Survey the hands that do the tiresome deeds,
the feet that clear the weeds on paths of sin,
the ears that listen, writing down the needs
the loving hearts that pray for souls to win.
Disciples offer worthwhile help for free
with gentle words when fellows disagree.
No censure made for lives from guilt reborn
but pure encouragement in lieu of scorn.
From baskets filled with food for hungry kids
to welcome beds that homeless people crave.
From secret cash for one who’s hit the skids
to counsel giv’n a work-a-holic slave.
Observe these ones who bear their Savior’s name.
Envision corpus Christi without shame -
His body glorifying The Lord - forgiv’n -
the church at work and Holy-Spirit-driv’n.
Oh, Texas, as I sipped Savon Blanc emeralds I saw in your night skys
You're more beautiful than the Gulf Coast, where Corpus Christi lies
I found a lovely part of downtown Houston, much to my surprise
Where an angel walks in plain sight with stunning green eyes
Corpus Christi in the southern region of the United States
Named by a Spanish explorer, Alonso Álvarez de Pineda, and mates.
As he discovered the lush semitropical bay, an American city
on the Western Texas coast; Christian feast day of Corpus Christi.
The city’s name means, body of Christ; a place of my birth,
A coastal city in the biggest state of Texas on this earth.
Corpus Christi of North America, is known as the "Bird Capital,"
A city that has a humid subtropical climate, to some very unvital.
North America a country of the free and the brave;
Fifty states surrounded by an ocean coastal waves that voices rave.
Beaches almost paradise that brings joy, semblance of normalcy;
Just feels like one can breathe from all the abnormalcy.
In time for a very hot, very immunized summer rhythm,
Oceanside of much-needed thrilling escapism.
With cold drinks, toes scrunch in the sand;
In a beach day with a lot of laughter and getting tanned.
5/31/2023
'Glorifying your birthplace/country through poetry
If Your Birthplace-country was a poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
It was dusty, dry and endless
Stretched beneath an empty sky
From horizon to horizon
Where the turkey buzzards fly,
Like a landscape meant to warn you
Just how far a man can fall.
Except for Ruby in El Paso,
Hell, it weren’t worth Texas at all.
Took a powder in Fort Stockton.
Crossed the Pecos makin’ time.
San Antone gave way to Austin
On the Travis County line.
Shot a rattlesnake in Waco
With my back against the wall.
Except for Bobbi-Jo in Beaumont,
Hell, it weren’t worth Texas at all.
I’ve seen Lubbock and Laredo,
Seen Odessa/Midland, too.
Met a sweet young thing in Brownsville,
Just another déjà vu.
Didn’t tell her I was leaving,
But I promised her I’d call.
Except for Emmylou in Houston,
Hell, it weren’t worth Texas at all.
Learned to do the Stockdale two-step
In the local Lone Star style.
Danced a Galveston fandango
With a Corpus Christi smile.
Set a sucker up in Dallas,
But my partner dropped the ball.
Except for Jill in Amarillo,
Hell, it weren’t worth Texas at all.
Though by Covid-nineteen we are kept apart
in isolation distanced and distressed;
though no kiss nor embrace should hug my heart
lest an accidental Judas left me cursed;
yet I keep on seeking for a hopeful sign
that the Spirit who calls us to be one
in Christ by blessing bread and fruit of vine,
might show afresh our part in God's own Son.
Sunday still feels holy even though alone,
for we are each connected by the sound
of those familiar voices on the phone
sharing Eucharistic prayers. We are found,
touched and joined by the Spirit on the line
with the Saviour Jesus – God divine.
Feast of Corpus Christi
Kindred (II)
by Michael R. Burch
Rise, pale disastrous moon!
What is love, but a heightened effect
of time, light and distance?
Did you burn once,
before you became
so remote, so detached,
so coldly, inhumanly lustrous,
before you were able to assume
the very pallor of love itself?
What is the dawn now, to you or to me?
We are as one,
out of favor with the sun.
We would exhume
the white corpse of love
for a last dance,
and yet we will not.
We will let her be,
let her abide,
for she is nothing now,
to you
or to me.
Published by Songs of Innocence. Keywords/Tags: moon, pale, disaster, disastrous, remote, detached, remorse, cool, cold, coldness, inhuman, inhumanity, lustrous, pallor, love, itself, white, corpse, corpus christi, rise, risen, time, light, desire, longing, romantic
I only tell of sunny hours ...
Although dark shadows cast their gloom.
My prototype in ancient times
Stood guard outside a Pharaoh's tomb.
*
From Egypt's Valley of the Kings
To dreaming spires of Oxford town,
My heritage of solar time
From east to west has earned renown.
I only tell of pleasant times
Although dark moments leave their trace,
But I prefer to spread the light
And show the world a sunny face.
13.02.19
Sundial Wisdom Poetry Contest : sponsored by Julia Ward
*note: A sundial dating to the 13th century B.C. and considered one of the oldest Egyptian sundials, was discovered in Egypt's Valley of the Kings, the burial place of rulers from Egypt's New Kingdom period (around 1550 B.C. to 1070 B.C.).
* various sundials dot the university town of Oxford, the most famous of which can be found in Corpus Christi College.
The hearth of God speaks inwardly
to our hearts and soul when we accept
the house of bread is spoken of in our Holy book
In the place of the skull balance holding truth
from the watchtower of strength you grew Almighty
As One Star You remain the brightest lit
when you stood at the porch in our church
In the place where the olives are pressed
the word made flesh became King
Corpus Christi Amen
Holy of holies.....
My quest in my way.....for
The Holy Grail.....
Easter 2004-Easter 2013
With such Passion the quest started......
Unbridled.....yet so well disguised....
2005....the mask started to come off.
And the quest started in earnest....
The next year.....the quest nearly ended....
But inspiration anew for this was reborn.....
The following year....ALL....masks fully removed.
Then 2008....the truce and the main war ended...
Yet the quest continued......
Angelically demonic was the spell of the gods....
Yet even over the servant of THE ONE YAHWEH...
was His Mercy given....
Easter 2013.....sanctuary at last.....
The presence of God risen as a Phoenix from a funeral pyre.
The living dead collapsed...and was reborn...
And the faith that the old knight knew as a boy was reborn a glorious new
Amen
Inspired by holy of holies touched by an angels
And by my own career at the satellite cafe
Which I call
Heresy, the spell if the gods, and the last temptation and passion of jesus Christ superstar of montreal corpus Christi and the davinci code
Heresy...spell of the gods and the angelically demonic last temptation and passion of jesus christ superstar of montreal corpus christi and paris....
Or....the Writings Of Lewis Findley
________________
Lucilla invictus sings her song and opens her door
A bright chartreuce caboose as she waltzes cross the floor/?
Or maybe one of rising sun happy and mellow
Beware for the clockwork is bright orange o that fellow
Red alert. And rockets fired across the entire earth
Soon I am marooned and teran to give birth
Zero hour nuclear night ...grandeose of sorrow
Two days have passed...it is the first day past. The morrow
Now the truce is called , it was all .....in retrospect...somewhat scary
The next generation tahes the reins as I go to sanctuary
Stoking The Dream Machine
by Gabriel Magno
the rocking horse stood idle, the tricycle had rusted,
the grown up children had their share, and now are well adjusted.
Virginia mountains’ hollows, filled with dirt poor children playing,
in blue jeans stained with red mud, as grandmas sat crocheting.
the knock-kneed mailman suffers, as he walks through Winter’s blizzards,
the hobos near the railroad track, place bets and race their lizards.
the last train passing through, arrived at noon from Corpus Christi,
with sailors who had made a run, to barrooms serving whisky.
and me I’m passing time, as I try hard in understanding,
how crows atop the mayor’s car, did such a perfect landing.
here comes the ice cream truck, the silver bell is ringing,
the children playing in the park, drag feet to stop their swinging.
In droves the town folks came, to see the tiny tight rope walker,
the ticket seller smiles, as ladies swoon to this fast talker.
the bluebird circles in the air, to gather monarch butterflies,
If this a dream I’m floating in, I hope and pray it never dies.
Observe the ones who bear Christ's name,
see corpus Christi without shame.
They're His, aflame and all forgiv'n;
the church at work and Spirit driv'n.
Survey the hands that do good deeds
the feet that stamp out weeds of sin,
the ears that hearken to the needs
and loving hearts that pray to win.
Bags of clean clothes or groceries
and toys for kids to please with such
a friend, a crutch for wannabes,
note to a mom who works too much.
A "Christ" ian offers help - esprit,
a warming breath, you will agree.
One censure free, one new reborn
receives support in lieu of scorn…
A neighbor was on his way to Corpus Christi,
He saw a little girl who is Bob's little Misty.
You know me I am your neighbor down the street,
Come with me and we'll get a bite to eat.
I won't hurt you so please come with me,
And we will get to mommy you will see.
So toward home they surely did go,
They traveled pass her home you know.
She knows trouble is just ahead,
His mercy she began to search she said.
The man had no mercy in sight,
All she could do was scream and bite.
She open the door and ran screaming the word "stranger",
She hoped someone would hear and know there is danger.
Bob's little Misty knew to run as fast as she can,
And always tell daddy or mommy before getting in a car, truck, or van.