The Lord of Misrule
In the London of James
We ran wild in the parks,
Assaulted the toffs,
Ruled the streets after dark,
We slit many noses,
Ungirdled each wench,
And lifted their kirtles on
Many a park bench.
They called us the Mohocks
We rambled each street,
Tipped many a chair
On its side in the street,
Caused mayhem and riot
And ran with the sword,
Put pastors to pleas
On their knees to the Lord!
When Christmas, it came in
A quiver of white,
We’d shiver, and wander
The streets every night,
While citizens revelled,
Stayed home, rich and poor,
Heaped coals at the hearth,
Locked and bolted each door.
‘The fun has gone out of it, ’
Grumbled Long Will,
‘There’s no head to punch,
And no Doxie to spill,
The streets are quite empty
And quiet as the tomb,
There’ll be no glad rioting
This night, or soon! ’
So Bodger and Catchpenny,
Long Will and Gull,
Stood frowning at Patrick
Who scratched at his skull,
‘This time of the season
They’re playing the fool,
So let us join in with
The Lord of Misrule! ’
They stood up, delighted
And mad as a coot,
They capered and cantered
And Will played the flute,
Gull got him a Tabor and
Beat it with glee,
Destroyed all the silence
In disharmony!
While Patrick broke in to
An old Players Shoppe,
For Motley and nightsticks,
A barrel of Hock,
Then came out all dressed
As the veriest fool,
And bowed to us gently,
The Lord of Misrule!
We swaggered on down to the
Church in the Dell,
While Patrick had jangled
The hat with its bell,
Then led our procession
In riot, alas,
Right down to the altar
In time for High Mass.
The preacher looked grim
As he halted his prayer,
The whole congregation
Sat just as they were,
They knew of the Mohocks
And not one would rise,
At risk of the beating
They saw in our eyes.
The church was so ancient,
Lay under the Moon,
And barely three candles
Were lighting the gloom,
The tombs of Crusaders
Lay hallowed in there,
Each corner a knight,
And his lady, so fair!
So Patrick went up to
The altar, the fool,
Said: ‘I am your master,
The Lord of Misrule!
And you will go down
In your penance to me,
Or preacher, you’ll hang
From the mistletoe tree! ’
The preacher, he blustered,
The preacher, he fell,
The people, they scattered
Like hounds before hell,
The church was soon empty
And grim in the dark,
Then Gull became nervous –
‘It’s only a lark! ’
The doors slammed behind us
The candles went out,
The Crusader banners cast
Shadows of doubt,
And then came a creaking
Of time and old sin,
And something was moving
That shouldn’t have been!
The knights on their headstones
Had lurched to their feet,
Came lumbering on from
Their centuries sleep,
With shields at the ready and
Swords in the air,
They swung at our revels
Through Catchpenny’s hair.
I watched as poor Bodger
Was cleft at the front,
Before his head toppled,
Fell into the font,
While Will caught a thrust
From the next knight behind,
That sliced through his ribcage
And shattered his spine.
Then Gull I heard scream as
I raced for the door,
Flew in at the vestry
And hid on the floor,
The Preacher was nowhere,
He’d fled from the scene,
The moment the knights had
Creaked up from their dream!
When morning broke early
I slunk through the dawn,
Went back to my lodgings
And tried to get warm,
For outside the church, on the
Cross, like a fool,
And hanging in chains was
The Lord of Misrule!
25 October 2010
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Preacher Needs More Ram
I took the modem off the podium...
Just before the preacher sneezed!
I asked a doctor in a pew...
If the sneeze would spread disease?
And Doctor Blye looked in my eyes,
As if I was there for church.
I looked him up and down and said,
'I am here doing research! '
I came to hook the preacher up,
To a new connection!
He wanted all his emails sent...
And downloaded to the chatrooms.
I came to hook the PC up for online sessions!
But the preacher is displeased...
'Cause the modem seems to need,
More ram!
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
I hear the people pat their feet,
When the preacher's sermon's heated!
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
Oh Lord...
What do I do with the modem?
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
I hear the people pat their feet,
When the preacher's sermon's heated!
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
Oh Lord...
What do I do with the modem?
I came to hook the preacher up,
To a new connection!
He wanted all his emails sent...
And downloaded to the chatrooms.
I came to hook the PC up for online sessions!
But the preacher is displeased...
'Cause the modem seems to need,
More ram!
oh Oh OHHH....
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
I hear the people pat their feet...
When the preacher's sermon's heated!
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
Oh Lord...
What do I do with the modem?
Ahhhhaaaayyy
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
I hear the people pat their feet,
When the preacher's sermon's heated!
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
Oh Lord...
What do I do with the modem?
Oh Lord...
What do I do with the modem?
Oh Lord...
What do I do with the modem?
Oh Lord...
What do I do with the modem?
What do I do with the modem?
What do I do with the modem?
What do I do with the modem?
'Reverand Heath?
I recommend a live video hookup as well!
I think you will touch a lot of people.
I found myself 'slightly' involved.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Once Upon a Time
Once upon a time there lived a preacher.
He was very famous one in the Christian world.
He was the best teacher.
He taught the Word of our Lord.
He visited so many places,
So many people had joined the church,
He saw so many faces,
For lonely hearts he did search.
Once his boat had come to an island,
An island where only one man lived,
That man was not christened,
The Word of our Lord was not sieved.
It took a preacher a long time
To teach the man the prayers
But then he saw the man’s eyes shine
And full of sincere tears.
At the end of the day the preacher had left,
But what he has seen surprised.
The man running on the water was so deft,
That fact he could not realized.
At first he thought about God himself
Or may be it was an ocean elf.
He fell down on his knees and prayed
But he was more surprised
Hearing the islands man’s voice:
“Hey, man! I had no choice.
I forgot the last prayer.
Can you repeat it, man?
I’ll be your best payer.”
Larisa R (Odessa, Ukraine)
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Parable About an Islander
Once upon a time there lived a preacher.
He was very famous one in the Christian world.
He was the best teacher.
He taught the Word of our Lord.
He visited so many places,
So many people had joined the church,
He saw so many faces,
For lonely hearts he did search.
Once his boat had come to an island,
An island where only one man lived,
That man was not christened,
The Word of our Lord was not there sieved.
It took a preacher a long time
To teach the man the prayers
But then he saw the mans' eyes shine
And full of sincere tears.
At the end of the day the preacher had left,
But what he had seen surprised.
The man running on the water was so deft,
That fact could not be realized.
At first he thought about God himself
Or may be it was an ocean elf?
He fell down on his knees and prayed
But he was more surprised
Hearing the islanders' voice:
“Hey, man! I had no choice.
I forgot the last prayer.
Can you repeat it, man?
I’ll be your best payer.”
Larisa R (Odessa, Ukraine)
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Daddy Was An Old Time Preacher Man
(Dolly Parton)
Daddy was an old time preacher man
He preacher the word of God throughout the land
He preached so plain a child could understand
Yes, Daddy was an old time preacher man
He told the people of he need to pray
He talked about God's wrath and judgement day
He preached about the great eternity
He preached hell so hot that you could feel the heat
Yes, Daddy was an old time preacher man
Aunt Leanona would get up to testify
And we'd sing "In The Sweet By And By"
The we'd sing "I'm On My Way To Canaan Land"
Yes, Daddy was an old time preacher man
Revivals and camp meetings went for weeks
Folks came from all around to hear him preach
Daddy said if one is saved it's worth it all
But the aisles were always filled at altar calls
Yes, Daddy was an old time preacher man
Daddy worked for God but asked for no pay
For he believed that God provides a way
We never had a lot but we got by
Guess it's 'cause the Lord was on Daddy's side
Yes, Daddy was an old time preacher man
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Son Of A Preacher Man
(john hurley / ronnie wilkins)
Billy-ray was a preachers son
And when his daddy would visit hed come along
When they gathered round and started talkin
Thats when billy would take me walkin
A-through the back yard wed go walkin
Then hed look into my eyes
Lord knows to my surprise
The only one who could ever reach me
Was the son of a preacher man
The only boy who could ever teach me
Was the son of a preacher man
Yes he was, he was, mmm, yes he was
Being good isnt always easy
No matter how hard I try
When he started sweet-talkin to me
Hed come and tell me everything is all right
Hed kiss and tell me everything is all right
Can I get away again tonight?
The only one who could ever reach me
Was the son of a preacher man
The only boy who could ever teach me
Was the son of a preacher man
Yes he was, he was, lord knows he was
How well I remember
The look that was in his eyes
Stealin kisses from me on the sly
Takin time to make time
Tellin me that hes all mine
Learnin from each others knowing
Lookin to see how much weve grown
And the only one who could ever reach me
Was the son of a preacher man
The only boy who could ever teach me
Was the son of a preacher man
Yes he was, he was, oh, yes he was
He was the sweet-talking son of a preacher man
I guessed he was the son of a preacher man
Sweet-lovin son of a preacher man
Ahh, move me
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Preacher Boy
Jeanne burns / billie holiday
He was lanky and tall as a beanpole
And he wind fanned my heart to a flame
As he looked to the sky
And theres no wonder why
For preacher boy was his name
With his old yaller dog there beside him
And his eyes throwin sparks in the sun
I grew faint from the heat
From my heart to my feet
When I knew preacher boy was the one
Then he didnt say much
Hes the silent kind
But his arms were strong
Just the same as his mind
And my knees grew weak
As I clung to him
My preacher boy, my preacher boy
But he heard the call
Now hes left me
For his faith was stronger than i
And thought we are apart
Yet hes still in my heart
My preacher boy, my preacher boy
My wonderful preacher boy
song performed by by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Inside Story
No one really knew him like I did,
He taught me everything I know
No one really knew him like I did,
While he starts playing the piano,
(? ) was a preacher,
Every night at church we had to go,
Mother always playing on the organ,
(? ) so low,
(? ) are complaining,
(? )
Oh lord my god
Some times I wander
Oh lord my god
Consider what you will
Inside story (x3)
Last years glory
Inside story (x4)
How great thought art?
How great the art?
How great his art
His art
Oh lord my god
Some times I wander
Oh lord my god
Consider what you will
His art
Your art
My art
His art
Your art
My art.
song performed by by Grace Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hellfire & Reuben Rose
A hundred and thirty years has passed
Since Reuben strode our turf,
A Hell-fire Methodist Preacher
Cursing souls with every breath,
He claimed an exclusive license, sanctioned
By our gracious Lord,
To dispense both sulphur and brimstone
To the sinners of the world.
At Moonta, in the mining days,
When copper ruled as king,
A fluctuation in the price
Soon ruined everything.
Families left in droves; for jobs
Were harder then to find,
The congregations withered,
They were the few that stayed behind.
There wasn't enough to pay the fund
To keep their minister,
So he took off to Castlemaine
To save Victoria,
And when the Primitive Methodists
Declined to send another,
All Hell broke loose at the altar then,
Set brother against brother.
Enraged at the Executive
For showing them such contempt,
Half of the congregation said:
'We'll fix their argument!
We'll just secede from the Primitives
And run our own affairs.'
But Reuben Rose was a Primitive,
Who had his own ideas.
'Who owns the Church, ' he sagely said,
'The age-old Primitives! '
'Not so, ' declared the rebels, then,
'We paid for it with our tithes! '
But neither side would give an inch,
They claimed it, theirs alone,
Two armies of the Lord lined up
To seize the good lord's throne.
And so it was that, Sunday noon,
The rebels got there first,
They sang a lot of Sankey's hymns
To scorn the Primitive's verse,
They raised their voices mightily
And damn near raised the roof,
The Lord was on their side, they said
To the others, in reproof.
The Primitives stood there at the back,
And thought to rush the font,
A thrust along the centre aisle
A rush around the flank,
But Reuben Rose stood still and grim
His eyes as black as sin,
The veins along his forehead popped
Like corn in the summertime.
He waited 'til the evening prayer
And reached the altar first,
Secured it for the Primitive's
Against a greater force.
The earth seemed then to open up
To fill men's eyes and bones
With the stink of the smell of sulphur
And a tisane of old brimstone.
The rebels seized the chapel gate,
Locked it against the foe,
The Primitives went around the side,
Took an iron bar to the door,
Reuben Rose picked up a stone,
And held it up on high,
Then burst the lock on the chapel door,
Left the rebels high and dry.
The people from the mine soon heard
The threats no Lord forgives,
Then marched up there in a body to
Eject the Primitives,
'The battle's not yet over, '
Reuben Rose was heard to shout,
'You may be one with the devil,
But you never will lock us out! '
It came to Bloody Monday, when
The Primitives took hold,
Assaulted the chapel building
In the morning, gained control.
But soon retaliation was
The order of the day,
The rebels beat the victors off,
The rebels soon held sway.
They nailed up the windows and
They boarded up the doors,
They made a mighty fortress of
The chapel of the Lord,
And so in pure frustration, when
The Primitives saw black,
They marched to the one time minister,
Demanded his furniture back.
A crowd of angry women soon,
They marched there, hobble-hob,
They'd had their fill of Primitives,
And Reuben Rose's mob,
Each woman carried the sweeping broom
That lay about her house,
To sweep the Primitive Methodists
Away from East Moonta South.
The seeds of time have swallowed
Reuben Rose, and all his clan,
The church, it lies in rubble,
All in one with the works of man.
But if you listen carefully,
Right next to the pile of lime,
You'll hear the veins of his forehead,
Pop like corn in the summertime.
(And somewhere up in heaven
By the side of the Pearly Gates,
The Primitives are waiting,
Over a hundred years too late.
The rebels are inside, cosy, while
Old Reuben is heard to shout:
'You may be one with the devil,
But you never will lock us out!)
20 July 2008
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jus Primae Noctis
(In medieval times, the right of the
Lord of the Manor to spend the first night
with a peasant's bride) .
John and Jayne at the altar stood,
To put up their wedding banns,
In the Church at Haversham, Holy Cross
On Sir Robert de Courcy's lands,
When a clatter of hooves on the cobblestones
Brought dread to the open door,
As the Lord of the Manor came striding in
And planted his feet on the floor.
He looked at the two with a great disdain,
His hand on his scabbard sword,
His knights stood silent across the nave,
Not one would utter a word.
His voice rang out in that hallowed place
As Jayne cowered down, distress'd,
'I come to claim the Lord's First Right
By the power jus primae noctis.'
He strolled so arrogant down the aisle,
Of the Hereford Village Kirk,
Then drew his sword with a wicked smile,
With the tip of it, lifted her skirt,
'Her legs are fine, I can tell you that, '
He said to John with a sneer,
But John had averted his eyes to the floor
As his eyes were beginning to tear.
De Courcy turned, and he walked away
Up the aisle to the Norman doors,
Then turned at last with a final command
That would end their short discourse,
'You'll place yourself at my mercy, then,
And leave your husband denied,
You'll make your way to the castle gate
On the night that the knot is tied! '
John had cursed as they rode away,
The priest was more reserved,
'You should think it an honour, young man, ' he said,
That your bride will be well served.
With luck, you may get a blue-blood son,
And honours will come his way,
Sir Robert has twenty or more in the town
That are blessed in the usual way.'
Jayne knew, of course, it would come to this,
She had seen with her sister Jone,
Carried away to the castle gate,
And weep all the way back home.
She'd watched her belly grow big with child
While her man had cursed and sworn,
'Til the day she lay on a bale of hay
As the child arrived, still-born.
Meanwhile, in Bristol, came a ship
That had sailed from Gascony,
Dropping a sickening sailor there
With its wines and its armoury,
The sailor staggered up streets outside,
And fell in the tavern door,
Infected all that were drinking there,
As the pestilence came ashore.
It spread at the rate of a raging fire
That nothing could halt or douse,
The abscesses in the armpits made
Their way from house to house,
The plague ran on through the countryside
And arrived at Haversham,
On the day of the wedding of John and Jayne
Though they didn't know it then.
There was just one victim on that day,
A woman who stayed at home,
She watched as her flesh grew puffy, as
The boils grew down below,
She sent a note to her sister, said
'I'll not be there at the feast,
But I have a gift I'll give to you,
It's the least I can do... the least! '
That evening, out by the castle gate
A woman was led inside,
De Courcy sat in the dark, and watched
As she knelt by the Lord's bedside,
She knelt in shadows, and then she wept
And he watched as she disrobed,
Then stood quite naked beside his bed
For the lord to touch and probe.
He pulled her onto the bed and grasped her
Close to his body there,
And then she laughed, it was not the laugh
Of a bride caught in despair,
The moon shone bright through the chamber then
And he shrank from the woman's moan,
She was covered in blood and pustules, said:
'Not Jayne - but her sister Jone! '
He screamed for his knights, who pulled her off,
Then spilt her blood on the floor,
Cut off her head, then shrank in dread
At the sight of her festering sores,
The plague ran right through the castle then,
Spared not one knight or horse,
While John and Jayne in the forest lay
Til the plague had run its course.
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ventriloquist
An angry roar from the cheaper seats
Had followed them both outside,
Out of the rear, by the actor’s door
They looked for a place to hide,
Lord Jimmy’s coat had seen better days,
His shoes were muddy and dull,
And Bodger’s hat was crushed and dismayed
As he held it close to his skull!
‘Look what you’ve brought us to, sir, ’ he said,
Flapping his wooden jaw,
‘Out in the cold on a Saturday night;
It never does rain, but it pours! ’
Jimmy had tucked him right under his arm
And kept to the brickworks wall,
The shadows were long on the Old Kent Road
As the rain had begun to fall!
‘Oh Great! ’ the Bodger had spat in the dark,
As he scraped his head on a brick,
Taking a layer of varnish off,
And making him feel quite sick!
‘It’s cold and wet, and my head will swell
If the rain gets into my wood…’
‘If you don’t shut up, I’ll brain you first!
Let that be understood! ’
So off they marched, on into the night
To look for a place to sleep,
A laundry, stables, a bed of straw,
A station, hotel, or keep.
The rain set in as a drizzle out there
And soaked to the skin and bone,
Soaked through their coats to the varnish and wood
If the truth of the case be known.
‘I told you that ‘Bodger’s’ a lousy name,
You know you can’t mention a ‘B’,
The audience knew you were moving your lips,
Every ‘b’, every ‘v’, every ‘p’.’
‘You think you’re so smart, ’ Lord Jimmy replied,
‘I’m sick of you flapping your jaw,
If you can do better…’ - he stopped and he sighed,
His gaze cast down to the floor.
They walked and they walked through Bermondsey
Where the might of the Thames still flows,
While Bodger had wriggled his eyebrows once,
And sniffed through his dripping red nose.
‘I hope that you’re planning to dry me out,
My clothes are starting to shrink! ’
‘I’ll turn you into a scarecrow, then;
They’ll be laughing at that, I think! ’
The Dummy had flung him about at that,
And clocked Jimmy under the jaw,
Who fell in a heap like a worthless rat,
While Bodger stood tall, and swore,
He kicked and he rolled him over the bank
And into the swirling Thames,
The universe spun at the horror he’d done,
They’d always been known as ‘friends’.
Lord Jimmy just floated out under a bridge,
His face to the evening sky,
A look of surprise on the lids of his eyes
As his overcoat drifted by,
His body of walnut, his fingers of pine
And his head, finely chiselled in teak,
While Bodger awoke in the skin of a bloke,
Broke his heart for the rest of the week!
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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After All Said And Done.
After Friday choir practice
in the church
after the other members
had gone to the vestry
to ready themselves for home
she stood in the darkened church
looking at the altar
and the high windows
where only moonlight
shone through
and she said to you
we'll stand here one day
and get married maybe
and say our vows
and there will be
our families and friends
and the parson will say
kiss the bride and you will
and she smiled
and looked at you
standing in the quiet church
and you said
some years off maybe
we're only fourteen
and still at school
and we've got to get pass
your mother yet
like trying to get a ball
by a fat goalie
who fills the net
but she just shook her head
and smiled and said
don't be so negative
look on the positive side
look to the future
with bright eyes
and it seems strange now
and sad to look back
at that night
with you and she
standing in that aisle
in semi-dark
while outside
in the night sky
fate was working out
a different answer
where you
would marry others
and she would die
from cancer.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Fool No More
Written by peter green.
Yes, Ive packed up my clothes
Im moving away from your door
Lord, Ive packed up my clothes
Said, Im moving away from your door
Ive been your fool for so long
Babe, I wont play that fool no more
I gave you all my money
I work as hard as I can
I came home early one morning
I found you with another man
Babe, Ive packed up my clothes
Im moving away from your door
Said, Ive been your fool for so long
And lord, I wont play that fool no more
Solo
So good-bye baby
You dont even care
Yes, I had a love so strong for you
But you treat me so unfair
Said, Ive packed up my clothes
Im moving away from your door
You know, Ive been your fool for so long
And babe, I wont play that fool no more
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Who Was This Man?
01/05/11
They didn’t know where he came from
No information could be found.
He just arrived - in the poor part of town.
They said he would appear when someone
Needed a hand, it was something
they could not understand.
Now! People’s faith was failing and
Everything seemed to be going wrong
But he would lift them up and
Encouraged them to be strong.
He was a bit different from
the others in the town.
Always with a hood, and had it pulled down.
The church was losing parishioners
And they had for quite some time.
Their faith was strong, but their minds were blind.
They needed something to touch the heart of man
Something that- could give a helping hand.
As the clergy thought about how
and what they could do.
This hooded man was looking for something too.
There was a family of eight who was
Being given a dispossess, he had to help them out
He knew he could not rest.
Parents with six children and not a bite to eat
To them a bag of potato chips, was really quite a treat.
He printed up circulars telling of their plight.
Asking the community to stand up and fight.
He created a meeting at the neighborhood church
He knew that it would get better
For it could not get much worse.
The church had not known of this meeting
When the people started to arrive.
This was the first time that people had to wait in line.
The preacher asked a parishioner:
What is this all about?
She then showed him the circular of this family s plight.
He then had a strange feeling, and his heart jumped with delight.
His prayers were being answered in a strange and blessed way.
He fell to his knees and he began to pray.
The people filled up the donation boxes
Until they overflowed, he had to call for some help
For it was a heavy load.
From the corner of his eye- he saw a figure
Blocking the entrance door,
And with a hood pulled down low.
It was a strange sight- it truly was a show.
He walked down the aisle to the preacher man
Looked up - then shook his hand.
He turned to the congregation and said:
HAVE FAITH IN ALL YOU DO
YOU CALLED OUT MY NAME AND I’VE
COME TO HELP YOU.
He took off his hood and just an aura of light was there
Then he vanished as quick as he appeared.
WHO WAS THIS MAN?
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ichabod - The Story of Discontent (Narrative)
This story's for the humble
And I'll hide identities
For it may make you stumble
To know the realities.
It's about a nice preacher
Of a known denomination
Who aspired to be richer
Through his good congregation.
In a rented house he lived
With his lovely wife and children
But he wanted to receive
A better blessing from men.
So without much ado
He relayed in his preaching
A new house will do
So increase with your giving.
He said 'We'll build a Center
That will then accommodate
Five thousand new members,
And this church will be great.
But before that you must
Build a nice house for me
I hope you will trust
It's for our testimony.'
So poured the donations
And the gift offerings
For his house construction
With complete furnishings.
After the house, he needed
A new car for his trips,
So in preaching he related
Added needs in the worship.
'A Crosswind is fine'
Said he to the people,
'It's an Isuzu line
And the price reasonable.'
So he got the new wheels
And with peace for a moment,
But the joy that he feels
Soon leads back to discontent.
After a year, a predicament-
Another car he had wanted
Made known his sentiment,
Again the people submitted.
'A Mitsubishi Pajero,
It's the best for our missions
Will you let me know
Your complete contributions.'
When the giving was done
And the money was counted,
'For those who gave none
No prayers will be said.'
What kind of a shepherd
Will say such a prayer?
From heaven God heard
This very selfish preacher.
After that his own son
Brought sin to the church,
A curse that's undone
Took him down from his perch.
Though he preached with full volume
It was empty of Power
For the God Who consumes
Has abandoned the preacher.
Now seven years later
There is still no Center,
Eventually the Rapture
May not carry this preacher.
'Ichabod' - The glory of the Lord has
departed.
'We too often love things and use people, when we should be using things and loving people.'
..................................... .................................................
April 10,2009
Philippines
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Guardian Angels
A Ballad
Father John in the green lane went
And he drew his robe full tight,
'I would,' quoth he, 'I were home again
For there's evil in the night.
'I would,' quoth he, 'the gold I bear
Were safe with the poor and old,
For strange the fear that follows me
That my eyes cannot behold.'
He looked him left and there he saw
A white rose climb and cling,
He looked him right and in the brake
A wild bird shook his wing.
He looked him back and far there stood
The old church tall and dim,
Yet on the lonely path there came
A terror strange to him.
Without the shadow of the trees
That bent above his way,
Where lost the moon her silver light,
He stood at last at bay.
And on his gown, from his pale brow
Fell great tears of his fright;
His shaking hands held close the gold
Wrapped in its cloth so white.
He knelt him down upon his knee
And prayed the Lord to hear,
'Christ, loosen Thou these laggard feet
That hold me slow in fear.
'Oh, strengthen Thou this childish heart
That trembles all afraid,
In pity for the calling sick
Who die without my aid.
'And let me bring all safely through
The shadows of the night,
The gold I bear for old and poor,
Still Thou this strange affright.'
And as he prayed from off his heart
Fear's clutching fingers fell,
A holy joy grew in his heart
He knew that all was well.
He turned him left and stayed to take
A white rose from her tree,
He turned him right and lilted low
A wild bird melody.
He looked him back and smiling saw
The tall church guarding him,
And then all fearless laughing sped
Through shadows strange and dim.
When but a year had passed away
There came before his gate,
A dying man who 'Succour,' cried
'Before it be too late.'
'Oh, shrive me, Father, ere I die,'
The moaning stranger said;
He took him to his own hearth side
And laid him on his bed.
'Oh, Father! Father! hear me now
And let me rest in peace.'
'Now speak, my son, and tell your sin
To give your soul release.'
'It was one night a year ago—
Sweet Mary, ease my pain—
I followed far your toiling feet
Within a lonely lane.
'The red gold for the old and poor
You had beneath your gown,
I hid within a darksome place
Where I could strike you down.'
Now Father John he smiled and leant
In pity by the bed,
'I did disarm you by my prayer,
I thank the Lord,' he said.
'I went in fear upon my path
I knew some danger lay,
And lone I knelt upon the road
A little while to pray.'
The dying man he raised his head
And laughed both long and loud,
'Oh, ne'er a prayer would hold my hand
Or keep you from your shroud.
'But by you went two mighty men
To guard you either side,
Else had my dagger reached your heart
And surely you had died.'
Then Father John upon his knees
Bent low his holy head,
'God's angels walked beside me there
Lest you my blood should shed
My guardian angels walked by me,
I thank Thee, Lord,' he said.
poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Holy Roller
-Copyrighted & registed 2008 ASCAP Music/Austin-Tatious Music-(Preach-2-the-Preachers Ministries)
Dedicated to those who worship the numbers, money, influence, affluence, and holier-than-thou pragmatism that modern churches & mega-churches have eroded to.
The Holy Roller
Hey Holy-Roller, you're just too funny;
How you give that church, mountains of money.
Preacher gets money, lives high on the hog;
Feeds Filet Mignon, to his weenie-dog!
Church says 'Good Holy, gets stars in his crown; '
But, he still ignores, the homeless downtown!
He knows that bible, quotes it all the time,
Church grows richer but, they can't spare a dime!
Church got pearly gate, and a golden street,
Children face winter, in their cold, bare-feet.
Preacher's new Hummer, is So-Very-Fine,
Bag-Lady stands in, the soup-kitchen line.
That Holy-Roller, looks up t'ward the sky;
His eyes on the prize, he can't wait to die.
Saved and self-righteous, he's got it all planned,
He will play the harp, in the Angel Band.
He say's, 'cha-ri-ty, should begin at home, '
But home's a sidewalk, and my pillow's stone.
Lukewarm and wealthy, he don't understand,
'Cause he likes his head, buried in the sand.
He says 'Cut taxes! ' and 'Just end welfare! '
'No more free lunches! ' and 'No free healthcare! '
He asks, 'Why must THEY, always take and take? ...'
It's not his problem, he tells us 'Eat cake! '
He was raised poor too, he should know better,
I think I just might, write him a letter...
Dear Holy-Roller, now, for what it's worth...
Your path to Heaven, should begin on Earth.
Enjoy your Sunday-Church-Celebration,
Pray for us sinners, for our salvation.
Go pray 'til you're blue, tithe your ten percent,
But, PRIDE'S a sin too/When will you repent?
Church says 'Old Holy, gets stars in his crown; '
He LOVES ev'ry-one, long as they ain't brown!
He knows that bible, quotes it all the time,
Church grows richer, guess it's organized crime!
Church got pearly gate, and a golden street,
Children face winter, in their cold, bare-feet.
Preacher's new mansion, is on Easy Street,
Poor Mama wonders, 'What will baby eat? '
Hey Holy-Roller, you're just too funny;
How you give that church, s**t-loads of money.
Preacher takes money, lives high on the hog;
Feeds Filet Mignon, to his weenie-dog!
PS: Mr. Holy... for what it's worth...
The path to Heaven, starts right here on Earth!
'If everyone is thinking alike, then somebody isn't thinking.'
- George S. Patton
'When fascism comes to America, it will be wrapped in a flag and carrying a cross.'
-Sinclair Lewis
poem by ToddMichael St. Pierre
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Something Undeniable
As the Gospel Crusade was advertised far and wide,
A great number was expected to hear this fiery preacher,
The tent was erected and the lights were installed,
Then the seats were set up row upon row...
The choir rehearsed for half-an-hour
And a few Church stewards arrived
And a few local ministers followed suit,
Soon a prayer meeting began with many requests,
Healings, prophecies, words of knowledge,
A sincere hope the offering would cover the costs...
A guest pianist arrived, complaining about the weather,
A few going outside to see the thunder streaks above,
Some fretting about low attendance and the lost souls,
Others fretting about the offering even now...
Suddenly, the fiery preacher arrived and spirits rallied,
He moved among them like a politician full of smiles,
He shook hands here, there and everywhere,
Recognising ministers, calling them near to him,
Huddling together like generals going into battle...
Laughing away like schoolboys, chuckling at anecdotes,
Spellbound by reports of new miracles God had given,
Praising the Lord this and praising the Lord that,
With hands held high proclaiming God's glory...
Then the guest came over and it was his turn to join in,
With stories of his own miracles to bless them with,
Oh, they were thrilled, like it was their birthdays,
All clustered side-by-side, trying to take it all in,
Hoping to share the tales when returning home...
The sweet hymns played soothingly in the background,
Yet not one singer dared to interrupt them,
But then the visitors were seen gathering outside,
Too timid to enter the Gospel Crusade tent...
Quick as a flash, the fiery preacher was there,
Gently inviting each one inside where it was warm and dry,
Within seconds, a few rows at the front were filled,
A quick nod to the choir and they lit up like sunshine,
Faces aglow, hymnbooks held high, voices of angels,
Yes, it was truly beautiful to see and to hear them,
With white robes as wondrous witnesses to the Lord...
More visitors had arrived, this time, a coach load full,
Some visitors just standing in awe, taking it all in,
While some noticed a few tables laid out with books,
And wondrous books they were, pure gold, to be sure...
Really, Holy Bibles for just a few pounds, amazing!
Yet there they were, a special purchase for this evening,
Some illustrated children's Bibles, too, for those at home
And surprisingly, some Gospel films, DVDs and videos,
Truly a feast of faithful things for later study...
All too soon, the fiery preacher stood up and prayed,
The tent completely full, as if predestined to occur,
The lightning replaced by the preacher's sermon,
Then he began reading a poem he had written that day...
It was so moving to him that he struggled to read it,
All about Jesus, dying on the Cross, as if just for him...
And not even half-way through, his tears began...
Nobody had ever seen him like this before, this was new,
This was real, so real, that the front rows began to weep,
So real that the next few rows began to weep, too...
Handkerchieves came out of gentlemen's top pockets,
Ladies found tissues from their Sunday-best handbags,
Reporters took camera shots of the teary-eyed preacher,
Then the crowd, then the stewards and local ministers,
Then the reporters began to weep, heads bowed...
The fiery preacher sat down and his friend read the poem,
All the while, the preacher nodding his head in agreement
And at the finish of his poem, he stood up and prayed...
He prayed a prayer that would make a cynic repent...
Then he asked people if they loved Jesus as he did...
Did they? Oh, yes, for such was the revelation that night,
Not just words on a page, or the teardrops falling there,
Not just the sermon that sacred night just for them,
But something else, something truly of the Spirit,
Something undeniable that no-one would ever forget...
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Little Mountain Church House
There's a little mountain church in my thoughts of yesterday
Where friends and family gathered for the Lord
Where an ol' fashioned preacher taught the straight and narrow way
For what few coins the congregation could afford
Dressed in all our Sunday best, we sat on pews of solid oak
and I remember how our voices filled the air
How Mama sounded like an angel on those high soprano notes
and
song performed by by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Preachers Daughter
[opens very soft and slow, to the tune of mona/shes the one]
I got a date with the preachers daughter
She give me life she bring me water.
Every sunday I watch her work
Pretty little (siff? ) in a pretty little church
Daddy gives her nod she takes collection
Daddy gives her nod she kneels by her side.
Well Id sell my soul for just one touch
The lord would too if he loved her half as much.
Well I got a date with the preachers daughter.
Her daddy say that the boys no good
Just want to raise some (coons? ) out through the back woods
Well baby better believe what your daddy say
Just wanna ramrod baby my life away.
Its a long walk to heaven and a road filled with sin
And they better open up the freeway to let me in.
cuz I got a date with the preachers daughter
Well now I dont care what the preacher say
Haaaaayyyy
[identical to haaaaayyyy, mona]
Well now I dont care what the preacher do
Haaaaayyyy
I dont care what the preacher like
Haaaaayyyy
I dont care what the preacher think
Haaaaayyyy
Leads me to water but wont let me drink.
He leads me to water but wont let me drink.
(big man)
[maracas start, music picks up, bruce starts yelling]
And now its (whole little world? ) on saturday night
Two boys fighting in a halo of light
Car door flung open and a radio loud
And everybody shouting and running around.
Two guys bloody and one I dont know
And all little girls shouting go billy go
Go billy go.
Well just as I got the preachers daughter ready for a light
And (missed a vh fire? ) and something aint right.
And like a she-devil howlin from the gates of hell
Goddam here come the preacher in his coupe deville
Burnin up the backroad kicking in the dirt
And oh baby preacher thinks he is church
Well now your lips they shine in the willow mist
And I swear Id take you down (young croft? ) for just one kiss
I got a date with the preachers daughter
I got a date with the preachers daughter
And its haaaaayyyyoooo
I got a date with the preachers daughter
Hmmmmm...
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Murder in Chatham
St. Patrick’s Church was sparsely filled
For Friday morning mass
The seniors getting restless-
the clock read a quarter past.
It wasn’t like the pastor
to leave them waiting there.
Father Hinds was not the kind
to miss the call to prayer.
The usher and the janitor
Together went next door
They both recoiled in horror
at the blood upon the Floor.
The police came with the coroner
To the Parrish rectory door
And saw Jose the Janitor
Try CPR once more.
Chatham is a quiet town
A place when families thrive
And father was the Sheppard
to guide them through their lives.
It didn’t take police much time
to find who did the deed
as Jose’s cell phone records
had placed him at the scene.
The murder knife recovered
The crime confessed at last
The priest had caught him in a lie
about crimes in his past.
The people came together
And filled St. Patrick’s seats
To send the Father to his rest
And give their hearts some peace.
A narrative poem about the murder of Father Ed Hinds, Pastor of St. Patrick's church in Chatham on Thursday 10/21/2009
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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