On a tablet of stone,
Mankind was made known,
A covenant of laws to abide.
Not a place remaining to hide.
Sinful nature that leads to death.
Come seek God who created breath.
On a foundation of sand,
Was written one shall not stand.
The storms, wind, and waves.
But by the One who rose from the grave.
For all have sinned and shall not judge,
Releasing old ways of holding a grudge.
That,the oldself shall be buried in the sand,
Built on the rock of an outstretched hand.
Written not with ink or on stone,
But on the hearts and minds of the throne.
A new creature to be molded and purified,
Into the bond of the husbandman and bride.
Mother Earth:Garden Womb
She is not virginal
Not unused
Not pure
Being ancient
and of old,
Inevitably,
Been touched before.
Many years
a widow,
She is a lonesome,
barren land.
So many
passing lovers;
Needing a faithful
Husbandman.
For she was present
In the first garden;
Feeling the slithering belly
Of the snake.
And when
the curse was given,
One womb quickened,
And The other
Was Laid waste.
The womb smells
of dusty earth.
Her salty tears
bring only pain.
She waits for
the Husbandman
To finally bring
the latter rain.
He will work
the soil
Scrap metal fingers
through to damp.
In love
and anticipation,
Tiny seeds
he will plant.
If the womb
is ready,
If it is
the perfect time,
Then
the Planted seeds
Will grow
into
The True Vine.
Growth
will begin,
Bearing fruit,
Lusty,
Strong,
And Bold.
Increasing
and multiplying
Making a Mother
Of the Old.
My Land
This is my land.
I will cultivate, love, and cherish my land.
I will choose when Spring will come,
I will choose my own Husbandman,
I will choose if there be none,
I will choose when the rain will be,
And choose if and who will plant a seed.
This is my land.
My soil will nourish, protect, and feed.
My soil may remain fallow,
My soil gives the fruit we need,
My soil should be hallowed.
My soil from a will that's freed,
You have no power over me.
This is my land.
You have fought, died, and thrown your gold.
You value this above most things.
You may scorn this fertile female soul,
You may deny my right to be,
You may try to wrest control,
But this land belongs to me.
Inheritance from the King of Kings,
Yes, this land belongs to me.
I
I am not BIRD
Yet in the Word
I am often eagle, winged
In strength, your protection
And so, Let there be Light
(versus Love) is no oversight
Because my light is fraction
Of my love in action
Not just fancy vocabulary
Missed by all, and the seminary
2
I began creation in love and light
Only one you see, without insight
My son chose, "Son of Man,"
But told religion, "I am"
(8:58 in John, and seven others)
He also is First among sisters, brothers
Yet that True Vine, ensuring they fruit
Father God, is husbandman, not root
Yet the triune root exists
We are one in aim, objectives
There is no rivalry, jealousy
We are the first Community
The communion and union
Our Love is not thy love, til glorification
3.
I am the gate, Jesus said (John 10)
David called me Good Shepherd, 23 Psalm
I am not these, yet I AM
Can you try to understand?
You personify me, First Person
O vocabulary is nice and cumbersome
I want silence, too, communion
Humanity give me things, my own creation
Since temples, ziggurats, pyramids
I want to be in thy midst!
That's my Creative Love
You'll know if you come above
it's a story about a henpeckked husband
that catered and spoiled
his wife.
one day he fixed her beef tougue and cabbage soup
her friend was in attendance
so she smiled and became mean and uncaring
and cursed him.
day's later when he mustered up the courage to
speak to her, her cornered him
and cursed him in the corner
not allowing him to leave.
silently he would never complain or mention
it to his friends.
one day a gentlemen in the market asked
him why does he shop
so much.
he told him, I shop to feed my family.
oh, the gentlemen said you have a family,
yes he said, a wife and twelve children.
the gentlemen looked at him strangely, for a while.
do you live near twelvestone manor, the husband said why yes I do.
oh, the gentlemen said: you're that that chick beats up
cause you wouldn't stop getting her pregant!
I AM THE BRIDE OF CHRIST---
Oh I am a virgin
Parted and emerging
Cleanse from my sins
The Husbandman has forgiven me;
I’m
I am saving myself for Jesus;
He’s the only one who can please me;
He’s the reason;
I am pleasing;
I am His bride, and He’s my groom;
His saving grace saves me from doom;
I am
Ahhh… I am
The bride of the living one;
He’s the ONLY one whom can save me now;
I am His and He is mine;
I’m His bride and child;
I am saving myself for Jesus;
He’s the only one who can please me;
He’s the reason;
I am pleasing;
I am His bride, and He’s my groom;
His saving grace saves me from doom;
I am saving myself for Jesus;
I AM THE BRIDE OF CHRIST;
3/3/06
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.© 2006, 2018
Sticks And Stones
"Solid states are deleterious. Innocuous spates are not so serious."
Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater
" Husbandman who imbibes of the melon chose a poor wife who was a felon. He incarcerated her within the rind and there he kept her very fine."
Simple Simon
"No negotiable instrument, no appreciable increment."
Pease Porridge Hot
"Command decision requires revision when ample sample shows division."
Little Bo Peep
"For diminutive Miss, I recommend bliss while she waits for her errant arrivals. Recalcitrant flock will do what it wants in search of its own self survival."
Little Jack Horner
"Young thumb gains pie's plum."
Hickory Dickory Dock
"Audible distress makes mouse change address."
PROVERBS 31 Woman
Who knows the woman, virtous today,
Her lighted candle, burning through each night.
Considering her vinyard meant to stay
For seasons yet to come, when time is right
Whose strength is in her arms, and loyalty
To each within her fold, yea, maidens all,
rejoice for being part of all they see,
and all they see is one who'll never fall.
In weaving of her tapestry, her gold
and silver thread in candle light's aglow
reveals her story all too seldom told.
and what each husbandman should know.
Her linen sold, with words of wisdom's charm,
There's never need, for causing any harm.
© ron wilson aka Ron Arbuthnot
aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Bypassing mercy as compassion and these things should not be left undone ?
Enveloping love's heart shall it fail oneself to grasp; turn away from tears, this light
Their lives, be dreams we omit ? Yet even creation's puppies do eat, the crumbs which fall
Aneath, His, childrens tables: time's husbandman, and what branch can thrive nor survive apart
Beauty's vine this breath of life a furnace, they say ? Who made me a judge over you anyway; show or tell...
When truth lies bleeding in such hands left weeping atop, their open sepulchres ? I know not what I shall be; but I do know.
GRACE GROWS BEST IN WINTER
I had but one joy,this apple
of my eye, to preach of Christ
,my Lord.Now I hang but by
a thread,but if I may say,
it is all of Christ’s spinning;
Day by day the bloom fell
off my branches and joy did
cast its flower.And yet I might
still meet with joy up in the
rainbow’s bower.There the
good Husbandman does pick
His rose and gather His lily.
The night will close the door
And hasten my anchor within
the veil and I shall go away
to sleep,leaving others,now
to tell my tale.
An phrasis epitaph of Samuel Rutherford
using phrases selected from his letters.
Listen to me read this phrasis on youtube under the name ichthyschiro
.*A Phrasis is a structured verse where the poet uses selected prose phrases of another writer’s(not a poet) to compile unique poetry therefrom as a tribute thereto,the word phrasis is Greek for phrase.Samuel Rutherford was a Scottish pastor (1600-1661)and one of the author’s of the Westminister confession of 1647.
Have you not heard?
Have you not known?
Alone, pleasure endures,
but for a moment
It fleets as the wind!
As the wind,
it knows not,
where it has been,
As the wind,
it knows not,
where it is going
Alas!
Except pleasure lives on,
beyond the surge of ecstasy,
beyond the lonely island of remorse
Except it lives on,
in the sweet memories
and melodies of the soul
Except it bears the sweet fruits,
of deep and abiding satisfaction,
fruits of gratitude and goodwill,
drooping from the magnificent branch
of inner peace,
dropping from the evergreen tree
of quiet meditation,
tended in the everlasting vineyard,
by the husbandman himself,
who makes all things beautiful
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.