Best St John Poems
I stood hidden in the shadows, watching
as Salome, clad in flowing veils, gyrated
to the music, exuding sensual richness.
Herod leered drunkenly at her vibrant body.
Overcome by uncontrolled lusty desire
he promised her anything that she wished for
and, prompted by her evil mother, she asked
for the head of John the Baptist on a plate.
Reluctantly, all eyes on him, including guests,
he was compelled to grant her strange request.
I stood hidden in the shadows, watching.
The condemned man was dragged outside
and roughly bundled to the floor, unresisting,
held by the executioner’s steely grasp
whose dagger swiftly slit his life away.
An old woman clasped her head between her hands,
shocked and fearful at the sight of oozing blood,
in horror listening to the janitor’s final bidding.
The keen young maiden held a gold container
ready to receive the freshly severed head
of an innocent man. The old woman cried, in vain.
I stand hidden in the shadows, watching the years
roll by, a silent witness within a gilded frame.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Within a Gilded Frame: A masterpiece by Caravaggio
“The Beheading of St John the Baptist” prominently
displayed in St. John’s Co-Cathedral, Valletta, Malta.
© paul callus ~ 13th May 2016
A night's jog through a quiet town.
The strange warmth of an old familiar church.
The morning sun and outside sounds.
Picking the proper jeans, beguiled and besmirched.
Cautious steps inside as anxiety melts off from incense.
The light from the window above my pew.
The love from a girl's eyes aching and iridescent.
A cymbal struck as faces work like brightened ghosts, the heart's early hue.
The flow of a smoky-lighted hour, from soil to sinews, soaks the sodden rag
of the spirit dry, as the walk back into the sun and out of the Mass makes love lag
in the mist of living.
For every cornering thought.
For every bend of the heart.
For every shade of a tree.
And, in stabbing, singular rushes,
For every level of light that I might be.
"50 Words for Poe: St John"
St John was his name
Sinjun for short
Temptation was his game
Ah Black Monk of my dreams
A hot car on a fast track
Shifting gears
I burn up the road, turn up the stick
Fast and furious got nothing on
Brother Sinjun’s Black Monk’s mojo bag-o-tricks
He sits in the passenger seat
101 goes to 190 around a devil-of-a-curve
200 hits his cerebral cortex, ignites his adrenaline cortisol hormonal nerves
Homeward bound suspension of disbelief non judgement served
Aston Martin Bond-like, covert, under covers with the Nurse
The thrill of it all, he’s in a state of Anti-Christ Ataraxia, convivial
St John was his name
Sinjun for short
Temptation was his game
On the Road driving home with Sister Pheromones Bellisima
he can’t wait to take her confessione Hyperpyrexia and
with big benedictions absolve and never cease to perplex Her
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
https://youtu.be/hKi7Wq5CUI4
Temptation/Heaven 17
“There's a lot of stress... but once you get in the car, all that goes out the window.” Dan Brown
https://youtu.be/7ip8ZVyF_ac
Fascination Street/The Cure
“The fact is I don't drive just to get from A to B. I enjoy feeling the car's reactions, becoming part of it.” Enzo Ferrari
https://youtu.be/ZcAEIUQmQgI
Watching Me Fall/The Cure
“A muscle is like a car. If you want it to run well early in the morning, you have to warm it up.” Florence Griffith Joyner
1. ataraxia
2. cortisol
3. hyperpyrexia
4. St John/Sinjun
A knight....
Head bowed
The sword sheathed
Glittering blade.........
Will never fade
Knights of St John
Knights Templar........
Have come far
Battles, far from won
Jerusalem..........
Will be lost.........
We are the few.........
What can we do?
The final cost........
Our numbers have been reduced
Jewels and gold............
They have been seduced
So many bought and sold....
Gather,ye men..........
The ideals hold true
We cannot rest
Find the path
What can we do?
In to the lions den
The true test
The armour that we wear.....
Shaped metal
The knight..........
Scores to settle
The forged sword............
By Englands finest smiths
Enemies laid bare
But is all lost?
Our enemies are at the gate
We are the few..............
Can we defeat Saladin's horde?
We place our trust in the lord
Knights of St John
Gather ye round
Knights of old
Knights bold
Before it is all gone..............
Saladin's men at the gate
Relentless horde
We cannot abate
This is not the time for dying
Or listening to the enemies' lying
They have not cared........
Only what they want done
Our lives,
Never to be spared...............
Jerusalem is lost
The knights,
will come
The old order of things............
To be sacrificed
The Knights...........
To die for Christ
The knights...........
Cannot crumble to dust
The swords must never rust
They are needed...........
The teachings ,seeded
The Cross of St George
The values, to forge
The Knights betrayed............
The memories............
Swords rust
Knights,
crumble to dust
The values taught..........
The enemy cannot kill
The battles always fought
But still...............
They come
The war ,far from won
The knights weep
The rot, beginning to seep........
The true ways
Compromised by political plays
Swords rust........
Knights fade........
Needs must
Knights betrayed..........
The final cost
Jerusalem.....lost
gently we measured
our compassionate realm
I was takened by the mental storm
of quiet gestures beckoning
the calm bayous the sinking earth
of hanging moss craving darkness
while seeking lights inner most hues
catered to the wild eyes of daintiness
and empty sorrows kindered between
a bias immortal sphere within thee eternal
wrath folded beyond di Vaticans core
beneath the rubble of solid structures
formed from masses of rotting flesh
and the bindery of soiled stained
souls of cold shattered existances
beyond the robe an awakening era
permitted silence among
the sheepcotes again
through a weakened weariness
reaching clawing clinging to a timeless cradle
a quickening naught of emptied virtue
while death had resided in me
underneath a slab of raw gravel
upon the holy see
Written by Mrs. Yolanda Joy Nicholsen
1733 INSURRECTION ON- St John
Lament Danish West Indies
Bring yon, those terrible humans
Who’s to say that there’re of humanity?
Amidst this day of 1733
Akwamu islands
Home of no proper human
Rebellion
Run darken skin one
Revolting as it may
Ghana Danish West Indies
Capture, imprison and enslave, them
Place the shackles of endearment
Enslave them
Rebellion
Hunt them down
Maroon them
Work, enslave them all
Shoot them
Less than animals, 1/3 human
Work, them
Hurt them
Slave labor
It’s the only behavior
Hunt them
Work them
Slave labor
Danes ordain
Slave trade, in 18th century
Fond memories fade
Africans names changed
To match their masters
Last name solely
Mainly call “boy” or whatever
Enslave them
Rebellion
Hunt them down
Maroon them
Work, enslave them all
Shoot them
Less than animals, 1/3 human
Homeland Akwamu’s had been nobles
Wealthy merchants
Powerful members of heir society
Insurrection
DE throne, DE mane, and placed under slave control
Plant the crops
Sugar and other such
Tobacco, corn, squash
It’s the only behavior
Work them all
Or kill them so…
Less than animals, 1/3 human
Work, them
Hurt them
Slave labor
It’s the only behavior
Hunt them
Work them
Slave labor
Danes ordain
Slave trade, in 18th century
Fond memories fade
1733 INSURRECTION ON- St John
11/23/19
Written by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
Written for class November 19, 2019 assignment (WIPS)
North Omaha Writers Group (NOW)
It should have said St John’s - with that apostrophe!
So many omit the little mark.
How could they, when its presence or absence
gives us one meaning or the other?
A tenant within these apartments
who is a mysterious lady,
placed the absent apostrophe on that poster,
kept this nighttime act a secret, and crept away.
St John was a saint we remember,
on the twenty-fourth of June:
it’s St John’s Day.
And this little mark marks that.
Without this modest mark, this little apostrophe,
we have a plural, not a possessive.
So how many Johns were there?
Or are these apartments named
after just the one John, as we’re told -
the one that has that little apostrophe?
Often do I wonder who
the mysterious tenant is, the one
who posts missing apostrophes.
(3 Sep 2024)
I want you to see I want to believe
for if I believe in his name a child of the King
I would because the child of God
All who receive Him and believe in his name become children of God
Can you believe Him I receive Him in His name shall become children of God
All who receive Him and believe in His name become children of God
Oh, I want to receive hand I want to believe in
The righteousness the glory of His
Wonders
Wholly abundance
Worthy circumference
Don't want to forget this
All we receive in floor God almighty all who receive Him
His son Jesus if we believe in His name
The right to become believing in His Son
You shall be called children of God
3/28/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2020
St John 1:12
From Anthology " Renaissance Psalms"