I Write
About this world with end
I write
Where I was brought upon,
Amidst this rot
Where hands are laid on the Bible
But the Bible is never opened,
Where doctrines are preached
But never practiced,
Where kleptomaniacs
And lootersand thieves
Control politics.
.
About this hell on earth
Men call life,
I write.
poem by Efe Benjamin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
What Does the Bible Tell?
The Bible speaks about the love of God
That’s infinite and unfathomable;
The Bible talks of love of man for God,
Their obeisance and faith amidst great strife.
The Bible tells of stories of persons
Who chose the path of righteousness to vice;
The Bible narrates accounts of men
And women who stood steadfast in faith amidst trials.
The Bible depicts how God tests man’s love
And obedience to Will of Providence;
The Bible reveals all secrets of life
That’s everlasting and all heavenly.
The Bible lists the sins that are mortal,
Abominable and hated by God;
The Bible shows the path of righteousness
That leads all souls to the Abode of God.
The Bible hints how God can punish as well
And send all evil-hearted down to hell;
The Bible has the Words of the Maker
That will come true when earth and sun shall end!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-24-2009
poem by John Celes
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But God will have a people upon the earth to maintain the Bible, and the Bible only, as the standard of all doctrines and the basis of all reforms.
quote by Ellen G. White
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He Is Caught In Time
(after Mandi Engelbrecht)
The faces around him is a confusing sea
of unknown people for whom he does not care
and he keeps away from pleasure and enjoyment;
he does not anymore understand his Bible or God.
No beautiful girl catches his eyes
and he is afraid for all of life,
people on the street are strange and silly;
he does not anymore understand his Bible or God.
One dark night his wife left him,
talked cheerfully about her new lover,
took everything along even the last flower vase,
he does not anymore understand his Bible or God;
she told the whole world that he whores around,
that he peeps at other women,
that he keeps no Godly command,
he does not anymore know his Bible or God;
at the holy church he lost his job
when more and more people heard the gossip story,
he scolds himself that he is very stupid,
he does not anymore understand his Bible or God.
His whole life is broken into pieces,
around him there is only confusing impressions,
it’s as if all his friends now are mocking him,
he does not anymore understand his Bible or God.
He locks himself in his inner room
opens for nobody that knocks on the outside,
he finds no other work opportunity,
he does not anymore understand his Bible or God.
During the night he is single, almost a monk
and he lives from dark moment to moment
is caught in time, feels dirty and rotten;
he does not anymore understand his Bible or God.
There is another world in his poems,
in memories wandering, searching faces
and dreams of some deliverance are somewhat silly;
he does not anymore understand his Bible or God.
He plants African marigolds, roses and jasmine;
feels the earth in his hands and too much pain,
he is broken and almost bankrupt;
he does not anymore understand his Bible or God.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Sonnet- OnThe Holy Bible
The biggest miracle God did for me
Was that I found the Bible, in my life;
The biggest gift He gave was Poetry,
With which I overcome my every strife.
The Bible is a sacred Book for all;
It tells you how to spend your life on earth;
And walk the road to Heaven without fall,
And keep your soul sin free ’fore your last breath.
The Bible clears your doubts in many fields;
And gives great solace to our minds and hearts;
By it, over His faithful, pow'r God wields,
Providing answers with a divine art.
Just read the Bible and live as per it;
A soul will soon be celestially fit.
poem by John Celes
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Why Do I Write
I write from my sadness
I write from the madness
I write because I have something to say
I write to pass the day
I write only from the heart
I write for sometimes I am not that smart
Whatever is in head just comes out on paper (in this case a word document) , and I go with the flow
Write to let my mind go
I follow my hand to where ever it takes me
I write all the things that I can see
I write when I am happy, but not as much
I write from my heart that you can touch
I write because I’d go insane
I am driven to write quell my pain
At times I feel alone so I write what I am feeling
I write for it is self-healing
Confident not so I write it all away
I write and write to pass the day
I write to comfort my soul that cries out in the night
I write for love is always out of sight
I write so I don't have to cry any more
I write for I have no one to adore
I write so someone somewhere will hear my plea
I write for someone is out there for me
I am lost and I the clown
I write to turn my frown upside down
I write to embrace the sadness I hide inside
I write with my heart opened wide
I write to silence the ghost
I write for I’ve been let down by the one I loved the most
I write through the stormy weather
I write for I am light as a feather
I am not a writer nor am I a poet
I write for the grief I do know it
I will write until I draw my last breath
I write because I'll die a lonely death
I have to write for strangers delight
I write because I have to write
I write for my own happiness
I write to relieve my stress
I write because I have no other choice
I write as if I was writing a letter
I write because I can’t do any better
I write because I am afraid not to
I write for this is what I do
I write for I give a damn
I write just because I am
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Godlessness in the Last Days -Reality
Famine, war, and destruction
Lack of faith and absent hope
These are the realizations
Where this world now sadly gropes.
For these were truths foretold
And these are written in the Bible
Writing about them unfolds
An awakening amongst all peoples.
For the earth is not a Utopia
A vague fairy tale of dreams
It is wallowing in a hysteria
Of sheer devastating extremes.
To write about these is tranparency
Being true to the call of the pen
Godlessness in last days, a reality
An Ezekiel call for all men!
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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American Heroes
she had one hand on her Bible,
the other at her throat.
they fired the volley,
folded the flag....
and buried her only son.
she didnt know about politics,
didnt know much about the war.
she only knew what she believed,
about right and wrong, , , ,
about her country, and salvation.
he'd been a good kid,
all boy, found trouble pretty easy.
but he listened to her,
and he believed what she believed....
he died fighting, scared, and unsure....
she had one hand on her Bible,
the other at her throat.
the sheriff.s dept. brought the notice,
foreclosure, she just couldnt pay....
the deputy looked down, and walked away....
American heroes, loss after loss.
clinging to the values they were taught.
she packed her clothes, her Bible,
and a picture of him....
smiling in his uniform.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Why I Write?
I write poems for myself and I write for the readers
I write for the masses and I write for the leaders
I write to imprint my thoughts in people's mind
I write to make the bad guys helpful and kind
I write to light up our path to Great God
I write for everyone home and abroad
I write to preserve values new and old
I write to make my ink precious like gold
I write for peace and I write for progress
I write to make the world a better place
All major issues I want to address
I write to see smile on God's face
poem by Asif Andalib
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Last Hard Bible
I sold my last hard bible
Just to pay my bills
I called my mother
To reserve me in her will
And the pay I'm getting every Thursday night
Well it just don't seem enough
Well money can buy me a hell of a lot
But it sure won't buy me love
Well I brought me a car
And I brought me a roadtrain
Car won't go
Trains to slow
So I found me a mansion
On the highest hillside
Bigger then this town
But it don't feel like home
I sold my last hard bible
Just to pay my bills
I called my mother
To reserve me in her will
And the pay I'm getting every Thursday night
Well it just don't seem enough
Well money can buy me a hell of a lot
But it sure won't buy me love
I spent my cash
On a brand new heartache
I spent my time
Trying to make it back
He took my heart
And he took my savings
He took the train
And left me on the track
I sold my last hard bible
Just to pay my bills
I called my mother
To reserve me in her will
And the pay I'm getting every Thursday night
Well it just don't seem enough
Well money can buy me a hell of a lot
But it sure won't buy me love
song performed by by Kasey Chambers from The Captain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Address to the Rev. George Gilfillan
All hail to the Rev. George Gilfillan of Dundee,
He is the greatest preacher I did ever hear or see.
He is a man of genius bright,
And in him his congregation does delight,
Because they find him to be honest and plain,
Affable in temper, and seldom known to complain.
He preaches in a plain straightforward way,
The people flock to hear him night and day,
And hundreds from the doors are often turn'd away,
Because he is the greatest preacher of the present day.
He has written the life of Sir Waiter Scott,
And while he lives he will never be forgot,
Nor when he is dead,
Because by his admirers it will be often read;
And fill their minds with wonder and delight,
And wile away the tedious hours on a cold winter's night.
He has also written about the Bards of the Bible,
Which occupied nearly three years in which he was not idle,
Because when he sits down to write he does it with might and main,
And to get an interview with him it would be almost vain,
And in that he is always right,
For the Bible tells us whatever your hands findeth to do,
Do it with all your might.
Rev. George Gilfillan of Dundee, I must conclude my muse,
And to write in praise of thee my pen doss not refuse,
Nor does it give me pain to tell the world fearlessly, that when
You are dead they shall not look upon your like again.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Bible Bob
Bible Bob in his bib overalls
and his mid-chest beard
his bible and flag
went to preach to the prospectors of gold
he rode on the shoulders of a giant named Jerimiah
who with one arm conquered all arms at Petaluma
and Bible Bob scolded the gold diggers
the lillies who passed through the field
with short skirts and too much make-up
for which they were sure to hell damned
and through the megaphone crisply
his fire and brim stone drew laughter
as the giant let him down to earth
for as he rode on the shoulders of a giant
his union flap remained insecure
and one full buttock of Bob's
was exposed to the crowd he had drawn
and Jerimiah held the megaphone
while Bible Bob buttoned his flap
poem by George Murdock
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Nightmare
He came by a golden Chariot
if I am not mistaken
there were five or six horses
and the bodyguards too.
He threatened me.
' You are a cursed poet,
why you talked about
poverty, politics, heaven & hell
and lot of restricted things?
write something else,
if you want to continue your career as a poet
write things what I want
not your nonsense.'
He showed me his whip
it's a venomous live snake.
Then he warned me.
' this is the last chance I am offering you
either you take it or leave it'.
before he leaves he said 'don't call me here again'
and he gave me a list
what I have to write.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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When the missionaries came to Africa they had the Bible and we had the land. They said ""Let us pray."" We closed our eyes. When we opened them we had the Bible and they had the land.
quote by Desmond Tutu
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Questions
Write me what you're wearing! Is it warm?
Write me how you lie! Do you lie there softly?
Write me how you look! Is it still the same?
Write me what you're missing! Is it my arm?
Write me how you are! Have you been spared?
Write me what they're doing! Do you have enough courage?
Write me what you're doing! Is it good?
Write me, who are you thinking of? Is it me?
Freely, I've given you only my questions.
And I hear the answers, how they fall.
When you're tired, I can't carry it for you.
If you're hungry, I have nothing for you to eat.
And so now I leave the world
No longer there, as if I've forgotten you.
poem by Bertolt Brecht
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I Write And Write And Write And Write
I WRITE AND WRITE AND WRITE AND WRITE
I write and write and write and write
I write and write and write and write
I write.
And all this writing and all these words and all I am
Forever unheard.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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What I want to write
What I want to write
I could not write.
I could not write
Tiger tiger cat cat
And the difference they behaved.
I could not write
The sky and its fall
On our forehead.
What I want to write
I could not write.
I write how I loved
How flower blosom
How fruit ripe
How stream flow.
I could not know
How I write
And I write
What I want to write
I could not write.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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The Holy Bible
The Bible has the keys to heaven’s gates!
The living God (One most High) speaks, it states;
Its stories are real including dates;
The God of love and goodness, sin, He hates.
The bible tells the ways, Christians should live;
First place to soul’s upliftment, man must give;
The more we read, the more wisdom we get;
The ‘blind and deaf’ will one day much regret.
The Bible speaks of many mysteries;
Old Testament is full of histories;
“Every word will come true, ” the Lord, God says.
The man is saved who well repents and prays!
All men must read the bible’s every page;
When life is lived by it, you turn a sage;
The gospel tells of Jesus Christ’s message;
For men who live in sins, hell is the wage!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 9-7-2006
poem by John Celes
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Write Me
Aerosmith
Write Me
Well I've been away forever, suicide's crossin' my mind,
But I'll never never never never never get so far behind.
I said, the ways of the night are evil with eyes that love the day,
but I'll never never never never never get so far away.
I said write me, write me, write me.
I said write me, write me, write me.
Well there's nothin' I can see that'd ever make
me want to be without her she's good, she's good to me.
Said there's no way to explain the kind of feeling
that you get out in the rain she's good, she's good to me.
See this emptiness inside it makes me scream
it make me crawl out of my high, she's good, she's good to me.
I love her.
Write me a letter, write me a letter, write it today, I'm goin' away.
Well I've been away forever, suicide's crossin' my mind,
But I'll never never never never never get so far behind.
Well I've been so many places hidin' from the wind and the rain,
But you could write me a letter for to save me from a goin' insane.
I said write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write.
I said write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write me.
Don't write me baby.
song performed by by Aerosmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Write
Write, keep writing lot
Write, write before you forget
Write, make it as reminder
Write, write before words disappear
Write, for you to contemplate
Write, write before your mind changed
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Me
Ask me how I'm doing? 'Very good I say '
My life is good, bad memories I try and keep away
I write as therapy to get me through
All the pain from the past, when I was blue
I write alot of things, about my life
I write about things that brought me strife
I am constantly thinking what to write about
Sometimes I write so I have no need to shout
Sometimes I write straight from my heart
Maybe helping others to get a brand new start
Alot of time depression comes sneaking in
And that's when I get out my paper and pen
I look around me and will always see
That there are those that had it worse than me
I write as a hobby because I enjoy it so
It makes all the bad things have to go
I'm not usually sad by any means
Sometimes insecure, thats from my genes
I don't want anyone to feel sorry for me
My life is good and I'm finally free
So if this explains me a little bit
I think this poem I will submit!
poem by Donna Nimmo
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