Best Bishop Poems


Premium Member Trial of Bridget Bishop

Salem Village, Massachusetts
May 11, 1692

Of evil works in league with the devil, I am accused.
Spit upon, bolts tethered in chains, I have been abused.
People mardle I cast spells of palsie to make them twitch.
Blinded by fear, they labeled me a sorceress, a witch.

Superstition is to blame for blinding their eyes.
I claim innocence when affronted by boisterous cries.
"Burn the witch!" they shout in frenzied outrage.
Until tomorrow's trial, I am to be kept inside a cage.

These Puritans are wrong to think they do God's will.
Christians should not have such an urgency to kill.
There is no talk of banishment. That would be a blessing,
but the crimes they say I committed, I am not confessing.

Other women in the village are facing this tragic fate.
Pity that our lives will be in the hands of the magistrate.
Sorrow fills me knowing I will meet death on the gallows
and tossed in a grave, not worthy of ground that is hallow.

I am already convicted in the minds of those who leer.
My pleas of having done nothing wrong, they do not hear.
All of a dudder, I hear them say, "She is a witch possessed!"
"Forsooth," I will cry in court, "to witchery I have not confessed!"

Somewhere from outside, I faintly hear a church bell clanging.
Then, a hoard of voices screaming, "It is time for hanging!"
I write these words before the mob comes to take me away.
God, please keep me in your heart. I will not live another day.


Bridget Bishop, 
Falsely accused of being a witch
© Lin Lane  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member The Gay Bishop

When out for a walk yesterday
I bumped into our local padre
He wears rainbow dog collars
Looks a million dollars
He is proud to admit he is gay!

01~14~17

Fiction write which was
Inspired by reading about a gay bishop in the UK

Premium Member Tribute To Bishop Daly of Uk

Tribute to Bishop Daly of UK

There are always those who mock
There are believers
Also unbelievers
There are believers of this way, and that
My god is greater than your god
By god, there is no god
My god is the only god
Believe in what I believe
And you shall live
Believe otherwise and you shall die
My sword shall draw your blood in the name of peace
Words oft repeated daily past and present
Ye of little knowledge
Ye of the fools gardens


We are but dots in the sky
Raindrops in the monsoons of knowledge
That we think, we think we know
We know not, what we know not
We travel roads oft traveled
We seek answers to questions with more questions
The seekers pretend they have found
The floundering are always seeking
With the troubles long ago
There was an answer buried inside a beautiful soul
Daly was this message clear
Peace over hate
Love over violence
Tolerance over differences
Kindness towards all living things
Hate never will defeat hate
Love may not win every battle
Love though will win at the end of times
The universe was created just so
Whatever your path
Bishop Daly blessed us all
He knew the power of love
With a humble heart, he served
Both god and mankind


Premium Member Bishop Bougram's Apology

'Tis in a manner far from thrasonical
That I come to you in full canonical
What I chose to do  was to instill my love
On acolytes  below while I was above
When the holy Church I entered  in my prime
I, the Church,entered many, time after time
Those   altar  cherubs whom I picked out  to spoil
I anointed warmly with  my sacred oil
How could I resist faces so innocent
Wreathed in  the swirl   of the thurible's  scent
To hold them close tightly and their soft flesh feel
Made my whole self dizzily  tingle and reel
How truly  uplifting was my fierce,fierce   joy
When I had communion  with a chosen boy
They knew our closeness was clearly God given
And that in confession would I be shriven
For all the worldly  good I did on  God's earth
Then entry to heaven is my deserved berth.

Alas,your Grace,you cannot in all conscience  enter here
Too much dark concupiscence on your soul sits,I  do fear

Too concentrated were you on carnal desire
That leaves you to roast now  in the eternal fire
Begone! For scandalising the young
Round your neck must a millstone be hung
And into the depths of Hades will you descend
There to endure your torment  without end

Dedicated To Bishop Curry, Skirving and Father Davis

Dedicated to Bishop Curry, Skirving and Father Davis

Why do some people have to be hurt?
By despicable person and treated like dirt
Trying to gun down everyone in sight
Either during day or else late at night.

Is it disorder related to a personality?
Someone who has trouble facing reality
Maybe mind warped from being mistreated
Never reaching goal and is always defeated.

Regardless of what happened God forgives
And His spirit in us does continue to live
As well as love, patience and complete purity
While we exist in his presence, not obscurity.

God's Son Jesus died to save us from sin
And later to earth will return back again
Should seek to find what They are about
And Episcopal Church be sure to try out.

That was me sitting in the front pew.

James Serious Mysterious Horn
Retired Veteran, Poet and
Member of Board of Vestry

https://www.bing.com/search?q=bishop+curry+episcopal+church&qs=AS&pq=bishop+curry&sk=HS1AS1&sc=8-12&sp=3&cvid=DA86C66741E1461595CF8D9CCA75E1C7&FORM=QBRE
© James Horn  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Bishop

Greek- episkopein
Supervisor
Leader of a diocese (Local Church)
Under the leadership of the Pope
Has a share in the responsibility for the Universal Church


Bishop

Bishop

Clad in off white man
In charge of religion world wide
Trying to save the world

Three of a Kind

Three of a Kind
                 
  For Caroline (Kay) Levy and Elizabeth Bishop 

I could take certain scenes from your life, 
a week in Paris, a fishing boat beyond the kelp, 
cigarettes and booze and love of books
and swap them with the poet’s  
but I won’t. They don’t match up precisely. 
You loved men, didn’t go on binges 
and possessed a decorum at odds with art. 
Yet the similarities are there:
born three years apart, almost orphans,
her father died and left her helpless 
when she was less than one, 
yours soon disappeared and was 
a subject that was never talked about. 

You both survived bleak childhoods 
being brave, and became young women, 
smart, demure and shy, often sad, 
and sometimes impudent and cagy. 
(Did you really say that there 
can never be enough defenses?)

She fell down in the gutter, drunk, 
you merely slurred your words and bumped the table. 
But both of you read widely and loved language, 
words as words, on the page 
or on the Scrabble board:  
vernissage, frottage, montage.  

You were women of a certain time, 
of a certain kind, in tweeds and a fedora, 
but with differing persuasions. 
You succumbed to safety in an arid marriage
and she rose to the occasion to create 
an art of formal and exquisite beauty. 

She was Elizabeth. You were Kay. 

Came the final years, dowdy, disillusioned, 
your youthful manners turned to wit and scorn
and freshness to a weary flesh.  
At this late date I confuse the two 
of you with me and love with pity,  
but pity isn’t love.  
While I live the life you wanted, 
I try to imitate her art but fail. 
And yet like her I won’t fall silent, to the end.
© Jim Levy  Create an image from this poem.

Bishop

Bishop

Clad in off white man
In charge of religion world wide
Trying to save the world

Premium Member Bishop Mariann Budde

Episcopal Bishop Mariann Budde
speaks about what America should be.
She is truly a person of honor and dignity.
Why should she apologize for just asking for mercy?
© Jim Healey  Create an image from this poem.

A Friendly Bishop

A friendly Bishop…
In Angel’s weary eyes lies 
The color of sin

Missing His Grace Bishop Karas

I've known you for many years,
And I wished to know you more,
For death has closed many doors,
But death hasn't given me such fear.

I know it was hard,
But I just wish you were still back on earth,
I just want that comforting warmth,
But my feelings I will never discard.

I know you're in a better place,
Everytime I go to the monastery,
I feel so very weary,
You see I just want to see your face.

Since that day, I felt mad,
And didn't want to believe,
Just to run away and hide,
And in a different way, glad.

Premium Member THE BISHOP AND ME

After an election that has left us divided…a nation torn apart…
one bishop hoped her words would resonate…would find a way into our hearts.

With the courage of her convictions she spoke… 
words filled with hope and humility.
She made a plea for, respect, for honesty 
for compassion, for kindness and empathy

She spoke of her hopes and wishes…simply…unpretentiously…
ideas that form the basis of all religions….
all faiths…all spirituality.

Her words were not new words…they’ve been spoken many times before…
You can find them in the words of Jesus, Buddha, Muhammad, the Tao
and many many more.

Unfortunately her words meant to unite and help to ease our nation’s fears
floated from her pulpit and landed on deaf ears.

Some people, even those who call themselves religious, 
who have forgotten their religion states to love everyone the same
called her uninspiring, nasty and displayed to the world their wickedness
when they chose to call her names.

I believe every religion was created for concepts, like the Bishop’s, to extol.
and though they may walk down different pathways
I believe love and acceptance is every religion’s goal.

A love that’s meant to find its way into our minds and souls and hearts
A love that’s meant to unite us as a people…not to tear us all apart.

So I stand with the bishop…whose words transcend all religions
who set a perfect example of piety…
And I pray for the day when everyone…
will stand with the bishop and me.
© Jim Yerman  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member The Queen and the Bishop

Scandal of the century~ Queen Ann's lace quivering beneath a Bishop's Hat

New Episcopal Female Bishop

New Episcopal Female Bishop

She stood tall while people would applaud;
Her award had been based on love of God,
And Son who from Him one day did shed;
Crucified on cross and to death had bleed.

Prestigious honor upon her was bestowed,
And how great face looked when it glowed;
With effervescent faith she had been bridled;
Her position of Bishop she became entitled.

Jim Horn
© James Horn  Create an image from this poem.

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