Best Receptacle Poems
Life is but a fleeting whisper echoing through time,
never dying, always being- magnificent and sublime.
The body's a receptacle, a superficial shell,
but in it dwells the gift of Soul; eternity knows it well.
The Soul contains the truths of life,
to all that's ever been;
to all things now, and yet to come,
but guards them deep within.
The mind has hidden doors to Soul; we long to find the key,
unleash the vision waiting there, that lives eternally.
And so mind seeks to open wide, grasp firm the light of Soul.
and at that moment when it does, we know we will be whole.
So when we penetrate the shield
that stands between these two,
we will perceive with inner sight-
our Soul, complete and new.
If in this life, we cannot grasp this bond of Soul and mind,
we'll be reborn to live again, till total self we find.
We've been before, so many times; we've known many a past.
We'll be again- an echo in time, till mind and Soul are fast.
And when that final day does come,
at last to lift our Soul,
for Him to gather in His arms-
our perfect self- now whole.
May 19, 2016
~1st Place~
Premiere Contest: Imagine A Freedom Beyond Imagination
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Judged: 02/25/2021
Some religions, like Hinduism, believe in reincarnation which refines the soul by it living many lifetimes, and after it is perfected, goes back to God. My poem is based on that belief. So many people, including myself, have inner feelings or momentary flashbacks like they have lived before in another life.
What’s In The Urn
Strangers offered me to join them in a drink
I met them on a mountain edge while skiing
They seemed like friendly normal people then
So what could happen in a simple cabin?
Finding that which is not there or vanquished
What is there that cannot be perceived?
Placed upon the mantel piece are ashes in the cabin
Brass vase, a receptacle for lost souls sits in repose
A death vase to glare at over cognac
By the sober flames cast by
A fire place glow observed in action
Liquid spirits pour out their poison
In the cozy living room inside the cabin
Drinks alone cannot remove this feeling of distraction
The urn is piercing through my soul
People belong in cemeteries you know
With all due respect for the dead
Scatter them at sea when they‘re deceased
Not paraded around in gloom to cause unease
Or as a center piece for living rooms
I’m not relieved to find it is a lizard on the shelf
To be exact, an exotic iguana family friend entombed
And to assume that fact makes this matter optimal
I beg to differ on that point and voice my opinion later
There must be a plot of ground outside
Or toilet somewhere to flush it down
But better left unsaid, as they are bereaved about the death
And I am their invited guest
Iguana tried consuming the family’s cat
Another favorite pet I guess
It is surmised, that’s how it met its end
Wound up expired inside the urn
The receptacle was there and going nowhere on its own
I swear it follows me from room to room
By embers glow and ash, shadowing my every move
A brass smile casting off the urn, leaving me concerned
I could not take my leave
The container followed me
So I waited, fixated on the thing
Is it coming back to life to eat more bugs or me?
Finding that which is not there
Is easier in the dark
Rising to the occasion of the day that breaks
I must escape the premises to continue skiing
Into the frozen world outside I fly
With no discernible signs or paths to lead or learn
I get away, no time to say good-byes or find my way
Never again will I say; what’s in the urn
Come December 21, two thousand and twelve
On the winter solstice, mankind may burn in hell
As man's Creator, I've sent multiple warnings
Nostradamus, the Mayans, Hopi Indians
All believed there was still time to reverse this course
But My warnings have ceased, even My voice grows hoarse
Dear Father, my sacred heart is of course willing
Though mind be the enmity of Christ's blood spilling
My center most being, with Your spirit's all seeing
The sacrifice of Your son saves souls of all beings
Father, though slay my flesh, Thou hast immortal stash
For Thou has the Adamantine, the adamant cash
This is not the response I expected from you
My warnings so long unheeded have made me blue
You are my children and I vow to save your souls
But to save your flesh, you will have to meet these goals
Let the evil wars end, allow nature to thrive
Cast aside all notions of greed to stay alive
I shall heed with God speed to sow the righteous seed
My love will manifest, for 'tis my soul's main heed
I shall present my flesh body as this soul's alarm
I shall not conform, from this world I shall transform
Holy acceptably my receptacle sin free
By my renewed mind transformed by Christ's mind shall be
I will spare your flesh if your words prove to be true
In turn, dire prophesies I promise to undo
Encouraged am I to hear you express remorse
It was never My wish to take action so coarse
To save body and soul, I sacrificed my Son
It has been My wish that all men will live as one
Forgive Father, so shall I speak just this once more
As Thou has given thus this world for to explore
‘Twas a parasite seed from derivative mind's greed
Brought forth by chance, a wild branch, doeth Thou not concede
Purgeth my wild branch of chance, ‘tis your right to do
That I might pursue Your true vine, my love be true
Daylight fades, a city pulsates, and traffic is reflected in store windows.
Hurrying headlights come out of the darkness.
They crisscross like dueling knights. People in the crosswalk scamper
as if squirrels and streetlights leer gleaming yellow eyes, like watchful hawks.
The shrill trumpets of the charging gale force winds, rattle an awning,
and newly planted maple saplings bend and sway
in random pairs. Set in concrete planters, they hang on by tender rooted toes.
Pages of a discarded newspaper are hurled into the air,
buoyed on the steely breath of a frigid winter evening.
Several leaflets scatter into the street and down the sidewalk,
into the path of one lone pedestrian.
He slaps away the sports page, that flies into his chapped, red face.
Without hesitation, this castaway vagrant, down and out
by the rape of hard times, will accept an offered dime,
from a passing man in a Red Sox ball cap.
Head bent low, face hidden, a worn and dirty pea coat
pulled tightly around his thin frame, he carries all his meager belongings
in a large paper grocery bag, wrinkled and beginning to tear.
Serving as his satchel, the brown bag, damp and worn,
still displays big bold red and black letters
advertising "Smart and Final Grocery"--"Located in Three Convenient Locations".
A city bus roars by, splashing through three days of rain,
and a siren and a blaring horn is heard from the next block.
The dark silhouetted outcast, stops for a moment,
peers into a sidewalk trash receptacle, then continues slowly down the sidewalk.
A taxi pulls up along the curb behind him, and the attractive couple,
dressed in evening wear, emerge, pay for their taxi, and arm in arm,
enter Mario's Italian Restaurant, the brick bistro
that sits on the corner of Broadway and 1st.
It begins to rain again, and across the street people open umbrellas
and like the afore mentioned squirrels, they scurry home to supper.
The lone man walks in the rain, his pace doesn't quicken, his voice never spoken,
a spirit broken, ............ his sack held together by circumstance.
A passerby takes a brief glance...just a quick, chanced moment,
to take notice of "Smart and Final's" last stance.
Your heart's a receptacle for your soul,
and separates the animals from Man.
It's that inner voice that says, "Yes, you can,"
vetoing instinct; free will takes control.
And you feel that you're a part of the whole,
trying to understand how life began.
Feelings tend to pool deep within your heart,
a reservoir of happiness and pain.
And though drained, over and over again,
it retains enough Hope, for a new start.
Under the threat of dreams falling apart,
trust forges the strongest link in love's chain.
The human heart is where emotions form
a conscience, and feelings define the norm.
Prophesies by seers may be derided and prophets may be lampooned. But time may prove them right" By Poet.
There was none to listen to him.
His words were like:
-A cry in the wilderness
that broke and shattered on woody trunks.
-The howl of a lone wolf
that rose in the dead of the night.
-The cry of an infant
that told the world, it was hungry.
-The cacophony of discordant orchestra
that left a jarring effect on the listeners.
His words sounded meaningless,
to a world that spoke a different tongue.
With no receptacle, his words like heated waters
evanesced into vapour and billowed upwards,
like coils of smoke to freeze into clouds.
One day it rained down,
quite unexpected…….
with thunder and lightning!
O thousand Tongues sing, sing of Christ
Jesus, Chosen vehicle, human receptacle
Of fatherly fondness, for who would be wise
Admitting we do what we ought not, not what we ought
That we sin, inclination native to Adam's race
II
O sing of Jesus the Christ; He is Grace
O sing for Jesus Christ, whose willingness
To get up on a cruel cross, then rise to righteousness
Like robes carry us "children" to Trinity's side
For forgiven sins cleansed: He paid already for each life
III
O sing for Jesus, not that we stopped sinning
But because in Him Grace gives daily cleansing
In Him we have victory over Satan, trials, tempting
Victory in His Blood, winning in His Name, communing ...
With bread and cup, He said, worthy of remembering
I remember so well the calico aprons that my Mother wore.
She made them from feed sacks that Father needed no more.
She wore them mainly to keep her pretty dresses pristine,
But she found so many other uses for them in her daily routine.
She used them to gather eggs from the henhouse nests,
And to shoo from her garden, crows and other such pests.
Toted in an apron were apples plucked fresh from the trees.
They were used for collecting pods after shelling peas.
Flowers from her garden filled the apron for pretty bouquets.
It held clothes pins to hang clothes for drying on laundry days.
Aprons were used as a receptacle when snapping green beans,
And to gather a batch of lettuce for a salad of tasty greens.
Many times her apron wiped tears from a little boy's eyes,
And wiped her furrowed brow when baking cakes and pies.
They were dandy for last-minute dusting before company arrived.
Without her apron, I don't know how Mom would've survived!
It seems that ladies no longer need an apron to wear themselves,
Since food can be readily snatched from nearby grocery shelves.
An apron is seldom worn by domestic engineers nowadays,
Since tossing supper in a microwave to heat is now the craze!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
thank God for all He has done and let there be no division to find
we are all part of one body and as Christians of one mind
the wisdom of God is all knowing and not to be questioned
don't be like the Pharisees looking for signs of imperfection
for God will use the weakest things to make fools of the wise and the strong
and He will choose lowly things to show the boastful where they belong
the message of wisdom is for the mature in faith and not based on one's age
and It will be revealed through the spirit in you by The Holy Sage
so regard yourself as a servant of God entrusted with sacred words
judge not others on the evidence of something someone else might have heard
for you are a receptacle that God Himself will use
just don't go beyond what is written and be careful of the words you choose
be most aware of the company you keep, be surrounded by others with the spirit
watch out for the pagans of this world, pray that someday they will get It
to practice sacrifices to false gods and participate in sexual immorality
will lead you down the road to hell and not up towards divinity
just run your race with a godly pace and eventually you'll come to realize
that others run for no reason at all never to receive God's eternal prize
everything isn't permissible and not everything is good
everything isn't acceptable and not everything seems as it should
seek the good news and not only just for yourself
include your fellow man and spread the wealth
the body of Christ is a unit made up of many parts
and we all have our own gifts to share and a place in God's heart
we all have words of praise even If It Is spoken in tongues
just let them be revealed to all through the Spirit of The Holy One
and through the resurrection of Jesus Christ
we've all been given salvation from living sinful lives
so let's worship Him as one body in Christ all together with praise
let It be an orderly procession with our hands and voices to Him raised
From the beginning to the end tithe.
Round the circle of eternity, she writhes.
Fresh, full, ripe, and undeniably free.
O God, be merciful to she.
Fill the receptacle with riches untold.
Harvest the bounty of beauty unfold.
Lust not for love is a more precious fee.
O God, be merciful to she.
Trust in companionships hearty store
Let loose the randy and rabid bore.
Feast on the comfort of kindnesses decree.
O God, be merciful to she.
be not a receptacle to that spirit of sin
live by the word of God and be open to Him
in this day where the lines of morality have become blurred
where people believe and do all and anything that's absurd
caught up in the grasp of drugs and chemical dependency
caught up in the muck and mire of sexual immorality
yet society tries to explain away any and all aberrant behavior
and a psychiatric evaluation has become acceptable and favored
we're now subjected to the blame of others and their bad actions
subjected to the world's desensitized and apathetic reaction
overcoming the temptation to commit sin
to yield not to that demonic presence again and again
if you don't understand and comprehend the word of God
how do you know if you have any sin in your heart?
you need to read the word of God and follow His commands
the instructions on how to live sinless, God's master plans
to wrestle with the evil that may at times reside within
to overcome that sensation to go out and commit sin
you need to be exposed to God's laws and learn right from wrong
you need to do a self reflection and then come away strong
for it's one thing to do what is sinful if you don't have a clue
but it's a different story when you knowingly sin for the blame is now on you
to be disobedient and stray from God's life living instructions
will lead you down that crooked path of spiritual destruction
so think before you act and then lay it before God
pray on that temptation to sin and possess a contrite heart
to challenge that temptation to commit sin
just dwell on the word of God and not the unholiness of men
yet we continue to try and justify some of the things we do and say
we need to be truthful in our hearts and willing to change our ways
no longer to be arrogant and sanctimonious in this life
to be more humble and repentant as a child of the Lord Christ
we pretend to act like it's not us but everyone else
we need to take a hard look in the mirrors at ourselves first
to come to understand that this battle is not ours alone
to realize we need the strength and the power of the heavenly throne
to be rescued from that temptation of sin that's always hanging around
to be lifted up by the word of God and placed on higher ground
to turn to our savior, the Lord Jesus the Christ
to thank Him and praise Him for the gift of eternal life
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.
An ordinary rectangular wooden mirrored lid, paint-chipped and worn,
sits in my bathroom, the mirrored part having gotten spotted over time.
I often hold it up in front of me, faced away from the bathroom mirror
to check my hair and clothing from behind.
Sometimes I take it in my gym bag to check myself after workouts.
Other times it has served as a receptacle for small items such as pins or pencils.
The remnants of two gold latches, flattened now and a bit rusty,
prove that this common lid was once attached to something else;
it was a lovely jewelry box, for which the mirror served a definite purpose.
When the box was open, the mirror, upright, reflected a tiny ballerina
dancing on a center platform to the tinkle of a pretty tune.
No one would guess the sweet scene this old mirror once reflected
nor the many childhood treasures its lid covered, so why do I still hang on to it?
However ordinary it is today, this mirror inside a bulky lid gives me some small comfort. . . .
If I try, I can almost recall the times I opened the precious box beneath it
to see a ballerina twirl, accompanied by that sweet music from my youth.
Each Catholic Church may be unique
But you will find familiar elements in any Catholic church
That you also find in our own parish home.
Baptismal font—a pool or large bowl of water usually stands
Near the doors of the church and reminds us
That baptism is our “door”
To the Catholic faith.
Nave—the large open room usually filed with pews or seats is
The main assembly area.
Sanctuary—the part of the church reserved for liturgical
Action that contains an altar where the priest celebrates the sacrifice of
The Mass
A chair for the priest
The lectern for reading Scripture
Tabernacle—usually located in a place of honor in the
Sanctuary, this receptacle holds consecrated hosts. A candle nearby
Signifies when it is full
In our Parish Church of St. Andrew
It was built after Vatican II
The option to put the tabernacle
In the chapel was done since the main church is ‘multi-purpose.’
Crucifix—a prominent cross with an image of Father Christ crucified
is usually located near the altar. Here in St. Andrew we don’t have this
Though we have the processional cross.
Statues—Statues and other forms of art of Father Christ Jesus, Mother Mary, or the Saints remind us of those who inspire us by their holy lives
Here in St. Andrew we have the movable statues located at the vestibule of
the Church and in the chapel that are placed in the altar on feasts
Solemnities
I recall your virgin blossom:
How you thrilled me,
With your naked potential
Wrapped around me,
As I embedded all of me, in you,
In your sacred receptacle,
In the depth of you,
Gasping on the verge of inception,
At the very ache of it!
I had to behold you.
To possess you; I alone,
To draw back the raiment that closeted your perfection
And jealously guide you into the world of men.
Not yet for them. Not quite yet. Not then,
When there was only you and I,
When you were all of mine, my precious;
Until now, that you have become, my poetry.