Best Theologians Poems
With the Biblical accounts of angels
Regarded by some as proof of aliens
Science and religion remain at odds
One says the other has no faith in God
Is there no room in Earth’s family portrait
For both sides to speak, not one view omit
If we believe God created all things
Can’t this be said of other-world beings
No life’s threatened by angels or aliens
So mocking of either just makes no sense
When God created both heaven and Earth
Perhaps a new species of life gave birth
In another part of His Milky Way
And, in friendship, they visit us today
Appearing from the sky basked in white light
Celestial creatures laugh at the sight
Of scientists and theologians
Pitting God’s angels against God’s aliens
And man’s ignorance they may deride
Since angels and aliens thrive side-by-side
I 'spose there are many religious tenets open to interpretation.
Old John Calvin proposed another upon receiving inspiration,
When he propounded the ticklish matter of predestination,
Thereby, causing more angst concerning one's eternal salvation!
Most folks blithely saunter along live's treacherous path,
Trying their best to behave and avoid their Maker's wrath,
At times straying from the route the Creator has planned,
Assuming by good works they'll reach the Promised Land!
I reckon folks will seldom concur on spiritual potpourri,
And 'specially on predestination, theologians will disagree.
We can only plod the straight and narrow e'er doing His will.
Be it predestination or faith, only He our fate will fulfill!
We among the quick will never know how He judges our fate,
'Til we pass thro' that mysterious veil and enter Peter's gate!
Is it predestination that determines who draws the short straw,
Or does He use other methods for administering Divine Law?
'Tis a profound homily that John Calvin did compose.
As for my stone this epitaph I would humbly propose:
"If predestination it be, eons ago I pray Thou has destined me,
To enter Thy heavenly abode to be at eternal rest with Thee!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Behold Beatrice, Pitcairn
the paradise sunsets lie in Tahiti
sunrise, the folly of Easter
islands, sanitoriums, deluded, denuded
limbos and purgatories, the never evermore
Polynesian metaphors transmigrate my mind
O to graze with the deer, dear
the tree never falls silently
lizards scatter, birds scurry to flight
i could never buy into falling silence
let alone fate of Galileo's descending weights
church theologians preferring an atheist Aristhrottle
forgive me for being sententious dear
no pity for Cyrano
the hidden Darcy
in another failed Benedick in port
without Dante's delusions
love with no embrace
Service, woman, a slightly tainted saint
Tennyson's wound that never heals
Petrarch, Augustine, it grows insane
ah the vicissitudes, where was i
yes, leaving metaphors and literate men
your laughter starts in those ignescent eyes
ignition, brush fires of rippling ballerinas
facial muscles lost in abandonment
to some elfish music i see, never hear
lips widening, bursting rubaiyat pandemonium
i adore your infectious risibility
it is your amatory smile i love most
demure, candles gamboling in the moonlight
i am a moth lost in the flames
of your demanding timidity
it is then i see in your eyes
the dove gracing your hands
the beast who serves your lust
this is why the Norsemen
fear nothing but women
swords once ready, berserkers, Odin
now lie silent volcanoes in my heart, Freya
the seas are without headstones
and i am wondering again terricolous
all of this are the clouds overhead
it is the heavens i see in your eyes
not the red dawn i fear
we see the jungle, its' song, inevitable war
the struggle to stand in the light
possibly besotted, erratum
the seas have long not cared
with you, i learn, heal
we are undeniably humanity
we are paradise lost
the hells of yesterday
need not rule the heavens of today
your arms gravid with red sunsets
fill my deepest hopes of all morrows
its' ultimate price is gladly paid
Miramar 94 The Patient Stones
Revised 5/22 OKC
see on Youtube
Shakespeare's Sonnet 116 Is Not What It Seems
there are certain words in here common in 19th Century literature that always remind me....besotted with Jane Austen
Happy Easter to everyone on Poetry Soup
(except those of you not in the 'Christian group')
I hope that you all enjoy the holiday
and that the Easter Bunny comes your kids' way
Of course, there's a lot more to Easter than bunnies and bonnets
but I'll 'Pass Over' that ~ let theologians ruminate on it
~ Happy Easter to One and All! ~
Angels and Aliens
With the Biblical accounts of angels
Regarded by some as proof of aliens
Science and religion remain at odds
One says the other has no faith in God
Is there no room in Earth’s family portrait
For both sides to speak, not one view omit
If we believe God created all things
Can’t this be said of other-world beings
No life’s threatened by angels or aliens
So mocking of either just makes no sense
When God created both heaven and Earth
Perhaps a new species of life gave birth
In another part of His Milky Way
And, in friendship, they visit us today
Appearing from the sky basked in white light
Celestial creatures laugh at the sight
Of scientists and theologians
Pitting God’s angels against God’s aliens
And man’s ignorance they may deride
Since angels and aliens thrive side-by-side
Carolyn Devonshire
This is one of my favorite poems by Carolyn because she makes no judgements, and she offers an enlightened view of what we understand and do not understand, making her point in a logical manner with compassion for all beings. Her insight into the our world and other realms or unseen dimensions shows her great understanding of humanity and beyond. I adored this poem when I first read it and seem to glean more and more from it with each additional reading. Her enthusiasum for the joy of life pours out from every line in celebrating the contrast of other worldly beings, that we might live side by side with in harmony. A very beautiful inspiring poem that shines a bright light on ignorant views.
Connie Marcum Wong
If We Try To Ask Why
It was another plain morning in the mundane business belt
until we felt the day stay still, and we knelt to pray at will.
In the decade since our engrained tranquility was strained,
our prayers have waned, and cooperation was not sustained.
As proof time is trained to be aloof to tears of our grieving,
the babies born to widows, our high schools are now receiving.
And in history books, I fear a new chapter must appear …
Alongside its heavy content, the sheen on serene sheets shall screen
the extent of torment The Event means to they who lament …
Until the day they die, for some, when the autumn sun is high
in the September sky, the past and present run as one:
The scene, never done, repeats; people run; the crowd retreats …
And, where the cloud of carnage meets startled city streets,
the ash painting the panorama underpins
our divine Manhattan skyline mourning her twins …
If we try to ask why, theologians will explain,
when God grants free will, evil may reign, despite its pain.
My theory, one of many but as good as any,
is that the gist of why a sadist’s bloodlust exists
isn’t to be endeared to God, but feared like God.
Some philosophers pry, “Why was the September sky
a nearly perfect hue of select, pastel blue?”
The poets sigh, “… because on this date the land stayed dry
when the cascade of nearby angels refused to cry;
they came to fixate upon the souls they had to elevate,
and through the demure azure, the dead felt peacefully lead …”
If we heed our ancestors’ lead, never letting faith recede,
the wealth of our prayers might impede the stealth of the slayers,
but if we try to ask why, our first task may be to find
ourselves resigned to God sometimes being disinclined
to thwart an evil mastermind within humankind.
E. V. Wyler
~Amor Fati~
Justin Richter
-
It is no wonder, looking up at the cosmos,
That they worshipped the Gods -
The diviners of Reason
And the theologians of old.
But how devout were they?
Even then, in their temples of devotion,
Searching for answers
Where truth be told.
And what would their pantheon say?
As we now ascend to the heavens,
To our neighbors in Their name.
"There are mortals at Olympus!"
"We are betrayed!"
"How dare they fumble forth,
Naive in Our domain?"
Yet where is the scepter of Jupiter?
Or the lightning bolt of Zeus?
Where are the seers and the soothsayers?
The Oracle, the prophecy unfulfilled?
They died with Delphi,
And took the Olympians.
Will that be our fortune?
In far away places,
Will they look to us as deities,
Those believers yet to believe?
Is that what lies behind our stars -
Are we our gods we worship?
Are we as fleeting?
As fragile?
After all, what God prays our prayers?
To what end is our tithe?
Like the dead,
Our thoughts see Them alive.
That cannot be!
The Alphas and the Omegas,
Entwined with human affairs!?
Hah! Listen, young God,
If those Old Ones subsist,
They leave us to our fate.
And so it comes to pass;
You,
The beginning,
And eventually...
The end -
Amor fati.
-
I was the throne at a King’s coronation
I was the cross at Christ’s crucifixion
I grew the apple for Adam and Eve
I was the first piston, would you believe!
I was the arrow that killed poor King Harold
I was the boat that discovered a new world
I was the horse that defeated the Trojans
I am the pulpit for all theologians
I am the school desk that bore your carved name
I am the kindling that starts a warm flame
I am the stake where they tied Joan of Arc
I am the beacon that brings light to the dark
I am mahogany, willow and poplar
I am sapele, cedar and alder
I am the paper that recorded your birth
I am the coffin that returns you to earth!
The positive passages of Norman Vincent Peale—
Travelled time with mass appeal.
Uplifting affirmations and intentions of healing
Sent psychiatrists and theologians to writing and reeling.
Degree work again! With Aberdeen University,
Long distance, so not in strange surroundings,
This time in the subject of my choice and tenacity,
For posterity, so as to keep above the drownings.
It’s Christian Studies, or I say theology or religion,
And psychosomatic is the word to deflect and bat,
Which loudly venerates in the divinity selection,
Where divinity scholars attempt that requested slat.
Psycho-so-matic, or “the mind” “by” “motor action”:
“the mentality” “using” “cognitive brain structures”;
“the mental” “through” “neurological muscular motion”,
The psyche so as to do with events, people and cultures.
But why don't theologians see psychosomatic analysis,
As astronomically colliding with that transcendental verb,
In which god apologises for that divine interference,
When anytime, god changes your clarity into a muddy blurb.
As a disabled child in physio, for sure I truly understood,
The word “psychosomatic”, ‘cos my bible-loving dad,
Thought the word was academic trash, not white nude,
Because it validates contextual sociology as the comrade.
So did my arm and legs movements all depend on god?
Or on psychosomatics - if my parents had sent me out full?
On happiness, psychology, mood, highers and fine kin squad,
On settings, sociology and environment, and not on bull.
Surely the discussion in theology class should entertain,
Really straight, whether the bible fits into the normal tap,
Where you march, join, journey boldly through the terrain,
Of a richly humanly authored character splayed literary trap.
When
When Muslims and Jews, eschew all notions of dissenting difference, and embrace in
distinct integration.
When Christians and Buddhists fuse love of self with love of other and dispense with pride
and self effacement altogether!
When Feminist Theologians, cry the plight of black women, and Muslim Men detect the
mystified labor of unsung wives,
When Black men learn to love themselves and through that love embrace their enemies,
When America makes amends for slaves of old made street criminals of conservative imagination,
When political liberals embrace the charismatic power of holy ghost renewal,
When Europe learns to love God, and Americans learn to love each other,
When charismatic leaders fade into horizontal mutuality,
When Martins are multiplied, and Mothers encourage their daughters to be their best,
When rest becomes as important as productivity and efficiency is defined by joy instead of
EBIDTA.
When technology becomes a tool to feed the world, and innovation ceases to be the slave of
profit,
When lawyers defend the cause of the weak and fatherless, and Doctors heal for free,
Then we shall see the day of the Lord.
And Evangelicals will no longer imagine the coming of an idea,
For the living Christ will be among us!
If We Try To Ask Why
It was another plain morning in the mundane business belt
until we felt the day stay still, and we knelt to pray at will.
In the decade since our engrained tranquility was strained,
our prayers have waned, and cooperation was not sustained.
As proof time is trained to be aloof to tears of our grieving,
the babies born to widows, our high schools are now receiving.
And in history books, I fear a new chapter must appear …
Alongside its heavy content, the sheen on serene sheets shall screen
the extent of torment The Event means to they who lament …
Until the day they die, for some, when the autumn sun is high
in the September sky, the past and present run as one:
The scene, never done, repeats; people run; the crowd retreats …
And, where the cloud of carnage meets startled city streets,
the ash painting the panorama underpins
our divine Manhattan skyline mourning her twins …
If we try to ask why, theologians will explain,
when God grants free will, evil may reign, despite its pain.
My theory, one of many but as good as any,
is that the gist of why a sadist’s bloodlust exists
isn’t to be endeared to God, but feared like God.
Some philosophers pry, “Why was the September sky
a nearly perfect hue of select, pastel blue?”
The poets sigh, “… because on this date the land stayed dry
when the cascade of nearby angels refused to cry;
they came to fixate upon the souls they had to elevate,
and through the demure azure, the dead felt peacefully lead …”
If we heed our ancestors’ lead, never letting faith recede,
the wealth of our prayers might impede the stealth of the slayers,
but if we try to ask why, our first task may be to find
ourselves resigned to God sometimes being disinclined
to thwart an evil mastermind within humankind.
E. V. Wyler
Them and us under a Bombers Moon
By Steven Cooke
Making love to my demons
Under the flag of my country
Caught in between the never believer
And a pardon of angels,
Who bargain their souls for my redemption,
Empowered by a nation,
Glorified by heroes departed
My life sanctified by religious compromise
For tonight I fly, under the bombers moon
Nearer to God than most
I see the world differently,
This Earth orbits in a sea of cold
My plane hidden in its recess,
A place where silent screams dwell
And rainbows are sent to die.
Away from the gaze of my enemy,
A phrase worthy of the Devil
Away from the patriots sting,
These too, sanctified by a religious hand.
The History books dilemma
My run begins
My mind listens to a confess of whispers,
The engines my Priest,
The bomb doors open,
Horsemen of The apocalypse,
Released from their tethers
I am the Arbiter of Death
As in Nature, Chance will decide
The faceless will fall
And god willing I will return home.
In the scheme of things
A Cities worth is one minute, 23 seconds
The camera to record in slow mo for Posterity,
And to delight the victorious.
The Impact sweeps away the sweat of past generations
Creates queues of ghosts, waiting,
To lay in row after row, of white marble.
Their silent screams absorbed into Heavens Gate,
A cold Hallelujah for God to judge.
Just another day on planet earth
But don’t worry,
Time, like, the brook of sighs, will wash away these sins
But not the seeds,
For we are the gardeners of sin,
Their germination, lovingly corrupted
In our differences, them and us
The Pillars of capitalism our advantage.
The fear of the Devil theirs
Our final epitaph in the circle of life,
We are conditioned to repeat the mistakes of the past,
As is the Wilder beast to cross the River of Death,
Or theologians using religion as a weapon of war
The devil and the Crocodile dines well, on such a menu
We truly are, a blessed Race.
the joyous partner the microwave
it has become my chef
alas not quite my mother's hand
but for its swiftness of foot
there is no other
yes i survive on the TV dinner
oh dear Lord i have shown my age
frozen until my vittles need calling
it is a world of the chophouse
from a hashery where most dine
no fuss, just plain celerity needed
those exquisite tastes, hidden within
lucious noodles and sauces
from white to red
and should that become a disaster
there is always ketchup
Siracha, Hot Mustard, Orange, Honey
it is almost endless for Asia
the frozen dinner section sublime
those long rows packaged and waiting
almost a walk in the Lourve of paintings
as you ogle those reflections in frosted doors
i become a child on Christmas morning
Master Chef in TV Dinnerland
the trick is in the additions
a tad of salsa, or perhaps sour cream
of course scads of butter on taters
A1 or H57 sauce on the meatloaf, or Salisbury
in the vegetable department a loverly
chopped, ready-to-go medley
of onion, celery, and carrot
jalapenos, green chilis, olives
come already in cans chopped
simply sprinkle on at last minute
but the greatest joy held in my heart
is when i place the holy offering
i would never eat, retrieved from garbage
into that loverly microwave
always upon a microwave-safe plate
gently affixing an impediment to door
wait for that loverly moment
when that pesky fly enters to dine
slam the door in most haste
hit that 3-minute button
nothing more civilized than well done
then wait for that pure joy
when the whistling, whirling stop
light goes off, and the wonderful
ding, ding, ding of a job well done
let the philosophers and theologians
go on, and on about revenge
but i vote it is best when microwaved
loverly i say
OKC 7/01
I
We sing of Hagar the Horrible, yet she is a brilliant blessing -
This late in April 2019; no not for April Fool's Day
I must submit (a poem, at least) - here the reason we play
II
On a certain Sunday, when all true Christians join to pray
To a LORD who loves all ("diversity, too, but let's STOP at "gay")
Can't extend humanity to the brown and gray!
MOST SERMONS: Hagar the Egyptian cannot be any good -
Such have been the fare of feeding "my sheep" by a multitude
Of professors of faith, theologians, doers of GOOD
According to Peter's restoration steps: John, chapter 21
III
Yet Hagar was a key to many a blessing
An Egyptian, yes, but before there were any Islam or current nation
Called Jews, or Israel, or the Twelve Tribes, except Abram -
The Pagan from Haran, from Ur of Iraq, before then
He and Sarai could not wait for God's Isaac, His time
Like the best of us, they HELPED GOD - Tetragrammaton, as in YHWH!
What a novel plan, Sarai: Use the womb of the servant, Hagar,
To create your heir - no record of prayer, or talking with YHWH [YaHWaH]
Before this polygamous deed, then casting her out for a "look"?
(Do with your slave as you please, Abe who wifed Hagar,said to Sarai)
But on the way back to Egypt - Surely at SHUR, the angelic Wall at Shur,
Stopped Hagar the Horrible, because she was a key to AVRAM's goal!
She submitted - better than Abe and Sarai - to God's Angel & instruction!
The COVENANT (we talk a lot about it) was yet to be sealed ...
The self-same day: he was 13 and Abram the Pagan, Ninety-Nine
The slave-woman's son, circumcised with Abraham, the self-same day
Isaac, The Son of Promise, would only come the next year!
Read your Bible (the Twelve Kings first blessed upon Ishmael: God hears!
Even the slaves & indentured, all colors, when they trust and obey
Poor old Abe always had trust, but he didn't always obey ...
Soon it will be the return of LORD of lords & residents: Judgment Day
Read Genesis again, - and again - know why Hagar & Ishmael live on!