Jesus, The Crucified Poet
My pens have nailed me to the tree; red ink pours from my veins...
Though in the distance, fancy free, lost singers voice refrains...
If I had written songs instead, a hero I would be!
If I had known what lay ahead, would I know Calvary?
Yet here I am, now hoisted high, for all the world to scoff!
I asked, Who? What? Where? When? And Why? I couldn't shake them off!
Thus day-by-day and night-by-night I wrote my poems down...
Perchance that others would delight and somehow soothe each frown...
Alas, my critics sought my death, 'What purpose does he serve? '
It seemed they loathed my every breath, 'He has no place on Earth! '
Thus I was hunted like a fox until my final day -
And then they laid me in a box awaiting Judgement Day!
Prophetic poetry won't be slain! Its spirit will live on!
By God, its power will still remain when all my critics are gone...
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Anthem To Freedom
Were you there when Jesus bled
Before the cross, in sins were dead
By your hand in Christ were led
On to victory
Now's the day and now's the hour
Stand with Christ and stand in power
He's our Rock and strong High Tower
We're free from slavery
So will you come and fight the fight
March in the day and not the night
We will send them all to flight
This will be our day
Free men march and free men die
And all proclaim our God on high
His glory fills the earth and sky
Come Lord soon we pray
In glorious majesty He reigns
He's broken all our wretched chains
On Calvary He took our pains
And death has lost its sting
Now Jesus come and take your place
We lift our eyes, we see your face
Our enemies we now give chase
We serve our glorious King
No longer slaves and dead in sin
New life arises from within
We sing to you a glorious hymn
Of joy and victory
We have arisen from the dead
And follow you who died and bled
And rose victoriously and said
No more slavery
Come now my children, come and see
You once were chained but now are free
Free to live and reign with me
Its time to wield the sword
Its the final day, the final hour
Rain down thy presence, a glorious shower
Its not by might nor any power
But by My Spirit says the Lord
poem by Frank McEleny
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Critics Have Appeared
critics have appeared
in these cyber times
hunting for poems
and passing wise words
on poems they swallow in seconds
and whose comments are like puke;
and whose own gems of poems when you seek
it turns out, they have not published any
at the very poetry portals where they pass such magnificent judgment…
O Ye Critics who hunt for poems
come back another day
when you have poems some of your very own…
poem by Raj Arumugam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Psalm 139
The Book of Life was opened
And a name was written down
All of heaven stood and gazed
Not a movement, not a sound
The angels watched in silence
As the story did unfold
And from the pages of the book
The story it was told
And life sprung up from off the page
These words became a man
The angels gasped to see such work
To see God's mighty plan
A soul was fashioned in His hand
And how, no one could tell
It was marvelous and wonderful
And this my soul knows well
Where could I go from you Spirit Lord?
Could I hide in the depths of the sea?
No matter where I run to Lord
You still come after me
I could take the wings of the morning
And fly into the darkest night
And there be blinded by the darkness
And you would come and give me sight
I could ascend to the highest heaven
And I would find you there
I could fall to the lowest pits of hell
And discover that you are everywhere
And so you came and sought me out
Even in this hell dark place
For the day and night are both alike
As they gaze upon your face
For in the glorious light of heaven
There is no darkness that can stand
For through the very gates of hell
You came and took me by the hand
And you laid your hand upon me
That hand that gave me birth
That hand that knew me through and through
Before I came to earth
For before the earth was fashioned
That Book was in your hand
Before the sun shone in the sky
All of this was planned
Oh search me God and know my heart
That sin may have no place in me
For I was covered by your Blood
That precious Blood of Calvary
This sin it would assault my soul
And rob and steal and take from me
The testimony of my King
And what He did on Calvary
But praise the Lord there is no power
Neither hell nor death nor misery
Can come against the precious work
The precious work of Calvary
How precious are your thoughts to me
They're more in number than the sand
I'll praise you Lord eternally
My name was written by your hand.
poem by Frank McEleny
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Book Of Life Was Opened
The Book of Life was opened
And a name was written down
All of heaven stood and gazed
Not a movement, not a sound
The angels watched in silence
As the story did unfold
And from the pages of the book
The story it was told
And life sprung up from off the page
These words became a man
The angels gasped to see such work
To see God's mighty plan
A soul was fashioned in His hand
And how, no one could tell
It was marvelous and wonderful
And this my soul knows well
Where could I go from you Spirit Lord?
Could I hide in the depths of the sea?
No matter where I run to Lord
You still come after me
I could take the wings of the morning
And fly into the darkest night
And there be blinded by the darkness
And you would come and give me sight
I could ascend to the highest heaven
And I would find you there
I could fall to the lowest pits of hell
And discover that you are everywhere
And so you came and sought me out
Even in this hell dark place
For the day and night are both alike
As they gaze upon your face
For in the glorious light of heaven
There is no darkness that can stand
For through the very gates of hell
You came and took me by the hand
And you laid your hand upon me
That hand that gave me birth
That hand that knew me through and through
Before I came to earth
For before the earth was fashioned
That Book was in your hand
Before the sun shone in the sky
All of this was planned
Oh search me God and know my heart
That sin may have no place in me
For I was covered by your Blood
That precious Blood of Calvary
This sin it would assault my soul
And rob and steal and take from me
The testimony of my King
And what He did on Calvary
But praise the Lord there is no power
Neither hell nor death nor misery
Can come against the precious work
The precious work of Calvary
How precious are your thoughts to me
They're more in number than the sand
I'll praise you Lord eternally
My name was written by your hand.
poem by Frank McEleny
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You breathed Your last breath for me
'Heavenly Father, not My will, but Yours, ' You cried
then went to the hill of Golgotha where You died.
There upon Calvary's cross You breathed Your last breath
even though You had power over hell and death.
The angels were not able to understand why
the Immortal God had to bow His head and die.
For they were unaware of the eternal plan
that the Triune God agreed before time began.
In that great counsel You said, 'Here I am Send me.'
Willing You were, to hang upon that awful tree.
Willing, to carry my sins in Your body there.
Willing in my place the full wrath of God to bear.
Because of You, Lord Jesus I can now go free.
Because You have laid down your life at Calvary.
Because You hung on that cruel cross in my stead.
Because Your precious blood for me has been shed.
*************
Now I know that when the time comes for my last breath
that my life will not just end in my earthly death.
There in the shadow of death You will lead me through
to spend an eternity in heaven with You.
Another Season
We have another season ahead, when we think of death instead,
Instead of the birth of Jesus Christ, Who, came to be a sacrifice,
We think of a Hill called Calvary, where our Savior died on a tree,
When cursed is the one on a tree; this, Christ did for you and me.
It was part of God's Eternal Plan, for the babe to become a man,
As a body was prepared for Him, Eternal God, to bear all our sin,
He became a curse for everyone, with God's wrath upon His Son,
Christ paid sin's eternal cost, as The Sinless Lamb for all the lost.
He was then buried in a tomb, all appeared, to be His final doom,
But in three days to much surprise, from that grave He would rise,
From the tomb Christ had risen again, to be the Savior of all men,
Now, behind Christ was Calvary, while ahead for man was victory.
As this alone is the very reason, we celebrate this Easter Season,
Better known as Resurrection Day, when God for us made a way;
Unlike Christ, we were born in sin, and only in Christ can men win,
That final victory over death, and receive from Him eternal breath.
The victory to be gained by us, is through The Lord, Christ Jesus,
Who as The Savior of all men, enables us to become Born Again,
As believers, still upon this earth, through a spiritual second birth,
And through the Lord Jesus Christ, we instead will see eternal life.
(Copyright ©02/2012)
A Lost Idea
Last night I had a dream that I was a lost idea
being carried in the thoughts of a bird.
We soared above the snow capped mountains
to where a sound has never been heard.
Soaring ever higher we had left the day,
but below us we could still see the light.
I wondered what I was doing here as an idea,
and what was the purpose of this bird’s flight.
As we struggled in the turbulent high winds
the bird’s thoughts couldn’t hold on to me.
I was captured by the streams of chaotic gusts,
forever held by the winds of eternity.
To countless galaxies we journeyed,
back and forth to the past and beyond.
The tiring wind became a lazy breeze,
which released me from its bond.
A whispering free spirit took hold of me
who knew well its place in time and space.
In its thoughts it carried me for several life times,
then it took me to my conception place.
The roaming free spirit helped me to catch a ride,
on someone’s knowledgeable thought train,
but alas I was to antiquated to be of any use,
so here in the air I remain.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Scrutinized For Their Blemishes
It is easy for many to sit back and critique,
With a judging done of those tasks...
Others produce with a doing to complete.
And if some people are prolific,
From experiences live that dictate this...
The critics are quick,
To stampede out from nowhere it seems...
With criticsms prepared,
Not to uplift or encourage...
But instead,
Demean.
But when given the opportunity to highlight their gifts,
Critics often spew excuses...
As those under microscope,
Are scrutinized for their blemishes.
Although,
Even those who enjoy themselves as critics...
Have moments they don't admit but wish,
An attention given to be critiqued...
Would validate a reason to rid their insecurities,
With a purpose in their minds that solidified their existence.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Written Word Rules!
At the idea of poetry, some people seem to scoff,
As they consider it is an art form only for toffs.
They may think that the concept of poetry is boring,
And that it will leave them fast asleep and snoring.
There are all types of poems: modern and classical.
There’s something for everyone: it’s not boring at all.
The lyrics of songs are poems as such;
They often rhyme together very much.
People like to sing along with their favourite songs,
So why does the concept of poetry feel so wrong?
I’ve only started writing poetry in the last few weeks,
And, I have to admit that I thought it was just for geeks.
But, now I can see, that whoever you are,
Everyone has the potential to go really far.
I have to admit, I much prefer
The written, to the spoken word.
At night, I lay awake tossing and turning in bed,
With random thoughts running through my head.
By my pillow, I keep a pen and note pad,
To jot down any thoughts, which I’ve had.
At the top of the page, my thoughts I jot,
And I always plan out a really rough plot.
I like to include words which have a nice ring.
Words, like these, into my poetry, I like to bring.
I continually go through the alphabet time after time,
Searching for useful words which, pretty much, rhyme.
In simple terms, my ideas, I always like to express;
Complicated and fancy words, my mind doesn’t posses.
I’m sat here, writing this poem, on a speeding train,
As thought after thought, floods into my brain.
I’m writing notes on a mini pocket timetable,
In any tiny blank space which is available.
In my handbag, I’ve got no pad, but I’ve got a pen;
My scribbled notes, I just hope I can comprehend.
I really must start carrying a notepad everywhere;
To forget all these thoughts I’ve had, I couldn’t bear.
When I’m thinking of ideas, I just can’t relax;
My mind seems to buzz to the absolute max.
I’m not far now from my final destination,
And the train is due to pull into the station.
On this subject, there’s not much more to be said,
So, I’m now putting this poem well and truly to bed.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All The Critics Love U In New York
U can dance if U want 2
All the critics love U in New York
U don't have 2 keep the beat
They'll still think it's neat in New York
U can wear what U want 2
It doesn't matter in New York
U could cut off all your hair
I don't think they'd care in New York
All the critics love U in New York
Why U can play what U want 2
All the critics love U in New York
They won't say that U're naive
If U play what U believe in New York
Purple love-amour is all U're in it 4
But don't show it
The reason that U're cool
Is cuz U're from the old school and they know it
All the critics love U in New York
U can dance if U want 2
All the critics love U in New York
U can dance if U want 2
All the critics love U in New York
All the critics love U
song performed by by Prince from 1999
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Critics?
Critics?
They do what they do best...
Undress those who create.
It is easier for them to probe,
Than appreciate.
It is a frustration of sorts,
To be boxed within boundaries.
Not knowing or understanding...
What the force behind creativity means,
Or where it begins...
With perceptions taught and conceived.
They have an awareness of it.
Or so some believe.
Although a conformity upon them visits.
But to comprehend what it is...
And why some have it and they don't,
Really makes them pissed.
Although an 'intelligence'
Once applied can hide this.
Is that why they delight in being critics?
As creators sweat to expand their wits,
Critics enjoy deploying...
A complete misunderstanding of it!
As they assist others like themselves...
Attempting to expand minds of limited demands.
Hoping this attachment,
Delivers to them someone's attention span.
And they get it!
That is why there is so many critics.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Last Lines
I have given the last memento of my sister Emily; this is the last of my sister Anne:
I hoped, that with the brave and strong,
My portioned task might lie;
To toil amid the busy throng,
With purpose pure and high.
But God has fixed another part,
And He has fixed it well;
I said so with my bleeding heart,
When first the anguish fell.
Thou, God, hast taken our delight,
Our treasured hope away:
Thou bid'st us now weep through the night
And sorrow through the day.
These weary hours will not be lost,
These days of misery,
These nights of darkness, anguish-tost,
Can I but turn to Thee.
With secret labour to sustain
In humble patience every blow;
To gather fortitude from pain,
And hope and holiness from woe.
Thus let me serve Thee from my heart,
Whate'er may be my written fate:
Whether thus early to depart,
Or yet a while to wait.
If Thou shouldst bring me back to life,
More humbled I should be;
More wise — more strengthened for the strife —
More apt to lean on Thee.
Should death be standing at the gate,
Thus should I keep my vow:
But, Lord! whatever be my fate,
Oh, let me serve Thee now!
These lines written, the desk was closed, the pen laid aside — forever.
poem by Anne Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Rare Flower Blooms Only Once In a Blue Moon!
Just as Nature is an inspiration to spirit
Poetry is an inspiration to the heart ever!
Musical poems full of meaning delight all
Like the freshly blossomed flowers do to all!
Poems delight heart, inspire mind and
Elevate spirit to higher level ever in bliss!
Poems mean inspiration and delight to heart
That remain in mind ever to inspire soul ever!
Nature and poetry are reality and reflection
As Shakespeare did with his art of poems
Reflecting human life in all its totality ever
As rare flowers alive for all to enjoy ever!
Poems of such kind are flowers of rare variety
Such flowers bloom only once in a blue moon!
poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All The Poems Remain Written Where They Once Never Were
ALL THE POEMS REMAIN WRITTEN WHERE THEY ONCE NEVER WERE
All the poems remain written where they once never were
The grass and the skies of Whitman form lines in the mind of Baudelaire
The trees and dark cities of the distance form single sounds in the heart of the poet who cares
Night is more than darkness and day more than an early setting out
Each thing influences the other and calls back its own origins and end
We are going somewhere we will never know whether we write eternal lines or not
Over everywhere can be heard in the morning light the selfsame sound that through the heart of Ruth burned the alien corn
Keats is not dead, and Borges is not dead and Kafka is not dead and Wordsworth and all those who wrote great lines are not dead
Poetry is the last first eternity of the living word
And those who can hear the sounds of others greater than themselves in their own lines know
We are all writing down this last poem for ourselves and no one else
Though as we go to pray each morning the minyan tells us secretly
All our prayers together are more than any single poem can be alone
In the grey long distance where no one hears any poem at all
God writes and rewrites for us all the book of the stars in which dread is no longer a name
And beauty bright bright beauty is heard and reechoed as more than we will ever be
God is the only Poetry in the End
God is the Only One who never will be dead..
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Improbale dream for my fellow poets
A hundred years from now may be.
Someone will read my poetry
and wonder how I came to write
my simple thoughts in black and white.
Amused by my naiveté
my complete lack of sophistry
Perhaps in pity they will give,
me credit as a primitive.
Just as some critics do today.
Poke fun at the old fashioned way
in which past poets used to write.
Immortal verse which can delight
their readers of the present day.
Despite what critics have to say.
15-Dec-07
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Not Ours To Give
For you, I would give the world, a phrase that many people herald,
But, earth is not ours to give, but, just a place that we mortals live.
Heaven’s not a place to assume; only in Christ can we get a room,
A room prepared by God’s Son, who created upon earth everyone.
All has been made by God alone, through the power of His Throne.
By Him all were given breath, and by His Decree, all will face death.
Some may say all on this earth, are in God’s eyes, the same worth,
Regarding Creation, this is true, but, all men need to be born anew.
Some say we are all of God’s Family, but, that is closer to fantasy,
Yes, we were all created by Him, but, then the Devil had entered in,
Deceiving the first man and wife, he brought choice into man’s life,
That choice that still remains today, whatever one may think or say.
All perfection God created in man, was tainted by Satan’s evil plan,
From God man was now separated, as sin by Satan is perpetuated,
Bringing us to the Cross of Christ, God’s only way into Eternal Life,
The way to Heaven for all of us, is when in Christ we place our trust.
Though we’re all created by God, we’re Satan’s children on this sod,
Until we’re born in the Spirit above, in the choice of Calvary’s blood.
As earth is not ours to give, without Christ, you will not eternally live,
Instead of breathing Heavenly breath, you’ll surely see eternal death.
(Copyright ©07/2008)
Ships Of The Night
Poems pass
in the night also.
Port starboard lights
burn bright also.
Poems pass stirred
hear wave slap night gongs?
Have you not heard
their salty soft saline songs?
Poems pass plotted
in navigated narrows; of lapping passage night.
Have you not heard
their soft spoken saline songs; by glow of candle light?
Poems pass navigated
in natant night also.
Daily cares contested
at last laid low below.
Poems pass
in shadow seamed night.
Poems pass
in nuptial nocturnal night flight.
Has not herald heard
silver shimmering saline songs?
Poems pass like flight of bird
as eternal endless night sails on.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No turning Back
open to the mind accepted by the heart bless
by the immortality of the soul, awaited halo exist
and live each breath to the nostrils of God, the
beauty of creation reveals
once a dust, scrambling with the air, blown in a
far and distance place, settled in the mountain
and hill, seen in every stones and trees, the
breathing soul of dust has grown and live in the
universe display
a voice that capture the infinite soul to hear and
listen every lives that moves, a witness of a
living atmosphere where all has to come and die
in the milieu of God's paradise the earth and
its spirit that calls the wisdom of time
open thy heart in every soul for life has no turning
back, a once that is reveals has come to live in
a space of living where every one has to do the
duty to serve amongst men, through out eternity
review
all has come to take the stamina to face of what is
life after it serve the final curtain of what once the
perfection lies, the heaven I stand and the end
I reface the purest life can best
the final moment now has pull me up to regain of
what was lost, pushing each step to continue, to
dream the salvation, once the face refrain from fame
remembering that life has no turning back
until it ends
poem by Antonio Liao
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Freedom To Serve
Become God’s servant to be free, when you go through Calvary,
The only place on earth indeed, when as a servant you are freed;
Freed through the Blood of Christ, from the bondage of this life,
A Freedom only known to man, through God’s Redemptive Plan.
God bought us out of slavery, with precious Blood from Calvary,
Purchased from the market of sin; granting freedom deep within,
Freedom by us that wasn’t sought, which the Lord for us bought,
Offering His Son, our Lord Jesus, as payment made for all of us.
When we’re freed, we’re then sent, by our Lord, as God’s servant,
Here in service to the Son of God, on this earth that we now trod,
No longer slaves in bondage to sin, we delight in service for Him,
Now as we serve the King of kings, our new freedom in Him rings.
We’re now free to serve our Lord, as Christ’s Body, in one accord,
Now serving with the mind of Christ, for God gave us all New Life,
Eternal Life, which we don’t deserve, which is why we gladly serve,
By God’s Grace, with freedom, as God’s servants in His Kingdom.
All because God paid that price, when His Son became a sacrifice,
Christ, Who had no reason to die, served as a Lamb, for you and I,
To grant us real freedom my friend, that from The Lord has no end,
As we come to The Lord Jesus, to serve eternally in God’s Service.
(Copyright ©08/2010)
Justified And Saved
With our heart we do believe, and in Christ we are justified,
When in faith we do receive, The One who for all men died.
With the mouth as we confess, from our sins we are saved,
And with our life we attest, in sin we no longer are enslaved.
No longer enslaved in our sin, as God grants us a better life,
A life that is centered in Him, our loving Savior, Jesus Christ.
He who died a death on a tree, to pay sin’s penalty all of us,
So in Christ we can be free, when in Him we place our trust.
Christ who died now is risen, and seated at God’s right hand,
And all power to Him is given; in The One we take our stand.
He grants power to all those, sinful men, who once were lost,
Who do believe that He rose, and believe in Calvary’s Cross.
We are justified by His Grace, then seated in Heaven above,
But left upon this earthly place, to share with all Christ’s love.
Love that saves sinners like me, from a dark and sinful earth,
To live through all of Eternity, through the power of New Birth.
By Christ’s Spirit I am Born Again, to become a Child of God,
To be Christ’s Light to all men, while upon this earth we trod.
So they too, can be justified, although they may be depraved,
For The Lord will be glorified, on that day they too, are saved.
(Copyright ©02/2007)