Best Saint Peter Poems
Way before the sunrise is when I start my day
I offer thankfulness in the prayer that I pray
I do love the morning with its beautiful sunrise
Especially when reflecting off clouds in the sky
My life is a journey with my soul as the guide
What makes it beautiful is my wife at my side
My children are my strength; encouraging me
I make sure that everyday is truly all it can be
My friends are many though old-friends are few
For I no longer agree with the things that they do
I still hold them all in my prayers and my heart
Nothing in this life could ever pry them apart
So what is the story the meaning of this rhyme?
The blessing is there if we just follow the sign
To accept the blessings the place we must start
Just be as a child and look through your heart
Be as a child; cherish every one of your dreams
If you wish to feed the river than become a stream
Everything will happen in its own time and place
You will truly find peace once you’ve found grace
Since love is the place where we all need to start
Remember, be kind and gentle to your own heart
One day, “Old Saint Peter,” will open up the gate
There is nothing to fear for heaven will be great
I really wanted, a refreshing day
Thinking to myself, what was the best way
First some cold water, I splashed on my face
Evidence of sleep, vanished without a trace
I felt my pores shrink, my eyes came awake
Brrr I was so cold, I started to shake
Perhaps a warm shower, was the answer for me
I ran the hot water but needed to pee
Off to the toilet as the water ran hot
Not so refreshing, it burned quite alot
Jumping from the shower, I slipped and hit my head
Things had started out well, but I ended up dead
Before I knew it, I stood at Heaven's gate
Better to show up early than to get there too late
I was handed a mint, it seems I had bad breath
One of the side effects, of succumbing to death
Minty and refreshing, it gave me a glow
As the gates opened I went with the flow
I was quite curious, wondered what I'd see
There the tree of life, right in front of me
I walked towards it, reached up for some fruit
Soft music was playing, I think a Pan Flute
As I began to bite, a voice told me to stop
Being quite startled, I let the fruit drop
Saint Peter asked me, "How did you end up here?"
my knees started knocking, I was overcome with fear
Was I bound for Hell, I truly hoped not
I prefer refreshing and Hell is quite hot
Saint Peter was laughing, there had been a mistake
I wasn't bound for Hell, or a fiery lake
It seems I'd been taken, way before my years
I felt so refresed as I shed thankful tears
My body was gone, I needed one new
He promised me one, with no teeth to chew
So down through the clouds, placed into a womb
So warm and cozy, not cold like a tomb
All of my memories, firmly in tact
Until my birthday, when I felt a smack
All thoughts and memory, vanish without a trace
Refreshing new love, found in my mother's face
Heavenly bliss
Shawn and Shauna fell deeply in love
And were on their way to be wed
When a car, on that day, took their lives straight away
As both of their bodies, lie dead
But their spirits were both drawn to heaven
As they stood, in front of the gates
Saint Peter was there, at the top of the stairs
When Shawn hollered loudly “Just Wait"
Now Peter looked puzzled, at Shawn
And said "This is no time to tarry "
Shawn spoke again, and refused to go in
Without being properly married
Saint Peter replied very softly
"We don't do that kind of thing here
But if you're willing to wait,
“I’ll see if I can, get it cleared”
Three months went by, while they waited
Saint Peter, show up with a Priest
"I know it was slow, But I want you to know
You’ll be married Forever at least"
As the wedding was getting started
Shawn asked a question, with doubt
What happens here in heaven
“If this marriage just doesn’t work out”
A silent filled up the heavens
Saint Peter, was shaking his head
And once he regained his composure
This is what Saint Peter said
“It took Three Months to find a Priest
In this Heavenly Foyer
How long do you think, I’ll take for me
To Find you both a Lawyer
[To the tune of Ghost Riders In The Sky (loosely)]
*
Heaven’s almost everywhere but mainly upon high
Santa Claus delivers there cos he’s that kind of guy
The lack of any lavatory almost made him cry
He tried to keep his legs crossed but he dribbled from the sky
He needs to go
He needs to pray
No toilets in the sky
The holy choir tinkles as they travel on their way
Sprinkling golden showers ’cross the moonlit sky today
They have no private place to pee which fills them with dismay
For there’s no public toilets... in the Milky Way
Gabriel is struggling cos he’s been out on the beer
His guts are throwing tantrums and he tries to plug his rear
He knows he’s gonna poop his pants that fact is fairly clear
For there’s no public toilets... in the upper atmosphere
He needs to go
He needs to pray
No toilets in the sky
Saint Peter has some turbulence and says a little prayer
He needs to poop and piddle but there’s nowhere private there
He’s sure he gonna throw up and become a vomit sprayer
For there’s no public toilets... in the ozone layer
Satan’s uncle pooped himself, how will he show his face
Public humiliation, he’s in permanent disgrace
He couldn’t hold it in although he found no private place
For there’s no public toilets... on the edge of space
He needs to go
He needs to pray
No toilets in the sky
Grim, the reaper belched and burped, his tummy grumbled loud
His fart was wet but silent, he was glad because he’s proud
Grim is really trying not to throw up over crowds
For there’s no public toilets... high above the clouds
The angel doubled up and squirted out a putrid spray
Santa Claus got splattered as the reindeer pulled away
All kinds of hell will rain upon a Yuletide Earth this year
For there’s no public toilets... in the stratosphere
He needs to go
He needs to pray
No toilets in the sky
7 October 2021
Contest: The Throne In Heaven
Sponsor: Jack Webster
And
Contest: Change The Record
Sponsor: Natasha L Scragg
a smile on the dial as off you go,
saint Peter is waiting ya maybe no,
stay away from me Joe the crow,
u aint gettin me eyeballs later ...oh
Don
If ya lived awhile in west Queensland,
out in the red soil dust,
where crows will pick ya eyes,
out n bore water is a must.
When you or an animal is dying the crows line up for sweets...
Talking to Sara...
Why me
the world weighs heavily on our souls,
though we are encased in blubber,
our suffering life swiftly unfolds,
the book is balanced brother,
it seems unfair, for we aren't told,
the reason, pain an suffering,
but logic says, the reason is of old,
a curse endured with blubbering, (much crying)
man molded by the thought of God,
fine tuned by cause and effect,
we are little more than earthly clods,
brought here to earn respect!
seek the reason for your fall,
personality may tell?
see Saint Peter at the wall,
don't send me back to hell:(
Don Johnson
They planted Hank 'neath a lonesome pine when he came to the end of the trail.
Angels ushered him to the Great Beyond and through that Mysterious Veil.
Saint Peter greeted him, sayin', "I've been a-hankerin' to meet ya, mate!"
Hank noted a sign readin' 'COWBOY SPOKEN HERE' atop the pearly gate!
"I want ya to meet a posse of pards that've been awaitin' yer arrival Hank;
There's Zeke and Tex, Fred and Jack, Moe and Slade and Jed and Frank."
"Ain't no bacon er beans here" said they, "On the choicest grub we dine!
If'n ya hanker to wet yer gullet, there's a Feller who'll turn water into wine!
And then appeared his faithful hoss Old Dan a-sportin' golden shoes!
Old Dan neighed as Hank caressed his pal and they had a genial schmooze!
On Old Dan's back embellished with silver and gold was a western saddle.
Right then and there Hank mounted Old Dan and off they did skedaddle!
As the Lord promised in the Good Book, a bunkhouse was part of the deal.
He dwelt in a room fit for a King with TV and DVD, seeming so surreal!
Hank wore a cowboy suit adorned with diamonds, rubies and jade,
Plus pointy-toed Calvin Klein cowboy boots and a vest of finest suede!
Lastly, Saint Peter placed upon his brow a bejeweled ten-gallon crown,
Sayin', "Welcome to the ranch, pard! Ye've rode the range with great renown!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
If there ain't no Bacon in Heaven
I'm gonna keep right on sinning
For hell's where I rather be
If I can enjoy my BLT
Now don't be a judging
No use of nudging
If there ain't no Bacon in Heaven
Then Heaven ain't for me
That pure smell of delight
That gets you to jump up from night
Bacon for breakfast, yes siree
Bacon Bacon all for me
The smell of Bacon
The taste of Bacon
The flavor of Bacon
Crispy, chewy, fry or bake
Bacon Bacon for goodness sake
If there ain't no Bacon in Heaven
That's hard for me to believe
For how could there be no Bacon in Heaven
When Oscar Mayer is the patron saint of meat candy
Yes there is Bacon in Heaven
Saint Peter those angel wings are mine
The taste of Bacon can only be Divine.
St. George May not be English
By Bob Moore(c) 2016
St. George may not be English
but he’s England’s Patron Saint
St. Patrick is Saint of Ireland
but an Irishman he ain’t
St David was a Welshman
but St Andrew, not a Scot
the brother of Saint Peter
so Scottish he was not
St. Denis, Patron Saint of France
an Italian was born,
and Spain has the Virgin Mary
we celebrate that special mom
Most patron saints have helped the country
where they are now revered
to rid the population
of the things they have most feared
Legend says St Patrick
chased the snakes into the sea
whether this is true or not
remains a mystery
And did St George slay all the Dragons?
in England’s pleasant land
or is this just a story
passed down from hand to hand
These legends and these stories
are lost in myth, and history
but there are no snakes in Ireland
and in England, no dragons there be.
Grandpa was a jolly fellow so talented and so wise.
He could plant a row of corn as straight as the arrow flies!
He was a very handy carpenter never once hitting his thumb,
And he built barns "'squar' with the world", never out of plumb!
He was very adept with fiddle and bow to everyone's delight,
Except for Grandma who thought the consarned thing a fright!
He'd sit for hours 'neath the old sycamore tree sawing away.
She'd heard the same tunes for sixty years, much to her dismay!
He was a great old-time fiddler, of that there was no doubt.
Why, he could've topped Roy Acuff should they have had a bout!
His elbows and fingers flew as he played "Turkey in the Straw"!
Friends and neighbors tapped their toes, listening to him in awe!
Summer nights we'd sit on the front porch 'neath a Hoosier moon,
Listening raptly as he played a mellow or a haunting tune.
He'd play a rousing "Orange Blossom Special" for the house,
Then switch to a lilting rendition of "The Blue Danube Waltz" by Strauss.
Grandpa's old fiddle is stilled now, it hangs upon the wall,
Though I suspect he's fiddling for the angels, saints and all,
As good old blue grass music from his golden fiddle flows,
And a bemused Saint Peter surreptitiously taps his toes!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Three lying deacons
swim in a handbag -
and a lone, celibate pastor
paces longingly bemused.
Michael, the Arc Angel,
poses silently,
in dusty Gabbana drag,
cursing the lipstick-painted laymen
writhing in rancid attar -
naked
and intentionally
unused.
Four wide-eyed boys
dance on a daydream –
kissing ripped posters
of a white collared rapist.
Saint Peter understands
the jovial jokesters -
the foolishness
when blackened specks darken the void;
the flurried flutter of his eyelids
casts a tainted shadow
upon a fractured sexual ballet.
They continue to kiss
below the waist.
Three lying deacons
and a pacing pastor resides –
five lip-smacking nurses
massaging your head.
Four wide-eyed boys
caress your knuckles
as the well-trimmed priest
pronounces
a poorly
scented infant:
"anally dead."
Seven cardinal sins
slip and divide
into 3 venial ratios.
"Hi, Sonny"...
Greed, lust and vanity
are mortal crimes;
Father Fragrantly Fresh...
quietly proclaims:
"snuggle a bit closer and
sniff a hint of Genesis."
Say I’m to blame
and cause-count the afflictions –
smaller undetected lumps
hump the jaded addictions
brain dead and haughty –
the zombies
circle and laugh!
I wasn't born in a dark discarded
Parisian tunnel but -
can you Roman Polanski me,
please?
Kill the poet...
and make him pay -
below the waist.
Crushed words embody
a forgotten loner’s
epitaph!
(force him to stutter stupidly)
and within a last breath -
and within a last breath -
and within a last breath -
GOD...
"the string-strangled
puppet
conventionally chokes -
and quietly succumbs
(to a textured landscape)
of a youthful
silenced dying...
...swaddled
and swallowed
in a heavenly -
haloed chosen
death..."
Saint Peter at the Golden Gate
Is a man that Trump loves to hate
After The Fall
God needs a Wall
So build one before its too late!
Mary had a gecko
Its skin was shamrock green
But everywhere that Mary went
It changed its colour scheme
When Mary went to Heaven
Her gecko made the scene
Saint Peter sent them back again
He thought they had gangrene!
So when you get to Heaven
And you need a go-between
Just ask for Mary's gecko
Its the Devil's own routine!
Grandpa was a very jolly fellow, so talented and so wise.
He could plant a row of corn as straight as the arrow flies!
He was a capable carpenter, never once hitting his thumb!
He built barns "'squar' with the world", never out of plumb!
He was very adept with fiddle and bow to everyone's delight,
Except for Grandma who thought the consarned thing a fright!
He'd sit for hours 'neath the ancient sycamore sawing away.
She'd heard the same tunes for sixty years, much to her dismay!
He was a good old-time fiddler, of that there was no doubt!
Why, he could've topped Roy Acuff should they have had a bout!
His nimble fingers flew as he played "Turkey in the Straw!"
Neighbors tapped their toes and listened to him in awe!
Summer nights we'd sit on the porch 'neath a Hoosier moon,
Listening raptly as he played a mellow and haunting tune.
He'd play a rousing "Orange Blossom Special" for the house,
Then switch to a beautiful rendition of a waltz by Strauss!
Grandpa's old fiddle is stilled now, it hangs upon the wall.
I suspect though that he's fiddling for the angels, saints and all,
As good old foot-stomping music from his golden fiddle flows,
And a bemused Saint Peter surreptitiously taps his toes!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
(4/10/12)
It was a long wait - but soon they would
Be at that gate.
The train that would take him to heaven
To join all his family and friends
Where a new life would begin and never end.
A life where there is nothing but beauty and peace
And the heart would find relief.
The conductor showing you everything in your past life
Some bad - a lot nice.
Of people you touched along the way
And of things they had to say.
everybody when they pass away
Boards this train on a given day.
This train makes three stops
As strange as it may seem
Heaven , hell , and purgatory
“Sounds like a familiar story”!
Purgatory being the place of things
In your past life - you must face.
But you are on the “7th ave. express .”
Cause you passed all the tests.
You had a heart which was pure as gold
And all the angels have been told.
All these other passengers that are on this train with you
Have gone through the same things too.
All of you had came to this “times square station”
Because you had found your salvation.
They gathered together like fallen needles from a pine tree
Multitudes of souls that were finally free.
At the gate you will be greeted by SAINT PETER
Who will show you the way to all your family and friends
And this joy will never end.