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New God Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best God poems are below this new poems list.

Prayer to Father God by Gross, Beatrice
Better than God by Upadhyay, Abhinav
God Said I Was Wrong by Horn, James
CREATOR GOD by Lee Sr., James Edward
Temper of God Boil by Horn, James
Only God Can Command by Behm, Kurt Philip
AND LORD MY GOD I CAN ONLY BE WITH YOU by Lee Sr., James Edward
Abandoning To God by Ibeh, Edward
GOD IS by Donnelly, Artsieladie Sharon
I LOVE YOU WITH GOD by Lee Sr., James Edward

View all new God Poems

The Best God Poems

Details | God Poem |

A Near Death Experience of A Sweetheart

    "A Near-Death Experience of A Sweetheart"



Floating through a corridor between two different Worlds
among white fluffy clouds and shimmering stars awhile wind unfurls
racing into darkness: destination to death's door
living in a heavenly kingdom ... forevermore ...

Traveling through deep tunnel as cold fingers touch
walls of blackened essence creating thoughts to clutch
quickly toward a bright white light of peace
my soul and spirit being experienced soft release ...



Rushing to a Paradise, landing on streets of gold
seeing the Face of God so clearly to behold
longing to embrace my dear departed family
loved ones who had gone before to their final destiny ...

Their captivating smiles excited my soul
sharing love once more as was in their earthly roll
but a huge white Angel stood between my track
he spoke mentally "child of God you must go back.

And yet, I was not sad but happy to have seen
my precious treasured relatives cuddled by Supreme Being 
why? I questioned must I return to Planet Earth?
Angel responed not your time to stay
your purpose unfulfilled for God to cherish every day ...

Suddenly transported through the tunnel smelling flowers
a jorney taking minutes but feeling like hours
and soon the sights and sounds ignited quiet hospital room
while my loved ones endured possibility of doom ...

My husband was squeezing my hand so tight I felt his love
as my children sobbed so loud praying to above
my eyes opened wide as I inhaled a breath
escaping to my body while I avoided Death ...

This near-death experience was an inspiration
for another realm exists in utter fascination
for now the message lives to enjoy both love and life
have no fear for death is harmless and erases strife ...

Hover close to God and always give Him thankxxx
through trials and tribulations He relieves all angst
Treasure every moment and anticipate the end
a beutiful place is waiting reuniting family and friends ...

Kisses and hugs replaced those solitary tears
knowing what lies ahead extinguishes all fears
please celebrate the gift of life in grateful attitude
Eternity is awesome with unending interlude ...

Details | God Poem |

Tranquility

Oh little one, how soon you'll be
In turbulence of puberty.

I will hold tight your days of youth 
And share with you my honest truth 

That innocence ingrained at birth,
Precious childhood days filled with mirth,

Will be so fleeting... you will see
The need for God's tranquility.

How grandma's age is redefined
When your teen years become aligned

With thoughts of struggles, I go through,
The many shades in every hue,

That colors life for me today.
In these sweet days, I watch you play

As I instill the grains of hope,
An inner strength to help you cope

With all the changes life will bring.
The ups and downs from early spring

Throughout your life in winter years
When you, like me, through joys and tears

Have lived a life you feel has worth;
Have given back to better earth.

When you have children of your own
And you too, see how they have grown,

My hope is that you let them know
That through their life where e'er they go

They carry with them bits of me,
Please share with them, tranquility.

© Connie Marcum Wong   
Poem of the Day May 11, 2017

Note:
The teenage years and the golden years are 
the most difficult to endure. Both are fraught 
with emotions...of facing life...of facing death.

Enter your own competition - Poetry Contest-Tranquility N/A
Form I have chosen is Couplet
Sponsored by: Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer

One criterion I am striving to achieve: Spirituality

Details | God Poem |

When Madness Rides on Moonlight

Days pass into the weak, loveless nights. The moon blinks.
The stars swirl beneath Van Gogh’s brush, as he links.
Comet light passes twisting cypresses, a schizophrenic’s concussion.
On and on, the wind twirls the trees, and does not complain,
nor, does the cosmos cringe awaiting reciprocation.
Lightning bugs mimic the stars. Atoms sneer.

Those who spout love and friendship abandon him, sneering.
Their images dance beneath his lids, when he blinks.
Though denied a compass, his soul does not reciprocate.
Through pain, physical and mental, he still connects, links
with the life which absorbs and excludes him, not complaining.
Nights pass without his mistress, Sien. His mind is concussive.

His face trembles torn in the brass sounds of the storm’s concussions.
The butcher, the baker, the candlestick-maker, all of them, sneer. 
How unmerciful, this cycle, this God to whom he does not complain.
If lack of mercy is just, may he not know why? Time blinks.
Thinking causes pain. Only painting connects him, he links.
He accepts art and the pain, as gifts, choosing not to reciprocate.

Voices, the paint, the moon, the voices say, reciprocate.
He chases mice. The cheese plate falls with a loud concussion.
He rubs his gnarled hands across his lids. He maintains the link. 
How? Why? But, the mice eating his cheese only sneer.
The sunflowers shimmer and wiggle in their vase, as he blinks.
Stumbling, he falls attempting to sit, the chair does not complain.

He had thought God clear as sunlight; yet, the paint complained. 
He was not God; he could not capture the light. He must reciprocate.
After all, who was he, but a mere man, ashes to dust; life blinks.
Ah death, le grand mal, no minor concussion,
He must escape, join the celestial spin, and avoid their sneers.
Sick, yes, sick to death of not being understood, not linking.

The brushes call. He prostitutes himself. Oil spills, connecting, linking.
Theo, brother, never would he forgive. Many others would complain.
Ah, Gauguin, His dear friend, he would understand and not sneer.
If God was truly a loving God, surely, he thought; God will not reciprocate.
The mockers who did not live in Dante’s nine levels of hellish concussion,
they will call his actions cowardly. Merciless, they did not live between the blinks.

Details | God Poem |

The Clouds

"HOLDING HIS HAND"

*The Voice*
God, can I hold your hand and follow you?

"Gods voice"
My child, it is I who will walk with you! You walked down my path with and without faith. You took my protection to ease your pain. My shielded wings comfort you during your moments of suffering while your life staggered across earth. Your love and devotion are what made you strong. Every time your dreams were broken. You managed to build more dreams in their place. You called my name during your happiest and saddest moments. You ran to me when you fell behind. Your secrets became our private talks. The key to your heart was always unlocked. I was there during your trials and troubles and tribulations. We could not speak, it was my light that kept you from going weak.

=voice=
God, are you a dream of beauty? The holy book.
My preacher spoke of the afterlife, calling it paradise.
I remember now, I felt this company once before, this light.
Many times, I forsake the light and still you never left my door.
I felt it on the day I was born,
the day I became baptized in your holy name.
I felt this light before, can you explain it once more?
Lord pleases clarify the day I fell down to my knees, accepted Jesus as my savior?
On that day, I felt as if you stood away and walked on by, allowing me to face my failures’.
Was my life a waste in this impossible world?"

"Gods voice"
My child, this is the everlasting light you will feel every time your body is re-born onto a new road. This light never left you.
My sweet child did you not listen,
Matthew *19:26* MY SON looked at them and said, "With man this is impossible, but with ME all things are possible.
My child, you were not searching for the right answers.

=voice=
My Lord everyone told me if I prayed you would come. Did I not pray enough?

"Gods voice"
My child sometimes your heart asked for more than life itself,
I always answered even when you shunned heaven away from your eyes?
The obvious question is whether this is the final immersing of your soul's disguises.

=voice=
Lord, I have other questions to ask.
What should I expect out of my personal sins?
My testimonial sits in the palm of your hand
My mind and my heart's inner core have been wicked since- adolescence
How is it that I am in your promise land?

"Gods voice"
Getting right with me has brought you here!

=voice=
One more question, Heavenly Father
Can I see them,
My Daughter, Mothers, Sisters, family, and friends?

Details | God Poem |

The End

The End

Seeing through these cold dead eyes now,
This world looks much different.

The scars of one’s life entire,
Appear now for all to see.

What once meant everything,
Really means nothing now.

I still see and sense things mortal,
But the earthly world can’t hear my words. 

Lying on an ice-cold white slab this darkest night,
I see the pale yellow moon’s sad face in the sky.

With visions of people who’ve crossed over before,
I wonder when Charon shall finally appear?

Shall it be him who appears on this new horizon?
Or shall it be someone or something else?

The everyday mortal world moves on as before:
Regardless of one’s wealth, poverty, fame, shame, infamy.

I guess now all the ancient mysteries of the universe,
Shall become obvious and answered in kind.

I wonder what shall be said to me and the reception?
Thumbs up or thumbs down—I guess I shall find out.

The pale yellow moon now appears brighter . . . 
As if a special message cometh soon from a winged angel.

Hope this helps to answer my lingering questions . . .
As the dark void from the mortal world grows greater now.

I feel a gentle tug pulling me upward now from Earth’s grasp,
Into the majestic arms of infinity and into God’s eternal light!        

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
June 12, 2016 (Lyric)

Details | God Poem |

Love's Alchemy is Eternal

Love’s Alchemy is Eternal

Your look, touch, and scent now so perfect pure,
Enchants my true emotions and soaring passion.
I knoweth now our love shall always endure,
As God unites our souls as one by divine action!

Our sensual passion defines love’s spirit entire,
As we caress and kiss for this moment’s bliss.
Love’s alchemy maketh our spirits soar afire,
As we embrace our lips find that deepest kiss!

Our hearts beat now in a sacred tempo of love,
That reflects our real destiny, two souls as one.
This is God’s gift to us from Heaven high above,
As we wish these magic moments of eternal fun!

By Heaven, I pray our love’s alchemy forever,
And declareth my love shan’t leave you ever!    
 
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
June 27, 2016 (Shakespearean Sonnet)

Details | God Poem |

The Peephole that is the Moon

An infinite door of midnight blue;
glowing peephole that is the moon.
Dare I look before turned to dust?
Yes, dear friend, I surely must.

In the midst, a city of finest gold,
large as the earth; immense and bold.
Quoins of pearl, this must be known,
the lusture seemed a life, it's own.
Rising from it, a mountainous temple;
whisps of prayers escape the steeple.

Without the city, fields of crystal flowers,
and trees more akin to wind chime towers.
Platinum trunks doning metalic leaves.
Angelic music when brushed with their wings.

Out from all this, layers of various planes
seemingly worlds of their own, yet all of the same.
Once starving children and homeless ones too,
with comforts of home; endless tables of food.
One plane of great sports, children running free;
prosthetics and wheelchairs, now trophies and glee.
Another, Indian braves running with buffalo,
women laughing carefree with children in tow.
Serene planes of beaches and tropical breezes.
On none was found pain, lameness or diseases.
Thousands of planes, but my favorite to view;
families and the ancients with no need of adieu.
So euphoric, this sight, but there is more to tell,
as three glorious chimes of the great temple bell.

All froze still as beams of golden light
transported them to the temple in quiet.
The most beautiful prayers and songs arose.
From within the city; pure love aglow.
Three bells again and all were beamed out;
some to the same planes, some different routes.

I wanted so badly, to open the door
and be in this place forever more,
but the door was locked and I had no key,
then an angel turned and flew towards me.
Approaching the peephole, that is the moon,
It said, "Don't worry, you'll be here soon."
I have need of a key, I began to implore,
and it slipped a note neath the midnight door.

I unfolded the note; three lines within,
and three nails fell out; payment of sin.
The first line proclaimed, the door was faith.
The second; the beams are God's loving grace.
Overcome by peace as I read the third line.
Jesus is the way, the truth and the light,
and I remembered a scripture that so sweetly states;
"For by grace, through faith, are ye saved."

Details | God Poem |

A Gift From God - A Sonnet

I am a wish, a prayer, from mortals lips
That reached heaven and  touched God’s fingertips
And returned to earth wrapped in flesh and blood
A gift from God’s unconditional love

So love and cherish me as God does you
And guide and teach me well in all I do
And together, a garden we will grow
Filled with the fragrant beauty of the rose

And on the day I reach maturity
And feel the need like leaves to leave the tree
To show the world the colors that are  me
Rejoice in all the beauty that you see

For I am your  child the gift that God gave
No More than a wish and a prayer -  away. 

                            ~~~~~

Details | God Poem |

THE HOUSE OF SPIRITS

It looks like a simple brownstone building,
Not much different then any other but it’s residents,
Are of the haunted kind, not made of flesh and bone.
In every window a wind chime stirs, gently caressed by
A chilling winds icy finger tips, after all this is known as
The house of spirits.
Witchery or voodoo’s domain, it is a place of salvation for
Spiritual challenged, listen to the beautiful music they make,
Singing within this their walled cage of brick and mortar, these
Ethereal victims lost.
Here in peace they wait for the light to find them, a waiting chamber,
Of the lords misstep souls, those whom walked off the righteous path,
Yet are not without redemptions wanton of need.
Wanders of limbo’s astral plain, seekers whom roam blindly until 
Finding a doorway threshold, then crossing over, into this the house
Of spirits.
A corridors slender passageway, a way stations layover for those tired
And weary travelers to rest until their final journey’s end comes for them,
Sanctuaries power house of the supernatural.
Behind these red doors dare not the mortal flesh clasp the gilded knockers,
For within are things of the unspoken variety, creature protectors waiting at
Bay for the stray intruder to wander forth upon this sacred ground.
Angels kindred brethren whom seek out evil, destroyers patrolling the
Darker shadows for night stalkers whom wish to feast upon the forsaken.
But light’s white power is a mightier force to be reckoned with, and vanquished
Will the devils spawn into the depths from which they came, into the bowels
Of hell shall these demons be thrown into the blackened pit from which they came?
In the twilight’s ethereal hour, a mid-ways breaking point between light and dark,
A shimmering glow strikes this standing watch tower of abandonment’s forgotten,
And heaven’s flood gates are opened unto them, calling these the lost upwards
Towards nirvana and at last know true peace.
It looks like a simple brownstone building,
Not much different then any other but it’s residents.
Are of the haunted kind, not made of flesh and bone.
In every window a wind chime stirs, gently caressed by
A chilling winds icy finger tips, after all this is known as
The house of spirits.

BY; CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Details | God Poem |

The Old Dark House

The Old Dark House

This tale of “The Old Dark House” is one that’s replete with a
most horrid sense of pure evil and macabre, and is worth being
retold each year during the deep-dark hours of All Hallows’ Eve
before the chime of midnight, when the thin veil separating the
land of the living and the dead momentarily dissolves, bringing
both worlds together until the break of dawn.

Beware of this house’s mythical and ethereal presence in the
shadow dreams of the innocent, and be forewarned to never
conjure its image in your unconscious mind. If so conjured,
The Old Dark House shall become an unending reality to the
innocent and uninformed, and on All Hallows’ Eve, the evil
“Demons of Hell” shall come for your very soul!  

The Old Dark House is one that is bathed and cursed in utter
hellfire and damnation by Lucifer himself. It’s one that creeps a
chill and frozen reminder into the very frame of its nasty, putrid
structure. It shall guarantee you the worst possible nightmares as
your very soul cries in agony and pleads unrelentingly for mercy!

Your nightmares are, in turn, amplified and born into the very
structure of this house with ivy creeping as you palpably sense
the wretched ice-cold fingers of Hell opening the doors to the
cavernous basement were evil shadows of goblins, ghosts,
ghouls, vampires, and werewolves parade openly from past lives.

Everyone suffering the curse of the damned was captured here
when they visited, becoming prisoners to the darkness of true evil,
far away from the light, goodness, and eternal mercy of Almighty
God Himself.

Six generations of my family actually dwelled beneath the rafters
of The Old Dark House where demonic forces were constantly in
play—as hot sparks burned the tongues of lost souls who cried in
agony, and their world would enter the vortex of darkness whilst
blood-curdling screams could be distinctly heard during the night
on All Hallows’ Eve. Ghostly images would appear out of nowhere
supported by the frightening ferocity of Lucifer who is the true dark
presence and ultimate tempter of mankind!

The horror I felt as a young boy trapped in this existence is truly
unimaginable. The image of The Old Dark House still haunts my
adult consciousness, even today, as I would shudder in the cold
night-sweat of sleep to purge its eternal presence from my mind!

Cruel pictures adorn the hell-hole hall of imagination as a gruesome
and unbelievable power underneath wields its vice-grip of hideous
words, whispering in the coldest of ice without the living being able
to breathe in a cloud of mercy and forgiveness, within an ancient
language of evil and evil-doings that twist the shape of words to
suit one’s human fears and cold shivers!

I still don’t understand the full measure of things being lost in this
dark pit of Hell in The Old Dark House. It’s a place that’s devoid
of human meaning and worth as shrunken heads are disembodied!
I hold on to what remains of a past shame, hovering high in the air
as unclean spirits of a crooked vision-circle wander aimlessly as a
Blind Sheppard leads our lost souls to the depressing Dark Land of
Nowhere and Nothingness!

Every October as the full moon rises high in the dark-sky evening,
a ritual fire is set by a local coven of witches to celebrate the advent
of All Hallows’ Eve. These witches know well the power and evil of
The Old Dark House. Their burnt offerings and black magic spells
echo hauntingly as Hell’s own fury is unearthed, challenging all
things virtuous in mankind’s existence and in God’s world of beauty,
hope, kindness, and light.

These evil images of black magic and witchcraft haunted my sleep
entire. I couldn’t sleep at all before dawn. I constantly sense now
an awakening madness in my soul, as if it comes from hidden graves
yet to be uncovered. Images and bad memories of The Old Dark House
push me now toward the opening of unknown tombs. I can actually
now smell Death’s Sulphur-burnt flesh!

Doors begin to rustle behind me as I hear loud footsteps of a pin
echoing deep in my mind. The echo shatters any illusions I have
of human sanity and forgiveness. I feel the sheer horror and begin
suffocating as the stale air is trapped in each breath I take!  

I sit up now—immediately confused, looking directly at a lonely
and empty Black Void that goes on and on and on—to infinity!

Cell doors in the house basement were always closed tight with
rusted iron links bound by heavy chains. As a poor child alone in
this house with other condemned children, there were nice rooms
upstairs that were always barred and shut to us as we suffered in
the filthy basement below. In Lucifer’s Hell!

I recall now too, in my memory, a gallery of special portraits in
The Old Dark House, which formed a ghastly mosaic of pure evil.
These portraits were of key human disciples of Lucifer who had served
him well through the ages. All of these images were grotesque and evil
when taken as a whole.

What did I learn? Evil is what Evil is! And Evil does what Evil does!

I’m free now from the eternal curse of The Old Dark House. I escaped
this mansion of the macabre as a young man and found my soul path
to Almighty God and stepped into His holy light of forgiveness and
redemption! 

As a very old man now, I sleep and dream a lot. Usually my dreams, 
thank goodness, are pleasant as I draw toward the end of my mortal
existence here on earth.

Yet, despite all the good things in my life now, during October of
each year, as All Hallows’ Eve cometh closer in the deep recesses
of my mind—I remember clearly that the ground floor of The Old
Dark House always had these frigid-cold wind gusts that spoke 
chillingly to one’s very soul. As young kids we would run upstairs
in this evil house to hear the “Demons of the Night” moan and cry!

Old Hob always had a way to speak to all of us as kids in His House!

Anne-Lise Andresen, Liam McDaid, and Gary Bateman
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 7, 2016 (Narrative)

Details | God Poem |

VOICE OF GOD

Why are you so sad ?, Have you lost anything ??
If lost, then what ??? I think it is nothing.....
You stepped earth with your empty hand,
after death you will need only six feet land.
Then, calculate what you lost ?
And, what is it's cost ??
People earn only fame to grow their name.
They alive even after death.
Hence, try to win your faith.

Remember always, God means duty.
No other short cut path to almighty.
Then, what is duty ??
Work with no return desire is real duty,
which caps your success enhancing your beauty.
If duty is certified by your soul,
Easily, you can reach your goal.
Then, what is soul ???
The god within you is soul,
And, it plays a very vital role.
A purified soul can only fly to kingdom of God.
So, it changes body after body for cleaning all mud.
It follows a cycle of birth and death,
at the end, makes a pleasant stay
with God, the supreme truth.

I hate ego, but love service with devotion,
Devotion , that always invites perfection.
And ego !!!
Ego, a monster within you
that compel you to lag your race,
bringing tension and fostering darkness.
kill it, before it kills your goodness.
In devotion, a man sees God in everything
and everything within God,
He will never come to a bad end
who will see lotus in every mud.

In every shadow, there is a light,
In every tear, a smile.
Don’t sleep like stone
Petting your life.
God is time,
the great destroyer of the world
and is called as death.
Offering yourself to God
march ahead and ahead
up to your last breathe.  
And always keep in mind,
You stepped earth with your empty hand,
After death you will need only six feet land.
=================================
This poem is all about voice of god described in our holy & sacred book 'Bhagbad Gita’.

Details | God Poem |

Oh Jerusalem

Remember

Israel of three thousand years
expulsed at times
enslaved by the Romans
gassed by Europe
persecuted by Saudi-Arabia
murdered by Iran and Iraq
shackled by Egypt
attacked by Jordan
robbed by Syria
sold out by the UK
bombed by the IRA
slandered with spit by Turkish terrorists
sent to the Siberian gulags in Russia
comrades they are not
evicted from many many lands

Battles house by house
street by street
once friendly neighbors
each calling the other traitor
a bloody war where no side
would retreat
by prophecy they won

Wrestling God
the twelve tribes returned
to the land of the Israelites
to their promised land
from sand they made gardens
from the desert they grew grapes
where terror reigns they
made an oasis

Anti Zionism still slithers
belly dancers selling their deceptions
naked harlots forever spew latent hate
evil men whisper, dead jew, dead jew
sadly, uneducated views saturate
seductively selling their false peace
like a woman's second hand virginity

They only hate, and dream of blood
if only, if only we had another flood
Noah would leave them all at shore
harlots, by any other name are simply
the devils horses

Israel was
Israel is
Israel shall forever be
the Middle East's democracy
and graciously
the custodian of all of us
a religious trinity

Gods chosen
their glorious capital
Jerusalem!

Details | God Poem |

In Search

I am a character
In search of my author
Walking great distances in a circle
Wishing for a plot
Wanting a destination
Perhaps a soliloquy
Please fill my lips with your words

If you wish I will play the fool
You be my King
I am yours to rule

For too long
I have been without a script
From a confused heart my thoughts have dripped
Within your story I wish to be gripped

The Author of me
From whom I have roamed
Through your scriptures I will comb
Till I learn the lines that lead me home
As I study please capture my mind
Till within my spirit we are intertwined
Light from light no longer blind

You are the beginning and completion of me
Apart from you I cease to be
Thankyou, Thankyou for helping me see
The part of Your story written for me

Details | God Poem |

Sold

There is no difference,
the saints whisper and every enemy and ally
wake to forever’s difference,
that neither knee nor tongue will deny.

Doubt bit into Innocence and sold
the first coffins wrapped in pride.
Creation became a seed – a box filled twofold,
when under silt,  Eden died.

Secular tides engulf their last season
to bury God and Baal,
synthetic rainbows enlighten treason
fulfills the fool’s tale.

Escape suffering to bend
love to an abstract sum.
Detached absurdity when
a false bliss is done.

Not enough of Earth’s blood
to sustain paved veins,
a technological flood
of isotopes and labor pains.

Fiat economies root for
the drug and gun,
made the bomb’s core
hotter than the sun.

infusions of contraband’s revenue
numbs the inconvenience of sin.
A dream’s fence became headstones ensue,
declared wars we can’t afford to win.

Seeded skies less blue to breathe,
the incense of death and device,
ivory towers babel and seethe,
lies spoil the last grains of paradise.

One rich man though licked by the flame,
still sees Lazarus as a servant and to those
who tear Christ off the Cross to make him the same,
Judas still hangs in the shadows.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Written 10.28.16
Contest: Saints and Sinners
Sponsor: Silent One

Details | God Poem |

Human Hands

I was there
To usher you into this world
Mine were the hands that cradled your little body
The face that beamed in your presence
My hands were ready to catch you when you took those first steps
I celebrated your first words
Your smile spread across my lips

When others put you down
I was the friend who stayed by your side
You were never alone
My ears
My heart
They were filled with compassion
I held your hand during your darkest hour

Mine were the shoulders 
The ones strong enough to hold you
They lifted you above the deep waters
Helping you to see beyond your own borders
You realized 
You dreamed of new possibilities

My hands painted the pictures
I sang the songs
Built the buildings
Knitted the clothing that warmed you
Toiled in the fields
I was in even the smallest detail
You are that important to me

I was the teacher
The grandparent
Mom
Sometimes dad
The friend
Your wife
The stranger who came along beside you
The applause as you walked across life's stage
I was every encouraging word
I was
I am
The light 
The Love
The realization of who you are meant to be
I am your God
I chose to touch you with human hands

Details | God Poem |

Write My Life

When I first surrendered all to You
it wasn’t clear to me,
that You became the author;
my life, Your poetry.
The pages of my life were dark.
You made them snowy white.
And then with mastery and skill
You began to write.
Each day a different style and form
something fresh and new
always timely and spot on
and never overdue.

So Lord, what will it be today
that flows from Your ready pen
across this chapter of my life
that will be read by men?
Will it be a monorhyme
of how You came through for me just in time?
Perhaps it’s an ottava rima
in perfect pentameter
that tells how my love for You
has grown deeper and much sweeter.
It just might be a ballad
with a tender and touching refrain
of how I stumbled and faltered
but You picked me back up again.
Could there be a principle
that I really need to learn
which You’ll write upon my life
as a repetitive quatern?
Since the furtherance of Your kingdom
is Your holy and noble tactic
perhaps You’ll craft in me
a revelatory didactic.
Diamante, tanka, limerick, haiku,
Lord, the choice is up to You.
Of all poetic forms that be
You know what to engrave on me.
Free verse or even hexaverse diminished
Dear God, please write on until my story is finished.

4/26/17

I learned several years ago from a minister that preached at our church that the Greek word for workmanship in the verse below is “poiema”, from which our English word “poem” is derived. This was my inspiration for this poem.

Ephesians 2:10(KJV) For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them.

For we are His workmanship [His own master work, a work of art], created in Christ Jesus [reborn from above—spiritually transformed, renewed, ready to be used] for good works, which God prepared [for us] beforehand [taking paths which He set], so that we would walk in them [living the good life which He prearranged and made ready for us].Ephesians 2:10(Amplified Bible)

Details | God Poem |

THE WHEEL HAS COME FULL CIRCLE

What goes up must come down. 
No colors can define who you are. 
You may own a cart or limousine. 
We'll still reach the end when it is near. 
I may be poor today and eat from trash. 
Tomorrow, you can't tell. I'll earn some cash. 
The bed where you lie is soft and wide. 
I sleep at a sidewalk and the stars are my lamp. 
You wake up each morn' with a feast on your table 
While we are scavenging to fill stomachs when we're able. 
Our destiny isn't written in the stars. 
We work for a living to thrive in this life. 
Be thankful every morning you witness the sun 
And pray tonight that no one lives same as I. 
Wheels come in full circle,rolling round and round. 
Today you'll be on top, 
I am watching from the ground. 
Let us bear in our minds that we are better than birds. 
Our loving Father ensures each mouth is fed. 
Not even the smallest details can pass by His eyes. 
So plant a seed of kindness and reap a better life. 



sponsor:FRANK H.

name of 
contest: SHAKESPEARE

*5th Place winner

Details | God Poem |

Lonely Dreams

I never knew following dreams could be this lonely,
But up on the hill, looking back, thank God I'm not the old me.
If the tears will fall, let them be;
I believe this is God's plan, follow your dreams.

Details | God Poem |

No Greater Love

For God so loved this sinful world, He gave us all His son;
That we might live with Him one day, when life on Earth is done.
No greater love was ever known, no greater gift bestowed,
And for the love He sacrificed, no greater debt’s been owed.
 
The time was short for Jesus Christ, but what He gave mankind
To lift our hearts and save our souls has yet to be refined.
The grace and style in which He moved through politics and fools,
Has paved the way for paths we trod through worldly ways and rules.
 
His teachings spread throughout the land, His miracles renowned,
He only had to touch a life to show His love was sound.
Two thousand years have come and gone since Christ communed with man;
And with his dying saved us all, to serve God's ancient plan.
 
He rose from death, as He had said, and proved His word was true,
That life eternal waited those who choose to suffer through.
Salvation came that fateful day, the Bible tells us so;
And time has shown that through God’s love the weakest spirits grow.
 
Now, modern times are hard on us and cause us all to doubt,
For change is there at every turn, and Satan’s always out.
It’s now we need the love of God, for always, as before;
Just lift your heart and ask for it, and see what lays in store.
 
It’s through God’s love we handle change and how it makes us strong
In ways we deal with worldly things and sort the right from wrong.
For change is just another way the Lord sees fit to use
To make our days seem fresh and new with paths to take and choose.
 
It’s by our faith we live our lives and seek a brighter day,
And how we find the confidence when doubts get in the way.
But most of all it’s happiness that faith’s been known to give
When our misfortunes come to cloud these modern times we live.
 
We need not fear what God has wrought. We need not know His plan.
We only need to know He’s there, and love’s in store for man.
Just think the words you’d ask in prayer, and ere a sound be heard,
His perfect love will fill your heart before you’ve breathed a word.
 
No greater love was ever known, no greater gift bestowed,
And for the love He sacrificed, no greater debt’s been owed.
But God forgave our debt to Him, we live in grace today;
The greatest love you’ve ever known is just a breath away.

Details | God Poem |

Children of a Lesser God

I’m tired of knowing
That because of my race
Because of where I live
Because of my last name
I’m part of the band…
The children of a lesser God

I’m tired of knowing
That there is so much hate
That it can only escalate
Till someone presses the button
And we blow up in nuclear hate
All because
Some of us are children…
Children of a lesser God

First world 
Second world
Third world
Labels and degrees
Different ideologies
Religion no longer a balm
But something to cause harm
Human life of differing values
We mourn them differently
for some of them are children...
Children of a lesser God

How it must make God cry
When His children bleed and die
Unable to understand
That there is a grander plan
One of perfect harmony
In another place in time

He won’t be sitting at heaven’s gate
Asking for an ID
Or checking your nationality
He won’t see the color of your face
Or ask about your race
All He will want to know
Is if you let love grow
Did you live according to His will?
Did you try to relieve suffering and pain?
Were you the bandage of peace
that bound up the wounds of hate?

First, second, third world people
Are all children of one God
Though some may disagree
I ask you all to see
That we are all
Every single one of us...
Children of the Greatest God.

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Details | God Poem |

Color Me

Color me white, or color me black. Color
me brown, or color me red. Color me 
yellow, but color me to be just me.

Color me anyway you want. You are the 
artist, you know what to do, just capture 
my beauty and let it show through.

My beauty is not on the outside for everyone 
to see. My beauty comes from within and 
few people have seen.

Color me with the colors that you so much
love to use and when people see this painting,
they will see themselves in me.

The people will ask you - why did you put so
many colors on me and you will tell them - because
the beauty I did see.

The painting is now finished, the artist has done 
his job. A painting of many colors, that he is very 
proud of.

The colors bring beauty to the painting on the 
wall, but if we were all colored blind - we wouldn't
see any colors at all...

Copyright: written by
Lucilla M. Carrillo

Comments:

I wrote this poem because through out life 
I have seen a lot of injustice done, because
of who we are , or where we came from. We
did not choose to be who we are, or where
we came from. God chose that for us. I don't
think God made a mistake when He made us.
He had His reasons. We are who we are, that
can never be changed. We live in this world.
We are God's Race...

Details | God Poem |

YOU ARE GOD and I HAVE TO BELIEVE

YOU ARE GOD and I HAVE TO BELIEVE


My dear Father God above the heavens high
ever loving and ever faithful in loving me
even though, I am being sinful, stubborn,
and disobedient to follow Your call and will...

I am really sorry for the times I failed
but I surely want to ask, how do I know 
if the decisions I am pursuing are Your will?
How do I know that amidst deafening silence 

it is Your resilient but gentle voice I am hearing?
It's long while now that I was taught to pray
but to Your eyes, are my prayers correct?
Are you really listening intently to them?

Why at times You only answer me when all are black,
when all my plans are disrupted, unruly and crooked?
Why at times You are letting me wait, for hours,
days, weeks, months and even the length of a lifetime?

I humbly want to thank You for the roof o'er my head,
the food I am able to eat and enjoy in every meal,
the trials and tests You and I joined to pass,
the steady beating of my heart telling me:  I'm alive.

I adore You, each breath that passes from my lungs,
I want to thank You, honor You, praise and glorify You
but how do I know that I am doing these alright?
Is it enough that I simply attend a Church service?

And there I reply amen, sing or shout Your Holy Name?
Or I do better by loving sincerely other people?
I, sharing in loving- kindness the blessings 
You abundantly are raining down in my life...

Do I brush a smile or a laughter to Your cheeks
when I give alms to the poor? Or more when I offer
freely and wholeheartedly a hug, an embrace, an ear 
my time to someone who is afraid, lost, sick or sad?

Or most of my deeds result to I painting often a frown 
on You? Or worse I pierce Your big, big heart
when I don't even recognize Your goodness to me.
Oh forgive me, forgive me please Father God...

Scientists, religious persons and even my parents
have described You to me but when O when,
when will I ever have that chance to behold Your face?
When will I have some minutes to hold or touch You?

My heart and my spirit longs of Your gracious presence,
of Your awesome essence. I am overwhelmingly blessed
when in my everyday I am treated by others fairly. but--
are they the signs that will whisper: You are always with me?

From the perfumed air of budding roses or ripened fruits
to drumbeats of rain and prickly strikes of the sun
are they the ones You want me to feel, smell, and see
`cause they speak the beauty and love You have for me?

I believe and love You my Almighty Father God
but is this enough for me to be saved after death?
My being is happy that You came and spelled freedom 
and into my own hands lies the crucial choice

to either believe You or not. . .
___________________________________________________________

CONTEST NAME: ARE YOU THERE GOD
Contest Sponsor: Silent One
~~3rd Place~~

but to God be the Highest Glory!

~~POEM OF THE DAY - October 15, 2015~~
but to God be the Highest glory! 

Olive Eloisa D. Guillermo
11:04 am, October 14, 2015

Details | God Poem |

God's Kind of Poetry

An eagle finds the highest mountain to build its nest
And lays the first layer of nest with sharp objects
Such as thorns and stones for the unborn with zest
And next, covering that layer with soft targets,
Such as wood, feathers and the animal fur.
So as the baby birds are hatched, gets protection.
As they grew a bit, the mother eagle takes 
The nest materials and mixes them up.
The jumbled mass is now a mix of sharp and soft
And sometimes sharp edges may cut babies’ skin.
And next, the mother stops putting food 
From her mouth to the mouths of the babies.
Making their comfortable world into painful one.
The discomfort becomes so great for the babies
They begin to fly away to get out of the nest.

This analogy of God explains the value of pains.
We don’t seek god when happy and comfortable
We turn to him only in times of troubles.
God does whatever it takes help eagles fly
It’s a wake-up call to teach every one of us
Not too much indulge in physical comforts.
God removes the soft coverings to remind us
That this life is painful and full of sufferings
And its solution is to soar in spiritual realms.

                        +++
September 25, 2014
Form: Free Verse
Dr. Ram Mehta
First Place Win
Contest: God's kind of poetry by BriAN Johnston

Details | God Poem |

One Master

I signed a contract with the state
to use my body as they will.
My mind they did manipulate.
In the name of freedom, I would kill.

I never questioned right or wrong.
Obeyed all orders without thought.
I strove to be Army strong.
My loyalty and heart were bought.

The flag I served flew overhead.
My uniform bespoke my pride.
A true soldier born and bred,
I marched on while others died.

As time went on, before my eyes,
I saw a different point of view.
I prayed to God my soul baptize,
wash clean my sins, be born anew.

I threw down my master's glove.
I left the life of blood and sword.
My orders still come from above,
but now I serve the Lord.

July 5, 2015

Details | God Poem |

When Madness Rides on Moonlight

Days pass into the weakest of loveless nights. The moon blinks.
The stars swirl beneath the colored brush of Van Gogh. He links.
Comets trail snowfields of light pass agonized cypresses, schizophrenic concussion.
On and on, the wind twirls the trees and does not complain,
nor, does the cosmos cringe awaiting reciprocation.
Lightening bugs mimic the starlight, atoms sneer.

Those who spout love and friendship abandon him sneering.
Their images dance beneath his half closed lids, when he blinks.
Though denied visual compass, his soul does not reciprocate.
Through pain, physical and mental, palpable pain, he still links,
with the life which has both absorbed and excluded him not complaining.
Night passes without his mistress, Sien. His mind writhes, eternal concussion.

His torn visage trembles with the brass sounds the storm's ranting concussions.
The butcher, the baker the candlestick maker, derides and sneers. 
How unmerciful is this cycle, this God to whom he does not complain?
And, if indeed, lack of mercy is just, may he not know “Why?” Time blinks.
Just the act of thinking causes pain. Only painting connects him to the link.
He must accept both the pain and the art as gifts, choosing not to reciprocate.

Voices always the voices, the paint, the moon, the voices, reciprocate.
He chases the mice. The cheese, pewter plate and all, falls with concussion.
He rubs the backs of gnarled hands across his lids, maintaining the link. 
“How? Why?" But, the mice eating his cheese grimace and sneer.
Inside the cottage sunflowers shimmer and wiggle in vases, as he blinks.
Stumbling, he falls in an attempt to sit, the insubstantial chair does not complain.

He had thought God clear, clear as sunlight, yet the damn paint Lord! complained. 
He was Not God, and try as he would, the light escaped. He MUST reciprocate.
After all who was he, but a mere man, ashes to dust, life blinks.
“Ah death…le grand mal…no minor concussion,”
He must escape this mortal coil, join the celestial spin without their sneers.
Sick, he was sick, yes, sick to death of not being understood, no link.