Home » Poems » Best » Mark Priestley » Best Mark Priestley Poems

Best Poems Written by Mark Priestley

Below are the all-time best Mark Priestley poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Mark Priestley Poem

Son of the Father

I'm sitting in my chains, awaiting my death,
And I'm cursing the God, who first gave me breath.
When my guard comes in, holding a key,
And says, 'get on your feet, we're setting you free'.
'How can this be'?, I shout in his face.
'The Man they call Jesus is taking your place'.
Bewildered I stand, and my chains hit the floor,
Then, still confused, I am pushed out the door.
Out on the street I grab the first man I see,
And ask 'do you know Jesus, where can He be'?
'Yes, I know Him, the Messiah men say,
'Sent down fro Heaven, to show us the way,
'Was found guilty last night, of blasphemy.
'And now, under the cross, heads for Calvary'.
Turning away I rush down the street.
Before this Man dies we have to meet.
Outside the city I join with the crowd,
Now I see Him! Bleeding but unbowed.
By cruel whips His back is torn,
And around His head a crown of twisted thorn.
As I get close He looks my way,
The love in His eyes, no words can say.
I can't stop the water that springs from my eyes,
As, greatest of miracles, Barrabbas now cries.
He see Him laid down on the crossbeam,
The hammer comes down, I hear no scream.
I watch Him raised against the darkening sky.
He looks down with love on all who stand by.
Be they friend, family, or enemy,
Faithful disciple or reviling Pharisee.
Is we all stand and watch the sun hides it's light,
Seems creation itself can't stand this sight.
His mouth finally opens, 'It is finished1' He cries.
The earth shakes in anguish, as my God dies.

Details | Mark Priestley Poem

Boys

Running the hills, to
Dive under the trees
Pierced with our shrieks.
We bawled along the woods.
Soft laughing streams
We tripped. Trails whipped
Through nettles, to show
The world our infant mettle.
Away from home, charging
Free, the sky bowed to
The power of our hearts.
Small we stood,
Giants in our minds, strong
To conquer the days.
Imaginations blazed, as we,
Heroes of the Summer,
Merrily raged the hours away.

Details | Mark Priestley Poem

Epic

The blade buried     beneath the burning.
Old hopes lost, back    in the lash of battle.
One man walks      along the winded mount,
Turning slowly,      the sun-silvered seas
Draw his heart     horizon-ward, his eyes
Focus in search     of the lone fluttering sail,
The boat that bears     his bloodied King
Away from heavy war     forged ruin and waste,
Across the widening      waters. Taken to
The healing houses     of the Holy Isle.
Once flowing banners     torn down, bitter flood
Of his enemies' hate     hastening to undo
The loyal legacy.     One still loves.
His fate not to     fight hard, and fall
At the side of     his sovereign Lord.
Ordered and honoured     to keep heart-hope alive.
Over gorse crowned cliffs     he carries away
The heavy stewardship    of the infant prince.
His ward now to     watch and rear, until
His time is full ready     to revenge his father's fall.

Details | Mark Priestley Poem

Between Jupiter and a Bottle

Torn between Jupiter and a bottle
The sky-borne heart, caught yearning for the stars,
Staggers, split and spitted upon the earth.
This is not what Love was spilt for, nevermore
To spy out the cold crippled, dripping sun.
Society flails in its own puke,
As the unicorns lay slaughtered in the
Cracked concrete forests. Feet pound, dogged,
Down the tired ruins. The sainted smoke,
Drifting on the breeze of long stale hopes,
Calls back to life the broken, burnt-out voice
Of forgotten dreams, pulled from the dust.

Details | Mark Priestley Poem

The Triumphant Tragedy

Hard to bear     and heart breaking,
The bitter sight     of the shining One,
Broken in body     still bold of spirit.
Spite driven nails    gnaw the wrists,
Brow torn open by     hard twisted thorns.
Our glorious King     crippled on the cross,
In open naked shame     ordeal nerve shredding.
The wounded heart     wrung out by hate,
Still lavishing forth     love's pure force.
Voices spitting scorn,     savage fists shook,
As the crowd rage     in great crazed hate,
Before His mother's     grief flooded face.
The eyes close     only ease and cease
Of bone grating pain,     now passed and gone,
As His breath falters     and fades soft away.
The crowd scatters,     silence clears the hill,
Disciples in sorrow,     decriers still scornful.
His blessed body taken     down by humble hands
And placed in the     hollow peace of
The garden tomb.     Three days gone,
The seal set,     soldiers stand in watch.
Now shook hard,     hearts shrink and seize,
As the bright bearer     steps down burning,
To roll the heavy stone,      hard hewn, away.
Even the angel light     is eclipsed as
He stands forth to      bring the shining birth
Of the waiting world's     ever reigning hope.

Details | Mark Priestley Poem

The Apple Lands

Stone-broken at the waters lip, spun
Round and starfished on this shrinking hill.
We gaze across the Apple Lands.
Distant fires rise in spirals, shifting.
The dog dance of our straying hearts
Calls us back to the razored road,
The high path we walked beneath
Cold singing stars. Now haunted by 
Mute memories, shouting in signs, of
Hands once struck, and honesty pledged.
We wore these hearts, worn out with 
Hope. Split shoed, striding on, we
Forgot the sound of friends,
No substitute for brothers.
Clinging tightly, we clutched to 
Survive, and pulled each other under

Details | Mark Priestley Poem

Security

Hard raging borean bearing wind,
Lashing down on the cowering town.
Leaves and litter, sky chucked and
Chased in spirals and soars,
Catching on clutching hedges
And fences, as the gale rails, drawing
The hail that beats on a thousand doors.
Snug inside the pillowed child sighs.
Nature's roar, to him no more than
The raging theme to peace filled dreams.

Details | Mark Priestley Poem

Drivel

we balanced along 
The embankments edge,
And past the Dead Dog Tree.
The view from the eyes that 
Flew above aerials hum
Left us down in the gravelled
Crawl. Scratch and tap among 
The ash heaps and the concrete
Cracks. Left to lie in the
Heart of the seldom sun.

Details | Mark Priestley Poem

Babble

No more to dance, no more to shine,
A clown down, on the foreign round.
Lost in the laughing trafficked city.
Tongues of pity now broken, now
Regretful of the truths hard spoken.
Flinching from stilleto'd eyes,
Solace sought in the lies screaming
From the pasted signs. Only
Here, hid among the blinded dragons,
Is there peace, my shattered sister.
Rest, lay down your blistered soul.