unemployed workers, he devised, so wise.
In the end, each night grew brighter, because of a girls hope, and heart-warming delight.
And the old man began smiling for the first time, in a long, long, time, starting that night.
All was saved, a home was found, and another built, as a sad little girl taught grownups to smile along the way… 
You might say, A Spark of Hope lit a candle, then a raging fire, which was burning bright by Christmas day.

The moral to my story is:
Never give up on Hope; it’s your best friend, as life brings its troubles your way…
Know that with time, a good heart, good will, and friendly ways… 
You can find God’s gifts again, if you don’t let the dark take you away…

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2013

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The apostles entrusted the “Sacred deposit” of the faith
Contained in Sacred scripture and Tradition
To the whole Church
By adhering to this heritage
The entire holy people
United to its pastors
Remains always faithful to the teaching of the apostles
The brotherhood
To the breaking of bread
So, in maintaining
Professing the faith that has been handed on
There should be a remarkable harmony between the bishops


Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2015

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This poem is dedicated to a special far away friend - Brandden Blackwell.  We became so close before we actually met.  So close, yet so far away - never around, yet always there - It's kind of like describing a metaphoric friend. Thanks, Brandden for inspiring the artistic flair we will forever share.

Metaphorically Speaking Metaphorically speaking We find life is just as such Not giving facts precisely And meaning not as much Speaking in forms of reference Searching to define what is heard It suggestively leads us to believe It was really meant in other words For the analogy of something other A figure of speech is produced for it It is given with just so many words Even beating around the bush a bit There is such a variety of life about May be why facts aren’t given to all As some may take it the wrong way To certainly cause their downfall Every insinuation or symbolization You will find several points of view Where there are just so many others To view way differently than you So we must be careful to others Of what we say or rather imply We will be judged for our words On judgment day when we die Many times in the matter of love It is not always honestly expressed How someone’s heart really feels Then the joy is lost and depressed As we verify and clarify in life Searching to find what is true There is nothing as it really seems The bible is full of metaphors too God says we are to test all things Then to hold fast to what is good As written in 1 Thessalonians 5:21 We will then find what we should A metaphorically speaking life Must be truly meant to be For when the truth is found You will surely be set free Florence McMillian (Flo)

Copyright © Florence McMillian | Year Posted 2015

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I was sitting in the crowded train station with time to waste, waiting on the train to take me home on Christmas Eve.  A very pretty, young lady, carrying a full backpack headed for one of the only open seats across the aisle from me next to a rather dirty and disheveled older man.

As she removed her backpack to sit down he glared up at her; she smiled a beautiful bright smile and said to him, “Merry Christmas”.

“I don’t celebrate Christmas”, he barked up at her.

“Yeah?  Well, that doesn’t mean you can’t be happy on the day that I celebrate Christmas.  And I hope the day is merry for you as well.”

“What is there to be merry about”, he moaned, “A bunch of hypocritical religious zealots pretending to be nice to one another while the world goes to hell in a hand basket.”

“Well, at least for that one day, most of us believe the hypocrisy, and even for just a few hours, we practice the morals that our religion tries to instill in us.  At least on that one day, for us religious zealots, there is a glimmer of hope that we can save the world from going to hell and, I, for one, believe that is reason to be merry.”

“Terrific!  And, what does that get me,” he whimpered.
“Well, what you get is this one time of year, when a twenty-two year old college girl is not afraid to sit next to you; smile at you; and, wish you a Merry Christmas.  And, if you just say, ‘Thank you’ and ‘Merry Christmas’ back to her, she just may give you the biggest and best kiss you have ever experienced.”

She stood back up and started to put her backpack back on as he simply stared up at her.  Once she was situated and ready to move on towards her train, she stopped; smiled at him again; and, said, “Merry Christmas.”

It seems I was not the only stranger that was witnessing this exchange.  All of those around me were perched on the edge of their seats waiting to see what might happen.  The old man cracked a little smile.  A glimmer came to his eyes, and he said, “Thank you.  And, Merry Christmas to you, too.”

The girl leaned down and planted a kiss right on his lips for what seemed like ten minutes.  Smiles lit up the faces of all the men, women and children watching this take place.  When the girl finally pulled back, the old man was frozen in place with a big ole smile on his face.  She adjusted her backpack and started heading towards the tracks.  All the men she passed on her way who witnessed this exchange anxiously yelled, “Merry Christmas” as she passed, hoping for a kiss as well.

I looked back at the old man who was still in a dream.  Suddenly he caught me looking at him and barked, “What are you staring at?”

I just shook my head back and forth and said, “Merry Christmas”.

“Yeah!  Well Merry Christmas to you, too” he shouted.

Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2012

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The tradition in question comes from the apostles
Hands on when they received from Jesus’ teaching examples
What they learned from the Eternal Holy Spirit
First generation of Christian did not have a written New Testament
It demonstrates the process of living tradition

Tradition is to be distinguished from the various theological
Liturgical or devotional traditions
Born in the local churches over time
These are particular forms
Adapted to different places
In which the great Tradition is expressed in the light of Tradition
The traditions can be retained
Even abandoned under the guidance of the Church’s magisterium


Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2015

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The Stillness.

The roaring brook did shine upon the wet
rocks, as does the sun and the moon on the
new fallen snow.

I walk alone, alone having only one thought
in mind. Some God must have made all this
Listen, listen, to the sounds.

The brook, the car, the bird, the airplane,
the wind, all have their own sound breaking
into the stillness. But still not fazing it.

If the sun and the moon can say it any better,
let them. I heard their cry in a snow flakes,
eye. The same stillness. Only more.

If I were Lord over all that came, all that is past
and all that is to come, I would say Amen
again and again with only stillness in my glee.

There seems to be a well of stillness, ever
flowing into the sea of life, from whence there
is no escape. I am a part, you are a part.

There is a heaven or hell into which we have
all died. A blessed stillness, a barrier  that
divides God from man. A stillness, with Love   
and reverence for it. For before it, is God.

Copyright © John Hardison | Year Posted 2015

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Sacred Scripture is the speech of Eternal God
As it is put down in writing
Under the breath of the Eternal Holy Spirit

Holy tradition transmits in its entirety the Word of Eternal God
Entrusted to the apostles by Father Christ, the Lord
So that
Enlightened by the Spirit of truth
They may faithfully preserve
And spread it abroad by their preaching

Church, to whom the transmission 
Interpretation of Revelation is entrusted
Does not derive her Both Scripture and Tradition
Must be accepted and honored 
Equal sentiments of devotion

Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2015

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The Galilean sun smiled down
upon the dusty little town
and lingered o'er one humble spot,
a peasant's home and modest shop.
Long shafts of light fell 'cross the door
to lay bright carpets on the floor
where children played in perfect peace
about the shop. Their joy increased
each time they caught a glimpse of Him,
the carpenter who worked within.

His face was gentle, eyes were kind;
and  as He worked, He did not mind
their ceaseless chatter, endless play
nor did He find them in His way.
Their laughter rippled round the room;
they scattered sawdust with a broom.
the wood chips falling at His feet
became for them a fishing fleet
or beds and chairs for little dolls,
a manger or a cattle stall.

Surrounded by the commonplace;
and yet, uncommon was the grace
with which He faced each daily task
as if all Heaven lay in His grasp.
A carpenter He was by trade;
the wood responded, unafraid.
beneath His hands each piece was formed
into an object to perform
some deed of usefulness or skill,
the needs of men to fitly fill.

Precise He was in all His craft
from oxen yoke to shepherd's staff
to couches for a nobleman;
he was a careful artisan.
Each part was polished, sanded, ground;
no painful splinters could be found
to pierce the flesh of those who bought
the items fashioned in His ship.
There wood was sacrificed for man
beneath its own Creator's hands.

Does it seem strange that He would die,
suspended between earth and sky,
upon two rugged beams of wood,
this carpenter whose work was good?

Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, 1987

Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2014

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I stare back at my fears
Telling them that I am now adequate
I am now stronger than they are
I fear no more
I am now like little David with a sling going against the mighty Goliath
I fear no more, for my fears are not real

I am now powerful and greater
For my father in heaven protects me
I fear not, for I am his son
He called me and I answered
Now I dance with rejoice
That I am whole again and not inadequate
I fear not, for he is with me

I am mightier and he carries me on his shoulder
Enemies turned into friends
For his plans I will follow
He fights for me and faithful I will remain 
As floods, strong winds try to stir fear
I will call on his name for protection

When I can take it anymore
I will kneel down and pray
For he will fight all the fear
I fear no more,
For he is with me and he will continue to bless and protect me
I am adequate now because of him

Written by Tawona Ranganawa

Copyright © Tawona Mzila Ranganawa | Year Posted 2013

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The task of giving an authentic interpretation of the Word of Eternal God
Has been entrusted to the living
Teaching office of the Church alone
Its authority in this matter exercised in the name of Jesus Christ
It means that the task of interpretation has been entrusted
To the bishops in communion in successor of St. Peter
The bishop of Rome

This Magisterium is not superior to the Word of Eternal God
But it is its friends
It teaches only that has been handed to it
At the divine command with the help of Eternal Holy Spirit
It listens to this devotedly
Guards it with dedication
Expounds it faithfully
All it proposes for belief as being divinely revealed 
Drawn from this single deposit of faith

Mindful of Father Christ’s words to His apostles
“He who hears you, hears me”
The faithful receive with docility the teachings
Derives that their pastors give them in different forms

Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2015

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Eternal God desires all men
To be saved
To come to the knowledge of the truth
That is of Father Christ Jesus
Father Christ  must be proclaimed  to
All nations
So that this revelation may reach
To the ends of the earth

Eternal God graciously arranged
That the things hHe had once revealed
For the salvation of all peoples
Should remain in their entirety
Throughout the ages
Be transmitted to all generations


Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2015

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Inspired by a close friend to remind me to keep holding on to hope as I pass it along.

Focus on the Good To keep your focus Only on the good Doesn't come as easy As it seems it would All the daily hectic-ness With those ups and downs Brings the woe and worry That tries to chase you down It is like being trapped In a wilderness of weeds Ever growing wild and tall For as far the eye can see Then you see a little flower In the weeds bursting through Or was it the few kind words You heard spoken directly to you The fruit of the Heavenly Spirit Full of love, happiness and joy Lives within us to give to others For your goodness to self employ When that flower or bit of kindness Runs into more conflict somewhere Be sure to look before it fades away For another beautiful bloom to appear When you see even a little sparkle Clear away the debris to let it shine Turn away from the discontentment Keep only goodness in your mind For us to inherit His kingdom One thing the Bible does say We should focus on the good Before we find the pathway Florence McMillian (Flo)

Copyright © Florence McMillian | Year Posted 2014

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As naturally and effortlessly as birds fly
Unannounced and quietly an Idea came by
Faster than the weightless wind it flew
Where it came from no one asked, no one knew

Longing for a cloak in which to be wrapped
It knocked on many doors asking to be dressed
It wished to be given a shape and form for all to see
It wanted an existence, and in this world a chance to be

The farmer was farming, the worker busy working
The judge was judging, the thief in the shadows lurking
The preacher was of the invisible kingdom preaching
The poet alone with his heart and soul for the Idea reaching

It seized him and became the fire in his veins
The beating in his heart, the throbbing in his brain
It became the movement of his arms and legs
He asked for the right words like a beggar for food begs

The Idea through the flesh was about to be born
The invisible by the visible longed to be worn
Like newlyweds neither knew too well the other
They had to unite: each’d be both father and mother

Now the idea took control and led the poet’s pen
Then It was overpowered by the brutish man
Now he’d try to bend It, to suit his words, to shape It 
Then It bent him so that into each other they’d fit

He wished to be a channel for the Idea he sensed
It had a burning desire, a purpose to be expressed
When possessing parts of both the work was done 
An idea of the Idea was born - a battle both lost and won

Copyright © laszlo kecsedi | Year Posted 2013

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The warm light calls me
And all the people who cries for thee
I raise my hand in this abyss
Only to make one wish
To float among the others
With all my sisters and brothers
I call out for forgiveness with passion
I take their pain into myself for this occasion
The moment that I see the sky
I will not look back and cry
My body is laying still
People standing by it with a chill
The air gets dense with sadness
I would not think of it less
Some people look up and down
To see the light hit the ground
Some can vision the uplifting feeling they see
One soul that has been and always be
It is special to notice such aberration 
And that might be how souls are awaken

Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013

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You think this is the way I wanted to live,
I’ve been through a lot and yes I have
But tell me are you perfect?
Tell me you have never sinned before?
All my life I’ve wish to go through a different door,
But yet I am stuck here searching for happiness
And all you do is judge me,
I know I’ll never be good enough I know I’ll never be the best,
And yet behind all of your anger and rage
You too have felt pain,
Saving stones you’ll throw some other day?
But if you haven’t sinned then be the one to cast the first stone,
Maybe I like the idea of soothing your sadistic crave,
Nothing I’ve never felt before?
You compare it with the rough touch of a man's touch on my body?
Nothing I’ve never felt before?
You think this is just my little game?
And you think I play it well?
You don’t know how much I cry.
When you yell at me “I pray you burn in hell”.
Sometimes I wish I could just disappear and make it all end.

Then I met a man,
Instead of judging me he said “go and sin no more
Let he who has not sinned cast the first stone”.
Who was he?
He was no ordinary man he despised those who had judged,
Instead he understood me with a heart filled with love. 

Copyright © Sedain Sangster | Year Posted 2016

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Beyond the Darkness.

Beyond the darkness
is God’s Holy Light.

A display of his might 
and all that’s right.

Knowledge abounds 
in it’s all around 

Cuts right through
our lines of hate.

Devine so great
makes no mistakes

Knows our salvation
with no hesitations 

Welcomes heavens
love strong domain.

Knows all redeemed 
sinner of life.

God highest crown
upon his son.

Knows no end
its beginning. 

No shame nor
guilt survive.

Gods Loving hand
fulfills the land

Copyright © John Hardison | Year Posted 2016

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   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

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I read the verse -

......I have not found instruction nor gained wisdom from the Holy one......

As i pondered on that one verse i gained another verse

.... I will find instruction, gain knowledge and understanding from the holy one...

A proverb worthy of consideration

And i went to the carpenters shop and bought my bed
back home i assembled it and put the bedding in place
In its head board a pattern reminding me of angels
I could see the throne of Mercy opening...
And me entering, i could see huge Seraphim 
Their sight burning a hole in my countenance

I approach the throne of mercy..
And mine soul refuses to go back home
For the head rest of my bed is engraved
Is engraved - The wings of a Mighty Cherubim

Lewis k nyaga
code 254
a proverb worth of consideration

Copyright © LEWIS NYAGA | Year Posted 2015

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Beyond our guise
Soul to be found.

Beyond the valley. 
to see the mountain.

Beyond our hate,
to see their Love.

Beyond need or greed, 
to take heed.

Beyond life for
new life eternal

Beyond our Love,
To see God’s Love.

Beyond mistakes,
all in Christ sake.

Beyond simple learning
Wisdom abounds

Beyond earthly bounds
Heaven above in his Love

Copyright © John Hardison | Year Posted 2016

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She Cried, “Holy!”
By Curtis Johnson

It amazes me that she came to mind after some 50 years.
She lived far back across the fields, alone with not a care.
She was laughed at and talked about; some were afraid of her.

No one was ever harmed by her, and everyone stayed out of her way.
Even when they avoided her, it was difficult to escape the sound of her voice.
Up close or across the fields, we heard her so clearly and sincerely crying, “H o l y!”

She was not sociable, and perhaps even a bit eccentric.  Though religious, she was not  a Mother Teresa type of lady.  I do not remember a smile from her toward anybody for any reason.  Was she out of her mind as some suggested?  Was she a voice crying in the wilderness?  Was she on a divine assignment from God?  Was she a saint or holy person?  I most assuredly did not know then, and I am presently content to let God be the judge of that.  But she had no doubt about her God being Holy, because with unrelenting commitment, she cried, “H o l y!”

It’s clear to me that at some point, God became the center of her every affection.  Indeed, she deemed it her mission to proclaim the Holiness of God  to a needy people. So without refrain, fear, or hesitation, she simply continued to shout,       “H o l y!”

She was unconventional, unsophisticated, unconcerned, and unlike anyone I have ever known.  She cared not about what people said, thought, of felt about her.  She was fearless, and nothing mattered except her mission.  She was called the ‘sanctified lady’; but time after time, come rain or come shine, she paid them no mind, and she never ceased or declined.  She just cried, “H o l y!”

I never knew her name  or whatever became of her, but she was a small framed lady with a strong and deep sounding voice.  It’s the cry of her voice that brings my eyes to tears.  Without apology or regard for public opinion, from her home deep across the corn and cotton fields, we often heard her crying, “H o l y!”

I don’t recall anything else she ever said, nor anything else she ever did.  But I must say that if she was on a divine assignment,  God must have been pleased with her.  I suspect that it was a lonely and often cruel assignment causing pain and ridicule.  But she bore the pain; she had nothing to gain; her message was clear and plain; she refused to refrain. She certainly was not popular, and I don’t remember a friend she ever had.  But ever true to her task, from the depths of her soul, she cried, “H o l y!” cj09122015

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2015

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As preacher’s daughters we had to toe the line,
But sometimes our halo slipped and we weren’t too divine.
When my twin sister and I were 15 we rebelled against the rules,
And pulled a fast one on our parents, just to look good in school.

We wanted to pierce our ears and be like the other girls in school,
And forget we were preacher’s kids for once, and just be cool!
Our parents emphatically refused, so they thought our hands were tied.
But we wouldn’t take no for an answer…we wouldn’t be denied.
We came up with a sneaky plan to forge our parents name,
Giving us permission to pierce our ears… we had no shame!
We went to the department store, and the dirty deed was done.
We didn’t think our parents would notice … we thought we had won!

We had lied and forged and were headed towards hell,
But we were only thinking, “Boy those earrings are really looking swell!”
For a few weeks, we wore our hair down and they never knew.
Then one day I forgot, put my hair in a ponytail, and it all came unglued!

My Dad was home and noticed, and I heard his wrath.
He was not at all happy, and was on the warpath!
I figured if I was going down, my twin would too,
So my loyalty went out the window, and I said, “She did it too!”

We were in hot water with my parents for quite a while,
And ashamed of ourselves, so at home we went the extra mile.
But one good thing that came out of our sinful indiscretion,
Was that we got to keep our earrings, our brand new obsession!

Copyright © Brenda McGrath | Year Posted 2016

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                                             Conumdrum 1
                                      Conscientious Objectors
                                 Prisoner #1 says to Prisoner #2
            "Let me get this straight I am here because I killed someone,
              and you are here because you don't want to kill someone"?
                                      Does that make sense?

John Derek Hamilton
January 11,2016

Copyright © John Hamilton | Year Posted 2016

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I was head over heels in love with certain mementos I keep,
they’re like my precious treasures unknown to everyone;
a place where I used to keep them were hidden in my room,
a kind of sanctuary, a private locus sealed with continuity.

I had those stamps collected from different countries and places,
post cards, books, key holders, rosary beads, stampitas, and photos;
they reminded me of my visits to these places where I’d been to,
living memories, collection of souvenirs with values deep within.

Significant places like my home country where my faith began to grow,
along with a diversity of cultures that truly honed and enriched me,
meeting those peoples and experiencing their individual differences,
made me a real person; vulnerable to the needs and issues of being sane.

Across the length of years that I’d spent in keeping those mementos,
some friends, relatives and family members contributed in my own,
as personal stuffs, memoirs, or proofs of having truly been in those places;
from the bottom of my heart, I thank them and indeed, a big difference.

With my constant mobility, however, as one called to serve with migrants,
there’s difficulty to keep them all, carrying them with me wherever I go,
hence, I thought it best to give them away and share with others who like them;
be a simple missionary with nothing much as Christ had told his first disciples.

It’s part of of my religious vows to put into practice what poverty means;
detachment may mean a lot and it embraces nothingness, renunciation –
of one’s will that reflects his agenda for the present and future that holds,
all gets the bottom line - ‘vow of poverty’ in the context of my religious calling.

Copyright © mark escobar | Year Posted 2012

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His Deity Did Not Die.

On the Cross our sins eradicated
his deity did  not die.
In his omnipotence and grace
he reigns forever and ever..
Our need for his Love, strength
and understanding goes on

His beauty more beautiful than
anything that can be written

His Love lives on in eternity as
he reigns throughout all our days.

So blessed are our days God the
fathers Love has it no other way. 

Copyright © John Hardison | Year Posted 2015

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Dedicated to all of the guys who helped me to make the checklist - thanks!

The Empty Rib Slot I think I might have A perfect checklist Highlights from men Gathered now missed Yes special highlights Each man carried some Now added to my checklist For a guy having it all in one This could be the key to find The man I’m dreaming of Not with bits and pieces One filled full of love A man made for me No it would be not I should fit perfectly Into an empty rib slot Let me share this list With every one of you Then decide for yourself If it could possibly be true My first check comes from This guy with dreamy eyes He deeply touched my soul Way more than ever realized He even had a special smile That made you want to grin No matter if life was down He encouraged me to win There was the big hugger With squeezes oh so tight He lifted me off the floor Like if I was taking flight He never did grow tired Of giving me those hugs I never had to ask for them He always did it out of love Then there was the dancer He stayed light on his feet He loved dancing with me Carrying rhythm and a beat Now of course on this list There certainly has to be That best friend I count on Who can also count on me I am even going to count The good points of quality Generated from my brothers And even from my daddy From them they all carry A very good temperament Always being so easy going Not looking for an argument When I am nestled in that slot With a perfect feel of passion All of his glory will then shine As it eludes from my reflection The most important one of all He who shares a spiritual side Being spiritually open with me Not allowing his beliefs to hide I know how this all may sound Like a crazy thing that I’ve got I want the man I fit snuggly with When I match his empty rib slot Florence McMillian (Flo)

Copyright © Florence McMillian | Year Posted 2013

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Southwestern France
Mother Mary appeared 18 times
Young woman Bernadette Soubirous
Announcing: “I am the Immaculate Conception”
Mother Mary helped Bernadette
Discover a hidden spring of grotto
That Spring was soon to become
Fountain of faith, hope
Healing for millions of pilgrims

Lourdes, truly a place of healing
Church recognizes 66 miraculous cures there
Thousands more have been reported
Lourdes a place they found peace
In coming to understand 
Accept Eternal God’s will for them

To all who are sick in body and spirit
The Lord brings hope
Comfort through Our Lady of Lourdes

Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2013

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I have the glow of Eve in my eyes. Genesis.  In the beginning there was heaven and earth.  Here I am in the Garden of Eden looking at the tree of knowledge, the tree of good and evil, and I think alright, I already have foresight.  Epiphany. I felt that was not blasphemy to feel that way, nor was it sacrilegious because if I were not religious, I would not be in the garden of Eden.  The plants were green with envy and the water was blue with denial.  It id summer in Le Afrique and I am free and feeling good.  I felt emancipated from birth. My heart beat and that was an emancipation.  When I touched my rib cage I knew that there was one rib still belonging to a man.  But it is mine now.  I am feeling good and feeling free. C'est le vie. C'est fini. Et tu Brute? Is that what I am so suppose to say?  Brutus has yet to betray Julius Caesar so what would be the point in saying that? I am free to walk through this garden capisce? There is no need to fight there is no need to take physical flight I am alright.
The flutter of a butterfly's wing can cause a typhoon across the world.  And so maybe I will twirl and turn from that tree of knowledge. And so I am here without a doubt.  And I doubt that I have to continuously smack my lips and shake my pointer finger about. And what about antonyms?  That was rhetorical. It would only be logical to understand that Genesis and Revelations are not antonyms.  IF I get forgiveness for wanting to be alone, maybe we can talk about Revelations, maybe we can just be silent. Skeptical I am that I am here alone. Revelations.

Copyright © Tameka Brent | Year Posted 2016

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 King James Bible. New Testament.    Revelation 6:1 

"Now I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seals; and I heard one of the four living 
creatures saying with a voice like thunder, 'Come and see.'"

        I awake to the sound of thunder crashing in my head. There is a faint mumbling 
in the background of a violent rumbling. A whisper, now growing louder as the sound 
embedded in my head is traveling deeper  and deeper into my body. The sound 
vibrating through my bones and radiating out of my body, such that I levitate and 
ascend through the ceiling into the clouds above. I hear the voice and it's becoming 
clearer to understand "Come... " the whisper was soft and gave me a chill that crept 
down my spine. Passing through a cloud I was now in a marble stone hall that 
stretched as long as Heaven it seems. Before me stands a golden alter "... See." the 
voice bouncing in my head like thunder; a flash of light and twelve chairs appear 
floating on each side of the golden alter. As fast as they appeared, they vanish in a 
cloak of light. In the distance of heaven I hear the screeching screams of a Lamb being 
slaughtered... then again the twenty four chairs appeared with four creatures standing 
without shadows. Like a flash of lighting the images come and go. A Silence falls upon 
Heaven while an eerie presence lingers along with the music of faint chords being 
plucked. The music and the suspense subsidies; the voice, this time coming from the 
creatures "Come..." I am content to obey. I walk on towards to the creatures; they all 
are winged hybrid animals covered in eyes. Some eyes looked frantic as if they where 
screaming out in pain;  Some where crying, others looked right at me never relaxing 
their stare. " Come and See." and in his eyes I'd seen the fall of man, the end of all 
days, there was a dimming light after flames enveloped the earth...  I then was awake 
lying on me bed, this is too vivid to have been a dream. Did I make it all up or was I in 
Heaven as it seems?

Copyright © Steven Medellin | Year Posted 2014

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As i sat in a nite club..
sipping sodas as i was too stressed
to enjoy my guinness...with michael powa..
a catch phrase used to advertise
my favorite bottle...
then in walked NAZRIEL

Pretty NATZ.. A nick name...
had a companion... weird..
is an understatement...
no words were needed i..
sat immobilized.....
the eagles blended in..

Nazriel playing intoxicated-
me not buying it
natz... playing with dem pole dancers
natz eyes me..
the eagle folds his arm around her..
protecting pretty natz..

The eagles have landed in our city
i have encountered one too many..
and no one seems concerned...
this one has been around for decades..
lets cal him its-rael

No one knows why the eagles landed
talk of missing Isaiah chapters..
talk of the secret of the seven.. thunders
miracles don't amaze any more
for the eagles have landed...
and sweet NAZRIEL is one of them

by lewis nyaga

Copyright © LEWIS NYAGA | Year Posted 2015