What was the appearance of God the Father? Like that of a man... God has the likeness of fingers and hands and a face.
quote by Benny Hinn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Saw You
The days I saw you my life was concluded,
You bedazzled me afterwards with your leering look;
It reminded me of an individual who was bolstered by excellence,
He was with this likeness, and he was with this appearance.
The glove fits, the hands are squashed by it,
As your appearance is sufficient, and I am forever in love.
That man is not here, but there,
He is not positive of his life as much as you,
He is gaining my admiration, but you are more.
Fortune bombards me now, more than bullets and stones,
The distractions are upon me now, just now.
The memory of you glistens like a simple stone of excellence,
I am dreary now, just sleepy, and my dreams are alive,
There is a morning in which I have met you,
And tomorrow will be an excellent day for us.
poem by Naveed Akram
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I Dreamed.... (Hands)
i dreamed last night...
and all i could see were hands.
sometimes hard and calloused,
sometimes soft and feminine.
skilled hands, laborer's hands,
loving hands, nurturing hands....
fingers digging in the dirt,
fingers holding a pen.
fingers playing a piano,
fingers unbuttoning blouses.
hands extended, hands gripping the rope,
hands holding the shovel,
hands covered with resin.
hands folded in prayer,
hands balled into fists.
hands stuffed in empty pockets.
hands that define both history,
and destiny!
hands scarred and bruised,
hands covered with age spots.
hands that speak many languages.
hands that know mistakes, and failures.
hands that built fires,
hands that put fires out!
hands that wiped away tears,
that picked up trash,
and revealed souls....
whose hands?
my hands, your hands?
god's hands?
does it really matter?
hands engaged and involved,
in the very act of living!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Appearance Of The Moon
The appearance of the moon and the muse of your love,
And like the fingers of the four living creatures;
But i saw the face of a man and the face of a lion!
And like the soles of a calf's hoof.
The face of an ox and the face of an eagle also came in,
But like a great marriage feast of love! !
And out of these visions came the muse of your love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Hands of Fathers and Sons
Full from the heart without a sealant of coy,
Five little fingers curled to daddy's thumb,
To his lips in render of his unmeasured joy,
A kiss of truth that only father could add up.
Full of strength without defiance of charm,
Now bigger fingers grapple to daddy's arm,
To his balding head tap by surprising defeat,
Sense of truth that son to father's no threat.
Full of love but without resistance of shame,
Two open hands locked to weakening frame,
That was once so gentle and fragile to hold,
The etymon of truth, future is now foretold.
That long before he's the son; he's the father,
With same name to carry, write, and spell,
Either left or right, these hands will not falter,
Their strength to give and care is their will.
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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Father there you Are(For my dad)
Father it's been a long time,
Since I was baby which I cannot count on my ten fingers,
Cradle my mother's arms,
My eyes closed yet to see my father,
Father running around,
Now I can talk and walk,
Those years later,
Father where are you?
Seeing my mother,
Saying I love thy father,
Which I do,
My love will forever be true,
Now as I grow older once again,
I ask myself,
Father where are you?
Inside my life I see a tunnel,
Running through that tunnel I hear a voice,
Do I go or should I stay?
Trusting my gut I do,
A smile on my face,
Father there you are!
poem by Qeeony Luv
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Underneath Are The Everlasting Arms
Father into your hands I place
the things I cannot do.
Father into your hands I give
what Irene's going through.
Father into your hands I place
the surgeons and nurses too.
For I know I always can trust you
Father into yours hands I place
my friends and family.
Father into your hands I place
everything that troubles me.
Father into your hands I place
the things I cannot see.
Because You care for Irene and me.
In Likeness of You!!!
My dearest friend
And in likeness of you
And in all that you've done
And all that I will do!
You are my mentor,
my anchor, and my sail
And in likeness of you
Your dreams will prevail.
A song so upbeat,
positive and true.
I do this to honor
The likeness of you.
poem by M. Rene Riel
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Old Man Dying
there's an old man dying
in a small bedroom filled
with books and worn out clothes
and old socks with holes
there's an ashtray that always
needs to be emptied;
blinds that are as twisted
as his fingers and his toes
there's an old man dying
in the shadow of his
father's dreams, his father's world,
choking on the bad taste
of his own prayers forgotten
and mountaintops bartered;
in the mist of cannot touch,
can't lay with again
and love sweat grown cold,
gone stale as the lines,
the wrinkles on his face,
and hands that tremble
there's an old man dying
and somewhere, there's
a young man being born!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Behind Every Gross Appearance Has Invisible Subtle!
Isn't it true
neither moon nor universe, not
even I or you are visible without the
invisible in us.
Visible all are, only because of
that more invisible in us! Behind every visible gross
appearance, there is more
invisible subtle appearance,
When we look at the picture,
We usually forget the canvas,
When watching a TV program, usually we can't see how
invisible electrons produce the
image.
I cannot see my own face,
just as God hides his face to us...
Therefore, could it be that we
have one and the same face?
our face is one of His face,
Yet as he can look at his other
faces using one that he can't see,
We are looking at our other faces
using this one, That we can't see,
This is the truth that The God
uses this face to look at other
faces! Yet we visible to that invisible,
And we are visible only due to
that invisible ground on which
whole world play,
World itself is visible face of that
invisible face, Every life become visible only
because of that who hides is face
behind beauty and ugly faces
alike!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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My Father's Hands
My Father's Hands
As I look upon my father's hands
now a spotted, wrinkled road map,
that time, sun and sweat,
have hardened them to a painted tortoise shell.
Those, the same hands that I once feared,
and yet at the same time so gentle
that they held my tiny hand deep within.
I feared nothing as if he was the grace of God.
Will they still remember me?
My Father's hands.
9 April 2008
in My Father's Hands
You ask me how I cope with life as it is
I simply turn to you and say
It is in my Father’s hands
For it is he alone who my every
Care fully understands
I may fall beneath my heavy load
I may cry and sometimes feel alone too
But it is then that I am reminded
To place all my cares
In my Father’s hands
My hurts I
Give to God who can
Mend all that is broken apart
All my cares are in my Father’s hands
You don’t have to remain sad
Feeling hopeless or alone
For you too only need to
Place all of your cares
In the Father’s hands!
©Copyright 2005 Becky LaPrarie
poem by Becky LaPrarie
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A Flashback Reaction
When father and daughter had words
contracting muscles in my face
felt like worms crawling
under my skin
Daughter conceded, father was right,
muscles relaxed, back to normal,
a flashback reaction
to early youth
When I held my fingers in my ears
as mother and father conversed
in angry words, grating
on my nerves…
poem by Margaret Alice
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Father Of Night
Father of night, father of day,
Father, who taketh the darkness away,
Father, who teacheth the bird to fly,
Builder of rainbows up in the sky,
Father of loneliness and pain,
Father of love and father of rain.
Father of day, father of night,
Father of black, father of white,
Father, who build the mountain so high,
Who shapeth the cloud up in the sky,
Father of time, father of dreams,
Father, who turneth the rivers and streams.
Father of grain, father of wheat,
Father of cold and father of heat,
Father of air and father of trees,
Who dwells in our hearts and our memories,
Father of minutes, father of days,
Father of whom we most solemnly praise.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Put Off Your Old Self
As New Creatures pulled out of darkness, we've been given new sight,
But, many professing Christians continue to live as if in the night.
We have been saved to be a blessing and to give the lost real hope,
And to fulfill our awesome task Christ's likeness must be our cloak.
Believers are not to be conformed to a world that will be condemned,
This also includes avoiding any appearances of evil my dear friend.
Avoiding the appearance of evil in this day is not a new revelation,
For living above this world's standards is The Lord's expectation.
But once you submit to The Lord and give His Word full adherence,
You will be lead by The Holy Spirit, and will avoid evil appearance.
Paul told us 'to put off your old self' with the world's filthiness,
And be clothed in garments that are truly The Lord's Righteousness.
Our appearance as a Christian does more then you can imagine or see,
A Godly appearance draws people to God who presently do not believe.
A choice to be different is a sign that you have some Hope to share,
For who would go to an unbeliever to get Truth in time of despair?
You may fool your family and your friends, but this you can be sure,
The Lord, whom you can not deceive, will one day knock at your door.
Finally Christ's illustration of the Wedding Banquet is quite clear,
Ignore Christ's way for your own and you may have something to fear.
(Copyright © 08/2002)
New World
A child on the shoulders of his father,
Watched the other kids with their bags to school,
Playing with their toys by the pool,
Shed tears and wished to be one of them,
The father went from man to man, street to street,
Signaling cars, gentility, with open hands,
Torn clothes, dirty face he stands,
Received nothing but ridiculing mass,
Who's responsible if his father is not rich?
The son, the father, we or democracy?
God, his angels, nature, or prophecy?
His eyes bleeding, his father's pleading,
Who will answer this little child's question?
Waiting am I for any suggestion.
poem by Jahan zaib
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A Depressed Bubble
His eyes twinkled,
When water bowled along,
With a heavy heart full of grief he stood there,
Feeling out of sorts.
Thinking what would happen to his mother,
When she'll know he got a D,
Thinking what would happen to his father,
Knowing his son couldn't reach his expectations.
Hearing his father's footsteps the boy ran away,
How would he face his father,
How would he face his mother,
What would he say to them?
Only this that they shouldn't have expected much from him,
Or rather blame himself?
His father called out his name,
He couldn't bare the pain,
It was the third time his hard work had went in vain,
The boy thought of nothing,
And while the father reached,
He was horrified for he saw blood stains on the floor,
And no sign of his child.
Teardrops wetted his clothes,
And all that he cited was,
Did you came to see me,
Or did you wished me to go with just tears in my eyes and blood on my hands.....
Written on 10/20/10
poem by Ayesha Riaz
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Fingers
In that photo of yours
I saw you –
Your face, your shoulders,
Your hands, and then
Your fingers…
My lips quivered
So did my hands
And I felt like touching you,
With my quivering lips
And unsure hands,
Those very beautiful
Exquisite fingers…
Reading your poems of love
And pondering over your letters…
Sometimes I imagine
You writing to me
With those very same
Slender and artistic
Adept fingers…
Very often I feel
And wonder…
If your fingers
Ever do ache
Writing so long,
So nice,
And so very endless,
Day after day…
And if they do, my Love
I feel like pampering them
With tender, loving care
A kiss here, a kiss there…
Holding them,
Caressing them,
Sucking them slow…
Your fingers in my mouth
Taking turns to go
One by one,
I feel them,
Nibble them,
Suckle them,
Make love to them,
Within the deep recesses
Of my oral crevice…
Till they feel pampered
And satiated
And I feel the same too…
Contented and happy
Making love to you
With your fingers
In my mouth…
A wonderful tryst
Of love and lust,
Warmth and arousal,
And then if you wish…
And if I'm also willing,
We can play this game
All night long…
Where you don’t win
And I don’t lose
We both win over together
And lose ourselves
To each other…
I give free rein to
Your fingers…
To touch, feel
And explore
The inner crevices
And every pore
Of my body…
The mouth has had its turn
Now, do you wish to go
Further down..?
And see how it feels
To caress my breasts,
My derriere and my
Yoni,
With those seeking,
Exploring fingers of yours…
You’ve penned a lot of poetry
And your letters intoxicate me…
How about writing
Some letters of love
And a few lines of love ballads
On the spaces and margins
Of my body…
Dipping your fingers,
And drinking into
The juice of my
Dripping Yoni…
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Pre-Existence
I laid me down upon the shore
And dreamed a little space;
I heard the great waves break and roar;
The sun was on my face.
My idle hands and fingers brown
Played with the pebbles grey;
The waves came up, the waves went down,
Most thundering and gay.
The pebbles, they were smooth and round
And warm upon my hands,
Like little people I had found
Sitting among the sands.
The grains of sands so shining-small
Soft through my fingers ran;
The sun shone down upon it all,
And so my dream began:
How all of this had been before;
How ages far away
I lay on some forgotten shore
As here I lie to-day.
The waves came shining up the sands,
As here to-day they shine;
And in my pre-pelasgian hands
The sand was warm and fine.
I have forgotten whence I came,
Or what my home might be,
Or by what strange and savage name
I called that thundering sea.
I only know the sun shone down
As still it shines to-day,
And in my fingers long and brown
The little pebbles lay.
poem by Frances Darwin Cornford
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Father & Son
There is the family photograph
That is your father’s face,
There is your father’s father
Grey-gathering years apace;
The son, bright-eyed in the morning,
The father, lined and drawn,
The son became the father
On the day that you were born.
We’ve all set out on the highway
Our fathers wished us well,
The sons became the fathers
In the same distinctive spell;
The road of all beginnings
Is all there is to lend,
But many a twist, and many a turn
Has marred us at the end.
He was my father’s father,
I am my father’s son,
We’ve travelled as far, and farther
Than our father’s years have run;
The twists and turns of fortune
Mean nothing, lost or won,
But the love of a father’s father,
And the love of a father’s son.
3 September 1977
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Mercy on me
My body now worn and riddled with pain
FATHER have mercy on me, LORD have mercy on me
Your hand on my life even before my first breath
FATHER of my life, LORD of the wholeness of my life
My life entirely in Your hands
I do not question why my suffering
FATHER Your healing hands on me, LORD Your healing hands on me
My faith and trust in You always
FATHER the author of my being, LORD Your grace upon me
No blame, my life is in You
Your Grace keeps me from long lonely nights
FATHER Your presence comforts me, LORD Your peace in me
Loneliness will never defeat me
FATHER of everlasting love, LORD Your sacrifice in love
Humbled, I surrender to You
Though my breathing becomes harder
FATHER Your breath in me, Lord Your life in me
My eyes become dim, and life escapes me
FATHER, the giver of life, LORD, the healer of my being
Your healing in me, now and forever
poem by Lisa Finney
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