In The Fulness Of Time Story Poem
The high priest cleansed the altar stone.
Prepared it for the sacrifice,
this task was his and his alone.
No lesser person would suffice.
The voice of God spoke through his priest
and no man dared to disobey
from the greatest to the least.
The high priest held the power to slay.
The sacrifice a comely youth
was not coerced he volunteered.
He had no doubt it was the truth
that for his life all debts be cleared.
Then suddenly a blinding light.
White fire consumed the altar stone,
the high priest fled in mortal fright.
The voice of “God” was but his own.
The Goddess made her wishes known.
A demonstration of her power,
she had destroyed the altar stone.
No longer need her people cower
beneath the high priests cruel rule
The could return to the old ways,
he high priest was power mad fool.
Who had perverted ways to praise
The Goddess for all that she supplied.
To keep her children clothed and fed
Her laws to everyone applied
from their birth ‘til they were dead.
There would be no more sacrifice
of pretty maid or comely youth.
Their honest worship would suffice
The Goddess re -proclaimed the truth.
That men should live in amity
obey her laws and they would thrive.
That they had strayed so foolishly.
The Goddess could and would forgive.
Beware of self appointed priests.
They do not, cannot speak for me.
But treat them as you would wild beasts
which threaten your security.
My yoke is not too hard to bear.
Just listen to your inner voice
and heed the quiet words you hear.
Be glad my children and rejoice.
I watch and ward and will protect
my children who obey my rules
The disobedient can expect
the punishment reserved for fools.
For they will surely come to grief.
No false priest can usurp my place
and propagate his false belief.
I am the guardian of your race.
Though fierce invaders seize control.
Forbidding you to worship me.
They will never achieve their goal
believers worship secretly.
In sacred groves and forest glades
as I have always bid them to.
The loyal youths and faithful maids
to my commands will remain true.
Religions come, religions go
as new religions take their place.
But as my true believers know.
Only the goddess rules by grace.
The old religion ever new
although sometimes its underground
or camouflaged but in full view.
In all religions I am found.
Still worshipped under different names.
Regarded as a saint sometimes.
Like children’s silly party games
I will endure through trying times.
My faithful daughters know its me
but let the priests think otherwise.
Their stiff necked pride won’t let them see.
What’s happening before their eyes.
In time I’ll take my rightful place
be worshipped universally.
Return men to a state of grace
where everyone lives peacefully..
15-Apr-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Sacrifice storypoem
She wore a robe so white and thin
that it enhanced her nakedness.
Made of the silk which spiders spin
Epitome of gracefulness
Her hair as black as ebony,
contrasting with her rose gold skin.
Which unrestrained was flowing free
She glowed as though she had within,
her slender form of flesh and blood.
A light that would illuminate
the darkness of the world and would
without a doubt propitiate.
The Gods demanding sacrifice.
According to the High Priests rede,
only a virgin would suffice.
To satisfy his dark Gods need.
The clan believed his rede was true
And so she went quite willingly.
To pay the God What he was due
ad so ensure fertility.
of flocks and crops, increase their yield.
Improve the clan’s prosperity
In truth the High Priests rede concealed
his innate taste for cruelty.
She lay upon the altar stone
and showed no slightest sign of fear.
The high Priest bared his blade of bone
and then although the sky was clear.
A bolt of lightning from the blue
struck down the priest as he deserved.
The Goddess had decided to
insist her rules should be observed.
The maiden lived and she became
in course of time the high priestess.
She governed in the goddess’ name
Rewarded for her faithfulness.
The wicked high priest had to die
because he had led the clan astray.
A truth that no one can deny.
The high priestess would lead the way.
The Goddess would protect the clan
as long as they obeyed her laws.
Though she would strike dead any man
whose bad behaviour gave her cause.
The Mother Goddess would supply
sufficient for her children’s need.
As long as they lived righteously
and followed her High Priestess’ lead
The willing sacrifice became
the chosen of the true Goddess
and now held power in her name.
Authority to curse or bless.
She serves her clan still faithfully
as she was always willing to
Speaks for the Goddess honestly,
does as the Goddess bids her do.
Willing to die to serve her clan.
The Goddess decreed that she should live
to implement the goddess’ plan.
And claimed the life she chose to give.
She’d live a life of servitude
as guardian of the sacred lore.
A mother to the multitude
who looked to her to keep the law.
Chosen to be a sacrifice
Which she accepted willingly
the goddess changed things in a trice
which she could do quite easily.
Though she would sacrifice her life
to serve the clan for all her days.
Forgo the chance to be a wife
to follow in the goddess’ ways.
6-Dec-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Proud Pagan
Sky clad we dance the circle round.
Sing hymns of praise to Mother Moon.
The sacred grove was filled with sound
as we gave thanks for good fortune.
We harm no one, this is our law
but rather helped all whom we could.
We are well versed in herbal lore.
because Goddess ruled that we should,
The Christians came and tried by force
to make us change our allegiance
With dire penalties of course
if we refused obedience.
We quickly learnt how to deceive
the foreign priests, seem to obey.
But secretly we still believe
and worship in the age old way.
The Christians may rule the land
but can’t command our loyalty.
We know they do not understand.
They will not change us easily.
The old religion did not die
although the Christians thought it would.
The Goddess’ symbol in the sky
made certain that it never could..
So we still worshipped secretly
Still sky clad danced beneath the moon.
Pretending Christianity
but dancing to an older tune.
Although this happened long ago
The goddess rules us still today.
Deep in their hearts the faithful know.
The old way is a better way.
Today we worship openly
as we have every right to do.
Protected constitutionally
we need not hide from public view.
We face no persecution
except from fundamentalists.
Bigots of all religions,
who show that hatred still persists.
We do our best to do no harm
to anyone in any way.
Though some still view us with alarm
This is still true I’m sad to say.
I am a pagan proud to be.
A family tradition
I try to follow faithfully
the laws of my religion.
14-Mar-09
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Naked and unashamed.
We dance sky clad beneath the moon.
The Goddess’ wishes to fulfil.
In gratitude for every boon
The goddess grants us as she will.
We celebrate fertility.
As did our forbears long ago.
Restoring the vitality
the earth requires. This we know
because the Goddess tells us so
She taught them as she teaches us
the Rituals that we need to know
Our dance is not lascivious
We circle always deosil.
The same direction as the sun
as we obey the goddess’ will
We mean no harm to anyone.
To cause no hurt; this is our law
All witches must strive to obey.
The basis of our sacred lore
for those who worship her today.
Though we must worship secretly
and hide ourselves from public view.
Perhaps one day we will be free
To worship as we wish to do
Monday,02 August 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Life of a Roman Catholic Priest
A priest is nearest Christ;
A priest is Christ at times;
A priest is almost Christ;
A priest is most divine.
A priest is God’s shepherd;
A priest must tend to flock;
A priest must be like ‘rock’;
A priest should ne’er defrock.
A priest communes with God;
A priest draws hope from Lord;
A priest shows love of Christ;
A priest carries His Cross!
A priest is tempted too;
A priest has falls in life;
A priest falters also;
A priest has strength from Christ.
A priestly job is tough;
A priest’s life can turn rough;
A priest has strife enough,
But has to smile and laugh!
A priest helps harvest souls;
A priest has many roles;
A priest has but one goal –
To drink from Christ’s own bowl!
Pray that more priests should come;
May priests curb their freedom;
May priest usher Kingdom;
A life for Christ’s welcome.
Fondly dedicated to Rev. Fr. Xavier Claudius,
Beloved Parish priest, ‘Holy Family Church, Perundurai
Copyright by Dr John Celes 25-7-2010
poem by John Celes
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A Cynics view a rant
Religion is about control.
Although they claim to save your soul.
The truth is it’s a power game
the priests of all creeds are the same.
Although the priests may well protest.
Your soul’s of little interest.
They want to tell you what to do.
If you believe their words are true
you will obey like silly sheep
Instead of walking you will creep.
Obey the rules they give to you
Exactly as they want you to
I am quite certain some believe
that what they promise they achieve
Because for you they intercede
Your place in heaven’s guaranteed
Another trick which they all use
The threat of Hell if you refuse
tobelieve all the words they say
That their way is the only way.
They label me a heretic
Because I know what makes them tick.
To most it’s just a power game
a way to achieve lasting fame.
They do not practice what they preach
and disbelieve the things they teach.
you may say I am cynical
but I reply I’m practical.
Their prime objective is to rise
as high up in their hierarchies
as it is possible to do.
Except perhaps for very few.
The godly men of every creed
Who do their best to meet the need
Of those who follow faithfully
and count no man an enemy.
11-Jan-09
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Who is my God?
At a new moon in the jungle
Was brought to an altar
A roaring goat, fully black,
By an awesome peasant
To the fearsome Kali,
Made of granite, red in cloak,
Under arbour of a peepul,
Who before stood
At dawn of death, the poor goat
Like a bull in a fight,
Arresting the attention
Of everyone, unknown of his fate.
The beast was put to rites,
Smeared with sandal paste
And fully drenched in water
Till he shivered a jerk,
Which was taken as token of nod
By grace of Goddess for her feast.
The peasant was pleased;
The priest was pleased;
So were all, as though they’re blest.
One held his hind-legs,
Stretching them well behind,
The other bending up his front one,
The third locking his head
Hard onto the altar
For the priest to accomplish.
The act was done at a stroke
By the learned priest, merciless,
For the Goddess, all merciful.
Many-wards squirted the blood
Like a carpet, red,
Before the Goddess, her tongue dripping.
All felt that they had met
The thirst of Ma, full
As did a mother her child, ere asking.
The agony that was undergone,
Murder they committed,
And pathos that prevailed, who noticed?
The beheaded beast went straight,
To the feet of the Goddess,
“Ma, am I not your child?
If not, who is my Mother? ”
Her lids dripped,
She cursed for having been chiseled
25.07.97
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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She reigns supreme For new friend Sid
The old gods sleep they are not dead
Although neglected still they wait
for worshippers who long since fled.
Hope to regain their former state.
This hope they cherish as they dream
of pomp and power and sacrifice
and in their wakeful moments scheme.
But all their schemes will not suffice.
To reinstate their golden days,
The days when they held pride of place
and worshippers sang in their praise.
Before they fell into disgrace.
Invaders came with foreign gods.
Displaced the local deities.
Though some survived against the odds
and still were worshipped secretly.
As fashions change new gods prevail
and the old gods are driven out
But true believers will not fail
They know without the slightest doubt.
Although in public they comply
with dictates of authority.
This is pretence for public show
but deep within their hearts they know.
The Mother Goddess rules us still
though she appears in different guise.
She always did and always will.
She is all seeing and all wise.
10-Jun-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Haunting The Chapel
The holy cross
Symbol of life
Anticipate the lives of Christians born
Speak of death
The words of hate
Anticipate the rules among the dead
Hell has seen
Priests condemned
To bring forth the lord of the cross
Strike twelve
Raise the dead
The chapel comes under attack
The ghosts of dead
Torment the priest
Their altar will soon be destroyed
Heaven's mass
Turning black
The church will belong to the dead
Blackened magic
And thus we're lost
Lucifer will supreme
The crystal ball
Children of faith
Their lasting eternal scream
Those who never make the people scream
Have no task for all of time
Satan's form of soldiers stand in lust
Destruction charged upon the cross
Attacking there's seven ways to go
Tormenting the priest
song performed by by Slayer from Haunting The Chapel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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First Lady
Darkness descends and silence reigns
across the mountains and the plains.
The Moon Goddess has yet to rise
but soon she’ll dominate the skies.
The focus of adoring eyes.
Though new religions rise and fall.
The faithful few resist their call.
They have no doubt, no doubt at all.
That their Goddess rules over all.
The orb which lights the sky by night
is only meant to signify.
Her ever open watchful eye.
She still regards the race of men
indulgently as her children.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Confession is good for the soul.
Canonised and sanitised.
The Vatican has changed its mind
Australian saint is recognised.
She blew the whistle long ago
Exposed a priestly paedophile.
Was she believed/Oh dear me no
Excommunicated, cast out
Because dared to speak the truth.
but times have changed and banished doubt..
The Vatican was in the wrong
protecting priestly paedophiles.
So now they sing a different song
The pontiff and the prelates know.
they have been caught committing crimes
Fresh scandals adding to their woe.
Reducing their authority.
Because they can no longer
hide behind facades of piety
So they create another saint
Too little and to late by far.
The church cannot escape the taint.
Perhaps it’s time to change the rules.
Why should a priest be celibate?
The general public are not fools.
I think the pontiff must accept
They got very badly wrong
When they decided to protect
The pervert priest from punishment.
Interfering with the laws
meant to protect the innocent
I do not think they can regain
the trust they secretly betrayed
Although they’ll try doubts will remain..
I’m sure the victims won’t forget
Nor do I think they will forgive
The church must recognise the debt.
And pay hard cash to compensate
The victims for their suffering
Again too little and too late.
If they had acted honestly.
They would not be in such a mess.
But sadly they chose secrecy
Wednesday,20 October 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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In His Hands
My soul is in the hands of God, not earthly men on earthly sod,
I have been bought by His Son, through the blood of only One.
In the Son alone, I take my stand, securely in the Father’s Hand.
A life in Heaven, I’m assured, not through religion, but my Lord.
And when I pray, I pray to Him, not to another one also with sin,
For I have access to His Throne, and He calls me His very own.
Religion is not what I profess, and to a priest, I do not confess,
As I have a Priest high above, who died for me, moved by love.
Religion did not save my soul, for it was Christ, who died for all,
All religions were diminished, when The Son said “It is Finished”.
Now all the work has been done, upon the cross by God’s Son.
I do not give mere men praise, as the Cross of Christ I will raise.
Only by Grace I’ve been saved, from a heart that’s so depraved,
Through this Grace I received, it was God’s Truth that I believed.
Saving Truth that sets men free, a Truth that flows from Calvary,
Freed of man’s religious rules, which only create religious fools.
I only have one Father in Heaven; all others are Spiritual Leaven,
Part of the coming apostasy, built through eyes that cannot see.
With Christ there’s no uncertainty, regarding my place in Eternity,
For the moment I leave this place, I shall be greeted by His face.
Through my journey in this life, I fix my eyes upon Jesus Christ,
Who opened them and my heart, with a Hope for when I depart.
A Hope, not on religious emptiness, but on His Righteousness,
Righteousness from God above, to save me by a Savior’s love.
(10/2007)
Trespasser for M lady Chitra
Lost deep in thought my footsteps strayed
And brought me to a woodland glade.
Wherein there stood an altar stone
erected to some God unknown
Erected in pre history.
The stone will stand eternally
as evidence of worship here
of some forgotten deity..
The altar stone is still pristine
It’s surface completely free
of lichens which should have been
thriving on it visibly.
Perhaps the worshippers still meet
Creep through the woods on silent feet
to carry out their ancient rites.
Beneath the moon on summer nights
When new gods drive he old gods out.
I am convinced I have no doubt
There still remains a faithful few
who worship as they used to do.
Perchance they still worship here
That is the reason that the stone is clear.
Quite suddenly I feel oppressed
and I decide its for the best.
To take again my homeward way
hurriedly without delay.
I feel that I must leave this place
and quicken up my walking pace
I wonder still uneasily
did I offend some deity.
Albeit inadvertently
who might decide to punish me
Though years have passed I’m still afraid.
I trespassed in that woodland glade.
Although in fact by accident
perhaps I earned some punishment.
Perhaps I’m being paranoid.
I try my hardest to avoid
Walking woodland paths alone
they might lead to that altar stone.
10/10/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Fire Goddess.
I am the fire goddess.
The one you tried to kill,
But did not succeed.
I am the fire goddess.
The one that never lingers,
Just goes ahead and riots.
I am the fire goddess.
The one that is thought to be evil,
But you misjudge my greatness.
I am the fire goddess.
The one with endless power.
The one with immense power.
I am the fire goddess.
The one that ruined his life.
I am the fire goddess.
The one that is ruining her life.
I am the fire goddess.
The one that will ruin their lives.
poem by Normal Girl Normal World
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Access To God
I speak to The Father every day, through one very Glorious Way,
A way provided for you and me, to speak to the God of Eternity.
I speak to Him only through one, the Father’s only begotten Son,
Christ gained access for His own, directly to His Father’s Throne.
I have access to His Throne of Grace, at all times from any place,
An access never denied to those, who truly believe His Son rose.
A religious support, I have none, as I go through God’s Own Son,
Christ, who is my High Priest, handling concern without the yeast.
As my High Priest He intercedes, with His Father for all my needs,
Christ’s our High Priest forever, reigning with a Righteous Scepter.
Of our needs, He knows everything, ruling also as Sovereign King,
The Lamb of Glory, now Glorified, is reigning by The Father’s side.
Knowing all that Christ endured, He is our friend, not just our Lord,
Completing for all the final sacrifice; paying in full sin’s total price.
Now seated at The Father’s side, is the One who sinners crucified,
Redeeming all the world, that day, as His Father, had turned away.
God turned as Christ bore the sin, that was not at all a part of Him,
But, He bore our sin and our grief, to bring to all men Divine relief,
And changes Christ has wrought, in the hearts of those He bought,
Through all of the humble prayers, to a loving God who truly cares.
(Copyright ©12/2007)
Temple And City Were Destroyed In 70 A.D.!
“And from the assembly of the sons of Israel he should take two male kids of the goats for a sin offering and one ram as a burnt offering” Leviticus 16: 5
The high priest must draw lots over the two goats
one lot for ADONAI and the other lot for Azazel.
The high priest must present the goat over whose
lot fell to ADONAI as a sin offering. But the goat
whose lot fell to Azazel should be stood alive before
ADONAI to make atonement for it, by sending it
away into the desert for Azazel.
to cast the lots upon
the two male kid goats
were two lot stones
one white and one black
upon the white stone was written the words
“For the Lord”
upon the black stone was written the words “For Azazal”
Azazal the chosen goat
that was to be sent away
the goat to be banished
these two symbolic stones were
placed at time of the lot choosing
in a container and priest shaken
then the high priest without looking must choose the sin offering he must put in his right hand inside
and draw out one of the two lots!
The Babylonian Talmud records that for over two hundred years before
the Crucifixion of Jesus Christ in 30 A.D.
the chosen first stone
to appear in the
lot grasped right hand
of the high priest fluctuated arbitrarily
between the white
and black stone
each year unpredictably
as God selected the most perfect
goat to be slain
or released for atonement
of sins on behalf
of all the Jewish people!
How strange miraculous
that beginning with Messiah prophisized
Day of Atonement in 30 A.D.
the year of the death
and resurrection
of our Lord Jesus Christ
that the black lot stone appeared in the right
hand of the high priest
for the next 39 years unfailingly!
What are the chances of that?
The chances of the black lot stone
“For Azazal”
appearing 40 consecutive times in the right hand of the high priest is over
a trillion to one according
to the odds of numerical probability how bizarre!
Was the constant appearance of the black stone in the right
hand of the high priest a sign?
Was it a sign of our God's displeasure with the House of Judah a warning to repent?
What if anything happened after forty years of a black lot stone appearing as continuous warning
in the right hand of the high priest?
Fulfillment of the scary prophetic
black lot stone came when Jerusalem
and Holy Temple were destroyed in
70 A. D. by the Roman Empire. Titus began the siege on April14th
70A.D. exactly forty years to the
day after Christ’s crucifixion on April14th 30 A.D. at Golgotha! Where Christ died for thee and me.
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
See also Forty Years Of Warning and The Fall Of The Temple In 70 A.D.!
poem by Terence George Craddock
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I Can't Decide. Story Poem
Oil lamps burn on either side
Of a polished stone centrepiece.
Its only purpose is to guide
The task performed by the high priest
The celebrant is crimson clad.
He speaks a language long since dead.
The strangest dream I ever had
Which filled me with a sense of dread.
I knew I dreamed but it seemed real
I tried to wake to no avail.
Held in a trance as strong as steel
My puny efforts doomed to fail.
It was as if against my will
I was transported to the past
By some magician with the skill
The bonds of time to overcast.
I could tear my eyes away
Beneath the altar though unbound
The sacrificial victim lay
Willing to die: His faith profound.
His death would bring fertility
Ensure the future of his clan
So they could thrive successfully.
Thanks to the courage of this man
The priest despatched him with one stroke
The young man died without a sound
The priest turned to the crowd and spoke.
The words he uttered echoed round.
Although I could not understand
a single word.Somehow I knew
That he obeyed his Gods command
As he was duty bound to do.
Then I awoke quite suddenly
The sacrifice had set me free.
But was it fact or fantasy
I cannot say positively.
Perhaps some racial memory
embedded in the D.N.A
My forebears had passed down to me
Had been triggered in some way.
That vivid dream still bothers me
It is a dream I shan’t forget
I choose to call it fantasy
But I have doubts that linger yet.
Alternative reality
Or just a dream about the past
It could be neither possibly.
But I was glad when it had passed
I think about it frequently.
But find that I cannot decide
If it was fact or fantasy.
It seems my doubts will long abide.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Trial of the Gods
NEVER nobler was the Senate,
Never grander the debate:
Rome's old gods are on their trial
By the judges of the state!
Torn by warring creeds, the Fathers
Urge to-day the question home—
'Whether Jupiter or Jesus
Shall be God henceforth in Rome?'
Lo, the scene! In Jove's own temple,
As of old, the Fathers meet;
Through the porch, to hear the speeches,
Press the people from the street.
Pontiffs, rich with purple vesture,
Pass from senate chair to chair;
Learned augurs, still as statues—
Voiceless statues, too—are there;
Vestal virgins, white with terror,
Mutely asking—what has come?
What new light shall turn to darkness
Vesta's holy fire in Rome?
Answer, Quindecemvirs! Surely,
Of this wondrous Nazarene
Ye must know, who keep the secrets
Of the prophet Sibylline?
Nay, no word! Here stand the Flamens:
Have ye read the omens, priests?
Slain the victims, white and sable,
Scanned the entrails of the beast?
Priest of Pallas, see! the people
Ask for oracles to-day:
Silent! Priests of Mars and Venus?
Lo, they turn, dumb-lipped, away!
Priest of Jove? Flamen dialis!
Here in Jove's own temple meet
In debate the Roman Senate,
And Jove's priest with timid feet
Stands beyond the altar railing!
Gods, I feel ye frown above!
In the shadow of Jove's altar
Men defy the might of Jove!
Treason riots in the temple
At the sacrilege profound:
Virgins mocked, and augurs banished,
And divinities discrowned!
Hush! Old Rome herself appeareth,
Pleading for the ancient faith:
Urging all her by-gone glory—
That to change the old were death.
Rudely answer the patricians,
Scoffing at the time-worn snare:
Twice a thousand years of sacrifice
Have melted into air;
Twice a thousand years of worship
Have bitterly sufficed
To prove there is no Jupiter!
The Senate votes for Christ!
Not aimless is the story,
The moral not remote:
For still the gods are questioned,
And still the Senates vote.
Men sacrifice to Venus;
To Mars are victims led;
And Mercury is honored still;
And Bacchus is not dead;—
But these are minor deities
That cling to human sight:
Our twilight they—but Right and Wrong
Are clear as day and night.
We know the Truth: but falsehood
With our lives is so inwove—
Our Senates vote down Jesus
As old Rome degraded Jove!
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Hymn 61
Christ our High Priest and King.
Rev. 1:5-7.
Now to the Lord, that makes us know
The wonders of his dying love,
Be humble honors paid below,
And strains of nobler praise above.
'Twas he that cleansed our foulest sins,
And washed us in his richest blood;
'Tis he that makes us priests and kings,
And brings us rebels near to God.
To Jesus, our atoning Priest,
To Jesus, our superior King,
Be everlasting power confessed,
And every tongue his glory sing.
Behold, on flying clouds he comes,
And every eye shall see him move;
Though with our sins we pierced him once,
Then he displays his pard'ning love.
The unbelieving world shall wail,
While we rejoice to see the day:
Come, Lord; nor let thy promise fail,
Nor let thy chariots long delay.
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Saving grace for M'ladyAnn Beard
Moonlight on the water glowing gently. As the tide out flowing
leaves silver traces on the sand. I think that now I understand,
the feeling of serenity. Which quickly flooded over me.
From being lonely and depressed I felt as though I had been blessed.
Bathed in the Goddess’ radiance I was given a second chance.
To be who I was meant to be, that peaceful night beside the sea.
I can recall it vividly. It was a peak experience
I still hold her in reverence.Although I have no evidence.
to prove to you my words are true do not feel that I need to.
Unless touched by the Goddess’ hand you simply would not understand
So I began my life anew because the Goddess bid me to.
The goddess cares for her children, she gave me confidence again.
I know that I can make the grade I face the future unafraid.
19-Dec-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Serve Fresh Bread Daily (1)
Anointed has a priest to be
Through holy oil the truth to see
Secrets of God they understand
Revealed to them in Jesus’ hand
But some still try to preach of sin
Without God’s Holy Ghost within
Using sweet words none to offend
They’ll only speak of God as friend
A God who’s heart’s so full of peace
His grace and love will never cease
They’ll take great care to choose each word
An angry God is seldom heard
With such stale bread they’ll feed God’s church
No wonder sheep through hunger search
For pastures green, by Jesus led
To a priest not spiritually dead
No priest should preach to fill their purse
Otherwise they’ll reap God’s curse Eze.34: 2
If Christ The Lord we’ll truly please
We’ll seek His face upon our knees
No child of God is mocked for long
Eating stale bread, washed down with song
The Lord sees well His children’s plight
From these shepherds, they’ll take their flight
So priest of God be not deceived
Speak the truth so God’s not grieved
Give through His Son your spiritual best
Then stand aside; He’ll do the rest
When called, you’ll know these words are true
That God awaits much fruit from you –Jn.15: 2
So from the flock that none should fall
Let’s make The Lord our one and all…PTO…
poem by Michael P. Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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