Best Virgins Poems
The Parable of the Ten Virgins
Matt 25:1-13 NIV; 2 Tim 3:1-5 NIV
Ten virgins went out to meet the Bridegroom
But they all fell asleep before He came.
All had sought truth and eternity
And to the Lord did claim.
Their lamps represent the Word of God
And the Holy Spirit their oil.
All had the Word of God
But the foolish virgins their light did recoil.
The five virgins who were surrendered
To the Holy Spirit’s assimilating power,
Were the ones who had sufficient oil
In that late, midnight hour.
They’d fallen upon the Rock of Ages
And permitted their old natures to be broken.
The foolish virgins had not studied God’s character
And lacked their Father’s communion.
Without the power of the Holy Spirit
And preparation for the Bridegroom’s Coming,
Many will be lost in slumber;
They did not heed this parable’s warning!
All the virgins claim to be Christians;
All profess to be doing God’s service.
All are waiting for Christ’s appearing,
But five have empty lamps with no oil to replenish.
Half of these virgins will not make the banquet feast.
They had lamps and some oil for light,
But no oil in reserve
For that dark and fateful night.
It is the virgins whose characters
Are changed by heaven’s power
That find entrance to the wedding banquet
At the Marriage of the Lamb’s midnight hour!
Copyright © 2012 Maureen LeFanue
www.maureenlefanue.com
It was only a legend, my dears,
A normal town, living in fear,
There were fat feral urban virgins here,
Hell bent on their pleasures, cheers!
"Down with boys' daks, get here!"
A whole town living in fear,
Was it all an urban myth, my dears?
Urban virgins strolling the streets,
Battleships waiting for boys to meet,
Immaculate conception, each miss,
Having divine parthogenesis,
Yes, real fat funster chicks,
It was all about ********,
For each little Horatio,
Or was it a fantasy of bliss,
From an urban virgin miss?
Did urban virgins wander away?
Normal town, not a normal day,
A normal town, living in fear...
It was only a legend, my dears.
Valley’s of sleep that hold on to virtue through the years,
Distant from the arms of cities where vice and lust rule governments,
Where social values preach chastity to innocent hearts,
Where the earths depressions shelter Mr. and Mrs. Purity,
A v-shaped river valley of the virgins who roam there,
With rivers streaming from cities to valley’s that bleed desire,
Trapped they are by steep gradients with steep walls and narrow bottoms,
The cherubim keep shame societies there like puppets until the cherries blossom
and ripen,
Valley’s of cherries tucked away by pseudo morality, un-pollinated and stamen
locked up like relics,
Botanical gardens of exotic fruits and sacred flowers,
Kept there by valleys of locked up atriums where keys are closely watched by
bishops,
Vestal virgins with holy books as bosoms and nothing else,
In river valleys where streams of life’s juices are currents that flow in all directions,
Where church robes run from river baptismal’s of full immersion,
A sexual awaking blocked by dams that reach the heavens,
celestial ornaments of purity hung on swinging trees like botanical gardens to be
picked,
with winds that push and push until they are broken from branches falling below to
rivers that carry them away from brother and sister virtue,
sexual appetites subdued by chastity belt covered mouths that kill truth searching,
Sexual liberation, and the separation of the spirit hold separate experiences like the
sun and the moon,
finding the secrets that make the soul the soul requires a boat to carry souls
through rites of passage,
Horns are blown in glacial valleys to shake melting ice that flows leaving sediments
of intimacy behind to germinate in spring,
Human nature is the flower pollinated by romanticizsim that breaks away from
stems of adolescence and dogmatic aged tree branches,
Floating away in winds and water’s to cities where guilt is thrown off bridges,
rocks tied to feet where it sits at river bottoms like the Ganges,
only to resurface at the end of life’s death with purity and wisdom.
Ten supposed virgins with
lamps, more likely to be
tramps about to stick a man
like stamps. Hitch a
bridegroom and try to put
something inside a womb.
Five were smart as a fox and
wise, and five were dumber
than a box of fries.
Those who we're dimwits,
forgot their toolkits, and the oil
to fuel it.
The wise packed reserves and
used their lamps with
conserves.
The bridegroom was delayed,
while the virgins slept,
slumbered and played.
Around midnight the
bridegroom arrived, someone
cried, as the virgins became
more revived.
The virgins in the camps ran to
their lamps like champs.
The foolish cried to the wise,
‘Give us oil, our light won't
survive.
The ill-advised realized their
lack of preparation and opted
for a lazy solution without
hesitation
The wise replied, ‘No supplies,
not enough set a side ,
purchases your own wayside .’
When they left to buy, in came
their guy, those who where
ready left for a wedding, the
others behind a locked door
dreading.
The soul is dead in passing
The spirit lost its belonging
Running out of Ancestors peripherals
Last breath of thee, a gasp
Trees are throwing out branches
Thinking of a single brain
Diamond things hard to break none
“Too hard to pour”
“Too poor break”
Virgins in Attica
Singleton a mother of a *****-
Itching
Specifics specifying black or white
Simply extending his lips
Smiling less for laughter
Toys and spoken speeches of these
History, to tell his story
Tell his theory
Virgins in Attica
Widow falling to a window
Washing was what Washington?
Dreaming of America
But land on an African soil
New York City was city
She fishing dollars and gold-
Fireworks
Virgins in Attica
Kwa Mayimayi lets find strong a Medici’s
Medicine to behold the earth
Kwamhlab’ yalingana
The earth is not enough
Followed tracks of my roots
Heard no song though
He promised bundles of prayers
A land of milk, honey-
But a global warming watering none
Virgins in Attica
Finance marrying marriages
Love put aside for chemical tests
Chemistry of a super witch
Crafting specialties of art
Artist in Attica
Mother Mary gave birthing to a love child
I’m a bustard
Adam, Eve figuring out *****-
Virgins in Viagra
Virgins in Attica
She just a distraction
No expedient in experience
No feelings
No emotions
No last for lust
Virgins in Attica
THE TRENCHES : the pure truth so colorful, so to bring out the beast in a beast; philosophy, spirituality and dreams in priggish ways a fifth chapter.
When Virgins Emerge
Virgins dwell on celibacy when they emerge
Even though the agenda might stray to setting dynamite
To lighting candles, eating celery, and hanging everything in sight
Displaying imaginary tiny toys and boys with strings and hooks
Around their necks as ornaments
Christmas trees come to mind
Virgins begin to find their spirits under there
Surprises give thier rise to blossoming
All Incongruities abound and bounce
Like Easter bunnies, they multiply rapidly in Spring
Such women naturally adapt
Are adept at math
Virgins lie and wait
If thoughts could think
Puritanical thoughts would starve for food
Suffocate from education
No need for birth control
Being pure of soul
No need for debate
Or hesitation concerning masturbation
Convenience stores will do just fine
When women explode into the universe
To find their feminine side
Unwind, have a smoke, a child or two
Virgins don’t just converge, they merge with it
VIRGINS
Little long after the moon drank the sun;
Far away from home underneath a baobab,
With my heart in the palms of my hands,
Pumping petrified blood down my great vein,
In a skin that peeled with fear,
I laid dazed, in a honey maze.
The sweet fragrance of her nectar joggled my senses
As I searched for my name in between her thighs,
Deep beyond the thicket that bore the truth and the light:
With every touch,
In a portrait of passion and pleasure,
She painted my future.
With every thrust,
She wriggled in glorious accommodation.
And as her dam burst,
She breathed fire onto my embers.
At last, in a melee of sensations unknown
With rivers oozing between our thighs in synchrony,
I found my name, wrapped in the curl of her tongue;
Glorifying beneath the African sky,
A story forever to be engraved on our hearts,
One told by the contours of our steaming bodies;
Years, a dozen and a half from our first cries of 1987.
.
Returning home
After decades of wandering over the globe
I am back here at the point where I started
My home at the top of the lush green mountain
Stood along the canopy like a monument of time
Through my Mahogany framed windows
I see the cloud capped Seven Virgins
That shook the aviation history
With an unfortunate chilling story
When a giant metallic bird on it’s flight
Crashed with all on board in a cold dark night
I remember the thundering crash
Followed by a screen of flames
Looked like shells we see in films
The smell of burning life and metal
Wafted the air ,like in a field of battle
Seven Virgins have buried that memory
And moved on with the new century
Dew on tea bushes, sparkle like diamonds
Cold breeze greets me as I do my errands
The choirs of songbirds and cokatoos
Make me sing and dance to their tunes
Mother Nature noticed my return
Greeted me with a cool shower rain
Everything makes me feel very young
This is my home, where I belong
THE VIRGIN’S NIGHT FEATURES
Oh virgin’s night features I dearly love
As a companion for my noble peace,
Then, loneliness a prey out of my globe,
For her altar to bless me with a kiss.
Lost by day but you a philtre in my night;
Daff the light for the milky sight in whole,
As thou undress before the canstick light.
Inclip me your haunt on my wooden couch
For thou art now good taste on my soft skin,
With a thought I step blind in your real touch,
“Oh, she’s just a pucelle in white so skinny.
Let me offer thee aegis as treasure,
To make me wow thee with love as pleasure
Miracle Of The Virgins
Some terrorists are silly and depraved
They are promised 40 virgins when they die
If they strap a bomb or two around their waste
Or behead the enemy as they cry
But I don’t know
I've been around the block a couple of times
There are girls of virtue somewhere
But never in my travels did I find, 40 at a time
Well, maybe in the womb
And that’s assuming they’re inclined
To do it with these dirty filthy heathen killing things
Terrorists have sex with deceased camels
They don’t wash their hands after be-headings either
I hate to say bad things about the enemy
But I’m afraid they really and truly stink
Many chopping blocks are out there
It is easy to lose your head and not return
Yesterday was not the day that I was born
And there is something to be learned
Whoever is offering virgins by the dozens
Might as well offer flying unicorns with their cousins
The miracle of the virgins is exactly that
You are lucky to find one or two still living in the womb
And perhaps a couple residing on the moon
It began with a single flake of snow
That fell upon my brow so gently down.
Almost imperceptible, ever so
Subtle and never making any sound.
I love these silent tiny crystalline
Flakes that now are falling numerously
In front of grateful eyes at wintertime.
I extend my open hand graciously
And welcome these white virgins from heaven
That have clung to me so effortlessly.
Their prodigious numbers against my skin
Benumb my hand homogeneously.
I stand alone in winters fading fling
Holding these virgins while thinking of Spring.
Girls and boys grow up proportionately
With needs specific to their given gender
They become women and men so they say
They say celibacy is dead, is nonexistent
Technology becomes a vice for them
When at the casino, machines seduce adults
Dazzle pretty, show bright and shiny objects
Screams and rings are on display in public
Slots entice the visitors to do bad things
Remain un-phased, are hungry for the money
And keep you satisfied for just a moment
Passion has a special language filled with coins
As you depart penniless with your shame
Apertures lie in wait for the next boy or girl to seduce
Communication is all they want to do
Show some symbols as a token of their love
It's just a game for boys and girls to play
Slots have the last word, last action
Remain with their virginity intact as they say nothing
Virgins don't do evil,
or so I've heard it said.
But wicked thoughts do virgins think,
they're sinister in head.
Hide behind their innocence,
and you can't prove me wrong.
Not given into consequence,
yet lost when feelings strong.
You lose that treasure its to late,
forever pay the cost.
Virgins don't do evil,
till virginty is lost.
What was a gigolo to do?
"I'll fill my gherkin with glue!"
Virgins said with a grin,
"We're sticking with him,
You'll have naughty sons like you!"
Enter the virgins we are,
My love does say to me,
He has a mask of intrigue,
As we bask in mild glow,
We're not frigid, I guess,
Love in the afternoon,
Languid, but molten,
Let go and let love,
He's gone again,
See you, perhaps,
Love you tomorrow at dawn,
Vestals somewhen......