Best Altar Poems
ABANDONED AT THE ALTAR
You cast me aside
Like an unloved old rag doll
You no longer wanted me.
Jilted as your bride
Your betrayal took its toll
Where is my apology?
No explanation
Has been uttered by your lips -
I was waiting at the church!
Humiliation
As my life is torn to strips …
forsaken, left in the lurch.
Contest: Sedoka Contest
Sponsor Laura Loo
Checked with how many syllables 5,7,7,5,7,7
01~04~16
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Sitting perched amid sanguines perfumed pillows ~
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Visceral emotions stirring deep inside of torrents
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Gypsies carousel heart; feelings, I hadn't quite known before...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As gazing upon her lovely Roseates Beauty *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Through transparents joyful pervious silk; vistives de jour canopy ~
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Sunlit enhancement embracing the warmth of this pleasure as
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Silhouetted perfection begins whispering her desires...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Aurora borealis rising in this dawning as she smiles; celestial light's *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Like shooting stars within my own breast risen these, temples of temptations
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Joy, wishing to collide now in this the church of, her soulful seductions ~
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
...“A Virgin, Upon The Altar of Her Heavenly Love.”
In the stillness of the night, it’s you and me.
I read and weep and pray and pant for Thee.
I humbly bow and fall upon your mercies
And recognize the graces you have shown me.
Sweet and deep the drink I find in you,
Restoring and replenishing my soul.
Cherished and reviving is your wine
Poured upon me from Thy cup divine.
Hallowed is the quiet when we meet
And sacred is repentance at your feet.
Joyous too, are nights with lifted hands
Thanking you for blessings small and grand.
Altar nights: my prized and chief success:
Being near to God, yea pressed upon His chest.
Slain to rise because God never falters,
When I come and break my heart on Yahweh’s altar.
Psalms 51:17 “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.” NIV
I sat on the bench and the tears began to flow
Knowing that was only one place I needed to go
But for some strange reason my feet wouldn't walk
And at the same time my mouth couldn't talk
I desperately wanted to get to that place
But I was blinded by my tears that covered my face
I knew if I got there then everything would be ok
At the same time worried I wouldn't know what to say
What would people think, would they judge me
Those were the thoughts in my mind I could see
I visualised the result and the difference it made
Yet I was still struggling behind my façade
I felt so dirty, ashamed and very unworthy
How could He possibly love someone like me?
These were all the thoughts going around and around
Knowing at that place the answer will be found
I struggled and wrestled to move my feet
Unsurprisingly I still remained in my seat
I could feel body heart beating faster than it should
Reminding myself that I’m worthless and no good
Yet the desire was there, the urgency so strong
Could I really go to that place knowing I’d done wrong?
I was scared that I’d be judged and be called a hypocrite
So instead on that bench I did remain there and sit
I knew I should go; there was no doubt in my mind
Surely if someone went before me, I could follow behind
He spoke again with sincerity in his voice
Why was it so hard for me to make this choice
The call was coming to an end and I felt myself falter
Why am I hindering myself from going to the altar?
I see your face,
a keen imprint in the fog of my longing.
The world dissolved into dissonance,
hard edges sharpened by the heat of you.
I reach for you,
not with hands,
but with the kind of inferno
that licks at the walls of the soul.
Love me—just enough
to stop the senselessness—
to make real of the rush
I drown in every time you
look my way.
Shelter me like the flame I’ve become,
smoldering, slipping—
searching for absolution
in the quiet violence of your arms.
Give me something.
Not the world.
Not the stars.
Only proof that I am more
than a dream at the altar
of your love.
When war jets go screaming by,
bombed-out homes morph into tombs.
And as fire ignites the sky,
scared souls cringe in basement rooms.
As loved ones pray for lost souls,
broken hearts shatter like glass.
And anger's smoldering coals
are fanned by the cost of gas.
Retracing steps prophets trod;
only leads to their shared fate.
For blood stains the hands of God;
when His name sanctifies hate.
There is no peace found with age
when belief divides each side.
For young and old heap their rage
upon the altar of pride.
Martyrs once traversed these sands,
preaching love with their last breath.
Yet, some say God understands
when they link His name to death.
Jews, Christians, and Muslims share
the one same God up above.
And yet, each believes they're
more deserving of His love.
Altar call
In the name, blood, wounds and death of Jesus on the cross,
And by his resurrection on the third day,
Jesus, the first born from death,
The only warrior with power that conquered death,
Altar call of all children to the light,
The children of the whole world,
Don’t be deceived by this dark world,
Being promised riches, big houses, big cars,
And the first mission is to kill your parents, next all your relatives,
Welcome to the promises,
Car is an ugliest snake, house is the cage, money works in the dark, hard labor,
There are no real things in the dark work but fake,
If you killed all your parents and relatives,
You will be left with no one to protect you,
And be left with no option but to continue in the dark,
And become the slaves of hard labor of darkness,
But if you run to Jesus, and let Jesus into your heart,
Reading a bible starting by John Gospel,
Making prayer in the name of Jesus,
You become forever free indeed in Jesus name,
And only light will shine on you,
By light you will know and see all tricks of darkness.
Sermon of the bee,
Pollinating daily praise:
Preaching on a rose.
"Left At The Altar"
Groom heat
Cold feet
Kill fear
Drank beer
Drunk fell
Deep well
3/9/2016
Don't alter from the altar
But if she does, try to halt her
The Altar
(From The Old New Home FWB Church)
Written: By Tom Wright
5/14/2006
It was at this dated altar that first I knelt
Being a mere babe in Christ at the time
I’ve attempted to recapture the feelings I felt
When much younger and yet in my prime
To some it is seen, just old varnished wood
For some crafter to make some small things
But my mind carried back as best it could
To its origin and the fond memories it brings
I try to put faces with mental tear stains found
And think of vows once uttered not to falter
Quietly I ponder if the walk is yet sound
Of those who knelt at this old New Home Altar
I hear shouts echoing that Saints would raise
And visualize hands lifted toward the sky
In services that closed with handshake and praise
The Holy Spirit could be felt from on high
I stare at the carving on its underside and read
“Come unto me and I will give you rest”
I think of the times I have knelt there to plead
For others, or Grace, when facing some life test
Now, this New Home altar has a new home to be
It weighs heavy with memories of past years
God touched your hearts and you thought of me
God knows our hearts and bottles our tears
The somber members gathered
After Jesus’ death of woe.
With downcast eyes, they questioned
Why their Savior had to go.
At their first church meeting
Since the ill-fated event.
They always gathered secretly,
With Roman soldiers evident.
“Look!” said a humble lady,
Pointing to a new altar.
Embarrassed, she sat down quickly
Riveting eyes made her falter.
This altar, so remarkable
For a church of but one room,
Was adorned by a long-stemmed rose.
In full and delightful bloom.
A man let his hand glide across
The altar’s glistening wood
“Such smooth and polished grain.”
Craftsmanship he understood.
A girl said, “This pretty rose
Has such deep red so pure,
And its lingering fragrance
Is one I surely adore.”
The gray-headed pastor smiled.
And said, “A man came in today,
And offered us this altar
Replacing ours with no pay.
“I felt good about this man,
So I looked in his oak-wheeled cart.
And under wraps of old robes
He showed me this work of art.
“After the Crucifixion
He took the cross to his shop,
And cut the rough wood in planks
And smoothed them from bottom to top.
“His heart was bursting with love
As he built the altar with care,
Then polished it to a sheen,
With an artistic flair.
“Then,” the pastor continued,
“A sweet lady rapped on the door
With a great story to tell.
About this lovely rose we adore.
“She had seen the Crucifixion,
And stayed until all had gone.
She wept at the foot of the cross
Where laid thorns worn by God’s Son.
“She’d not let the shame of these thorns
Be seen. For this she would guard.
She took them home with her
And buried them in her yard.
“Three days later, a rose sprung up
In the exact place she chose.
Now, she felt compelled to bring us
Its very first blooming rose.”
A. W. Nutter
The lump grew larger in my throat
As I stared down the darkened path
The safety of home seemed remote
Was I going to feel the elders wrath
Two steps away from hell on earth
Tempted to flee into the unknown
Echoing screams haunted my birth
Emitting from the altar of stone
Wandering alone is a sinful violation
Never should have left the encampment
A blood sacrifice needed for atonement
To purge the sin from the congregation
Running steadily through the woods
Had the priests noticed my absence
Pulled from the path by men in hoods
Paralyzed by their sudden appearance
Clothing torn away by their rough hands
Secured to the stone, they ring the bell
Sheep following the religious commands
Mindless fanatics, under the priests spell
Eyes of the flock looking on in disgust
Sentence passed, I'll be disemboweled
The knife begins its downward thrust
As I cry out for mercy from the crowd
Blood sprays across my supine form
As the priests head falls to the ground
The executioner now dead and deformed
My legs and arms were quickly unbound
Harm this boy you will feel my blade
An innocent child, you'll leave him alone
Your King declares blood payment made
Removing my sins, saving me from the stone
To Jules Verne
A man feeling drowse at the top of the mountain, fell asleep.
He dreamed dreams
emanating from floods of seas.
In remote droughts,
he gave his fruit of smoke
on a simple altar.
Curd quartz opened
solidifying thousands of stamens,
they glowed
like the warm reflection of the stars on the sand,
the man kept close watch of the r.e.m. hour.
life is the strife of one baptized
in the depths of all his memories,
yet he forgets before awakening.
Founding himself face to face
with another man holding a frozen fish
and a bucket,
they begun the climb down,
What do you fish when you fish,
he asked,
for a bolt of fire, said the man
as he released the fish into the ground
and rubbed his hands,
cryogenics?
no, fisherman.
with folded hands
before the altar---
opening up