Christens Poems | Examples

You Enter These Words

Named by someone else's mouth,
you enter words,
they become your horses,
you ride them,

then a time comes when they ride you,
you become their hoof-beats.

Your name was always
that which came out of a womb
to Say Itself,
yet your given name
entered your ears like a horse thief.

Now you are the many names of Jesus,
of Mary, of Judas.
You stable such names
until your own Christ christens
your ghost.

The horses gallop on,
words become saddles,

but now where are you,
and what to call you?

Showing Him Someone Cares

she christens the lake where her lover’s body was found
they say suicide, she thinks murder.
no one will convince her otherwise.
there are sides of him you did not know, his mother said.
maybe the worst mother in history.
She puts the flowers into the water, letting them drift.
confident they will find their way to his spirit,
showing him that someone cares very much about his journey

Wing a Little Wink

Dew christens morning grass underneath my feet
          Chilled senses in the mist, fill of something sweet
Sun teases its reveal, tempting me to pause
                   Palms in a flurried rush offer their applause

Feathered friends of every sort wing a little wink
          Chirpers as they like to sing, hush to take a drink
Touching, as I stop to chat, flowers in a cart
   Lending ear to neighbor’s woes, bid to touch my heart
 
As I walk the paths and trails that colorize my town
         I could not for even just one second, wear a frown
Skies of blue agreeable to nature’s every whim
               Compliment a crystal lake inviting me to swim
 
On my walk each morning, as I begin to shine
       First remember gratitude for everything that’s mine
Then as every morning joy furthers into view
                        Better am I able to love everything I do

Depth of Field

Development laps at emaciated canvas
Exponential images whisper a thousand words
Chemical dip shifts generic into candid
Graphic effigy given vigour by a brief submerge


Slippery minutes expand sqare memoir
Retrieved from squalid pool, jumped illustrious
Pregnant with wisdom from an embalm
Faith puts detail on paper basic miscellaneous


Source of light firms fine composition 
Blankness bask enables solid ice to effervesce
Supernatural Spirit delivered christens
Fermented parchment finds miracles manifest



          
              15th February
     Philosophic Rearrangement

Libby Was Christened

Cicada shell needed discarding, fast
Desperately ready for what she will become 
Stepping rapidly out of her pitchy past
Towards freshness, her chance to succumb 

Wavered mirage solidified as suitable man
Opportunity usually slashed with cruelty
Sigrid's vehemence needed a complete ban
Skin uncovered to reveal her new duality

Kind intentions filled fault lines, offered aquit
Approaching face to face day stirred her 
Softer side on show, finally primed to submit
Pleas to release rancid shield heard her

New page turning requires vibrant virgin title
Her odd request, capable Ace conjured 
Renewed endurance from Libby arises vital
Crowned with liberation, love pondered 

Dazzling effect flung her mortality's motions 
Scope to partake in romance unafraid 
Libby's demeanor walks as waterfall, potion 
Christens her effusive decision made





17th September

True For People

I can record that voice,
 When the radio can’t catch a wave,
 convert it to Morse code and send it to infinity
 and somewhere on the other side of the earth,
 Someone christens this joke as some serious discovery,
 as well as -
 listening to white noise,
 The prophecy of Nostradamus,
 and Ouija board game,
 that caused the death of several people,
 All three are promoted businesses,
 which affects the human psyche
 - in the form of his own pareidolia
 and deceives us in its existence,
 where Vanga can't even come close to knocking on that door,
 from which the voice of the spirits of those dead recognizable faces,
are heard,
 and to understand their interests
 we – living beings have to pay money,
 thus making it difficult for us -
 to help ourselves in self-development,
 and not to feed greedy governments
 which seem we had to change 
like underwear and socks,
 but also on different continents,
 in different countries,
 in particular, to bestow to feed those hungry people,
 who might die so
 that could not read this poem ...

Seagulls and Scarecrows

I, a salty scarecrow, roam the shoreline
          The moon melts soft like butter on the reach
               Squalling seagulls sip the morning sunshine
     While dropping clams to split upon the beach

The moon melts soft like butter on the reach
          Thus drizzling heaven's hem with Hollandaise 
               While dropping clams to split upon the beach
     The giggling gulls high-dive the dawning haze

Thus drizzling heaven's hem with Hollandaise
          The bisque horizon christens bright, the morn
               The giggling gulls high-dive the dawning haze
     Oh such as this, should all good days be born

The bisque horizon christens bright, the morn
          Squalling seagulls sip the morning sunshine
               Oh such as this, should all good days be born
     I, a salty scarecrow ... roam the shoreline.





~ 2nd Place ~  in the "Seagulls" Poetry Contest, Eve Roper, Judge & Sponsor.

Required line: "Squalling seagulls sip the morning sunshine"

( Syllables = 10 per line, counted at HowManySyllables.com )

Invitation To a Garden Wedding

Invitation to a Garden Wedding

What temple of praise is it that we raise?
A Sunday church of sermons and duty
for souls whose altar craze may lose its blaze?
That which is of Love could lose its beauty?
A rose is not intent upon its scent
nor night the light whose absence is essence.
But if it were true would judgment relent?
Will chastened stone exult and rain fragrance?
Our cloistered pleasance, graceful and striking
in its aisles and tended devotions
christens blossoms of earth’s fertile Firstling.
But these blossoms grown wild are bastard sons?
   From what seed are we sprung?  Mary’s “I do.”
   Life weds grace; the Garden planted anew.

Encapsulate An Emotion

Popcorn pops!
The bag swells with golden steam. I stop
the microwave to top off papa's favorite bowl.
Salt christens the glistening treat
and I retreat into the family room twilight

as papa pushes play.

2019, F 21
encapsulate an emotion contest, sponsored by nina parmenter

Dope

Dope- that word still tastes foreign in my mouth. It bites at my ears every time I hear that word somehow sounding even more bitter when it rolls off my own tongue. I can feel each letter tumble off my tongue and a small but familiar voice in the back of my head tells me to turn around but that word, that strange yet familiar word that bitter sweet word has already been spoken and the dope man has been paid his dues and the click click of lighters already has flame kissing glass. As the first hit christens the room in a cloud of smoke, inhale deep, exhale slow. It has begun. With one word. 
Dope.

History Sees a Man

The cross is a symbol
of abject suffering
and base brutality,
lacking humanity.

Jesus nailed to the cross,
is a vile depiction of
cruelty and torture
causing anguish and death.

I find it curious
that Christens would select
such a gruesome image
to symbolize God's love.
 
How many innocent
souls have died on the cross
in the name of Jesus,
by so-called popes and priests?

A crucified figure
hanging in agony,
in no way represents
a caring, loving God.

Through His own testament,
Jesus was born a Jew,
and He prayed to Yahweh,
His one and only God.

Although a great healer
and a Jewish Rabbi,
history sees a man
and sadly, so do I.


(Quatrain)


11/4/2017

Blossoms and Bubbles

Effervescent laughter blows over vales
then falls soft to glaze new blooms posed genteel.
Gracious stems lift smiles to foamed skies surreal,
riding on sunrays of shimmery sails.

Splendid dreams bubble up from blossoms bright,
a sparkling scene as petals parade ‘round.
Cushioned on spring breeze, love waits to be found;
warm thoughts of you fly then burst in midflight.

Light bubbles join hands to soar through puffed clouds
winking at flowers in latest spring styles.
Their joy christens lands once silent for miles;
orbs popping with flair in breath’s blooming shrouds.

Laughter lifts skyward, an aerated tale,
of bubbles blown high above blooming vale.

3/25/15 for Olive's Blossoms and Bubbles Contest

La Femme Ideale

I love her limpid, clear blue-eyes
      and her long, yellow tresses;
wise, and with grace that never dies
      or wavers, she blesses.

Behind those intelligent eyes,
      she ponders, thinks, and listens;
as I surmise, she feels the rise
      of saintliness that christens.

With golden tresses dressed in waves,
      spooled, and weaved in sage;
she braves the loathing that enslaves,
      assuaging enmity's rage.

Shrewd, wise, and just, she's tolerant,
      patient, kind, and compassionate;
and eschews man's Pride, the giant
      of deadly sins that's intemperate.

But her existence's all but undone,
      for she's more abstract than real:— 
that she's only fiction I bemoan,
      for she's “la femme idéale.”

Jason

god has me continuously help thee you must be special too he that has so many spirits in the sky did you know we could die!a special  gift god tell me I have as he begs me too help you his love seeps though!jason I know who you tell me you are as my heart god does scar.will I ever see the one you loved so or in another life will I have too rain too see this man Jason I know is supposely his name.how many times has he truly saved me or is it your angels I can't see!god he has too prepare them for what is too come he is your smoking gun.let him kill every man that destroy your will before revalations gets here!now Jason save these christens for me even though you they will never see for your gods helping hand truely I consider you a friend for saving American Christians minds all through your life sorry about the pain and stiff in your military career.

In the Wizard's Garden

*Inspired by George Dunlop Leslie's painting of the same title

The wizard's slumbering garden 
spins magic with ivy thread.
The lure of this mystical web
snares the beauteous girl in red.

He christens this damsel "Scarlet"
for the hue of her crimson gown,
for the tint of her blooming cheeks
that contrast the ashen ground.

The garden robs her rubescence
to fuel the wizard's dark spells,
draining her beauty and vibrance 
until Scarlet becomes a mere shell. 

But to her, this yard rivals Eden,
teeming with flowers and fruit,
bursting with colour and light, 
from tallest tree to deepest root. 

But her vision is mere mirage
in a garden half-dying and grim,
in a graveyard of latent runes
that veil this labyrinth of sin.

Here in the wizard's garden,
warm breath and cold death collide.
In the guise of a noble pardon,
Scarlet becomes his blind bride.


For Isaiah's "George Dunlop Leslie" contest
Here is a link to the painting: http://www.victorianweb.org/painting/misc/leslie1.html

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