Best Hallelujahs Poems
you are my air… and I,
the blazing breeze
before the sphinx silence,
stretching beyond
the thunder-struck touch
of perplexed thoughts
as soul whispers in warm waves
letting go of stained stars
~ trace me like
I’m a decaying dandelion trap ~
look into the fixated flames
within these sunset eyes,
O defenseless divinity
my lips quiver in quintessence
to devour the bottomless depth
of your designed devotion ~
the sanctified slivers
of the rising dawn ~
your aura of aromatic aesthetics
carved too captivatingly
to be conquered
as my curved catharsis,
a clandestine curation
no color could recreate ...
I feel the night tighten
within your pensive veins
passively pressed
and paralyzed
amidst the perfumed pulse
of my passionate k i s s
so allow the hallelujahs
of this hyacinth heart
erase erratic remnants of doubt
clouding the clarity
of our conversed confessions
we’ve held
like secret 3 a.m. scars
for I will lead
you and your dusk
to the magnetic light
where language of longing
does not taste
like lament
nor love is phrased
with rhymes of bleeding
thorns and thistles
but becomes a hallowed prophecy
of a kinetic kismet
knitted with bewitching bliss
a gravitational grey
emanating the
despair within
fleeting seconds
as I am risking ~ tripping
everything and anything
to be your eternal mirror
musing ... succumbing ... sinking
the paradise ....burning
for
your timeless pull...
*inspired by the art ; The kiss of the Sphinx, Franz Von Stuck
tonight …I’ll romance scented silence
as dusk kisses the heart of harlequin horizon~
dripping memories ~ in cacophonous clemency…
but to feel the finesse flames of love,
illuminating the trembling tip of a sizzling skyline,
I’ll draw a smoky stairway to the stars;
an ambience of garnet granules… shifting, in crooning colors…
for between the rising sighs of the sun
and the setting eyes of the moon ~ farewells float;
like ineffable verses frozen in timeless rhythm..
I ponder, is the sky a gloaming mirror of eternal footprints,
unveiling hallelujahs of heartbeats in heaven?
as I still hear your song, paused on repeat, in our favorite chorus…
~ perhaps I am a word dreamer ~
saturated in weeping winds;
trembling from poetic fever
jolted by twilight tremors
bursting forth acrylic dews
in pigments of pensive blue…
I wanted to love myself
But couldn't get past my reflection
or the recollection
of all my imperfections
It was so much easier
to turn my back on myself
and go in a different direction
So I poured out myself to others
by giving what little I had to them
I did it over and over again
Singing their hallelujahs and amens
Nothing was real
they weren't really my friends
It's tough to find my lovable
looking through my distorted lens
One day I looked inward
past the constructed facade
Found my true self
a lovable child of God
Now I'm fine with imperfect
It's okay to be flawed
It doesn't even matter
If others think I am odd
The ones who truly know me
celebrate and applaud
They don't expect me
to be a certain way
or within a box to lay
They see past my clinging to yesterday
and the silly pretend role I used to play
The past is the past
not a place I was meant to stay
Thank God He helped me
to throw my false self away!
Now with thankful heart
I've learned how to pray.
This transformation took place back in my early twenties. Thankfully it made life a whole lot more interesting.
I was inspired to write this after reading my friend Eileen Manassian's poem "I Resolve"
I therefore dedicate this piece to her.
He was howling at the moon,
it was mid June's heyday, she
was naive beyond reproach
her innocently lit chiaroscuro
made him hunger all the more,
til one day she let down her guard
'neath an impatient violaceous sky
drinking effervescently blissed wine
kissed him with rosé blushed lips
But his instincts betrayed him,
devouring the petite blossom
of her youth, teeth bared,
eyes glaring crimson, her stardust smile
no deterrent, appetite’s salacious intent,
stomach growling nocturnal desires,
claws scarring milk-paint skin
till groans released vibrations
felt ‘pon shadowed earth
shattering movements
ground-breaking momentum
sent horizons a' rocking
motioning to constellations
as they synchronously liquefied
tilting universes' on their axis
a little death's furtherance
uttering god's hallelujahs
lit beyond obscure sighs
Now two silhouettes,
midst harmonious moaning
echo upon auras' illusions
cresting lofty hilltops
can be seen this night and all others
when the skies turn dark
and celestial bodies' tumult
simultaneously ignite thunder,
diffusing smatterings' explicit
flight surrendered furthermost
heart-stricken otherworldly lovers
'Collaboration ~ Chris Green & Paloma'
Oh, Burdock! Let me see spring's fuchsia
Against sapphire skies touched with clouds bistre
Let ivory raindrops flow from clouds lackluster
To nurture emerald hallelujahs
Let thy fuchsia slowly fade turn to a ball
An emerald ball filled with seeds, ideas
Ideas vermillion, spicy mixed strias
Ready to release come amber of fall
When lilac blooms the awesome althea
Let bistre seed spill upon the ripe earth
Love as warm as ginger will it soon birth
The fall of life our love's panacea
Our spring's fuchsia turned into emerald
Silver winter turned soft rose petal gentle
Sonnet attempted to be written in Romanticism style..
Sponsor: Silent One
Written: March 15, 2016
Colors Used:
Yellow: amber
Blue: sapphire
Red: vermillion
White: Ivory
Purple: Lilac
Green: Emerald
Black/brown: Bistre
Pink: Fuchsia
Orange: Ginger
Gray: Silver
Hallelujahs
Everlastingly!
All knowing God
Rewards faithful souls.
Omnipotent forgiveness is given.
Sin is deleted from God’s “Little Black Book.”
Easter celebrates innocence; Jesus arose from the dead.
WITH A GENTLE HAND (MYSTIC)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
No stained glass, just a quiet sanctuary~
her hands, a cathedral of skin and bones.
Eyes closed, fingers laced together, a fragile turret~
her hands pointing towards heaven.
With her gentle hands, she silently prays~
a silent language spoken to the Unseen.
Her knuckles, beads on the rosary of faith~
the soft curve of her hands saying surrender.
In her private convent, a connection is formed ~
effervescence flows; tranquility descends upon her spirit.
The heavy burden of suffering is brief~
given over to a higher source.
Her prayers acknowledge something greater~
an admission of need, a submission humble.
No grandiose ‘hallelujahs’ or declarations~
only murmuring of hope, held in her tender hands.
The Most High way, Abba Father,
your hands are full, always a-bless,
never ending- your palms of grace.
You are love…ing in a pow-er-ful way!
Hallelujahs forever born.
The light of sun, of color’s mirth.
The apt applause t’ward great I Am.
You are joy-ful, in a pow-er-ful way!
Heart’s rest, presence so calm - your wings
wrap around me, keep me so warm.
Your lullaby - a smile and hug.
You are so peace-ful, in a pow-er-ful way!
Til last minute, you cajoled them.
Ones that made it - happy and free.
Seeds’ elated…none belated.
You are so pa-tient, in a powerful way!
Milk and honey, sweeter the vine.
Filling coffer, eternal goods.
Every breath sets the table.
You are so ki-i-nd, in a pow-er-ful way!
Mercy, forgiveness, of His blood,
His heart a-glow in Father’s glance.
We wear Christ’s righteousness - a gift.
You are so goo-oo-ood, in a pow-er-ful way!
Your eye on our time and our space.
Each hair on our heads, you’ve counted,
and the cost was all worth it, Lord.
You are faith-ful, in a pow-er-ful way!
The palms of your hands were hammered.
Your heart was broken, your crown pierced.
Blood, sweat and tears in flawless pain.
You are gent-le, in a pow-er-ful way!
We are selfish, greedy, flesh-born.
Out for ourselves, but you O Lord
stretched out on the cross, gave your all.
You’re self re-strained, in a pow-er-ful way!
12/2/2022
Now the works of the flesh are obvious…But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.*
Proclaiming the word:
I belong to Jesus Christ.
My flesh is crucified
with its passions and pleasures
I keep in step with the Spirit,
not conceited
not provoking
not envying*
*Galatians 5 CSB
to proclaim your love
in the morning
and your faithfulness
at night
to the music of
the ten-stringed lyre
and the melody
of the harp
— Psalm 92:2 NIV
Light of lights
O Sunday morning,
steeped in faithful light,
we’ve sprung out of bed
to delight
to soak
in the melody of birds,
their harmonious call
to all who’d sacrifice sleep
and bathe,
and get in cars —
fellowship in adoration
of our Lord.
the music men
have faithfully practiced
on ready,
on time
for this sprung ahead lark —
like the breathing of Adam,
Hallelujahs in plenipotentiary seed.
last night and tonight,
will disperse the Spirit’s wind,
but for me
tis but morning,
the glory of dayspring song.
the dawn
the dawn
that lights the vigilant candle.
music, melody,
lyre & harp,
tambourines —
like the ringing of a bell.
the alarm alerts
my feet to go,
not too solemn slow
but in passionate procession.
we, the candles flicker
as we move in and out
of a building, not the church,
for that is us
that is us.
and as we love, because He loved us first,
the golden flames touch
hearts — may
it be deep to those who sleep.
awaken the body
and trust Him to lead
follow the Light of lights.
“Good Sunday Morning”
3/8/2020
Christ the Lord was crucified,
He was nailed to a rough hewn cross.
Ridiculed by those He came to save,
Innocent man paid the ultimate cost.
Shedding His blood to pay for our sin - He died.
Three days later He rose from the grave - Alive!
Inconceivable, indescribable, miraculous event.
Son of God, Savior, God's greatest gift!
Rejoice in the Lord! All praise to our King!
In pure adulation let Hallelujahs ring!
Shout to the Lord! He has conquered the grave!
Evermore He's alive - Believe and He'll save.
New life in Jesus is available today!.
3/30/13
Happy Easter!
Melissa Lont
1825 - 1911
How does one as low and humble as I
Sum up my life of 86 years
In a mere poem as brief and short-lived
As life itself?
And what is the secret to my long life?
What do I know that you, my friend,
Would like to know
About success and survival?
About good health and good luck?
My answer is this:
Do not complain and do not explain! Never!
And as for being married all those years to Doctor Lont?
Well, truth be known, like Hera,
I knew of my husband’s infidelities.
But I also knew to look the other way
And pretend to not see or know!
I admired Ida Kincaid for her sacrifices to maternity.
But I loathed Ida Kincaid for her matrimonial mendacity.
At her funeral in June of 1903
I aloofly stood across the way
There on dusty Broadway Street
Under the bulbous blue jacarandas
Screaming hallelujahs!
As Mr. White lowered her cream-colored coffin into the Netherworld!
And when Doctor Lont, my husband of 41 years, died of the consumption,
I did not cry nary a tear!
Why should I have?
Now I too am resting within this hard ground next to him.
Next to the man, my man in perpetual suspenders from Springfield,
My man who never ceased being a boy.
Accordin' to my totally unbiased and very detailed research,
Jerimiah Flood pastored the Happy Valley Baptist Church.
From the pulpit he flailed his arms as if fightin' a hive of bees,
Elicitin' "Hallelujahs" and bringin' sinners fallin' to their knees!
His boomin' voice disturbed the peace of those who chose to sleep.
Interminable two-hour sermons were tolerated by his faithful flock of sheep.
He preached hellfire and damnation and the dire results of sin.
He was a'gin any form of gamblin' or dancin' and drinkin' moonshine gin!
An all-day meetin' with dinner on the grounds was an annual tradition,
A time to repent for sins of commission and omission in order to avoid perdition!
Dinner was held under the spreadin' sycamores if the weather allowed.
A half-hour blessin' by Jerimiah was normal as hungry stomachs growled!
Tables groaned 'neath heaps of fried chicken, baked beans and pertaters,
Green bean casseroles and garden fresh stuff includin' beefsteak termaters.
Most disturbin' and unknown to the reverend, there was a little tad of booze,
Snuck into the gatherin' and surreptitiously shared by old Deacon Hughes!
Pastor Flood served the faithful congregation for nigh on forty years,
Baptisin', marryin' and buryin' through many happy times and tears.
Oh, I failed to mention Sister Lois, ancient organist and director of the choir.
Her tea was spiked and she became so inebriated she was invited to retire!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
In my Father's house are many rooms,
One for every true believer,
God is no deceiver,
What He says is true.
In my Father's house is love in abundance,
No more loneliness or sorrow,
No more worries about tomorrow,
His love will never end.
In my Father's house all will be made new,
No more sickness, aches and pains,
Death no more shall reign,
And we shall live forever.
In my Father's house we will feast at His table,
No more hunger will there be,
As we receive from God's bounty,
And we will drink new wine.
In my Father's house we will worship God forever,
With the angels we will sing,
Hallelujahs to our King,
For all eternity.
9/30/13
An arthritic flesh
Hesitant wipes off deteriorated lens
Every exhale,
Another tragic sulk unto morrow’s pit
Flaunting suicidal fallacies
Off-white flag motions
Signaling mercy under liar’s duress
Muted pride
Cracking dusty knuckles
Penetration’s decrepit vowel
Slipping in between faulty, stamped licenses
Just to belong
Another back-handed waltz
Bordering beggar dialects
Untrue
Towards paradoxical epiphanies
A faceless identity
Converging amongst unwelcomed hymns
Tainting hallelujahs with discolored spit
Worming their decapitated fingertips
With equilibrium massages
Back to a barricaded oasis
Deciphers from a slanderous heretic
Proclamation of syllabic want
As arthritic flesh
Scribbles out expendable nickname
Manipulating good intentions to be sadistically validated
From their rendered nether
Nameless never inscribed a verse to call their own
Struggling to swim
In the rivers they cried
©Drake J. Eszes
"Nightmares Before Christmas"
Christmas is here
ahead of time
as always
and you are
the song in
my heart
forever
wassailing
more than hallelujahs
with the ghosts
of Christmas Past
unwrapping words
decorations
of the future sparkling
extracted like magic
carols
from a stand alone
music box
nightmares
before Christmas
like snowflakes melt
green grass of home
grows again
after the frost
love and good cheer
wakes naked again
over second take mistakes
worn
warm
as a Reindeer's pelt
smiles then laughs
after all
the wassailing
Christmas,
again,
is eventually felt
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)