Kenosis
In His emptying from God to man,
where his cloak was bright white like light
He came to be tortured and cursed,
He came against sin as the balance
and His whole humanity was something reverently sincere
when He hanged sinless on Golgotha
with all of us accessory for His death
and the Roman soldiers were scared
as mere men they were caught
like followers of the dark snake.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Into White
I built my house from barley rice
Green pepper walls and water ice
Tables of paper wood, windows of light
And everything emptying into white.
A simple garden, with acres of sky
A brown-haired dogmouse
If one dropped by
Yellow delanie would sleep well at night
With everything emptying into white.
A sad blue eyed drummer rehearses outside
A black spider dancing on top of his eye
Red legged chicken stands ready to strike
And everything emptying into white.
I built my house from barley rice
Green pepper walls and water ice...
And everything emptying into white
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A conversation with Minette
My dear, destiny has separated us
and my life goes on without meaning
and you are at another place, far away from me.
I am seasons and a lifetime gone from you,
but still forever bonded to you
and although I am another person, you are still stay part of me
and in the evenings you are near
when I lift my eyes to the stars.
My dear, destiny has separated us
and only in my dreams my life seems real
when you are like a flower with me,
and I am not blinded by the day’s bright rays,
while I find new meaning,
I feel you material as a human being, when you stand next to me
and you are at another place, far away from me
at a place of which I do not know the extent
caught in the clutches of death
when you are like a flower with me
and sometimes I wish that you would stay with me
that you do not disappear with the morning light.
My dear, destiny has separated us
as if human life always hangs in the balance,
as if man is forever extradited to a Godly decision
caught in the clutches of death,
we life on, immoral or sincere
until death devours us
and although I am another person, you are still stay part of me
I am not able to loose your spirit, your humanity
but still feel your love reaching out too me.
As if man is forever extradited to a Godly decision
life passes much too quickly
even when you bring your hands together in prayer.
My dear, destiny has separated us
and you are at another place, far away from me,
but it’s still as if your bright blue eyes look at me.
Now I am seasons and a lifetime gone from you,
but still feel your love reaching out to me
and although I am another person, you still stay part of me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Incantation
A white well
In a black cave;
A bright shell
In a dark wave.
A white rose
Black brambles hood;
Smooth bright snows
In a dark wood.
A flung white glove
In a dark fight;
A white dove
On a wild black night.
A white door
In a dark lane;
A bright core
To bitter black pain.
A white hand
Waved from dark walls;
In a burnt black land
Bright waterfalls.
A bright spark
Where black ashes are;
In the smothering dark
One white star.
poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
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H's Soul
I wonder what happened to Hitler's Soul
As children cursed it around the world
At breakfast tables, under hidden floors
And at the oven doors
Lovers cursed it in their ecstasy throes
Soldiers cursed it, spitting on their boots
Marching in life and death parades
As their mothers cursed him too
Begging his Soul to be damned in Hell
Consigned with Generals that cursed it well
Where did it go, that very special Soul
Was there a space, a prison cell
Padded by the silence of his screams
That echo in our darkest dreams?
poem by Frank Bana
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On the day that they nailed Him to a cross
On the day that they nailed Him to a cross
the shepherds went to the fields as they usually did,
eating that afternoon under the shadow of a tree
but when the sun suddenly
at three o’clock was setting they were dumbstruck
looking astonished at the animals
that were going back to the corral
and darkness fell across the earth
and it looked as if it was night
while nature rebelled at the death of its creator
and quickly they went home.
Graves outside the city was torn open
while the curtain at the temple ripped right through,
while people at the crucifixion
in darkness crowded together
and frightened soldiers were wondering
what was happening
when people without fear said
let His blood be on our hands,
they cast darkness over their descendants
and the whole of humanity,
over each one in every nation
and over the whole of humanity
there hanged a shadow
while He gave the last convulsions,
about the death of God
in which everyone shared
from young to the old,
even them in the highest positions.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Light is out, Black is in
The light is getting dark
the clouds are turning gray
but i'll be ok
The day turns to night
and it's not going to change
So i'll walk through the streets
to see myself in a different light
The dark catches up and i'm covered
with death and dark
the dark is my new best friend
Through the dark i can control death
Through my death i can see my life
the life that was, is and could have been
with my new found friend comes
the choice of life or death
The dark is good it's new
the light was bad it's old
through the dark new choices arrive
with the light nothing was to choose
The dark is getting darker
but is that good or bad
cause it means death is for sure
I want the light back
I want to see myself not a stranger
poem by Jess Jayne
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Empires
Empires
On the ancient road I hear roman soldiers’ footsteps, all roads lead back to an empire;
and nothing has changed the poor die in the service of their masters. The Romans took
the elites sons of country they wanted to dictate sent them to Rome trained and sent
them back and they had vassal state. It didn’t always work, loyalty became resentment
and uprising, the kept kings demanded more power. The new empire is doing the same,
sends sons and daughters of the elite, in countries they want to control, to Harvard, we
get the royal household of Jordan. Sometime it backfires and we get Osama Bin Laden.
All empires must fall it’s written in the stars, their outpost Israel, is a sacrilege, losing her
humanity. I hear tired Roman soldiers marching on roads their foes will take when they
come to crush them. Iraq is a civil war waiting to happen, Afghanistan is a lost cause and
Pakistan will never submit to foreign dominance. I hear the footsteps, the new empires’
soldiers, the urban poor, have been promised glory, and shiny medals, as always they die
for a dream not theirs. The ghosts of roman soldiers marches on through the centuries,
nothing has changed in two thousand years.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Once bitten by a snake, he is scared all his life at the mere sight of a rope.
Once bitten by a snake, one is scared all his life at the mere sight of a rope.
Bright White Light
Totally out of it
Out of Control
Raised out of my shell
Raised higher upwards
To the Bright White light
Thumping of the skull
Against thy brains
Weightlessly ponder the
Depth and height of thy mind
In the Bright White light
Enlightened above
Shown crystal clear
Are other reasons of notions
The truth is lain before thee
By the Bright White light
Lost alone in a crowd
Distanced from the others
They said it would go
Away but it’s still me
And the Bright White light
poem by Stephen Beckett
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You, the Dark
Dark, She is the mind of yours.
Icy chill of thought becomes
A steely shimmer.
Behold a glimmer in the black -
A flash of grey, that even glows
In show against the hallowed dark of you.
And that is why you scream in jarring tones
'I have no heart for joy!
My white and brittle bones have died'
You cried in dark and fractured moans.
So now the Queen of Black you writhe,
Whence from dark of shade
That honed an evil form afar;
In curse of me you bade:
'I, the wave shall rape the shore!
Violence will there be in glares I'll throw
At all who prey, and more:
A dark and fetid sea I'll bleed.'
And now, the bitter tinge
And bleak of waste
That eyed the death of once your soul
Will here forever be!
Indeed you tell:
'The cramping pain is here!
Eternal spasm, infinite chasm,
The Devil's chaplain plays!
We'll climax in a tortured glee
As all my love decays.'
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
Dark dark dark dark dark dark dark
Dark dark dark dark dark dark
Dark dark dark dark dark
Dark dark dark dark
Dark dark dark
Dark dark dark dark dark
dark dark dark dark dark dark dark darkdarkdarkdark
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Scared
I'm scared of life and what i'll become
I'm scared of not being able to go on
I'm scared of what will happen
I'm scared of your reaction
I'm scared of letting go
I'm scared of what i don't know
I'm scared of losing you
I'm scared of being used
I'm scared of being hurt beyond repair
I'm scared of whats out there
I'm scared and so alone
I'm scared and searching for a place to call home
Will you hold me and fight away my fears
Will you tell me it's gonna be okay and wipe away my tears
Will you hold my hand as i walk through the dark
Will you stay and not leave or break my heart
Will you be there to pick me up when i fall down
Because i really need someone right now
poem by Jean Pullman
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A Thief
I am a man, not a woman. My Roman status exceeds me. I
am a thief who loves you, forever in love with your objects.
Am I not a liar? Commandments are ‘superior’ to me. Love
is not my answer for everything like that. Live in conduct, but
live in hope. My theft is the darkest form of conduct. Yet I am
not a child, and when I walk I talk as a child. My words are
lost. I cannot speak; for if I am caught, I shall weep.
And he wept, with bursting eyes. For he was caught like
a madman had been captured. Even he thought he would
get away, but it was too late.
The Roman soldiers crucified him on the cross. No one
could mention his name again; He was called Augustus,
the man who died on the cross.
poem by Naveed Akram
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It's Death Again
It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
The Reign of Death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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My Demonic Angel{The Death Angel}
This kind man is an angel
intent on giving me life
even though he hides
In the guise of a demon.
This kind man is an angel
A beautiful angel that I love
He has many sides
But I am and I know
That I am the only one to see.
This angel is mine
This angel has fallen
And I cry because
I couldn't do what
His wings should have.
My beauty cried and
I showed him the dark
That was now him
And in that dark
I showed him my light
Showed him my light
And together we discovered
The fight that is in him
The beautiful balance
The confusing equilibrium
The angel was a true demon
The lovely danger
I stare at his chest fully scarred
and his wings white to black
Life to Death
Just like him
Once an angel of Life
He is an angel of Death
And as I feel his arms around me
I know I am safe from Death.
poem by Viktoria Lilith
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Good Friday Meditation
In Him are mirrored
All our failures
The pain of contrast
Leads to the final solution.
Injustice is man's weakness
Each new age invents new ways.
As God stood among them
His challenge, was too great.
So today beneath the stairs
Their game took new meaning
The King is crowned
By men outside 'Torah'.
Darkness that leads to death
Overshadows the sun
The winding stair,
That leads to so much pain.
Yet the pain of betrayal
Is deeper than the wounds
That ooze and drip
Red puddle forming droplets.
The gate is open, the way is set
Pass the traders,
Who yesterday,
Sought your custom
Around about the voices cry
The telling clink of money
The smell of fresh baked bread
Normality goes on without pausing.
Somewhere on the fringe
The water seller waits
The thirsty crowd
Will make his day.
The contrast of compassion
The soldiers cursed by the crowd
The victims cursed by the soldiers
All are cursed by the act.
Here is the holocaust
The murderer, and rapist
The thief, the scum of humanity
Bound in this one act of shame.
The darkness settles
The rain cannot wash this moment
From the pages of man's history
Cannot expunge our failure.
That will only be explained
Lifted from the dirt
Dealt with in full
On Sunday.
poem by James Tipp
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The City of Golgotha
The City of Golgotha
Striped earlier on the back, adorned with a nest crown,
The Romans cannot be said to be fair, the Jews can be said to be wicked.
I pray ye, they know not what they do.
People watching my despair; the repair I strive to purchase at the hand of glory of my father in heave-their father since old times.
Golgotha is my city of condemnation, their city of salvation.
When the son of man rises again, when the Holy Spirit takes over Golgotha shall less matter.
When man is saved Golgotha might be a city to remember.
poem by by unknown author
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I saw soldiers
I saw soldiers
with eyes opened wide
who in fear, dutiful served their country.
They were only boys and moreover
unravelled from all humanity
and mechanical like an oiled machine.
Aged early, cold in heart and soul and besides
driven past madness and stripped from reason
to in fear, dutiful serve their country.
Without any glory or esteem
they assaulted the enemy challenging death
and I saw young brave soldiers.
Boys abandoning their own free will
and caught in a almost endless cycle
to in fear, dutiful serve their country
Boys who did not concede to the reasons for the war,
later sold out by politicians,
I saw as soldiers
who in fear, dutiful served their country.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Death Is In Love With Us
I know it hurts too much
I know that you're scared
I know you're running out of trust
Wishing you were dead
In your misery
You're not alone
So come share your tears with me
And witness it all go wrong
I know it and i feel it
Just as well as you do, honey
It's not our fault if death's in love with us oh oh
It's not our fault if the reaper holds our hearts
41+66.6 = our loss
We're breathing only to fade away
We're running just to get caught
What love's lies blessed
What love's light cursed
Just fear for the best
And hope for our worst
I know it and i feel it
Just as well as you do, honey
It's not our fault if death's in love with us oh oh
It's not our fault if the reaper holds our hearts
Death's in love with us oh oh
The reaper holds our hearts oh oh
Death's in love with us oh oh
And the reaper holds our hearts oh oh
I know it and i feel it
Just as well as you do, honey
It's not our fault if death's in love with us oh oh
It's not our fault if the reaper holds our hearts
song performed by by H.I.M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At First. To Charlotte Cushman.
My crippled sense fares bow'd along
His uncompanioned way,
And wronged by death pays life with wrong
And I wake by night and dream by day.
And the Morning seems but fatigued Night
That hath wept his visage pale,
And the healthy mark 'twixt dark and light
In sickly sameness out doth fail.
And the woods stare strange, and the wind is dumb,
-- O Wind, pray talk again --
And the Hand of the Frost spreads stark and numb
As Death's on the deadened window-pane.
Still dumb, thou Wind, old voluble friend?
And the middle of the day is cold,
And the heart of eve beats lax i' the end
As a legend's climax poorly told.
Oh vain the up-straining of the hands
In the chamber late at night,
Oh vain the complainings, the hot demands,
The prayers for a sound, the tears for a sight.
No word from over the starry line,
No motion felt in the dark,
And never a day gives ever a sign
Or a dream sets seal with palpable mark.
And O my God, how slight it were,
How nothing, thou All! to thee,
That a kiss or a whisper might fall from her
Down by the way of Time to me:
Or some least grace of the body of love,
-- Mere wafture of floating-by,
Mere sense of unseen smiling above,
Mere hint sincere of a large blue eye,
Mere dim receipt of sad delight
From Nearness warm in the air,
What time with the passing of the night
She also passed, somehow, somewhere.
poem by Sidney Lanier
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