Best Protestants Poems
.The first gift of Christmas was love
It was bestowed from above
It was given to all
to both rich and poor
to those who are strong
or who can easily fall
To dark,yellow,and white
To the ones less smart
or those who like first stars shine bright.
To muslims and catholics
buddhists and protestants
To believers and atheists
To the young and the old
To all humankind,to found and lost souls.
The first gift of christmas was love
It was bestowed from above
To those who show compassion
Forgiveness and their care
To those who receive blessings
and know the way to share
To those who look at others
with the warm eyes of a child
and to those who leave an empty space
for our little Jesus Christ.
The first gift of Christmas was love
It was bestowed from above
May We all search deeper
Of this gift be a keeper
May this love transmit joy
that kind of joy which last
That joy radiant on faces
That joy a heart embraces
That joy which comes to visit
and then remain with us.
Happy Christmas
to all my sweet friends
and your families
love you all
Charma.
The world is one big Pallette
full of mixed colours
mixed races,mixed cultures.
The world is full of different ideas
full of The Humble and The Intelligent,
How Beautiful in its own diversity is the world.
White is too pale
Black is too dark
mixed together,they re so sottile.
Rich is too selfish
Poor is too weak,
lets make this Planet
a Wise Men"s street,
where rich and poor together
make ends meet.
BUDDHISTS are so SPIRITUAL
MUSLIMS so RIGHT ,so JUST.
PROTESTANTS,CATHOLICS so LOVING,
together they shape the Best Rainbow,
the best of our motherland outcoming
How wonderful is our Planet!
we are in it but sometimes we don"t know IT.
Protestants,Catholics,Buddhists,Muslims
Black,White people ,mixed races,
all Human Beings Embraces
she"s Catholic ,he"s Muslim
they love one another
their child was born
so JUST !like the father
so LOVING! like the mother.
He"s rich,she"s poor
together they married
and they have it all
a child wise,intelligent as the father
kind ,humble as the mother
whatever your colour,your status,believes
you are most needed to continue are Family Trees.
The world is ONE BIG PALLETTE,full of colours
all important and unique
WHAT A LOVELY COLOURFUL WORLD-charma
At the joyful sunrise service on Easter morn
On the sands of Daytona Beach no lines are drawn
Worshipers from each Christian denomination
Gather in unison as one congregation
Protestants, Mormons and Catholics in pre-dawn haze
Chorus of voices offering hymns of great praise
As the sun rises here, just as God’s son rose then
For a moment in time, many faiths are brethren
When the first rays of light streak across the ocean
‘Neath glowing pink light, we celebrate Christ risen
Surely God smiles down as all believers embrace,
Celebrate the Resurrection, bask in His grace
Good will is conveyed as heartfelt pledges are made
That the love displayed on Easter will never fade
All are soulidified and take this vow seriously
Knowing Christ’s sacrifice heals all humanity
A GUNPOWDER PLOT
The 5th of November is a day to remember,
Children get excited from September,
The sound of fireworks reverberate,
And bonfires with effigies of a life like
Guy Fawkes commemorate
What might have been a very bad turn,
If Parliament was then to burn!
The origin of this story began on the 5th November
Sixteen hundred and five,
Beneath the houses of Parliament, Guy Fawkes,
The traitor was found, and so King James did survive.
Our traitor/hero was brought up in a
Family with an outward Protestant belief,
But the reality was that he was Catholic
And to this day is recorded on leaf!
However, Protestants and Catholics are still
Divided in their faith,
As to which side of the fence Guy Fawkes should haith!
Guy Fawkes sent a letter to a Catholic acquaintance,
To please not stay, and be far away,
On this planned explosive gun powder plot day!
But plans went awry, and this secret letter
Landed, in the lap of James the King,
Who sent his guards to go find this rebellious ring.
Guy Fawkes was found with six barrels of gunpowder, and
Immediately sentenced to be hung, drawn and quartered,
But this meant a death of real suffering, a miserable
Horrible fate of been slaughtered!
This for him was unthinkable, so he jumped from the
Gallows and broke his neck.
Young children are not told the gory
Side of this famous story,
For it would wreck
A child’s belief in this day, destroy their enjoyment
Of bonfires, fireworks and loads of fun,
And even recognized as a hero by some!
Argyle socks, kilts,
Scottish tartan scarves
and Knox — aye
Mary, Queen Mary
shall you marry Darnly
for love? Nay...
Torches, kilts and song.
Heather in hands, waving
but Knox knocks their merry
socks off, eccentrically calling
Mary, a Jezebel queen.
Stuart clings to her Catholicity,
as she permits worshipping
as Protestants — not good
enough for Knox. Of kilts and tales
told, no dancing, singing or drinking fold —
bearded and bold John rattles.
Knox’s mentor burned at the stake.
His ire, his hand raised, will not accept
the same fate, so he rains down hellfire.
Kilts and bagpipes, boots marching,
music playing. Aye, Mary Queen of Scotland
with drumsticks banging, the pretty thing
rules with her heart...loses her head.
3/22/2021
Julia Ward’s Scotland
sip your coffee and smoke cigar
you the ass holy and mob boss
catholic faith noth
protestants’ hybrid
St. John the Baptist spurious
True noises from outside
deep in the night of winter,
snow geese cadence call too
shake some sense of me.
Summon me to remember who I am,
Bid me to evoke who I was.
I see fire in the valley through the rain
and I stumble through the mist
too see what ghosts are there.
It’s where I cut my teeth
on tricks to deal with pain.
It’s where I danced in junkyard smoke
and I browned my hair.
City blocks in suburb woods was the day,
Greatest Generation with their pills and pay.
One or two stone’s throw from Europe
ran the blood, all the way from Bronx
and Brooklyn on the G.I. Bill.
We yelled songs and bloodied lips in summer mud,
we built forts, carried knives, fought for king of hill.
Collars blue and white and red as pools of blood.
sticks and stones will break your bones as the calling does.
We were free to paint our days.
We played in the slipstream, sang song
and danced in the marsh for the mallow.
We drank cream soda and smoked Pall Mall non filters.
We distrusted Protestants and hated Hitler.
We were rough neck hippies, hometown gypsies.
Tribal, we did not always play well with others.
In the year of the plague we crucified the frogs.
True noises from outside
in winter dawn,
snow geese timbre and rhyme too
shake some sense in me.
Striving to recall who I am,
trying to recollect who I was.
The familiar sound of gunshots
rings out in the dead of night,
As a sniper takes position in the
bushes out of sight,
Past my front door I hear the
sound of many marching feet,
As 2 Para make their presence
felt upon a Belfast street,
Gerry Adams does a hard days
graft 'n' then it's homeward
bound,
As a British soldier just
nineteen lays bleeding on the
ground,
Well he fought for queen 'n'
country so it comes as no
surprise,
As he draws his last
breath,says a prayer and there
a hero dies,
So many slain civilians(they're
just casualties of war,
Do the f*ckers even realise
what it is they're fighting for?
Or has the whole point of it got
lost in the mists of time?
The Ira take credit for their
latest deadly crime,
In a safe house miles from
nowhere there's three loyalists
lying dead,
One in a grave (he was buried
alive) and two with one straight
through the head,
But the score it was evened
before the cock crowed,three
catholic civilians were slain,
And there's rumours of
vengeance and fights to the
death and calls to keep calm
from Sinn Fein,
As politicians armed with pens
sit counting up lost lives,
The Ulster Paramilitary sit
sharpening their knives,
And loading slugs into the clip
of someone else's gun,
"Come on now lads there's dirty
deeds awaiting to be done"
In Londonderry,County Down,in
Belfast,Newry too,
The Catholics and the
Protestants keep Ireland torn in
two,
As our children grow in the
shadow of fear,
There's a stench of death and
bloodshed here,
So you with the power please
give us the chance,
To find a solution and finish the
dance,
Give Ireland back to the Irish
pleeaasssse!
Or bring the whole damned
nation crashing down to its
knees.
In a short time, you will be my executioner.
Your actions shall be considered a favor.
You say to me “Lady, please forgive me”.
I, Mary Stuart, am grateful for your sympathy.
You are putting me out of my misery.
It was purely by providential chance,
that I should rule both Scotland and France.
My first bout with misfortune was the scene
where my French king husband Francois died at sixteen.
I would return to my native Scotland right away.
I faced subjection by my half-brother Earl of Moray.
James Stewart and John Knox scorned my presence.
Peace between Protestants and Catholics found no permanence.
With this problem, I became heavily involved.
During my reign, practically nothing could be solved.
My cousin Elizabeth has been a thorn in my side.
Her disdain and disfavor she chooses not to hide.
Elizabeth proposed with blatant effrontery,
that I marry the Earl of Leicester, Robert Dudley.
Such a marriage would bring an English-Scottish alliance.
I would have been a fool to submit to compliance.
My marriage to my cousin was out of defiance.
I thought I could love Henry, Lord Darnley.
However, Henry’s actions became a liability.
He helped kill one of the noblest men I would know.
Scottish Lords conspired to murder David Rizzio.
During my reign, troubles compounded all the while.
Soon I found myself a ruler without a nation.
Adversaries forced me to agree to abdication.
I would be placed into imprisonment during exile.
My involvement in the Babington Plot is the reason
why I am being executed for high treason.
Please let your blow be both swift and clean.
It shall release me from this ignominious scene.
I wanted England and Scotland to live in harmony.
May I be remembered this way throughout history.
Mary's son, James VI of Scotland eventually became King James I of a united England and Scotland.
The familiar sound of gunshots rings out in the dead of night,as a sniper takes position in the bushes out of sight,
Past my front door I hear the sound of many marching feet,as II Para make thier presence felt upon a Belfast street,
Gerry Adams does a hard days graft and then it's homeward bound,as a British soldier just nineteen lays wounded on the ground,
Well he fought for Queen and country so it comes as no surprise,as he drew his last breath,said a prayer and there a hero dies,
So many slain civilians there just casualties of war,do these people even realise what it is they're fighting for?
Or has the whole point of it got lost in the mists of time,the I.R.A take credit for thier latest deadly crime,
In a safe-house miles from nowhere ther's three loyalists lying dead,one in a grave[he was buried alive]and two with one straight through the head,
But the score it was evened before the cock crowed three Catholic civilians were slain,and there's rumours of vengence and fights to the death and calls to keep calm from Sinn Fein,
As politicians armed with pens sit counting up lost lives,the Ulster Paramilitary sit sharpening thier knives,
And loading slugs into the clip of someone elses gun,cpme on now lads there's dirty deeds awaitin to be done,
In Londonderry,County Down,in Belfast,newry too,the catholics and the protestants keep Ireland torn into,
as our children grow up in the shadow of fear,there's a stench of death and bloodshen here,
So you with the power to give us a chance,let's find a solution and finish the dance,
give Ireland back to the Irish....please,or bring the whole damned nation crashing down to its knees.
The
familiar
sound
of
gunshots
rings
out
in
the
dead
of
night,as
a
sniper
takes
position
in
the
bushes
outta
sight,
Past
my
front
door
I
hear
the
sound
of
many
marching
feet,as
II
Para
make
their
presence
felt
upon
a
Belfast
street,
Gerry
Adams
does
a
hard
days
graft
and
then
its
homeward
bound,as
a
British
soldier
just
nineteen
lays
bleeding
on
the
ground,
Well
he
fought
for
Queen
and
country
so
it
comes
as
no
surprise,as
he
draws
his
last
breath,says
a
prayer
and
there
a
hero
dies,
So
many
slain
civilians
they're
just
casualties
of
war,do
the
f*ckers
even
realise
what
it
is
they're
fighting
for?
Or
has
the
whole
point
of
it
got
lost
in
the
mists
of
time,the
I'R'A
take
credit
for
their
latest
deadly
crime,
In
a
safehouse
miles
from
nowhere
there's
three
loyalists
lying
dead,one
in
a
grave
(he
was
buried
alive)and
two
with
one
straight
through
the
head,
But
the
score
it
was
even
before
the
cock
crowed,three
Catholic
civilians
were
slain,
And
there's
rumours
of
vengence
and
fights
to
the
death,and
calls
to
keep
calm
from
Sinn
Fein,
As
politicians
armed
with
pens
sit
counting
up
lost
lives,the
Ulster
Paramilitary
sit
sharpening
their
knives,
And
loading
slugs
into
the
clip
of
some
dead
soldiers
gun,"Come
on
now
lads
there's
dirty
deeds
still
waiting
to
be
done,
In
Londonderry,County
Down,in
Belfast,Newry
too,the
Catholics
and
the
protestants
keep
Ireland
torn
in
two,
As
children
grow
up
in
the
shadow
of
fear,there's
a
stench
of
death
and
bloodshed
here,
So
you
with
the
power
to
give
us
the
chance,lets
find
a
solution
and
finish
the
dance,
Give
Ireland
back
to
the
Irish...please!
or
bring
the
whole
damned
nation
crashing
down
to
its
knees.
Catholics and Protestants unite
it's time to join the fight
as we march on toward that light !
It's our job to question the mob ,
as we march on toward that light !
They think it's a game
to dish us the same,
it's our job to question the mob,
as we march on toward that light !
COPYRIGHT MCCUEN 2009
The word "cross" reminds me of last evening.
Thirty five men assembled in a choir.
Coming together from along a river valley.
The Finn Valley Men's choir.
No ordinary get together this.
A peace initiative funded by
powers that be in Europe.
Cross border and cross religion.
Protestants and Catholics.
Centuries of division not cast aside
but soothed in song. So fine to
see them all in tune, no way to know
in which church they were baptised.
All God's creatures.
My ears hath heard the sweet music Of a New Orleans jug band,
Whose sound can only compete with that of a sonorous slave spiritual
I hear one now
I hear people now
I hear people marching because they've had enough ,
Because Emmet Till was enough ,
Because love and faith is enough ,
Because the fact that they are human beings with hearts, souls and brains is enough
Walking straight through the Seven Hells of the place known as Selma ,
Soldiers entering battle with righteousness as their only weapon(59 words SF)
They stop marching, but I walk onward
My eyes hath seen mountains that penetrate heaven, brushing up against planets
They're filled with miners
And farmers,
Poor Irish Protestants who don't want nothing from no one nohow (28 words SF)
I dance with them,
Play the fiddle in Nashville
Rocky Top doesn't exist, but you want to live there don't you? (50 words SF)
I hitched a ride on a titanic black horse ,
Until it galloped me to Kentucky
And I took creative writing lessons from Robert Penn Warren
Jumped like a jack rabbit,
I Caught the train back to Birmingham,
I was made aware that Yelawolf was a fellow wayfarer, (23 words SF)
He was headed home to Gadsden,
Trying to see our God Vulcan on the way there,
Rapped on the way,
With Pimp C and UGK,
But decided I'd head home on another day,
Cause one day you're here,
Next day you're gone
One day you're off and one day you're on
Hitch hiked to pretty Charleston,
And before I camped on an island,
I took the rebel flag and used it as fuel,
So I could have a barbecue
Form:
The masters of buzz words
used to instill fear
Clutching their pearls saying
“liberals take what’s dear”
Right wingers with their
inescapable nexus
Says its liberals insistent
political correctness
If the “Woke” amplified the
so called cancel culture
The extreme right has weaponized
it for years like vultures
Confining the first amendment,
to burn books and ban,
Limits free speech, squelches
protests, circumscribed all they can
As always it’s the least entitled
to complain the loudest
Claiming they are right and
most patriotic proudest
Canceling or firing those who’s
views don’t meet theirs
Every problem they will
say is the left’s affairs
Not a day goes by that they
don’t say the left will cancel you
Reminiscent of “Stalin”
they seem to take their cue
Conservatives need to breathe
and mind their own house
Take notice what it is that
they themselves shout
Liberals are rising to defend
old-fashion tolerance
Not sitting around trying
to show dominance
Like the illiberal witch burning
preformed by the Protestants
While screaming the loudest
how liberals are communist
Ben Shapiro claims cancel
culture is a left wing invention
When they’ve been doing
it thru history with cancel tension
Canceling those who defied
any of their moral strictures
In living memory, I can show
proof with mental pictures
Colin Kaepernick , Dixie chicks, Nikole
Hannah-Jones, critical race theory and more
The kings and queens of
canceling calling liberals whores
Honestly can’t we all just get along,
stop being so damn righteous
Realize that everyone right
or left we are in crisis
Lets keep it real Liberals are
not without fault of their own
Why can’t we all not practice
what we preach and showing