Pontius Poems | Examples

A The Purpose of Man's Existance

I believe in Eternal God
The Eternal Father Almighty
Creator of Heaven and earth
And in Father Christ
His only Eternal Son
Our Divine Lord
Who was conceived by the Eternal Holy Spirit
Born of the Virgin Mother Mary
Suffered under Pontius Pilate
Was crucified
Died 
And was buried
He descended into hell
The 3rd day He rose again from the dead
He ascended into Heaven
Sitted at the right hand of Eternal God
The Eternal Father Almighty
From there He will come to judge
The living and the dead
I believe in the Holy (Roman) Catholic Church
The communion of Saints
The forgiveness of sins
The resurrection of the body and life everlasting
Amen

Poetry Form: Free Verse
Date Typed: May 20, 2025
Time Typed: 8:11am

Pontius Pilate

You ask of me silence as I Rome 
Saint peters square gathering hymns 
beneath Di Vatican where Satan sits 
in solitude a prisoner of haste awaiting 
a time to live a time to give malice a 
wretched sea urchins filled with rapture 
borrowed by solace envy kackling carny 
unfolding aimlessly becoming nothing in the 
eyes of God sending chills of fear weathered 
under the soil sandals of the child of God wrath 
behold the tyranny engraved over the watchers 
minds eye calling to pontius pilates consciousness 
professing goodness portraying the death of Christ 
from a morbid dream shared by his wife come to me 
now seek truth return void from your sinful actions 
hatred devoured love conquered an yet I am still here

Politics Wealth and Evil

Politics is not partisanship...
In the delirium of these dark times, the badness of the bad
lost fear of punishment...
The kindness of good people,
lost hope...
The Good Conscious
we should practice as much as possible
for the impossible...

For the omission of the benevolent
is the rejoicing of evildoers...
Conscious fight without shedding blood,
Warlords with spilled blood...
We must not remain neutral
in the face of injustice,
Let's not compact with the oppressors...
not wash our hands
for our evils,
is to be christian,
wash them is to be
Pontius Pilate...!

Pontius Piousness

predisposed political parlays predict poised patterns policing
protective presents pontificating perseverant predatory 
persuasive promotions promulgating persistent 
proselytizing prostitutional 
pademic poisonous 
pragmatics

Easter

Triumph of immortality over mortality!
Resurrection of Jesus, we commemorate fondly;
Reassessing all virtues, who, gave new morality...!

Romans and Jews found Jesus pattern of legality,
Paving firm foundations for new values that could lead promptly;
Triumph of immortality over mortality!

Pontius Pilate, with his decorum and formality,
Handed over the savior of mankind nonchalantly,
Reassessing all virtues, who, gave new morality...!

Crowds, who sang hosanna once, now in rough brutality,
Demanded death, though heavenly Father designed so kindly;
Triumph of immortality over mortality!

They crushed him; crucified him with all abnormality,
Buried him in deepest of grave; as though very rudely;
Reassessing all virtues, who, gave new morality...!

Jesus knew, his divine father would reverentially,
Resuscitate him and reassure him so graciously;
Triumph of immortality over mortality!
Reassessing all virtues, who, gave new morality...!


16 April 2022

Is Truth the First Casualty of War and Why Is That

It's to demilitarize Ukraine; to de-Nazify,
Did Ukraine dare attack regions of Donetsk and Lugansk?
Said, yet, Putin; he did not, clear-as-crystal, specify,
Did countries of west arm Kyiv against the Russia's ransack...?

What's truth? Jesus did not ask Pontius Piolet in such vein,
Could all that Putin narrates considered the Gospel-truth?
Total truth was lost in ruthlessness - this was Jesus-pain,
Could Zelenskyy be to hold realistic truths to sooth...?

Ukraine influence in Russia be destroyed, Putin said, 
Truth alone wins, they say, is it in reality so?
This, Putin said truth, and, cause why he had to go-ahead,
If truth does not win, where will Ukraine for its justice go...?

Truth is yet, not all; truth, once, used to be devoid of chaff,
Truths of nations of war, need not, bid other nations laugh...!


19 march 2022
Is truth the first casualty of war and why is that Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet

Sand In Your Eyes

Sand in your eyes

Full moon tonight, a supernova to sound educated
last time was in 1948 when the catastrophe hit the Palestine people.
I was twenty at the time and believed what the papers wrote.
Even the killing of Folke Bernadotte by a fanatical Jew was overlooked hadn´t they suffered enough, 
the Hebrew people it was a relief the bothersome people left Europe, the whisperers said.
Where are your hands, Pontius Pilatus?
Now we have killings in Paris and minarets, Europe has a Muslim 
problem and no one dance in the street anymore.

A Lovely Man

He was a lovely man; I was not a follower
But I was a believer in his Godliness and his goodliness.
His name was Jesus, and I knew he did not deserve to be there.
Nailed to a cross. It was excruciating to watch.

I had known him but a day or so, but he had been kind.
He had taken a moment to listen and to smile.
I was one of the servers at his meal and it was a pleasure to meet him.
He was appreciative and thanked us.  Humble, unassuming, sweet.

I asked my mother why such a man would be on a cross.
She was as confused as I was; but we knew better than to ask.
I had to turn away, it was too hard for me to bear.
I prayed for the man, the one many said was God’s son.

I turned back for one last look. There were angels. Their wings had covered him.
I said to my mother “Look!”
She turned. “What am I looking at?” she asked me.
“The angels!” I shrieked. They are covering Jesus.

She put her hand over my mouth to shush me. She knew the laws.
I could have been stoned to death for what I saw.
Pontius Pilate could be listening for all we knew.
I felt better after I saw the angels, knowing Jesus was safe.

Another Side of Hell

Pontius privateers
pray on saintly alterlings
Avici Amens.

Tis Not a Year For Fireworks

“And no bird weeping a lament  
no bird crying the song of its honey voice  
in the leaves of Spring’s many flowers 
could outrun him 
Pan, in song”
"Hymn to Pan,” The Homeric Hymns

Tis not a year for fireworks, when multitudes lie dying
While those in power obfuscate, fake news betrays their lying
Rue the day when counterfeit Pence spouts logic false decrying 
That at last the tide has turned with more and younger expiring 
As Pontius Trump unmasked washes his hands denying
All blame and then returns to golfing.

Muscle Blood and Bone

From beyond the clouds to the heavens above.
You’ve blessed us all with your grace and love.
You show us every second of the day.
How much you care and with us you’ll stay.

With each blade of grass and the countless stars.
I have no doubt of who I am and who you are.
You are beautiful, courageous and steady.
Because of your sacrifice and loyalty, I will always stand ready.

Your crucifixion was a testament to your love and bravery.
Your torture under Pontius Pilate and the harsh bonds of slavery.
I will never backdown and I will never disown.
You are my savior, you have my muscle, blood and bone.

Forgive Them

He entered Jerusalem on an ass
as the crowd lay palm fronds before his feet.
And multitudes cheered Him as he rode pass
loved by the poor, yet feared by the elite.

The charge of insurrection once implied,
allowed Pontius Pilate to end His days.
And Jewish Rabbis had Him crucified
for challenging their traditional ways.

Roman soldiers mercilessly scourged Him, 
stripping muscle and sinew to the bone.
And weaving a crown of thorns on a whim,
they mocked this king of kings without a throne.

"Forgive them, Lord, they know not what they do,"
with these words, He died on the cross, that’s true.


(Sonnet)


04/10/2020

The Songs of Pontius Pilate

Let pontious Pilate play
His two toothed song for you and I
Barabas the thief shall stay
And Jesus we will chose to die

The messiah has been no option
Bad has been chosen over good
Long on the path of corruption
On this faulty ground we've stood

How many perished in Gomorrah
Only God could account
How many entered the ark of Noah
My little fingers could count

Jezebel rather be renamed a virgin
For Mary to be called a harlot
Christ is a man full of sin
Righteousness we seek in a devil's hut

Blinded of truth beneath the sun
How on us the devils took turns
Who made us sing for joy
Here by the river side of Babylon

If You Pull a Long Face - Part V

IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part V

IF you pull a long face
Especially on Christmas Day
You might put out-of-place
Your face on every other day

If you keep pulling a long face
No matter what anyone might say
Some faces might wear a grimace
By contracting a long face each day

Yet if you must pull a long face
Just when darkness dims day by day
Winter Solstice might lift the burka lace
To show more of wanton autumn play

Now if you go on pulling a long face
On the Gran Via while Reyes Magos lead the way
By comets and shooting cars in criss-crossing race
Pontius Pilatus Police could you in gulgülta dismay

So if you still must pull a long face
On holy church-going psalm-rhyming day
Make sure you confess all dirty-linen disgrace
" Eli Eli lama : Please don't lead me astray ! "

© T. Wignesan - Paris, December 25, 2018

Pilate Hands

When Pilate saw that he could prevail nothing, 
but that rather a tumult was made, he took water, 
and washed his hands before the multitude, saying, 
I am innocent of the blood of this just person: see ye to it.
Mat 27:24 


They can’t wash away the stains,
final decisions
that have fatal consequences
Capital punishment decree hangs 
like a Damocles sword
Blood judgment descending,
inexorably irreversible

Pilate hands
always got their thumbs
pointed down
Giving death-lust satisfaction
to the condor crowd

Pilate hands
can’t be dirty deeds washed clean
Having Caesar-given power:
Life-and-death authoritative breath
is so intoxicating

Getting Pontius toga drunk 
on innocent blood — 
They spill the scarlet lifeforce,
violently, 
onto their violet judicial robes
of injustice
Black is their cloaked hearts,
red dagger hands
are six-finger degrees of separation removed
from the hangman

Cross over into the darkly barren land,
where the workers of iniquity
forever wash their faces
in nail-rust, crimson colored miry sand

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