Best Atones Poems
Captive beauty, in the wilderness aloneGolden moments of a man’s solitudeStands gloriously, as when bliss does hone Caught within life are the mountains of stoneAwe inspiring view of man’s fortitudeCaptive beauty, in the wilderness alone Through a silent song, love’s nature atonesBreath taking heartbeats of the altitudesStands gloriously, as when bliss does hone Peaceful home in the trials, each to his ownSeasons renew with humble attitudesCaptive beauty, in the wilderness alone Sharpened senses, now feel all the tone,of gracious gifts, in their amplitudeStands gloriously, as when bliss does hone All of His creation, in its self does grownAlone with God is a sufficient multitudeCaptive beauty, in the wilderness aloneStands gloriously, as when bliss does hone
Matching like-minded zones
Multiple kindred cones
Myriad tribal bones
Misplaced grammar atones
Marriage of stars and stones
Mosaic blended tones
Merry musical thrones
10/26/20
I smile at the thought of her death,
Evil lies she spews with each breath.
Mystic beauty sends dark shivers,
spindly spine erupts in quivers,
Anger floods her soul, hollow heart.
Laughing in my face, poison dart.
Temptress feigning tears, sets her bait.
For this poor old soul, it's too late.
Succumb to your death, heart of stone.
Burn your evil plan and atone.
Cross to the spirits, take your sin.
Woman of evil shall not win.
Death conquers evil, now she's gone.
Angel takes her hand, come along.
Universe will judge evil love.
Infinite mercy, far above.
Surrounded by love, soul atones.
Redemption is found, fate is known.
Ethereal light waves, final crest.
Meek and demure, her soul at rest.
Angelic choir, hearts rejoice,
Dark spirit vanquished, perfect choice.
Innocent child now brings new love,
Blessings of grace from God above.
The events of the morning
Were told to the men.
Two raced to the tomb
One stooped and went in.
"Indeed, it is empty!"
Was all they could say,
And with minds full of wonder,
They walked slowly away.
As two other men journeyed
To Emmaus that day,
They were joined by a stranger
As they went on their way.
"Good men," said the stranger,
In a voice, loud and clear,
"What has happened
To make you so somber and drear?"
So, they told the sad story
Of their terrible loss.
How their hope of God's Kingdom
Had been slain on a cross.
Of their deep disappointment,
And how bitterly they grieved.
"Now some say He's risen!
But dare we believe?"
"Remember the prophecy,"
The stranger then said,
"How Messiah must die,
But would rise from the dead?"
Then He quoted the words
Of the prophets of old.
The Calvary story
Had been truly foretold.
On reaching Emmaus,
They asked Him to stay
And join them for supper,
As it was late in the day.
When He blessed the bread,
To their joyous delight,
They knew it was Jesus.
Then, He vanished from sight.
He appeared to them all
In various ways.
They rejoiced in His presence
For forty more days.
Then, one day He blessed them
With heavenly love,
And ascended from earth
To His Father above.
The Lamb of the cross,
Is now King on His throne.
For the sins of the world,
His blood still atones.
Man, once sentenced to die,
May, now, be free from death's prison.
Go spread the glad news,
"He's not dead-- He is risen!"
Darkness abides save flickering candle light
Illuminating his silhouette of masculinity
exhaustion renders an end tonight
Supplanting all previous antiquity
In the quiet he sleeps
Leaning close to steal his breath
As the wanting piques
With the rise and fall of his chest
My lips fall slightly upon his own
Sleepily he begins to stir
For his pause my darling he soon atones
As his hands they caress my curves
You set my passion ablaze again
Our appetite whet for more
Soon transported to a lovers realm
The key which unlocks my door
Though intimacy sweet
It's ecstasy adored
Permanency is what I seek
Our days and nights in one accord
In times passage you'll leave and then
My eyes will covet your face
Abandoned and lonely I'll pick up my pen
Repeatedly this scenario retraced
How I long for the time
Your wife I'll be named
Together our lives redesigned
A longing no more to be feigned
When all our tomorrow's
The missing knows no place
In your arms I know no sorrow
My home in your soul interlaced
Two and sixty days ago —
Two months, or so I'm told —
I wandered, wistful, without cause,
Through a memory of old.
A hall of walls I wandered, tall,
As tall as tales I could weave,
But none as tall as this regale,
A story that you won't believe.
I walked near endless hours,
My only friends the cobblestones,
Ringing in my steps the sin
That only time atones,
When upon that pallid plaster
I did spy a shocking sight:
Upon that place's rocky face,
The wall had turned to light.
"Curious," I cooed and questioned,
Calm as I could never be,
"Perhaps it might be that this light
Is rightly mine, I see?"
And as I pondered that hall I wandered,
A chilling change I never chose arose:
That light so rife with delight and fright
Began to open, and I froze,
For that particular portcullis I pondered
Put me in a vice.
I nary noticed that walls in focus
Had changed into a hall of lights.
Transfixed, the light engulfed me so,
As slow as my bewildered head
Could comprehend the candid land
I planned my final stand in dead.
I whizzed through spaces, unknown places,
In stasis from the faceless force
When finally I fell, the frenzied light
Still tight from an unseemly source.
All at once, those two months
Became a fraction of a wink;
The frost was lost as I was tossed
Among the lights of what I think.
And where else would I find myself
But in this courtyard we call love?
My journey never left my head,
Nor bed's unconscious dreamland hub.
Two and sixty days ago,
I heard these words so true,
And in the dark they were my light:
You told me "I love you."
Jamaica, Jamaica, Jamaica now day comes bright
Her white dress lifted over blue legs of mountains
Marbled to the sky. It drank diamond littered night
Leaving nothing but an empty cup, where fountains
Of rivers use to full the bosom of the sea with milk.
I stand under the otaheite apple tree to hear moans
Of things passionate to born again, gossamer silk
Upon the floor, bodies burning with heat: love atones
Best for those surrendered in faith to work and wait
The second coming of the vision and brotherly hail
In rumbles of joy the cart brimmed and keeping faith
Where no bride shows yet, the altar stark and pale.
The virgin honeysuckle bleeds its succulence into joy
And the hummingbird dances irreverently. I'm in love
The way I was before, cupboards bare breasted ploy
Making erect my patriotism. Melted silver from above
Plow the puddles like ancient rain, sperming the seeds
To yield, and yield against the litany of prayers sent
Jamaica, Jamaica, Jamaica aggression to nothing leads
When the bed is fragranced with grass and a condiment
Of everlasting hope. Hard as lignum vitae wood I rise
To embrace my destinyy from you, the solemn wise
Strolling thro' the cemetery the other day I chanced to see,
Various grave stones that were quite intriguing to me.
Most were modest, a few monumental, some very old.
On each was etched a tad of history with a story to be told!
The founder of the city has a grandiose memorial, of course.
O'er his grave he's shown astride a handsome horse!
Nearby lies an infamous desperado asleep in his tomb.
Lying along side is the sheriff who brought about his doom!
Time-worn stones brood o'er a pioneer family of eight.
An Indian raid seems to have hastened their untimely fate!
Hallowed graves of soldiers are marked by marble stones.
Alas, scattered among them are markers for a few "Unknowns."
.
Flowery and laudatory epitaphs, I noted are numerous,
Some very sad and others quite humerous!
"Twas the last rodeo he rode; Off Old Red's back he was throwed!"
"He's now in his heavenly abode; He missed the bend in the road!"
"A spiteful gossip was Miss Jones; Now thro' eternity she atones!"
"This plot of grass is all he owns; Here lie his mortal bones!"
"He left a life of strife; He lies in peace 'til he's joined by his wife!"
"He led a very wicked life; 'Twas ended with her butcher knife!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
A named Mercury plies the air
above his fountain
in the Phipps Conservatory.
Children wet their fingers
in the receiving pool
and stare
up at possibilities
that may enable them
someday
to match the blossoming
in the Amazonian Room.
Co-eds with athletic boys,
muscular Pitts and tall Duquesnes,
meander through
the scented aisles,
enlisting spirits of the place
to augment flirtatious smiles.
Wedding guests accompany
a bride and groom
who set their basic blue
amidst the foil
of dappled bloom
and celebrate their day
with words they’ve learned to say.
Then from a group home crowd
a single swain steps forth
and casts his gaze on all around
and asks the god,
“O where is my Marilyn;
who took my Marilyn away?”
I cannot answer him
and the god above,
as silent as a stone,
appears to have no power--
no balloons or wedding bells
or maps to Love’s sweet bower.
When the saddened lover asks again,
"O Marilyn; who took my Marilyn away?"
she appears,
not taken, only loaned,
to trees and flowers
and charmingly atones
for all her wandering.
Standing before the door,
she smiles broadly at her lover.
I see him see her.
Our hearts soar.
Did Adam’s fig leaf portray his work in brief;
the attempt, his sinfulness to cover:
While the “blood sacrificed skin”, atones his sins;
- covering them rightly all over?
Cain’s works of his will, “the best from his field,”
could not win him God’s favor.
While Abel’s sacrifice, a “type” of Christ’s strife,
- was to God, a sweet smelling savor?
The “provided” Ram, replacing the damned;
Abraham saw this parallel.
Did Christ, sacrifice give, for sinners to live,
- sparing them a deserved hell?
Hosea redeemed, a shameful, unfaithful thing,
paying the price that was due.
Gomer, prisoner of sin - Hosea, her freedom did win;
- is this what Christ came to do?
Joseph, you know - with the colorful clothes,
was wrongly abused by his brethren.
But, the pain he went through, though they never knew,
- resulted in their natural salvation.
Is, "When I see blood, I'll pass over you", Metaphoric too:
is this, Christ's passion being shown?
The Egyptians paid the price, with a useless sacrifice;
- they had no savior to atone.
Of the bones in the valley, lets make a short tally;
did the wind bring life - or prophesying?
They used not their will, in that lifeless field;
- it was the Spirit’s own devising.
The blood of the sacrificial Goat, - Israel's great hope,
seems (spotless) a "sign" of perfection.
The ancients shed light on a Redeemer of might,
- bestowing a sinless connection!
Does the Christian life, “typed” in Israel's Sinai strife;
show Moses to be Christ's shadow?
He led them well, made intercession when they fell,
- brought them to Canaan's bright meadow.
Could extremities in the past, of Israel be cast,
to reveal a new covenant future:
Where wisdom and light, come not by natural sight,
- but are granted by Spiritual nurture?
If Christ was a King, being predestined to reign,
over an eternal kingdom -
It couldn't be carnal, for that's not eternal,
but a Spiritual one - say some.
My confusion is great, as is all Israel's of late,
while we wonder in great exasperation.
Oh, where is our peace, when shall the warfare cease,
- oh, God where is our consolation?
Below the Dungeons of Despair
Alone, atones the scattered bones,
As shattered death-dreams linger there
To moan and groan their tragic tones.
It lies beside the Sea of Tears
Where fog and mist still fails to lift
The weary weight of soldier fears;
That war survived is not a gift.
The body breaks before the soul
But soon the soul is broken too,
As guilt is built it takes a toll;
The debt for life is always due.
There is no light in that dark place
Of emptiness and vanquished hope
Where heroes need a warm embrace
To help each one of them to cope.
No voices heard except their dead
Embattled comrades who have died
With souls that cannot move ahead
'Till living friends find light inside.
All things are magnified in war,
With clarity of combat truth;
It changes every soldier's core
And steals away what's left of youth.
Yet bonds are made when blade to blade
Young men and women fight in war;
And out of many one is made
When joined again on death's far shore.
And as the living learn to live
The souls of comrades are set free
To leave the love they loved to give
As blood of one eternity.
The waves are restless in their testimony...
a Winslow Homer portrait of shifting shapes and size.
So utterly rhythmic and mighty in their ceremony
as they swallow the golden shore then form to rise.
The indigo-green waters emerge
into a song of pulsating rapture,
as the afternoon sun filtered through towering spires.
With each cascade of depth and shallow
I resolve to be beckoned and captured.
Break-away caps and peaks
tossed in mercurial motion-
flooding upon my thoughts that speak,
to purge my longings with hope and devotion.
I am transcribed within my aimless search,
a mariner in a rudderless raft of vagrant musings.
My compass has no north star to call its berth
to seek a place or find its shelter or mooring.
The sand shifts and pebbles roll
as to reinvent the changing tide of my emotions
with each movement of the shimmering foam.
Each grain of sand, each rock that exchanges places
atones my soul from its banishment in being alone.
Through this beauty the barriers of freedom open
as my exiled heart has found its home
Jesus Is Love- -
Judicious divines intuit
Eons sphere spinning on and on and on….
S like embracing Christ and God
Uncounted atones multi landscapes trod
Starry heavens solar plexus
I soul’s glimmers their lights shine
S blinks of hearts and eyes flicker
Lukan beatitudes shine Angels dine on manna, dine
Old divines intuit Jesus died on the cross for me
Vast eons shout out peace for His amazing grace
Endless millenniums glimmer day and night
4/10/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
If you've ever wondered about atonement
it's all there in Sirach 3:30
thy wrongs against neighbour and servant
wiped off; with God, found worthy.
In giving we receive, our sins to forgive
"As water quenches a flaming fire,"
so our sins upon us are relieved
we'll be free, far from sin's mire.
So make it a point to do alms-giving
however often you might fancy;
it's worth the feeling of joy in bringing
you'll feel joyous, happy, warm and dandy.
And of course, it's wise to pick your charity
cos' there're many who do fake poverty;
give, be glad and God maketh thee happy
in return He promises all, and plenty.
Sirach 3:30 states ~
As water quenches a flaming fire,
so alms-giving atones for sins.
Amen!
The wheels turn round and the window pane shines with the aesthetic light of the great divine. The street is filled with people too important to notice the infant crying alone, wedged against the wall. The worlds allusion to sorrow brings a grimace to my face. Alone I walk through the dirty street unable to alleviate the gnawing I feel inside. THe youth lack colour in their eyes, they have only the abstruse gray that surrounds this city. THe emerald lawn is dimmed from the adamant persistence of the scarred. THe ambience of the sun cannot be felt through the shell of ignorance surrounding humanity. Broken shardsof earth rain down on us to ameliorate the past. To absolve the sins of the unfaithful we must stop the progression of the shadows in our hearts. The reflection of our hearts remain etched into the banks of the river... never allowed to cross for fear of rejection. Sunflowers petals litter the sky as the sun shudders from the abysmal frost that has settled over the earth. Drugs abridge the need for forgiveness in the minds of the addicted. The silver bell atones for the drawn faces of the anxious as the acerbic voices of the dead are drowned out by the ceremonial binding of souls.... Roses wilt as the harmonic ambiguous mind seeks the end.