Parish Poems - Poems about Parish

Forgive

How could you be so unforgiving, 
After the reasons she had given:
For all her blushes, her clear tremor?
Your pardon, now would be her armor...

She would want to leave and still live
So, the Hot Words you have for her sieve;
I had heard it said "To err is human"
Lately, found out Chief Culprit: woman...

What's it again priest

Parish Cherish and Sermons Nightmarish

will always cherish
is best priest in our parish
sermons nightmarish

about priest wonder
the spell he has us under
collected plunder

priest a rising star
exceeds all others by far
drives fancy car

in cathedral
error was procedural
took another pill

cherish parish would
while wild priest we withstood
was up to no good

we called our priest jane
in power she does remain
on us down will reign

is a real

Presented Polite Priest To Our Parish

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Presented Polite Priest To Our Parish

There are many things that poems can contain;
Fragrant flowers which will flow in a spring rain;
Sky full of clouds and mountain top with snow,
While across some wide sea wind would blow.

Heard a polite priest who we love in our parish;
Could give great sermon which we will cherish;
And should see him

Thoughts We Prayed Would Parish

Thoughts We Prayed Would Parish

Gads. I am getting tired. How about
you completing this for me using
cherish, perish, wish and fish for 
a divine dish.

Jim Horn

Parish the Thought

In Llanbadarn-y-garreg, mid-Wales
There lives a preponderance of males
But Saint Padarn's church
Would never besmirch
Recitation of old fairy tails

Avoyelles Life

In a small town, in the middle of the state
Lie many questions; still unanswered to date 
Injustice is done without the bat of an eye
It's all about who you know, my oh my

Crying for help, you don't stand a chance
While those in control laugh and dance
Most turn their backs and pretend it away
They claim it

Trump Wish Would Parish

Trump Wish Would Parish 

Hillary we love and still do cherish,
While we wish Trump would parish;
On Christmas Eve,
Episcopal Church leave;
All of us he does like to embarrish.

Jim Horn

He was actually at an Episcopal Church.

Seems like when Trump leaves, 
He had stolen all of the sheaves.

I Say Leave the Worldly Things To Parish

We are but a mere blinking of an eye of eternity
Our souls here only seconds in the abyss of time
Than like that we are over, done, complete
Pehaps it's not the quantity of life we should we worry with
But the quality instead
Did we use our time wisely to instill great traits to pass on
for future generations?
Or

Pointe Coupee Parish

The last living light
Twinkles in his dead eyes
Alive a moment ago but now gone
Someone should shut them
A stare so lonely
Into a place that only he knew
He’s lying there on the floor 
Bleeding hard from the head
Police don’t even bother
Just pay him his respects
It’s cold and lonely down there
Watching life go on
Knowing your no long part

Into a Parish Priest

Into a Parish Priest.

Horn has always worked the hardest

At trying to become an blowhard artist

And a great poet he soon became

To find all of his fortune and fame.


God as great as He always has been,

Wasn't sure where he should begin

Regarding making Horn more poetic

Whose appeal was totally pathetic.


When Horn wrote poetry and sang music

You got

The Parish

When the time comes we shall all gather, 
People of all walks and talks together, 
In front of the parish for the Holy Communion, 
It is here that we meet our companion, 
In holy matrimony we unite before the father, 

But this is no ordinary parish, 
We separate men from boys before they perish, 
We

To Parish

To parish would be to gain-
Freedom. Freedom
From that which haunts me.

Not to perish in a physical sense, 
No- 
That would be pointless. 

I must perish mentally.
Kill that which envelops my 
Being. Thoughts

Of a bright future, 
A better tomorrow,
A new life.

To Parish With It's Infancy

Trees sway ever so lightly in the breeze.
Clear streams flow along the earth nearby.
Birds sing natures melody happily.
Wildflowers paint the meadow in colors.

A gravel driveway completing the scene.

As I, afraid to touch anything, 
for it may dissapear,

As I may awake from this dream,
Having drifted from my mind as if it were never there,

And parish with

St Mary and St Eanswythe 11th Century, Parish Church

Beside remembrance road,
Up rugged steps,
A little further on, 
A gate,
And through,
Along a flagstone path,
Lined by sturdy trees,
Now in their Autumn shades,
And roundabout, 
Gravestones, with Epitaphs,
Some hard to see,
Of past loving thoughts, 
For those through time,
That left this world behind,
Gold heaped beds, crisp to foot,
Lead on, and there,
Within the filtering light,
A door of timber,
Where in, such

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