Best Church Poems
Four friends and I, one Sunday, take a ride.
our church still closed just short of one full year.
We drive, white almond blooms on either side,
instead. Their branches wave as if to cheer,
“Prepare the way! Prepare the way for God!”
Each blade of mountain grass we see arise,
like little children singing praises, laud.
Some tiny purple flowers sing reprise,
join fiddlenecks of gold, much like stained glass
to deck the mountain like an A-frame church.
We slowly drive the narrow mountain pass
to see the valley from a lookout perch.
The treetops seem to bow, like they declare
their love for God. In awe, we join their prayer.
March 7, 2021
Breath of Spring Poetry Contest
Contest Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
I had seen her before in the spring and summer
The homeless lady sitting on the church steps
She would ask for help from people going into the church
She mostly was given spare change and occasionally a dollar or two
No matter how small the amount given, she would give a genuine smile and say thank you
The last time I saw her was a December around Christmas
It was very cold and she was shivering in a tattered, light weight, coat
She began to walk toward me and I could see that she was very frail.
I hurried to her. I was afraid that her legs might fail
Seeing her that way, the terrible reality of her suffering, struck me to the core
I gave her all the money that I had with me that day
She was surprised and said I want to give you a gift.
I will tell you my real name.
Realizing this was the only thing of real value that she had left, I hesitated.
She smiled, hugged me, and then whispered Linda into my ear.
After that day, I never saw her again and couldn’t find out what happened to her.
But, I will never forget Linda and her most perfect Christmas gift.
Dedicated to Linda
gathered on the lawn at Sabbath - a chattering of starlings
For the Wonderful One Liners Poetry Contest of s. grace
A funeral is not the place when you find you need to laugh
Here is my true story about my little gaffe
I hope this poem does not offend
It is written in memory of a very special friend
My father’s friend had passed away
And to the church we went that day
I was heavily pregnant and feeling glum
And awaiting the birth of my lovely son
The priest he came from a foreign land
His words we found hard to understand
When he said the words ‘let us pray’
I bowed my head and heard him say…….
‘Heavenly Farter’ (I cannot remember the rest)
For tears of laughter were falling onto my chest
The more I tried to stifle my laughter
The worse I became, it was a total disaster
I got a hanky to suppress the giggle
My shoulders up and down they did wriggle
Tears were flowing from my eyes
My husband looked at me with great surprise
He took me by the hand and we left the church
On the pretext I was so upset and needed a quiet place to perch
Outside the church my laughter freely flowed
My eyes were shiny and my cheeks they glowed
When my father finally came out
I told him of the priest’s error and at me he did not shout
He decided he better have a ‘quiet word’
Their conversation it was not overheard
On our next visit to the Catholic Church
Out of the building I hoped I would not have to lurch
I got ready to bow my head to pray
And then I heard the priest say ……
HEAVENLY FARZER! Oh thank the lord
My father’s words he had taken on board
Now when I hear the words ‘let us pray’
I cringe and remember that awful day
Jan Allison
7th February 2014
Contest The Poet III
sponsored by Gautami Phookan
~awarded 3rd place~
there is a place of deep repose
where chasing Christmas never goes
along a path of fallen leaves
where autumn’s warm late beauty breathes
- a timeless tranquil silent space
that keeps at bay life’s rats that race
and frees the mind from mindless talk
so thoughts can wander while hearts walk.
Bless the deviled eggs and the preacher’s children.
Grab a piece of fried-to-perfection chicken.
Coca-cola cake or banana pudding?
~ Prodigals welcomed
January 29, 2019
Sapphic Stanza with a JUX Poetry Contest
Craig Cornish, Sponsor
The Faded Garden Swing
If the flaked paint on the old swing
could speak, it would tell stories of
days long ago,
Of children's laughter and their bare,
muddy feet,
Of fireflies caught and imprisoned in
empty jam jars,
Like the fireflies, my memory flickers,
trying to recall who lived across the
street.
The faded swing’s rusty chains creaked
loudly under my weight, an old familiar
song,
And the scent in the air from the aged
honeysuckle, still going strong,
An old familiar perfume of yesteryear,
At this moment, suspended between
the then and now, time stands still.
Once the echoes of children’s giggles,
now a silent yard,
Images of scraped knees, loud cries
and a lemonade stall,
In the distance, the sound of an old
church bell rings,
Here, on this faded garden swing,
I sit in the past with the weight of
what was and of what can never be
again.
Now, shadows linger in silence,
Where children once soared with
dreams,
Oh, faded swing, a keeper of stories
of joy and pain,
You hold the essence where memories
remain,
At last, I am home, in the place where
time stands still.
Silent
is she whose
sharp mind
unraveled;
she died.
This woman,
friendly,
loved to gab
and laugh.
Unsmiling
in her
casket now. . .
her face
is strangely
beautiful.
May 13. 2019 for the 'Charlieku New Form' Poetry contest of charles messina
Poetry form description: The poem must be 15 lines long and the syllable count must be 23232,3232,323,23,3 Also, it must be 5 lines, 4 lines, 3 lines, 2 lines and 1 line.
Faith & Divinity
A house ~ a church ~ an artwork
Future legacy
06.02.2016
A-L Andresen :)
When I went to the Temple
It should have felt like home
So as I sat in the pew
Why did I feel all alone
Was my heart disconnected
Was there something wrong with me
Why did I feel like running
From a place that felt empty
Three thousand souls I counted
The church grew before my eyes
I went to look for answers
Yet I left with all my whys
Why was the music perfect
Why did others have no flaws
As I sought my redemption
I drowned within the applause
After the entertainment
As I walked out open doors
I drifted on life's ocean
In a boat that had no oars
Hands held out towards heaven
Within solitude God was kind
As I took time to ponder
I surrendered body and mind
Now Church is not about me
Or the way it makes me feel
Whenever I praise my Savior
The Temple becomes more real
Now I can take church with me
To the places that I go
Within a heart of thankfulness
He allows my love to grow
NOT FROM CHURCH PEWS
Never cause of falls.. God helps us stand
about to stumble.. extends his hand.
Aware God made us.. out of wet clay
Christ left footprints ..to show us God’s way.
Never pain or burden’s.. our way toss
Satan’s deep abyss.. God helps us across.
Life’s heavy yoke .. it’s weight he’ll share
Loss of loved one’s.. he'll calm our despair.
Don’t blame God for death.. Satan birthed grief
Only God’s Kingdom ..will bring Earth relief.
When God’s Will’s done here.. no more will die
"Thief” resurrected in Paradise..Christ didn't lie.
Adam door opened.. led to men’s death
God will give dead.. His life giving breath.
Those asleep in earth’s..”death bedrooms”
On Earth again stand …free of their tombs.
God’s Kingdom, it’s King.. bring total release
Prince of Peace all wars ..on earth make cease.
EDEN restored..is Bible’s Good News
Heaven not “Paradise “..taught from church pews.
Barbara Barry-Nishanian
March 15,2018
copyright
The Good Harvest
Years ago I was a farmer,
And my neighbor had a field.
But he let it go to briars,
He was not concerned with yield.
As I passed his field one evening,
In my pocket there I found,
Four tiny seeds left over.
From those I'd planted in the ground.
So I tossed them in his garden,
Not so mindful what would be.
If they sprouted with the briars
Mid the chaos what we'd see
Summer rains and hot sun blasted.
Wind and snow upon the ground.
In the spring I gladly noted,
When there among the weeds I found.
Little plants with leaves uplifted,
Burst through the cluttered sod.
Like the Saints on Sunday morning.
Hands uplifted praising God.
Four dirty unkempt siblings
Wiggling squirming in their chairs.
No one watching no one caring,
How or why we found them there.
Rowdy, lively always talking
They put my patience to the test.
But I found that they were hungry
So I did my very best.
Jesus loved the little children
Each one precious in his eyes.
Long years passed and I am grateful.
For I found a sweet surprise
In the field where I had labored.
The word of God as best I could.
I found four happy Christians planted
Strong and faithful, that is good.
Ding dong church bells......
When the sun rises in the morning
then the church bells begin to toll in the tower
These church bells are the voice of God
They make people to assemble to sing the Divine praises
Ding dong bell, Ding dong bell
Its a divine sound of a church bell in the village
Calling people to come for prayers
and telling people to have faith in God
Ding dong bell and the sound carries all the way
These church bells sound remind us the love of God
and make us to believe that we belong to Him
Bring our God above to have mercy in our soul
and let the spirit to make strong in our heart
Ding dong bell, Ding dong bell
Its a sound of a church bell in the village
Calling people to come for prayers
and telling people to have faith in God
Ding dong bell and the sound carries all the way
Ravi Sathasivam / Sri Lanka
All rights are reserved @ 2014
what happens to those words we say
that speak in silence when we pray?
do they remain inside our head
to die with us once we are dead?
or do they echo off the walls
of bedrooms, churches, schools and halls
to fall upon the silent ground
and lie unheard and lost 'til found?
or do they find those cracks of light
that shine despite the darkest night
and reach out to that world above
to talk to those we miss and love?
Centuries you rule
a safe passage heavenly
in conformity
with deeds given to aid you...
after the battle we fall.
© Harry J Horsman 2014