Best Puritan Poems
A lone candle light in the abyss of darkness
Yet words are woven in creations of your smile,
The sweetest words are those not said intense timeless
When in your embrace one melts to your unique style.
Your flame renewed kindle in sweet resurrection
Emerald eyes that glow in lust of perfection,
Can but dowse puritan thoughts with insurrection
Rebellion is kindled in this new affection
Fires of passion the candle lit the abyss
To burn forever more in the flame of true love
To melt in your arms with the promise of a kiss
The iron hand now firmly in the velvet glove
Love like this has never before been given birth
My life my love this is your awakened loving worth
© Harry J Horsman & Mandy Tams 2013
This poem is based on Mythology
She sits above all her domain
an affaire is her delight.
Her love of life you understand:
to keep the reins in tight.
She rules her realm, all fairy land.
Dark man dotes on his queen,
to fetch her tea, or raise his hand
merely to help her preen.
A strong black steed he often rides
into the land of man;
to bring the one of her desire
to her in fairy land.
He rides in haste with one intent
with just one thought in mind;
to get to where he wants to go,
find who he wants to find.
He never speaks, yet in command
no one can disobey.
The one intended mounts behind,
they soon are on their way.
Dark man explains, the man can’t tell
secrets exposed to him.
Or boast of powers he may gain,
not now, or future dim.
For should he fail and break his word,
Dark Man will make him beg.
Will take his eye with fairy sight
or wither arm or leg.
The fairy queen, no gossip wants.
Discretion is her key.
To guard her puritan “delight”
what has to be will be.
© Oct 13, 2011 Charles Henderson
For Deb’s Creepy Irish Creatures contest
placed 2nd in the contest
A glacier like a cowboy sat
Upon the foothills. And just like that
The climate changed from hope
To glad. And just like that a bar of soap
Was drawn from the rhinestone-clad holster.
With pink and orange stones it did stir
The emotions pride and reverence
But didn’t make sense
With its raven claw and bunny paw.
That type of injustice should be against the law.
To bathe with soap upon the skin
With water warm and a glass of gin,
Made cold with glacial ice, those are nice
Experiences to have. And then to roll the dice
Into the saloon and pollute the soul
With games of chance. Such a toll
Does pleasure take upon the Puritan
[for those believers, anyway]. A ban
Would ameliorate, if self-imposed.
Unfeeling cowboys are never so disposed.
Please let me speak about the heart
indeed the heart of all our aches
where our problems are to be found
so important to know for our sakes
God clearly wants us to know self-control
with His wisdom to exercise His will
for without self-control, one's left broken
helpless and hopeless just being still
Imagine a man with no self-control
like a city broken without any wall
open to every wind of teaching
allowing sin to have the last call
Learn well the words of John Owen
the great English puritan in the past
'be killing sin' for its a poison
to damage your soul to the last
So deal with your sin
or, 'sin will be killing you'
wise words that need obeyed
coming to God saying I do
('Be killing sin or sin will be killing you' - John Owen, English puritan minister (1616-1683)
"A man without self-control
is like a city broken into and left without walls")
Proverbs 25: 28 (ESV).
(A Cento Poem) Title from Emily Dickinson
When swords were bright and steeds were prancing Miniver Cheevy
and the fire-wood glowed knife-edge Hart Crane
too burning and too quick to hold; Sara Teasdale
I saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge, Ezra Pound
like the vagrant ghost of winter Hart Crane
and the smell of red clay after rain. Langston Hughes
My face burned and tickled with cobwebs Robert Frost
and my window looked upon the lane. Phyllis McGinley
Cliff took two glasses and filled one with wine Edward Arlington Robinson
for Maggie and Millie and Mollie and May. E. E. Cummings
Now the spoiler has come; does it care? Robinson Jeffer
We saw him, or thought we saw him, dim and gray. Robert Frost
I can hear them sing the tune without words, Emily Dickinson
and I can see them dance like a foggy song Stephen Vincent Benet
while I grow mad with gazing Amy Lovell
only to light a passion, blazing strong. May Sarton
It takes life to love life Edgar Lee Masters
down to the Puritan marrow of my bones, Elinor Wylie
in burnt out ends of smoky days T. S. Eliot
when blue plums lie open to boat-tail cones. Elinor Wylie
Alone candle light in the abyss of darkness
Yet words are woven in creations of your smile,
The sweetest words are those not said intense timeless
When in your embrace one melts to your unique style.
Your flame renewed kindle in sweet resurrection
Emerald eyes that glow in lust of perfection,
Can but dowse puritan thoughts with insurrection
Rebellion is kindled in this new affection
Fires of passion the candle lit the abyss
To burn forever more in the flame of true love
To melt in your arms with the promise of a kiss
The iron hand now firmly in the velvet glove
Love like this has never before been given birth
My life my love this is your awakened loving worth
Collaboration Between © Mandy Tams & ©Harry J Horsman 29/04/2013
By Then It Be To Late
By Roy Merritt
I suppose it isn’t just people subject to intoxication
If your citizens all taking toxins apt be your nation
How eager a man be to martyr himself for a fool
How easy he lose his morals how easy he be cruel
It could never happen here that’s what I read
At least that’s what the title of Lewis’s book said
But indeed it did a huckster came to power
And led the nation from its principals turned them bitter, sour
H. L. Mencken said it best his words befitting of the times
His opinion of the common man how Mencken him defined
Democracy but a theory the common know his desire
And deserve it good and hard and never to retire
For no man ever went broke that underestimate
The taste of the average man his wont of crude debate
And though full of Puritan lust a fear haunts him long
That some be enjoying his life, family, love and home
Of course they not his words I merely paraphrase
But I think Mencken excuse me if he about these days
Give me some courtesy the benefit of the doubt
I essentially said the same thing he was on about
So lets see what we’ve got after four years of deception
Whether we sober up and develop some true perception
Whether we like many nations recent, in the past
And succumbed to tyranny fall victim to bombast
Many in times of pain when in depths of despair
Will fall for a fool's words and follow him anywhere
Will follow everywhere follow him to their doom
Will follow a lunatic who promise to end their gloom
They’ll follow him down the road follow to the abyss
And none along the way realize something be amiss
We love our leader they declare as poison they imbibe
And drink they will like Socrates the potion of suicide
Oh this hemlock simply fine it does me persuade
And I’ll enjoy every drop of it even unto the grave
But once beneath the ground and he has sealed his fate
He has no chance to recover his senses by then it be to late
(Victorian artist William Holman Hunt was
both attracted and repelled by his models)
Can we agree that, terrified of sex,
Hunt couldn’t help but hunt it, seek it out?
There doesn’t seem to be a shred of doubt.
He felt his women exercised some hex,
conspiracy throughout the lower decks,
full frontal on his Puritan redoubt!
He hated what he couldn’t live without
(the only punter in the multiplex).
And Annie, Fanny, Edith – on they came,
alluring, curing, reassuring, fey,
and Hunt (who fastened fast on blame and shame)
was racked by guilt and had to run away.
Another mantis, but the same old prey,
(mixed metaphor) Hunt headed for the flame.
London,
I can taste the cherries
rich red ripe
aching
for a predictive bite
savoured with much more than spice
warm mouths connect
and erect
in communion
in faith
consuming the richness of fate
but alas
It is too far off
my patience reclines
supine
my breath wafts through the air
enplaned upon your scent
chained to your walls
forbade to move at all
but I must
musk mystifies the wild
the deep
the prowl
the forest lay dark
but I shine light on the macabre
sacrosanct as it shall be
I am the power to be
an elixir in the entails of lust
held cross'd the chalice
where your waters are my wine
I drunk
and you the alter of attention
I can taste the cherries
in your Puritan pulse
pulling
I wander about
the mountains, the glory
my chains become yours
the locks not really locks
keys forged in trust
the fires rage and rage
water droplets seduce your chest
I stand in awe
undressed
'Tis said that the first Thanksgiving feast was celebrated in sixteen twenty-one.
'Twas the Pilgrims' first bountiful harvest so they decided to have some fun!
(That was the genesis of church potlucks that are popular to this very day,
And the origin of that American addiction, the all-you-can-stuff-ten-buck buffet!)
They invited Indian friends but with wary eye kept their blunderbusses handy,
In case the guests and their squaws might become sozzled with too much brandy!
The Injuns brought canoes full of maize, deer and fishes from Cape Cod Bay.
(Puritan ladies shyly tittered at the breechcloths worn by braves on that day!)
The Pilgrims had diligently tilled God's good earth to grow vittles for the feast,
And prowled forest and waterway on the hunt for fowl and four-footed beast!
Tables groaned with grub - the menu would've done the Waldorf-Astoria proud.
There was little talk 'cept for an occasional "pass the salt" from that ravenous crowd!
There were apple, peach and punkin pies and heaps of smoked and roasted turkey.
Also, fiery brandy, cider, barbequed beef, lima beans and piles of venison jerky!
Succotash, sweet pertaters, peas and turnips were heaped on pewter plates.
Gluttonous souls were heard to groan and appeared to be in desperate straits!
Missing was the dreaded green bean casserole that hadn't been concocted yet,
Since Campbell's mushroom soup, an essential ingredient, they could not get!
'Twas on that notable day that the strutting and hapless turkey made its debut!
(Oft I've mused - did the Palefaces and the Redskins play a football game too?)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
A Puritan Seizes a Book of Satan
By Elton Camp
In his church great evil does abound
A wicked book the reverend has found
It belonged to his church’s worst reprobate
Such an evil tome the reverend does hate
Lest the whole church risk the Divine ire,
He is determined to throw it into the fire
“Consuming fire doth purge sins away”
Is one of the pious things he loves to say
But its devilish origin he must truly ascertain
So with him for a time, the book must remain
So as the book he commences to carefully read
His wildest fears he finds it doth far exceed
That such words can appear on the printed page
Throws the pastor into the most violent rage
But what the outcome of the story will be
The righteous puritan is quite eager to see
There’s no doubt such filth must be destroyed
But with his carnal nature the preacher has toyed
And he continues to read with unbounded delight
Though careful to do it only under cover of night
Pomposity
Arrogance and ego are hazards that lead us astray.
Jealousy will tarnish your blessings when allowed to stay.
Center your pain, adapt and overcome for relief.
Passing judgement is deplorable, that’s just my belief.
A smug puritan will point their finger and berate.
We should never blame others for the reality we create.
Discretion is for all, understand and learn.
When frolicking in the flame, beware of the burn.
We can write whatever we choose, ramifications abound.
Sanctions, however, can be bequeathed when blasphemy is found.
Some will praise God, seeking attention for their glass shelves.
Unfortunately, the self-righteous just seek praise for themselves.
I think every poet on this site has talent with their words that glisten.
Insults and palsied stones are understood by many, just read and listen.
Embitterment will ensue when foul scents become thick.
Karma can strike with a vengeance, it’s time to put down the stick.
THE SECOND FALL!
Angels of lightening kneeled before Him flashing, “Everything is over!”
His look cast cusp of Cosmos, thundering across the change-over;
Adam in guilt hid his soul in Tree of life; Eve behind him hid her face;
Only Lucifer under the Knowledge Tree showed his face.
“Look!” Heavenly Atoms daunted as the Sundown morn
In fumes and fogs waned into night with moods of mourn;
“Alas! Alas! The creatures of clay with His breathing image,
In unbridled pursuit to conquer the cosmos ‘ve done this damage.”
Mountains lay scattered as dust over woods and land,
Oceans lay hidden inside heaps of mud and dunes of sand.
Life became a whispered secret of the extinct universe,
Read in classes only by cosmic cherubim, only in divine verse.
“Adam braced to conquer genetic mystery and lost Eden in fleeting coital ecstasy,
“His sons braced to conquer cosmic mystery and lost Globe in digital fantasy!
“It’s daunting,” heaven’s denizens opined, “it’s humanity’s indefinite, infinite fall!”
The great bard William would’ve exclaimed, “What a fall! What a fall!”
But the great puritan John would’ve claimed, “It’s indeed the second fall!”
- Swami D. Francis
New World Colossus Deception—2015
(Apropos The Sonnet of Emma Lazarus)
In her brazened left hand she holds the tablet year
of her shore’s liberty;
And a raised right lights the weary way to the land
of the brave and free;
But today, blind eyes look out to the wretched skies
and tormenting seas
Where frothing waves and white clouds tease hopes
of fleeing refugees.
No longer are there waiting arms and love
for a roaming, exiled family—
Greeted no longer with silent lips, but with vociferous voices
screaming no
To “…huddled masses…homeless, tempest-tossed…” children
that are to be;
Though they dare, must be aware upon these shore
is nowhere for them to go.
Their religiosity—washed with blood of the innocent—
has no place in this land;
For them and theirs—is no way a true Puritan would ever lend
a helping hand
To welcome their tried tired yearning pregnant hopes
of a new life begun.
No! Hell no! There of those here still waiting for true
and full freedom to be won!
This is the land of the Pilgrim’s pride; land where other
fleeing fathers and mothers died.
This land has only fought wars of peace; there is no place here
for you to peacefully abide.
Earth's tidal river day
on universal salvation display
This indigenously wise place
New England conventional space
ebbs without yesterday
flows within today
Building forest skills
industriously clear-cutting slack
of co-infested character
Puritan souls
submerging and swelling
wild native nakedness enslaved
Merged with dark
thick-skinning
self-immolating
magic aboriginal music roots
satiating muse suffered bliss
Yankee hard hearts
confederating comfort's freedoms
idolizing golden age
peaceful privileged ideation
Integrity
accessible to each secular body's intricacy
and all mind full
empty sacred elegance
Empowering fertile core soul passion
swollen fecund pastures
swamping pleasant birdsong light
EarthTribe's salvific natural spirits
of surf-songed sight.