Worshipped Poems | Examples

In Praise of Comedy

The art of comedy's a sacred thing,
as fresh and precious in its gift of bliss
as when a worshipped one's initial kiss
transports us first. Like Fragonard, we swing
to Lena Horne's delightful rites of spring
on wings of wonder. No analysis 
can pull apart a pleasure pure as this. 
We humans laugh as nightingales might sing.
We're taught to think creators must be serious,
but humour's both unruly and imperious,
and ridicule's the boy-god's sharpest dart.
We laugh and learn, and don't let worries weary us,
for dreariness is deadly, deleterious:
thanks, heaven, for the comedy of art.

Liturgies of the Flesh

You arrived like dusk—
not falling, but folding the sky inward,
your body a benediction
I knelt to translate.

No prayer passed my lips,
only the hush of devotion,
tongue pressed to the scripture
written in your trembling.

And when you opened—
not like a door,
but like dusk releases the bloom
too shy for daylight—
I drank not of desire
but of trust, poured full.

Your thighs curved like parentheses
around a secret I was meant to hold.
Your hands, constellations mapping
the shape of surrender.
We traced each other in tides,
language drawn from salt and ache.

I descended beneath reason,
rose beneath breath.
My name vanished into your gasp
as yours bloomed on my tongue.

We were not two,
but twin liturgies—
each mouth a chalice,
each exhale, gospel.
We worshipped without altar,
knowing the body is the holiest text
we dare not read aloud.

And when we broke,
it was not into silence
but into starlight—
shared, swallowed,
sung.

The light himself

If you asked me if i was devoted?
If I was loyal?
If I was a servant of his orders?
I would agree without hesitation.

In the fiery depths that i dwell in,
the torturous circus of corpses,
the deep dark underground that I was banished to,
He is the light, he is my light, my love, my angel.

If you asked me if I loved him?
If I worshipped him?
If I treasured him, like he was the last remaining scrap of my soul?
I would agree, without hesitation.

He is my will to live, my purpose, my grace and, equally, my insanity.
I fell for him, in sword and flame, I fell.
Cast out and forsaken from a palace I'd once called home,
I fell for him, in sword and flame, in sweet agony, I burned.

If you asked me if I would trade the world for him?
If I would sacrifice myself for him?
If I would burn, strike the match myself, If i knew it would save him?
I would agree without hesitation.

Angels are made and taught to worship their gods,
to be devotees to a deity,
to be servants to a savior,
I fell, my wings are burned, halo cracked and dim,
but teachings are hard to forget when they're engraved,
So I'm fated to eternally worship him...

Worship

The sodium street lights
Your few striped freckles
The makeshift tattoo on my palm
A couple? Never. It's always been a triple or even a single at best,
A circle of medics healing medics.
This distortion is fine
It's a revolution of entrancing revolts.

Relics ignite for every star in the ground,
Scattered upon my brain.
To my pressed, dear, deadest flowers...
You keep leaving me out!
Crystalise for me, so I can die again for you.

My precious opalite,
Your purity is a miracle.
My beloved flaked obsidian,
Your impurity is a fiasco.
Both are much to be worshipped.
But now what am I to you>
The myriad, or the clone?

You keep me enshrined.
You rekindle yourself.
You say the circle is perfect, but it ends 4 corners behind.
I guess I'm only history.

Set me alight

If you dare.

Bless They That Mourn

"While he was yet speaking, there came also another, and said, Thy sons and thy daughters were eating and drinking wine in their eldest brother's house: [19] And, behold, there came a great wind from the wilderness, and smote the four corners of the house, and it fell upon the young men, and they are dead; and I only am escaped alone to tell thee. [20] Then Job arose, and rent his mantle, and shaved his head, and fell down upon the ground, and worshipped, [21] And said, Naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return thither: the LORD gave, and the LORD hath taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD."
~Job 1:18-21 KJV


hands clutch hair and pull to mask the sorrows,
to feel the pain, the hurt, one understands 
knowing they are gone in all tomorrows
death is far, yea, far from these mortal hands
And so, to show how wide the sorrow spans
rip, or cut, yea, shave what sets us apart
symbolic of a bruised and broken heart
golden locks or black, once all cut away
identity lost, the same now we art 
symbol of grief connects past with today.

The Quiet Echo

I have met you in my mind,
You have been a reflection of my desire.
I have worshipped you in my favourite mirror,
You have been a quiet echo in others’ eyes.

I never judged you inside the canvas,
Never found you in my head,
Never placed you on the stage,
Never let you out of my heart.

So many people to see,
So many places to go,
So many things to learn,
Yet I confine myself to your memoir.

To live in you is nothing but a daydream,
To be stuck in your voice is merely a yearning to be brave.
To get you out of the lonesome island
Is to get rid of the nothingness inside my head.

I will make you a dark circumference,
While you live in the encrypted figure.
No one can snatch you out of this cage,
Where you are destined—in the imaginary no man’s land.

salvation army

salvation army

she wore purple because she liked it.
hanging stiffly on the store rack,
yellow goodwill tag with smudged blue ink,
was it a three or five?
she argued for three, willing to pay five, she did.

her breasts had followed the alphabet
from a to b to c to d
and settled back on c
after some of the air had escaped her life
and left her haggling over purple dresses.

somehow salvation was unreachable
and the army refused to go home,
but she had purple swatches to mend the holes
and fingertips that blended too well
with gunnysack purple and bruised memories.

she remembered life in yellows and orange
bright colors that worshipped the sun.
but that was when she dreamed while still awake
and wished without a penny.
purple happens to life.  

and it did.

tolbert

Unknown

Unknown

a wooden statue
carved by unknown hands perhaps
an E.T. worshipped
by an ancient native tribe
who witnessed unknown aliens

Memento on the Moon

Memento on the moon, our existence based on what we cannot see.
Subjective logic we measure by mere senses within our body
A penny lay I law on moon’s largest crater saying, ‘In God We Trust’
Nay a picture of God found on this coin, rather a man once worshipped
Proving our everlasting toil of higher power on earth versus universe
Never fully finding the rubric of justice but trusting a flawed process
Living breathing proof of our détente of existentialism wresting fate
Fighting chaos, embracing a land of laws to control the new
Both beautiful and horrid contradictions whimsically stuck in a dance
Desire to progress but strangled with fear we marched on
Seeking knowledge while carrying the boat anchor of tradition
We made it just far enough to learn how small we actually grew

A Paschal Praise

The Christ descended from His Father’s throne;
In dying on the cross, He conquered Hell.
Then He rolled away His sepulchral stone;
The sting of death would no longer prevail.
A glorious word of good news to tell!
His disciples worshipped in prostration
As they prepared in humble elation
To spread news of the resurrected King
Who paid the price of mankind’s salvation;
A new song all of creation will sing!

Dethroned Queen

Once, she was the moon that lit my night,
A beacon of silver, so soft, so bright.
Her laughter—music that haunted my sleep,
Her beauty—a secret my heart longed to keep.

Through endless streets, I wandered in vain,
Begging forgiveness, drowning in pain.
Yet silence stood where her love had shone,
A ghost of a dream now cold and gone.

Today, I saw her lost in the crowd,
The girl who once made my heartbeat loud.
Yet the glow I cherished had faded away,
A shadow remained where radiance lay.

How could time, in just one year's flight,
Turn passion to echoes, love into night?
What once felt endless now slips through my hands,
A tale unwritten, lost in the sands.

Dethroned, she stands from the heights of my mind,
The queen of my heart, now left behind.
A year has passed, and with it, I see—
The love I once worshipped was never for me.

History

God spoke and created.' Commisioned Moses, and other
Prophets who duly narrated.' Men asked for such.' Yet soon changed
Their minds.' When comments and guidance didn't match
'With their kind' in piqu'e and rage they oft, were at odds with such intruders.' They of course blamed God.' They raised up alters to 'climate forces' worshipped trees; stars;
And watercourses ' then they took Gods son sent in Love
To crucify after kicks punches, whippings and shoves' they
Put Him to death' as (their solution final) yet Gods one 
Always life.' To such is rejection and denial?

Street Diamond

Graffiti tags thrown on a diamond,
meant to resemble acid washed jean;
Perfect patches for a tattered queen;

Everyone knows she’s an urban queen 
with that stony voice she tastes diamond; 
This lady could model a rock jean;

A slow walk wearing everyday jean,
no one knows she’s their good girl queen;
Worshipped like a ten carat diamond;

Hidden street diamond a blue jean queen.

Gripe Sound

What the world thinks about me-
It doesn't matter;
But in my soul, I have stutter
It might think me the cheater 
But I never be an Ivy creeper!!

I have no friends-
I am trying to be in trend;
To show the world, I may not believe God
But it doesn't mean I never worshipped lord 
It may be my attraction 
But never be distraction??

longings

Longings

I wish I could see Teresa
met her in Trinidad
She came from St Luzia 
Wore a flower in her hair
like women do in Hawaii 
I had lost my glasses
We looked under the bed
Her body was a temple
We worshipped that god 
At dawn we’re formal
She wore a fresh flower
In her hair

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