Writing Baptism Poems

These Writing Baptism poems are examples of Writing poems about Baptism. These are the best examples of Writing Baptism poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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The poem(s) are below...

Details | ABC |
You send bolts through my skin 
something I was never to 
accomplish with you, when I 
saw you it's like my heart sank 
to my stomach and I was in 
shock my body still my body 
heavy felt like when I moved I 
was about to fall to my knees 
you make me want to get 
inside my brain pick you up and 
take you out pick you one by 
one like a flower because I do 
love you and love you not.

Copyright © brittney lopez | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
Have I?
Captured you?
Rapture’d you?
I stare at you
The moon at my back
Wine dripping as blood
Life dripping from your soul
My red hair shines and glows
My Naughty thoughts so sublime
I will devour you
I will make you
Make you be who you are
Make you howl like a wolf in the night
Pleasures as you have never known
Caressing upon your chest
My love, we have no time at all to rest
In peace, just yet
Do you see me, full of your essence?
I smile at our fate of the evening time
I know in the end
All the pleasure I bring to you
You oh great love will return ten fold
I will moan like a satisfied feline
We have accomplished what our tribes said was not
Allowed or possible
Hold me dear
Hold me forever
As we plunge
Together in the depths of love
And leave this world

Notes: This poem was all over the map, and finally I molded it after the famous Romeo and Juliet.

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
It is hard to understand others,
More harder is to know their talent.
Some people life ends doing bother,
More retire without knowing their saint.

Backbiting is useless then showing mistake,
If you want to correct ‘show their real fault.
But don’t show your smile that is eternally fake,
Far worst it is; then doing their direct insult. 

Copyright © Rajendra Ojha | Year Posted 2015

Details | Carpe Diem |
Words are far from true.
They disguise.
Wise stain eyes until real is all you need, free from salty cries.

This language spoken, only speed bumps the weak for weeks.
Years multiply by division of fear postulating theorems we could never speak.
WE, the freaks, magical, lucid and fragile.

And they say, "Yeah kid, ya' really figured it all out this time, haven't ya'?
Peddling your flocking art through highway streets intergalactic! Tough shit eh...
Pandering, shove it in, push it down, sandpaper hard. Oh yeah, yeah, yes kiddo of the hour, stacked and flaccid at the same god damned time. Look at your rhyme big guy, talk of the town, pull my finger, wear the crown, funky clown!"

I say:
 "WHO IS THEM ANYWAY ANY DAY? Wear your prose go man, even if it dampens their day. WHO IS THEM? WHO IS THEY? Keep on that art, words down, write 'em if ya' gottem', and when they don't understand, comprehend, two middle fingers, watch 'em fly sky high, watch 'em pretend, see 'em bend...get yir' gleam, enjoy that grin. Let them do them man, you do you! Art is pure, Art is true, Art is YOU!"

One more tid-bit of truth...
If skimming through someone's poetry is yir' game,
 ta' get plays, 
steal love for your reel...
 I say:
 "Peace out! Keep the grease out! 
Shift gears, peel.
Do something real, or...disappear... like David Copperfield."

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2014

Details | Lyric |
He is an architect of soundscapes.  
Senseless with passion he stands 
before a pending deluge.  
Rapt is he to the resounding
din within the halls of his skull.  At night,
the architect will dream of faces
they smile and laugh—they cry and sigh, 
and he must reconcile with the knowledge
that he is responsible for their being, 
as incomplete as they may be.  They chant
his name at the brimming of the storm—he
hears their voices as whispers.  There is a 
grind which pulses perpetually through
as he hears the endless ringing, through rime
and reason.  As chaos descends upon
him, he peels back his flesh to better feel
the salt from the ocean.  Waves engulf him.
Although he is afraid, he submits to the
tempest.  Underneath the water’s surface
are endless observations for his eye.
Swirling shades of chaos glimmer above
as he shouts profound profanities to 
heaven.  As the storm recedes, the water
will dismiss the architect from suffering.
He then must dredge the bodies—blue-faced and
bloated—to the dry banks of his stream of
consciousness—where autopsies may yield some 
connotation, but never certainty.  

Copyright © Samuel Lee | Year Posted 2015

Details | Enclosed Rhyme |

Days drift from one to another
nights restless--gray
steadily... mundane monotony loses magnitude

Obligatory conversation—social interaction
dwindle away
intolerable interruptions of the small minded

Finally boundless to envision all—over analyse
creative minds play
protected by clever syntax of the word

Perfect Island
Perfect Peace
Perfect Isolation

Copyright©2013—Kim van Breda

Copyright © Kim van Breda | Year Posted 2013