In his holy flirtation with the world, God occasionally drops a handkerchief. These handkerchiefs are called saints.
quote by Frederick Buechner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Holy Is The Lord
Holy is your name, in all the earth I worship you
Holy is your name, in all the earth I come to you
Holy is your name, in all the earth I sing to you
Holy, Holy, Holy is your name
Holy are you Lord, I come before your throne and bow
Holy are you Lord, I come into your presence now
Holy are you Lord I listen to the angels sing
Holy, Holy, Holy are you Lord
Holy are you Lord, my heart it leaps within my chest
Holy are you Lord, Its in your arms I find my rest
Holy are you Lord, the saints around the world they sing
Holy, Holy, Holy are you Lord
Now listen to the saints, they sing Holy are you Lord
Now listen to them cry to you, Holy are you Lord
There is a cry around the world, they lift their voice and sing
Holy, Holy, Holy are you Lord
I come before your throne to sing, Holy is your name
I come before your throne to sing, I'll never be the same
Pour our out your fire of love on me, this is what I sing
Holy, Holy, to the risen King
poem by Frank McEleny
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Flirting
She likes listening to you
And then talking with you.
She acknowledges your presence
And then grants her presence.
She lets her eyes meet yours
And then throws private glances
She pretends your intensions
And then accept casual presents.
She ignores incidental touches.
Now the ground is ripe for flirtation.
Flirtation is an art of living.
Flirtation is an art of loving.
Flirtation is the essence of life.
No adultery; a harmless recreation.
16.06.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We Are Saints
I’ve been sanctified, set apart, for God’s service from the start,
The very moment that I believed, when Christ’s Spirit I received,
I was indeed, set apart by God, while still upon this earthly sod,
Sealed by the Spirit of Christ, for God’s purpose within this life.
All believers are God’s holy ones, truly set apart, by God’s Son,
Becoming saints while on earth, through the power of New Birth,
Indeed, not by the choice of men, but when we were Born Again,
We’re true saints of The Living God, led on earth by Christ’s rod.
Saints, according to God’s Grace, for His purpose on this place,
To have an impact, in this world, as His Truth we fervently herald,
Truth that states we are saints, regardless of what religion paints,
Saints, chosen by Christ The Lord, truth, that by many is ignored.
We are saints, as God has willed, with His purpose to be fulfilled,
Not simply saints for another time, but on earth by God’s Design,
Separated from this world’s plan, to be used by The Son of Man,
In spreading the Gospel of Christ, while in this present earthly life.
We’re not saints for just above, but here by God for sharing love,
The love of His Saving Gospel, as this for believers is God’s will,
To fill with saints the Church of God, those upon this earthly sod,
Then we can spend Eternal Life, saints together with Jesus Christ.
(Copyright ©01/2012)
Take On The World!
In the shadow of the Holy Cross,
In the footsteps of our Savior, Christ,
In the road to Calvary,
With piety and righteousness,
Take on the world!
With the Holy Spirit as Guide,
With your conscience to decide,
By God’s Ten Commandments to abide,
With Lord Jesus Christ beside,
Take on the world!
With Heaven as your soul’s aim,
Without a sin, blunder or blame,
Ignoring all worldly fame,
Trouncing the devils in their game,
Take on the world!
With the Holy Bible’s wisdom,
With eyes set on God’s Kingdom,
With the angels and saints to welcome,
Take on the world!
poem by John Celes
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Holy, Holy, Holy
Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty!
Early in the morning our song shall rise to Thee;
Holy, holy, holy, merciful and mighty!
God in three Persons, blessed Trinity!
Holy, holy, holy! All the saints adore Thee,
Casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea;
Cherubim and seraphim falling down before Thee,
Who was, and is, and evermore shall be.
Holy, holy, holy! though the darkness hide Thee,
Though the eye of sinful man Thy glory may not see;
Only Thou art holy; there is none beside Thee,
Perfect in power, in love, and purity.
Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty!
All Thy works shall praise Thy Name, in earth, and sky, and sea;
Holy, holy, holy; merciful and mighty!
God in three Persons, blessed Trinity!
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Libido exertion
Umpteen chances are there for flirtation.
Equally are there thwarts for their abortions.
Youths have learnt to live with flirtation
As means for their libido exertion.
11.08.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I used to have dozens of handkerchiefs
'I used to have dozens of handkerchiefs
Of finest lawn.
I used to have silk shirts and fine new suits.'
He's like a faun
This darling out-at-elbows Irish boy.
'Those were the days
Before the war
When money could be earned a thousand ways.
But now—last week I had a muslin bag
For handkerchief!
No socks, no shirts'—but wiles and smiles and gleams
Beyond belief.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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Here I Come-4
Holy holy is He
So merciful
Lion and King
Wonderful Counselor
Holy holy
Holy holy is He
Holy holy is He
Forever holy.
Most High God
Holy holy
Prince of Peace
Mighty Redeemer
King of Kings
Most High God
Holy holy
Holy holy is He
Holy holy is He
Forever holy.
Take my sins
As far as the east
Is from the west
Purge me
With your precious blood
Shelter me
From the storms
Cover me
With your glory
Holy holy
Holy holy is He
Holy holy is He
Forever holy.
You are so holy
You went to the cross
For me
So holy
You bled for me
So holy
You paid a price
I could not pay
Holy holy
Holy holy is He
Holy holy is He
Forever holy.
poem by Buxton Shippy
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Angels Are Not Saints
angels are not saints, we do believe that they exist
they can even transform themselves into human for
form, but still remain to what they are in their natural
phenomenon
they are called by many names, they too have rank to
obey, for angels lives like us, who work and have task
given by their master, in some moments we see them,
as they appears everyone notice them for angels, are
favorite images in every literature
angels are not God, that can judge nor an icon to be adored
in the altar that we throne, for only they serve to the master
where they return, in God's wisdom they are form
all angels are holy, but not a saints, as it could be, for only
man's nature reserved to be, by holiness one's sinfulness
make us saint in all eternity
angels is in highest stage, where over and above human sphere,
never that they are superior nor inferior to human lure, for one
mistake subject to be thrown to the fire that burn
angels are angels never be a saints for eternity, for our destiny
they are made, forever they well always lead us, we equal the
same beginning in the image and likeness of God, we took
and shared one love, a breath that last for a lifetime
angels as we, differ from they, who by the one who sent them,
reminds us all, to be, in a nation of saints not of an angel
where we are call
poem by Antonio Liao
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An earthly miracle
Sometimes, an earthly miracle
needs human mediation;
it’s what creates our saints;
and what our saints create.
This story’s told of Abba Alonius,
known always to speak the truth:
One day a man, provoked beyond restraint
by ceaseless taunts and treachery,
murdered a man, within the Abba’s sight;
fled to the Abba’s cell, begging him,
‘Forgive me, Abba, in the sight of God,
before they hang me in the sight of men…’
Abba Alonius said,
that was not in his power..
The police came, asked that holy man,
‘Did this man murder in your sight? ’
The Abba said, all he could say
was that the man sought blessing in his cell..
the murderer looked astonished at that holy man,
who had for his sake, broken holy vow of truth;
and for one man’s soul.. That soul
cried out to God, to redeem the holy Abba’s lie…
and in the instant, knew itself redeemed.
After the trial with no witness to the deed,
he sought the Abba, to know the holy truth:
And Abba said: ‘Better for me to express a lie,
and so, deliver your soul over to God unbound;
for God knows all.. Do what you can,
and leave the rest to God..’
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Only A Slight Flirtation
‘Twas just a slight flirtation,
And where’s the harm, I pray,
In that amusing pastime
So much in vogue to-day?
Her hand was plighted elsewhere
To one she held most dear,
But why should she sit lonely
When other men are near?
They walked to church together,
They sat upon the shore.
She found him entertaining,
He found her something more.
They rambled in the moonlight;
It made her look so fair,
She let him praise her beauty,
And kiss her flowing hair.
‘Twas just a nice flirtation.
So sad the fellow died.
Was drowned one day while boating,
The week she was a bride.’
A life went out in darkness,
A mother’s fond heart broke,
A maiden pined in secret –
With grief she never spoke.
While robed in bridal whiteness,
Queen of a festal throng,
She moved, whose slight flirtation
Had wrought this triple wrong.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Whither goest the Saints of Art?
Whither goest the lovely Saints -
The Saints that love art and paints?
Whither goest the Saints of Art -
The Saints who set free my heart?
Where did he go - St Haiku?
Did he go hiking or haikuing?
Where is Saint ABC,
He who likes to sail in the sea?
Whither goest St Free Verse,
That one of a heavy purse?
Whither goest Saint Ballad,
son of Sir Brian McSalad?
Where is that ever-loyal
Saint called Rhyme Royal?
Where is St Rhythm and others
who like to give draconian orders?
Where is that one who likes to keep lime
in his storeroom everytime?
Tell him I committed a crime:
I killed Mr Scheme Rhyme! ...
poem by Comfort Ndlovu
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Saints In Hell
They laughed at their gods
And fought them in vain
So he turned his back on them
And left them in pain
Now here come the saints
With their banners held high
Each one of them martyrs
Quite willing to die
Wake the dead, the saints are in hell
Wake the dead, theyve come for the bell
Cover your fists
Razor your spears
Its been our possession
For 8,000 years
Fetch the scream eagles
Unleash the wild cats
Set loose the king cobras
And blood sucking bats
Wake the dead, the saints are in hell
Wake the dead, theyve come for the bell
We are saints
In hell
We are saints
In hell
Were going down
Into the fire
Were going down
Into the fire
The streets run with blood from the mass mutilation
As carnage took toll for the bell
Abattoir, abattoir, mon dieu quelle horreur
For a time is was like second hell
Saints in hell
Saints in hell
The battle is over, the saints are alive
How can we all thank you, we felt so despised
Saints in hell
Saints in hell
Saints in hell
Saints in hell
Saints in hell
Saints in hell
(fade)
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Lives Of The Saints
The lives of the saints are very good
Because the saints takes care of their health and Hygiene very well
The saints always changes their clothes everyday because they transpire Very fast in heaven due to the heat that is turned on in the winter in Heaven
Yes it gets very hot in heaven that sometimes they have to open the Windows just a bit so they can get some fresh air
And heaven is home to the saints
But the saints love living in heaven because there is no noise or Violence
During the day the saints leaves heaven and come down to earth to Help in a food bunk and they get paid for their work
poem by Aldo Kraas
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The Lives Of The Saints Ii
The lives of the saints are very good
Because the saints takes care of their health and Hygiene very well
The saints always changes their clothes everyday because they transpire Very fast in heaven due to the heat that is turned on in the Winter in heaven
Yes it gets very hot in heaven that sometimes they have to open the Windows just a bit so they can get some fresh air
And heaven is home to the saints
But the saints love living in heaven because there is no noise or violence
During the day the saints leaves heaven and come down to earth to Help in a food bank and they get paid for their work
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who Are The Saints?
Just who are the Saints my friend, let The Word help you comprehend?
Are Saints a select religious few, selected by a tiny hand picked crew?
Are they made for worship by men, which by Christ will be condemned?
Or are they men like me and you, who have come into a life that’s new?
Call no one on earth Father Jesus said, it’s in Matthew haven’t you read?
For we have but one Father in Heaven, all else is simply religious leaven.
Men’s pious religious veneration, has nothing to do with true Salvation.
True Saints are humbled when, they realize they should be condemned.
All those who come to Christ in faith, are said by God to be His Saints.
Saints are the men set apart by God, while still upon this earth we trod.
We become a Saint when we believe, so please friend, don’t be deceived.
The Bible said that men would fall away, in the spiritual apostasy of today.
What about the Saints at Ephesus, should these men be respected less?
What about the Saints at Rome, the Pope or Vatican wasn’t even known?
Why not believe the words of Christ, if we’re serious about Eternal Life?
The Holy Spirit is the one who seals, all God’s living Saints who are real.
Our worship should go to only one; and that is God and His Only Son.
Just one mediator between God and man, this is easy to understand.
The mediator is Jesus Christ; for Christ is the One who gave His life.
He gave His life for me and you; Christ died so we could live life anew.
Because of His work on the cross, we enter God’s throne with boldness.
He now intercedes for the Saints, who pray to God through humble faith.
Soon Christ will call His Saints up, to return with Him in eternal triumph.
Then religious men in fear will faint, when they see Christ’s real Saints.
Is This Called...?
Is this called love,
That wants to share lust?
Is this called that,
A request comes fast?
The world that awaits,
To leave the nurtured world,
To hear the mellifluous chord,
Now is miserably hurled!
You may call me fool,
May consider rubbish thing.
But without touching me,
Can you play my string?
I can, I can, I smell you,
Can see you from too far.
Can feel you in absence,
Distance is no bar.
I never get any fatal scar,
In my heart, from you.
Your silence burst into tear,
But the drops fall as dew!
poem by Nilakshi Das
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When The Saints Go Marchin' In (Live)
WHEN THE SAINT GO MARCHING IN
Louis Armstrong
I: We are trav'ling in the footsteps
Of those who've gone before
But we'll all be reunited (But if we stand reunited)
On a new and sunlit shore (Then a new world is in store)
D - - - / G - - - / D - - - / A - - - /
D - - - / G - - - / D - A - / D - - - //
V: O when the Saints go marching in
When the Saints go marching in
O Lord I want to be in that number
When the Saints go marching in
D - - - / / / A7 - - - / D - - - / G - - - / D - A - / D - - - //
And when the sun refuse (begins) to shine
And when the sun refuse (begins) to shine
O Lord I want to be in that number
When the Saints go marching in
When the moon turns red with blood
When the moon turns red with blood
O Lord I want to be in that number
When the Saints go marching in
On that hallelujah day
On that hallelujah day
O Lord I want to be in that number
When the Saints go marching in
O when the trumpet sounds the call
O when the trumpet sounds the call
O Lord I want to be in that number
When the Saints go marching in
B: Some say this world of trouble
Is the only one we need
But I'm waiting for that morning
When the new world is revealed
(As Intro)
V: When the revelation (revolution) comes
When the revelation (revolution) comes
O Lord I want to be in that number
When the Saints go marching in
When the rich go out and work
When the rich go out and work
O Lord I want to be in that number
When the Saints go marching in
When the air is pure and clean
When the air is pure and clean
O Lord I want to be in that number
When the Saints go marching in
When we all have food to eat
When we all have food to eat
O Lord I want to be in that number
When the Saints go marching in
When our leaders learn to cry
When our leaders learn to cry
O Lord I want to be in that number
When the Saints go marching in
Bo Peterson
song performed by by Louis Armstrong
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When The Saints Go Marching In
We are traveling in the footsteps
Of those whove gone before
But well all be reunited (but if we stand reunited)
On a new and sunlit shore (then a new world is in store)
Oh when the saints go marching in
When the saints go marching in
Oh lord I want to be in that number
When the saints go marching in
And when the sun refuse (begins) to shine
And when the sun refuse (begins) to shine
Oh lord I want to be in that number
When the saints go marching in
When the moon turns red with blood
When the moon turns red with blood
Oh lord I want to be in that number
When the saints go marching in
On that hallelujah day
On that hallelujah day
Oh lord I want to be in that number
When the saints go marching in
Oh when the trumpet sounds the call
Oh when the trumpet sounds the call
Oh lord I want to be in that number
When the saints go marching in
Some say this world of trouble
Is the only one we need
But Im waiting for that morning
When the new world is revealed
When the revelation (revolution) comes
When the revelation (revolution) comes
Oh lord I want to be in that number
When the saints go marching in
When the rich go out and work
When the rich go out and work
Oh lord I want to be in that number
When the saints go marching in
When the air is pure and clean
When the air is pure and clean
Oh lord I want to be in that number
When the saints go marching in
When we all have food to eat
When we all have food to eat
Oh lord I want to be in that number
When the saints go marching in
When our leaders learn to cry
When our leaders learn to cry
Oh lord I want to be in that number
When the saints go marching in
song performed by by Louis Armstrong
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pockets
Are generally over or around
Erogenous zones, they seem to dive
In the direction of those
Dark places, and indeed
It is their nature to be dark
Themselves, keeping a kind
Of thieves' kitchen for the things
Sequestered from the world
For long or little while,
The keys, the handkerchiefs,
The sad and vagrant little coins
That are really only passing through.
For all they locate close to lust,
No pocket ever sees another;
There is in fact a certain sadness
To pockets, going in their lonesome ways
And snuffling up their sifting storms
Of dust, tobacco bits and lint.
A pocket with a hole in it
Drops out; from shame, is that, or pride?
What is a pocket but a hole?
poem by Howard Nemerov
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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