Best Clergyman Poems
Keats’ Nightingale
The romantic poets were too early to postulate total atheism,
And so freshened up the church by aligning god with nature,
And I believe they had a preference for nature over god or theism,
Because they never posit him as social with high, tall stature.
Keats says that the nightingale exemplifies nature as active,
As bestowing upon all human beings meaning, sense and worth,
Since the bird’s song objectifies how nature truly is effective,
Fulfilled by happiness, and aimed at contentment and rebirth.
Nature triggers in us thoughts and words to settle and allure,
Offers us our language to dispel pain and find the cure,
And Keats contends that poetry, the credibility of its form,
Epitomises what nature proffers, a receptacle rather warm.
When you feel awkwardly suicidal with nowhere else to turn,
Nature lullabies you into your own sense, one you can rip and burn;
No controlled access freeways, no road signs for your safety,
Only soft, quiet communication that's never guilty of brevity.
Just as nature is beautiful, so Keats claims people as beautiful too,
As he uses the word beauty right in the middle of his nature exposé;
He referred to flora, the moon, the stars, the forest and what seems true,
Tnat song of the nightingale that's for anyone, as this bird is not choosey.
He suggests that light or positivity in nature means movement,
That the soft breeze dispels the gloom and mossy pavement;
Quantum physics does reduce matter back down to interactive particles,
In which kinetic energy can be mistaken for minuscule, motionless articles.
His mentor is the nightingale as part of nature’s whole,
No minister or clergyman to advise him on his soul,
Stillness and bird song scent his poisoned air surrounding,
And it is all but for the silence of that beauteous music, astounding.
Nature does not irritate him when he surmises and introspects,
But upholds itself in majestic grandeur with unquestionable prospects;
It speaks about life, your life, your daily happenings and exotic dreams,
And forever exists for us when sense is just not within our means.
March like a southern university battle of the bands bayou classic styling drum-
mAjor for peace - bending over backwards on freedoms field of racial equality.
a dReamer is sleeping - but we as a people have awakened to remember and live
your dream as our reality.
you Taught us how to fight and win with
non vIolence as a movemnt.
oh my a Nobel peace prizeman
struggLed peacefully initiating
lunch coUnter sit ins - encountering violence.
even jail Time,
evil water Hoses, police dogs barking up
the wrong trEe.
this is a reveRend ordained by god!
a clergyman taKing jim crow off the menu.
his people got tIred of
trying to constaNtly stomach injustice.
rosa parks did not Get up and settle for
an indigestive preJudice plate of racist gout causing jim crow
thank god her feet weRe swelling with hurt - she stayed seated and broke
a discriminating plate.
The day gold is missed in the vault,
knock not at my door;
what I want is precious than gold.
The day rose is missed in the orchard,
knock not at my door;
what I want is prettier than rose.
The day Princess is missed in the Palace,
call not the Police but the Clergyman;
his question I do wait to answer:
Yes, I do .
25.7.2015
A cold, dead sun hangs in an unearthly black sky,
Casting putrid light onto barren monotone,
He finds himself afloat as frozen minutes pass by,
No, not floating. Standing, in an of existence of his own,
Observing an alien landscape, of which he is not a part,
Detached from tearful events below,
Watching people gather, whilst waiting to depart,
The star of his own morbid show.
His gaze scans the mass of gathered faces,
Recollecting where each visage was first met,
Memories of times, people and places,
Some he loves to remember, some he longs to forget,
He identifies each person and their place within the scene,
Friends he held so dear and those he hardly knew,
Neglected family gathered together on the green,
With mother, still loving, despite all he put her through.
And then amongst the crowd he spies her,
The girl he would have married, if he’d ever dared,
To dream a life joined with another, a life laid bare,
But there never was a thing he wilfully shared,
Not possessions nor life nor heart nor truth,
Such things were his alone to be tasted,
And this to him becomes the final proof,
That his indeed was a life wasted.
The quiet audience take a solemn stance,
As the clergyman motions they are to begin,
Pall bearers bring the box to the centre of this merry dance,
No more than a shell of a man lies within,
A stranger’s words attempt to translate the soul,
As his mother looks on dry eyed and brave,
And the lonely box is lowered into the waiting hole,
An empty man in an empty grave.
Away...
Spot her from far.
Have a tingle mingle all over your skin.
Award your forehead a scratch
As you do the arduous estimations
Of the remaining catwalk steps
Before her beauty kisses your eyes.
Let sanity flee from your mind.
(That's OK.Never mind.
Angels are never meant
For sane minds)
Coming your way...
Prepare to talk to her
Practise how to greet her
Whisper to yourself a greeting
Whose sweetness tricks
Your zygomaticus muscle
Into a seductive smile.
Then bite your lower lip alluringly
As the best Romeo and Juliet scene
Overwhelms the whole of you.
Enjoy the roller-coaster feeling
Of a heart that forgets its own rhythm.
A few minutes away...
To get on top of your muddled up feelings
And wake up the confidence demon
Wave your head in a 'NO' manner.
Grab a gorgeous gazale gaze of her.
Don't allow the jealous of a blink
To spoil this monumental moment.
Sink your nervousness deep
Inside the well of sighs.
Cast a blind eye on the people's eyes
Or acknowledge them as your cheerleaders.
It's about time...
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Elevate your hands like a clergyman in prayer
Just to inspect the odour of your exhaled air
That will transport your practiced greeting.
Regulate your lungs to spray your Rose
With nothing but the fragrance of roses.
It's time now...
Exactly when she gets near
Cockily say, 'Good morning, Madam.'
Immediately after the words slip
Away from the tip of your lip,
Remember that, 'Afternoon'
Is almost embarking on her sleep
And that the Madam title is ...
Cover your mouth instantly
As if trying to capture back the awakward greeting
Fancy the way she disguises
Her guffaws as a smile-
Revealing her pretty dimples
Concealed in the soft flesh of her cheeks
Almost...
Observe her as she catwalks it away
Leaving you dumbstricken all the way
Listen until her footsteps die away
Start scratching your backhead right away
Wondering which spell she used
To transmute your 'Hey Pretty Lady'
Into a 'Good morning, Madam'
During such perceivable old noon hours!
Blame yourself the whole day.
Tighten your fist like Muhammad Ali
Preparing to release his Sunday punch.
Then with a suppressed sigh sadly say:
TOMORROW will be a better day!
Tomorrow...
The mountains engulf and embrace me,
Like the sun shining through a window,
Pulverising the darkness and gloom,
With hopefulness and truth,
Making me aware of my possibilities,
Not numerous but few -
Allowing me to choose between two.
I prioritise, and focus just on one goal,
Resolve to achieve my ambition,
Find in myself my actions and am spurred on,
To proportion the gulf which stares up at me:
The chasm flees when normal people interact;
The unsaid but spoken disappears instantly,
Providing me with care constantly.
The view exists as humankind exists,
But while many people beg to differ with one another,
Nature eats up those who can't be edified -
Those who augment it with a god to trace,
Whatever is said, whatever is done,
Mustn’t be normal, easy - natural,
But rather should be contrived and conventional.
That we evolved is dear and liberating,
As a lover who wets her beholder’s cheek:
Faithful relationships soothe our spirits,
Connecting us with nature and public;
I know I came from the mountains and the hills,
From which I take courage, vigour and have duty,
From rugged, sheer beauty.
Is this beauty crude, or does it manage,
The looks of my accusers who bare me?
It dismisses them with assumptive glare,
Kindness gently certifies their stabbing buzz,
Until heaven and hell are constructs waiting to touch:
Which, but for the inside’s surmise, will indeed myself mar,
And but for my silent thoughts, which do the spartans bar.
The view also relinquishes flightiness for me to pour,
Over the collars of the parallel and the same:
Marched in by sociopathers, the directors of freedom;
I receive from naturalism’s stance, it's posit,
Billowing amounts of heart, drive and chance,
And decide to accept the opportunities which will embrace -
In concern - with well-being, affection and grace.
My suspicions, intentions and instincts see the complex,
How it should be deconstructed, with pleasure,
Out with the validated by a clergyman or Christian leader,
Who evince as harder and more boring than nails;
What entails then stimulates on into waving meadows,
And so, not silenced by the silence I sit in having cried -
Feeling accepted and taken - I'm respected to them deride.
I am sitting over the mount’s top
On the highest rock
Watching the city’s scene;
As the bucks in countries
In summers do,
Rise to the highest point and stare down the dale,
Seeing in the side
Their beloveds live.
Oh come on! And I will show
How pigeons flutter round the tall domes of shrines;
Swans swim in the calm lake;
Kites diving in open sky;
Lovers gossip in grassy gardens
Under short shady trees;
People walking as toys, in the busy streets;
And wide walls of ancient king’s palace have half–fallen.
O Pir’s daughter
My love! My love! My love!
What are you uselessly so scared and coy?
Honey! We are not any American gays!
Lesbians, homos or bloody bi’s.
I am also a religious guy
A God-fearing father’s son,
Though, you are an overly pure woman!
And remember, we had fallen in love—
God willingly.
Pir is like a clergyman, a Father in kashmiri
I don't know about Archbishop Justin Timberlake,
He’s jazzing up the church,
Making Jesus controversial,
Leaving life in the lurch.
It’s fine to have excitement,
About any religious thing or assumption,
But when you poke at liberal creeds,
You’re with the discontentment presumption.
The liturgy does not gel with Sankey hymns,
Which parishioners should not be made to sing;
Fundamentalism is on the way out,
Of Christianity’s credibility wing.
It is emotionally abusive,
To atheistic in-house kids who want to aspire,
To tell of the insanities,
Such tunnel vision requires.
Although I am glad of his enthronement -
It lets evangelicalism out the bag,
I hope to return to a more liberal clergyman,
For the future church ‘mag’.
Fundamentalists won’t admit to the speeches,
Given to their kids who are silent prey;
It’s not fair to live in a society,
Which allows only the understood to convey.
Pluralism is the glasses by which we all see,
Humanism, atheism, religion, and irreligion too,
And the Archbishop is therefore acceptable,
As a beacon of what fundamentalists do.
Freedom of speech and expression,
For some, will only come when we know such acts,
Societal change comes simply from people,
Who’s concepts and ideas become assumed facts.
He was not that successful at decking Wonga,
Anglicans can't quite compete,
With open market transactions,
Which have seemed to withstand the heat.
I don't validate high-interest lenders,
But the church should stick to God,
It should be more into caring,
For the elderly, all on their tod.
About the Archbishop of Canterbury Justin Welby, UK
for no fault of mine, congenital blindness has been my lot
i never fail to wonder how i look
mum said i'm blond and beautiful
till date what blonde means still beats me
i can only imagine the meaning of beauty
i've learnt to endure the ridicule of people
who only add pain to an already wounded soul
it also hurts when i'm pitied
with my sister-in-law a constant culprit
the clergyman said my handicap is a blessing
that it's good i can’t see a world so sinful
but he failed to reply when i harmlessly asked
if he had ever prayed to lose his vision
my family even consider me a burden
complains and excuses trail my request for whom to guide me
to put an end to my inconsiderate disruption of their movies
they did me the favour of buying a guide dog
the sighted make much fuss over trivialities
can you imagine crying over a missed movie
or threatening suicide if not allowed access to the television
sometimes i itch to know the big deal about television
but television is strictly for those that are blessed with vision
so is tourism, movies and countless others
i long to be a medical doctor
and also to get married and have my own children
but understandably, men refuse to look my way
i'm now used to the bitter truth
dreams and wishes are not for the sightless
my thumbs are always sore ‘cos i love to read
and it hurts too when my siblings yell excitedly
'bout the scenic sights they behold
oh, how i wish for a day of sight
to behold the rainbow, flowers and mother
to see myself and my dear Stevie Wonder
music is therapeutic to my soul
oh, its the best gift to mankind
though the deaf will definitely disagree
have you ever wondered how life will be without hope
but i live without a hope of regaining my sight
while people sleep, i wish for death
but of course wishes are not for the blind
and unlike those cowards i'll never kill myself
i laugh when the sighted complain of penury
or when they make much fuss over needing a wheelchair
i'll gladly exchange conditions with them if given a choice
'cos the sun never rises in the world of the blind
the need for air differentiates the blind from a corpse
however i've got a few consolations
i'll never get to see an ugly sight or a dead man
i'll never see my husband cheat on me
sadly though, that's if i ever get one
Injustice is the legacy of man
It is the tainted ground on which he stands
Do not put your trust in earthling man
Why, he cannot wield his mundane lifespan
So what do we do with our earthy divan
This copious globe of purpose and plan
When all the media flaxen flames do fan,
And there is no trusting a robed clergyman
When half the country hates a family man
His replacement backed by the Ku Klux Klan
We cannot put our trust in earthling man
So put your faith in the Higher Helmsman
THE KING OF THE HOUSE
In Vallelado, Segovia, to a woman from quarter
God gaves his grace: she just had seven daughters
And she was about to give birth
Without knowing if it would be son or daughter.
The day of nativity play revealed the difference
And the village people said "that impossible"
They could not believe it
After being born so much females
That they should come and see him.
They came to meet him and see if he was a boy.
They congratulated the father and mother
Worshiping the child as a king.
Little girls, when they saw him, said smiling:
"The Little sailor stand out
And his two ships loaded with gold and silver”.
They say that pigeons peeked out their window
And the bells of the parish church
Played with joy alone
And Sacristan said: "Not for less."
The medieval clergyman
Who came with his concubine
Exclaimed: "A good combine harvester
For the Village."
Lorenzo Lorraine Langstoth* located the bees passing space
Three-eights of an inch,would gove them grace;
The world widely used this discovery
and copied his patent too easily-
Lorenzo found 'fame' but fortune was not to be.
In 1851 this American clergyman * made the discovery that made honey a viable commercial
food source.
whether you like it or not, your priest, your pastor, your minister,
your clergyman
of whom you hold the utmost regard,
whose very advice
you secretly tell yourself has been inspired by
the lord your god &
maybe even “jesus” himself,
may in fact hold a very
deep
dark
secret---
your clergyman or woman may have come to the
rational
conclusion,
a long time ago,
that what it was that they went to seminary for,
that what it was that they themselves thought in the deepest reservoir of their hearts,
that the pure unadulterated faith
which they once held onto like a child does their mother’s hand
when walking in the city,
which they once thought was so obvious &
real,
is nothing but a cheap hoax of the most serious kind,
&
that it is all a
lie---
at best, this lie which they are still taking part in,
is one which they think brings comfort to their
flock,
it pays their bills,
above all, they have no idea what they would do
if they turned their back on the whole sham now,
after
wasting
half
their
life
peddling religious smut like a pimp on a street corner.
huddled in their corner at home,
locked up in the closet,
they bite their nails and bear upon their backs the weight
of the lie growing like a cancerous tumor---
they may have friends who are clergy,
with whom they can speak of losing faith in a roundabout
manner,
by which both parties are made to feel more comfortable
when the ambiguous nature of a conversation finally gets down to the
nitty-gritty,
that this sham
this character was NOT born of a virgin
that this character did NOT walk on water
never cured a leper
never turned water to wine
never turned a few fish & a loaf of bread to a feast for
thousands &
was never crucified, dead & buried only to
rise again.
inside their minds is an explosion ready to awaken
millions
that finally, even the prime liars in this campaign of
deception that has lasted a few thousand years
is
breaking---
it is all a matter of time before the technology that we
have produced as a species cures our very fear of
death &
without the fear of death,
you will no longer need to be a slave to these
charlatans
that continue to beat you senseless with their
poorly written fiction.
get ahead of the curve &
scrap it all before your shepherds do,
making you look like the sap that you presently
are.
She was just a girl yet hurting so;
In a school where he worked;
She was full of fear and doubt;
So scared to try to figure it out;
~
She was just a young girl;
Fragile and frail just 12 years old;
Ever so beautiful yet her life was in turmoil;
She being ever so fearful abnormal;
~
So he went to the store you see he cared about her little soul;
He bought her a book that you see, not just any book
The Man purchased her "a Bible"
Yes a...
B
I
B
L
E
~
Hopeless and scared no witnesses here;
Alone afraid in our heart;
She was a little beaten child a little malnutrition girl;
Mistreated child in tattered clothes she wore;
~
Hair messy and often undone eyes bright glittering for hope;
Often the bun accrual humor and bad jokes;
You see this kind man couldn't stand it, so I brought her a book;
A book of forgiveness, history, love and hope;
The name of this book, a King James Bible;
A book about" God's words" peace, joy and love offerings;
A book about God's words, history of humanity purposes,
rules and laws we should follow:
This book giveth hope!
This book finds the peace and love!
This book explains humanity sinful actions;
~
He was a Godly man (a clergyman)
A Godly friend; (humanitarian)
Wanted nothing from her the girl,
Nothing more than for her;
Just to be happy, whole and pure,
With a saved soul
Than to be unhurt, unharmed, have a saved soul;
But to help "God's daughter "and her wounded body and soul;
He gave her a book ;
He gave her a book ;
He gave her the Book!
5/21/21--©2021
For Contest He Gave Her A Book
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
Some keep the Sabbath going to Church
I just keep staying at home
with thunder for a chorister
and an ochard for a dome
Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice
I just wear my wings
instead of tolling the bell for Church
our little Sexton sings
God preaches a noble Clergyman
and the serman is never long
So instead of getting to Heaven
at last, I'm going all along
NOTE: not my poem just a very inspirational and special poem to me.