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The Poetaster's Korner Tasteful poetry for JESUS but don't let the flowers fool you. NO HOMERS ALLOWED!

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Default Re: Place here your personal-favorite poems - 02-03-2007, 04:27 AM

Quote:
Originally Posted by Enobarbus View Post
The Cup of Milk (Boy approaches girl on the beach.)

These waves have come a thousand miles
To worship at your feet.
I have come to borrow a cup of milk
I live just down the street.

This was New Zealand Poet Gary McCormick's answer to the charge that there had never been a New Zealand love poem and that we are not only a Godless, but unromantic lot. McCormick himself is convinced that this not only fits the bill, but is a superior piece. It is brief, to the point, realistic, and berift of the foolish sentimentality that so often ruins 'love' poetry.
I agree, but wonder why he jangles the rhythm in L3?
It's cutting and good in message otherwise. Yes, applause for his excising maudlinism.

Perhaps better?


The waves have come one thousand miles
To flatter at your feet.
I have come to honor you.
I live just down the street.
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Default For Rachael (impelled by Christ's own love) - 02-03-2007, 05:13 AM

a MS of ca. 1869, in correspondence to her sister.




A Spider sewed

at Night

Without a Light

Upon an Arc of

White.





If Ruff it was

of Dame

Or Shroud of Gnome

Himself himself

inform.





Of Immortality

His Strategy

Was Physiognomy.















































Last edited by Poetic Peter; 02-03-2007 at 05:20 AM.
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Default Re: Place here your personal-favorite poems - 02-04-2007, 03:29 AM

Quote:
Originally Posted by Poetic Peter View Post
I agree, but wonder why he jangles the rhythm in L3?
It's cutting and good in message otherwise. Yes, applause for his excising maudlinism.

Perhaps better?


The waves have come one thousand miles
To flatter at your feet.
I have come to honor you.
I live just down the street.
I think he jangles it quite deliberately to contrast the mundane with the somewhat purple first two lines. He wasn't being terribly serious. Your line three seems to me to completely miss the point. He has come to borrow a cup of milk or sugar; not to honor anyone.


Revelation 21:8 But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone: which is the second death.
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Default Re: Place here your personal-favorite poems - 02-04-2007, 03:49 AM

Quote:
Originally Posted by Hitoshi View Post
I am get much private message ask for poem I am write last year for single forum for get dates. okay I am just post here for every one enjoy. As can see Japanese make good quality car and poem.

Life is much stormy sea
by Hitoshi Yamamoto

Life is much stormy sea.
I am ship needing find land.
oh honey give harbor to me.
I need girl is understand.
I am give very much love.
tetty bear hug so gentle squeeze.
You be Hitoshi's baby dove.
No fatty please.
so if is you want good time
respecting and honor from start
Honey Baby say you mine
I happy be captain of your heart.
poems silly thread silly silly people. japanese man most silly of all.
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Default Re: Place here your personal-favorite poems - 02-04-2007, 04:20 AM

Quote:
Originally Posted by Wu Ling View Post
poems silly thread silly silly people. japanese man most silly of all.
I love a good chink fight.


Who Will Jesus Damn?

Here is a partial list from just a few scripture verses:

Hypocrites (Matthew 24:51), The Unforgiving (Mark 11:26), Homosexuals (Romans 1:26, 27), Fornicators (Romans 1:29), The Wicked (Romans 1:29), The Covetous (Romans 1:29), The Malicious (Romans 1:29), The Envious (Romans 1:29), Murderers (Romans 1:29), The Deceitful (Romans 1:29), Backbiters (Romans 1:30), Haters of God (Romans 1:30), The Despiteful (Romans 1:30), The Proud (Romans 1:30), Boasters (Romans 1:30), Inventors of evil (Romans 1:30), Disobedient to parents (Romans 1:30), Covenant breakers (Romans 1:31), The Unmerciful (Romans 1:31), The Implacable (Romans 1:31), The Unrighteous (1Corinthians 6:9), Idolaters (1Corinthians 6:9), Adulterers (1Corinthians 6:9), The Effeminate (1Corinthians 6:9), Thieves (1Corinthians 6:10), Drunkards (1Corinthians 6:10), Reviler (1Corinthians 6:10), Extortioners (1Corinthians 6:10), The Fearful (Revelation 21:8), The Unbelieving (Revelation 21:8), The Abominable (Revelation 21:8), Whoremongers (Revelation 21:8), Sorcerers (Revelation 21:8), All Liars (Revelation 21:8)

Need Pastoral Advice? Contact me privately at PastorEzekiel@landoverbaptist.net TODAY!!
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Default Re: Place here your personal-favorite poems - 02-04-2007, 10:17 AM

Quote:
Originally Posted by Enobarbus View Post
I think he jangles it quite deliberately to contrast the mundane with the somewhat purple first two lines. He wasn't being terribly serious. Your line three seems to me to completely miss the point. He has come to borrow a cup of milk or sugar; not to honor anyone.
Thank you for that. I think I agree.
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Default Re: Place here your personal-favorite poems - 02-04-2007, 10:21 PM

Quote:
Originally Posted by Pastor Al E Pistle View Post
Think of the myriad spiders milling about waiting for your eyelids to close. THE FANGS! THE FANGS!
Actually I was too tired to even think of that .

Quote:
Originally Posted by OnYourKnees View Post
I think there's something wrong with your health, Van Spiderbait. It seems you're always sleepy! Why, nearly every day you seem to get sleepy.

Perhaps you're not eating right?
I'm sleepy because I've had problems sleeping lately, and my migraine pills add to the sleepy effect. As to my diet....I eat pretty healthy. Didn't used to, but do now.




Quote:
Originally Posted by Pastor Ezekiel View Post
"The Huge and Nasty Horrid thing"




The huge and nasty horrid thing
Crawled up on Rachael's head!
It crawled all around
Then made a nice soft bed.
It wiggled down her shoulder
And jumped down to the floor
Then the huge and nasty horrid thing
Crawled on Lilith's head for more!
*snip* HORRIBLE image *snip*
GAHHHH!!!!
That was completely UNCALLED FOR!!! Now I ask, was that REALLY necessary??????

Quote:
Originally Posted by Sister Mary Maria View Post
I concur. A diet consisting of nothing but her dark master's unholy seed certainly couldn't contain all the necessary vitamins and minerals a healthy body requires.
And you think the Pastors here eat a good diet? Did you SEE that.....uhh.......what looked like alien remains that they served to the homeless for I think it was Thanksgiving?

Quote:
Originally Posted by Brother Temperance View Post
Hahahahaha, do you know who inspired that poem?
Yes, I know. Poe's wife Virginia Clemms. Yes, the whole age and cousin thing is icky, I mean she was 13 and his COUSIN!! Yeeeeeshhh!! But the poem itself is beautiful and haunting. One doesn't need to think of Poe and his young cousin/wife when they read it. I know I don't.

Quote:
Did you know that when you have Jesus in your life, it's possible to get through a whole morning without getting high? It's true!
Taking a migraine tablet and being tired hardly counts as getting high.



Wake up and smell the 21st Century!!

Last edited by Rachael Van Helsing; 02-04-2007 at 10:22 PM.
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Default Re: Place here your personal-favorite poems - 02-06-2007, 12:29 AM

TO him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;--
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around--
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air--
Comes a still voice--Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix for ever with the elements,
To be a brother to the insensible rock
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.

Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificient. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world--with kings,
The powerful of the earth--the wise, the good
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun,--the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods--rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadow green; and, poured round all,
Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,--
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.--Take the wings
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,
Save his own dashings--yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep--the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man--
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side
By those, who in their turn shall follow them.

So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like a quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
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Default Re: Place here your personal-favorite poems - 02-06-2007, 12:43 AM

Quote:
Originally Posted by Rachael Van Helsing View Post
Yes, I know. Poe's wife Virginia Clemms. Yes, the whole age and cousin thing is icky, I mean she was 13 and his COUSIN!! Yeeeeeshhh!! But the poem itself is beautiful and haunting. One doesn't need to think of Poe and his young cousin/wife when they read it. I know I don't.
Icky? You're saying that Poe married Icky now? News to me, and also to her, I suspect. But considering your ongoing refusal to engage with reality, I suppose your liberal doublethink concerning Poe's childbride is nothing surprising.


O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it--for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen.


God being truth, justice, goodness, beauty, power, and life, man is falsehood, iniquity, evil, ugliness, impotence, and death. God being master, man is the slave. Incapable of finding justice, truth, and eternal life by his own effort, he can attain them only through a divine revelation... he who desires to worship God must harbor no childish illusions about the matter, but bravely renounce his liberty and humanity.
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Default Fine stuff here - 02-16-2007, 04:39 AM

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Default Re: Place here your personal-favorite poems - 02-16-2007, 04:40 AM

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Default Re: Place here your personal-favorite poems - 05-26-2007, 04:35 PM

A Prayer in Spring
by: Robert Frost Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.

Oh, gives us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.

And make us happing in the darting bird
Tha suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid-air stands still.

For this is love and nothing else is love,
The which it is reversed for God above
To sanctify to what far ends He will,
But which it only needs that we fulfill.

(Something I've been meaning to ask: What's with all the "Jesus was a snail" stuff?)
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Old Iron Crotch is a sinner who is given over to unnatural affections and blasphemy, and whose chances of Salvation© are limited.Old Iron Crotch is a sinner who is given over to unnatural affections and blasphemy, and whose chances of Salvation© are limited.Old Iron Crotch is a sinner who is given over to unnatural affections and blasphemy, and whose chances of Salvation© are limited.Old Iron Crotch is a sinner who is given over to unnatural affections and blasphemy, and whose chances of Salvation© are limited.Old Iron Crotch is a sinner who is given over to unnatural affections and blasphemy, and whose chances of Salvation© are limited.Old Iron Crotch is a sinner who is given over to unnatural affections and blasphemy, and whose chances of Salvation© are limited.Old Iron Crotch is a sinner who is given over to unnatural affections and blasphemy, and whose chances of Salvation© are limited.Old Iron Crotch is a sinner who is given over to unnatural affections and blasphemy, and whose chances of Salvation© are limited.Old Iron Crotch is a sinner who is given over to unnatural affections and blasphemy, and whose chances of Salvation© are limited.Old Iron Crotch is a sinner who is given over to unnatural affections and blasphemy, and whose chances of Salvation© are limited.Old Iron Crotch is a sinner who is given over to unnatural affections and blasphemy, and whose chances of Salvation© are limited.
Default Re: Place here your personal-favorite poems - 05-27-2007, 12:31 AM

I Sing the Body Electric by Walt Whitman
1
I sing the body electric,The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves?And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead?And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul? And if the bodywere not the soul, what is the soul?
2

The love of the body of man or woman balks account, the body itself balks account, That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect.The expression of the face balks account,But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face,It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists,It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and knees, dress does not hide him,The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth,To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more,You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side.The sprawl and fulness of babes, the bosoms and heads of women, the folds of their dress, their style as we pass in the street, the contour of their shape downwards,The swimmer naked in the swimming-bath, seen as he swims through the transparent green-shine, or lies with his face up and rolls silently to and from the heave of the water,The bending forward and backward of rowers in row-boats, the horse-man in his saddle,Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their performances,The group of laborers seated at noon-time with their open dinner-kettles, and their wives waiting,The female soothing a child, the farmer's daughter in the garden or cow-yard,The young fellow hosing corn, the sleigh-driver driving his six horses through the crowd,The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite grown, lusty, good-natured, native-born, out on the vacant lot at sundown after work,The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love and resistance,The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled over and blinding the eyes;The march of firemen in their own costumes, the play of masculine muscle through clean-setting trowsers and waist-straps,The slow return from the fire, the pause when the bell strikes suddenly again, and the listening on the alert,The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the bent head, the curv'd neck and the counting;Such-like I love--I loosen myself, pass freely, am at the mother's breast with the little child,Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with wrestlers, march in line with the firemen, and pause, listen, count.
3

I knew a man, a common farmer, the father of five sons,And in them the fathers of sons, and in them the fathers of sons.This man was a wonderful vigor, calmness, beauty of person,The shape of his head, the pale yellow and white of his hair and beard, the immeasurable meaning of his black eyes, the richness and breadth of his manners,These I used to go and visit him to see, he was wise also,He was six feet tall, he was over eighty years old, his sons were massive, clean, bearded, tan-faced, handsome,They and his daughters loved him, all who saw him loved him,They did not love him by allowance, they loved him with personal love,He drank water only, the blood show'd like scarlet through the clear-brown skin of his face,He was a frequent gunner and fisher, he sail'd his boat himself, he had a fine one presented to him by a ship-joiner, he had fowling-pieces presented to him by men that loved him,When he went with his five sons and many grand-sons to hunt or fish, you would pick him out as the most beautiful and vigorous of the gang,You would wish long and long to be with him, you would wish to sit by him in the boat that you and he might touch each other.
4

I have perceiv'd that to be with those I like is enough,To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough,To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough,To pass among them or touch any one, or rest my arm ever so lightly round his or her neck for a moment, what is this then? I do not ask any more delight, I swim in it as in a sea. There is something in staying close to men and women and looking on them, and in the contact and odor of them, that pleases the soul well,All things please the soul, but these please the soul well.
5

This is the female form,A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot,It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction, I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor, all falls aside but myself and it, Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth, and what was expected of heaven or fear'd of hell, are now consumed,Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it, the response likewise ungovernable,Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands all diffused, mine too diffused,Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the ebb, love-flesh swelling and deliciously aching,Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quivering jelly of love, white-blow and delirious nice,Bridegroom night of love working surely and softly into the prostrate dawn,Undulating into the willing and yielding day,Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-flesh'd day.This the nucleus--after the child is born of woman, man is born of woman,This the bath of birth, this the merge of small and large, and the outlet again.Be not ashamed women, your privilege encloses the rest, and is the exit of the rest,You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul.The female contains all qualities and tempers them,She is in her place and moves with perfect balance,She is all things duly veil'd, she is both passive and active,She is to conceive daughters as well as sons, and sons as well as daughters.As I see my soul reflected in Nature,As I see through a mist, One with inexpressible completeness, sanity, beauty,See the bent head and arms folded over the breast, the Female I see.
6

The male is not less the soul nor more, he too is in his place,He too is all qualities, he is action and power,The flush of the known universe is in him,Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and defiance become him well,The wildest largest passions, bliss that is utmost, sorrow that is utmost become him well, pride is for him,The full-spread pride of man is calming and excellent to the soul,Knowledge becomes him, he likes it always, he brings every thing to the test of himself,Whatever the survey, whatever the sea and the sail he strikes soundings at last only here,(Where else does he strike soundings except here?)The man's body is sacred and the woman's body is sacred,No matter who it is, it is sacred--is it the meanest one in the laborers' gang?Is it one of the dull-faced immigrants just landed on the wharf?Each belongs here or anywhere just as much as the well-off, just as much as you,Each has his or her place in the procession.(All is a procession,The universe is a procession with measured and perfect motion.)Do you know so much yourself that you call the meanest ignorant?Do you suppose you have a right to a good sight, and he or she has no right to a sight?Do you think matter has cohered together from its diffuse float, and the soil is on the surface, and water runs and vegetation sprouts,For you only, and not for him and her?
7

A man's body at auction,(For before the war I often go to the slave-mart and watch the sale,)I help the auctioneer, the sloven does not half know his business.Gentlemen look on this wonder,Whatever the bids of the bidders they cannot be high enough for it,For it the globe lay preparing quintillions of years without one animal or plant,For it the revolving cycles truly and steadily roll'd.In this head the all-baffling brain,In it and below it the makings of heroes.Examine these limbs, red, black, or white, they are cunning in tendon and nerve,They shall be stript that you may see them.Exquisite senses, life-lit eyes, pluck, volition,Flakes of breast-muscle, pliant backbone and neck, flesh not flabby, good-sized arms and legs,And wonders within there yet.Within there runs blood,The same old blood! the same red-running blood!There swells and jets a heart, there all passions, desires, reachings, aspirations,(Do you think they are not there because they are not express'd in parlors and lecture-rooms?)This is not only one man, this the father of those who shall be fathers in their turns,In him the start of populous states and rich republics,Of him countless immortal lives with countless embodiments and enjoyments.How do you know who shall come from the offspring of his offspring through the centuries?(Who might you find you have come from yourself, if you could trace back through the centuries?)
8

A woman's body at auction,She too is not only herself, she is the teeming mother of mothers,She is the bearer of them that shall grow and be mates to the mothers.Have you ever loved the body of a woman?Have you ever loved the body of a man?Do you not see that these are exactly the same to all in all nations and times all over the earth?If any thing is sacred the human body is sacred,And the glory and sweet of a man is the token of manhood untainted,And in man or woman a clean, strong, firm-fibred body, is more beautiful than the most beautiful face.Have you seen the fool that corrupted his own live body? or the fool that corrupted her own live body?For they do not conceal themselves, and cannot conceal themselves.
9

O my body! I dare not desert the likes of you in other men and women, nor the likes of the parts of you,I believe the likes of you are to stand or fall with the likes of the soul, (and that they are the soul,)I believe the likes of you shall stand or fall with my poems, and that they are my poems,Man's, woman's, child, youth's, wife's, husband's, mother's, father's, young man's, young woman's poems,Head, neck, hair, ears, drop and tympan of the ears,Eyes, eye-fringes, iris of the eye, eyebrows, and the waking or sleeping of the lids,Mouth, tongue, lips, teeth, roof of the mouth, jaws, and the jaw-hinges,Nose, nostrils of the nose, and the partition,Cheeks, temples, forehead, chin, throat, back of the neck, neck-slue,Strong shoulders, manly beard, scapula, hind-shoulders, and the ample side-round of the chest,Upper-arm, armpit, elbow-socket, lower-arm, arm-sinews, arm-bones,Wrist and wrist-joints, hand, palm, knuckles, thumb, forefinger, finger-joints, finger-nails,Broad breast-front, curling hair of the breast, breast-bone, breast-side,Ribs, belly, backbone, joints of the backbone,Hips, hip-sockets, hip-strength, inward and outward round, man-balls, man-root,Strong set of thighs, well carrying the trunk above,Leg-fibres, knee, knee-pan, upper-leg, under-leg,Ankles, instep, foot-ball, toes, toe-joints, the heel;All attitudes, all the shapeliness, all the belongings of my or your body or of any one's body, male or female,The lung-sponges, the stomach-sac, the bowels sweet and clean,The brain in its folds inside the skull-frame,Sympathies, heart-valves, palate-valves, sexuality, maternity,Womanhood, and all that is a woman, and the man that comes from woman,The womb, the teats, nipples, breast-milk, tears, laughter, weeping, love-looks, love-perturbations and risings,The voice, articulation, language, whispering, shouting aloud,Food, drink, pulse, digestion, sweat, sleep, walking, swimming,Poise on the hips, leaping, reclining, embracing, arm-curving and tightening,The continual changes of the flex of the mouth, and around the eyes,The skin, the sunburnt shade, freckles, hair,The curious sympathy one feels when feeling with the hand the naked meat of the body,The circling rivers the breath, and breathing it in and out,The beauty of the waist, and thence of the hips, and thence downward toward the knees,The thin red jellies within you or within me, the bones and the marrow in the bones,The exquisite realization of health;O I say these are not the parts and poems of the body only, but of the soul,O I say now these are the soul!
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Default 10-23-2007, 09:43 AM

ANONYMOUS

with an excerpted reading
by PP; link at the bottom







Ideas Copyright by XXX

Ideas are born from thoughts and emotions
Nurtured in balance, they grow and mature..
With logic and caring applied in proportion
Ideas yield bounties of reason and love.

Take care that you never give all to emotion
Nor trust only to logic, not bending at all
Emotion leaves craters on scarred, empty landscape
And logic alone makes for cold, barren shores.

So facts are the products of reasoned ideas,
Pyramids crafted of logical stone.
Immortal because of their solid foundations
True facts then are timeless and bright to behold.

Not easily changed as are whims and opinions...
But often confusing... just words after all,
Make each of us choose what is true and what isn't
And some of us can, but most of us fall..

So whenever presented a fact for consumption,
Examine it closely for table and crown.
Opinions have foundations built over craters...
They crumble and never push pyramids down.

Opinion is merely the voice of emotion.
Varying, changeable, woven of straw
Which bends in the wind and floats with the current...
Ever changing with no thought to reason at all.

Belief is a separate kind of opinion,
Isolated from wisdom by one's self-esteem...


Thus a person who can't lift his face to a mirror
Makes excuses to others, as well as himself
He wants to believe he is something he isn't
He needs a small lie to convince someone else.

A belief then created, a servant of folly
The truth since forgotten, it stood in the way.
In the night an ice castle of beauty, deceptive...
Only puddles are left when sun brings the day.

While darkness protects you alone in your fortress
The angels of truth dare not venture your halls
Leave logic and reason outside on the doorstep...
Ignore it completely when the ice starts to thaw

But straw won't protect from the fire that is coming
The more you have gathered, the hotter the blaze.
And once it has started even night won't protect you.
No more than a fool with a star-studded gaze.

Hold firm your beliefs and protect your opinions...
And never consider the sense of it all.
Stay hidden away in your crystalline sculpture
The straw, though abundant, made very weak walls.
Beliefs may be shattered, but ever a dreamer
You blame someone else when your pyramids fall.

(I’m sorry the prose and the verses don’t rhyme,
‘Tho I wanted to do it, I hadn’t the time.

With the jumble of words that I try to unwind,
it was trouble enough, just to meter the lines.

But I’d go back and fix it if I had a mind,
to learn about prose, and verses, and rhyme.)





http://img84.imageshack.us/my.php?image=sound208xp2.swf
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Default Re: Place here your personal-favorite poems - 10-23-2007, 10:43 AM

A Prayer Poem.

Please Jesus protect me and those that I love
with your almighty powers from straight up above

I worship you Jesus and give you thanks each day
That when I get to heaven, my Lord Jesus ain't gay

and as I fly with the angels in heavenly lands
I can trust that my butthole will be safe in your hands.

Thankyou Lord Jesus fer not bein' a queer
and fer savin' my soul, and not jest my rear

and fer keepin' me safe from satans tallywhacker
cause that nasty old Satans a filthy fudgepacker.

Amen.


The devil, whose business is to pervert the truth, mimics the exact circumstance of the Divine Sacraments. He baptises his believers and promises forgiveness of sins...he celebrates the oblation of bread, and brings in the symbol of the resurrection. Let us therefore acknowledge the craftiness of the devil, who copied certain things of those that be divine."
Tertullian (155-222 AD) from The Prescription Against Heretics' Ch XL
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Default Re: Place here your personal-favorite poems - 10-23-2007, 08:31 PM

Must rebuke you, Bro Guy. God commands it.

We can allow for some secular poetry in this Korner.
Holy blasphemies, though, are never poetry.





I love you like a Christian, Brother Guy.
I am not one who takes any pleasure in a rebuke. I'm sorry.
I do this in hope to regain the grace of God, that he might allow for both our souls to enter heaven.

You may thank me later on if things out in the end.


YIC,

PP


_______________________




addendum, an active link to the reading above, of which, that link wasn't properly entered: http://img84.imageshack.us/my.php?image=sound208xp2.swf

(excerpt of the blue fonted secular poem)
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Default Re: Place here your personal-favorite poems - 10-24-2007, 01:26 AM

Quote:
Originally Posted by Poetic Peter View Post
Must rebuke you, Bro Guy. God commands it.

We can allow for some secular poetry in this Korner.
Holy blasphemies, though, are never poetry

I love you like a Christian, Brother Guy.
I am not one who takes any pleasure in a rebuke. I'm sorry.
I do this in hope to regain the grace of God, that he might allow for both our souls to enter heaven.

You may thank me later on if things out in the end.

YIC,

PP
Fascist.


The devil, whose business is to pervert the truth, mimics the exact circumstance of the Divine Sacraments. He baptises his believers and promises forgiveness of sins...he celebrates the oblation of bread, and brings in the symbol of the resurrection. Let us therefore acknowledge the craftiness of the devil, who copied certain things of those that be divine."
Tertullian (155-222 AD) from The Prescription Against Heretics' Ch XL
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Default Re: Place here your personal-favorite poems - 10-24-2007, 07:24 PM

Quote:
Originally Posted by Brother Guy View Post
Fascist.
Thank you for such a vivid truth, Brother Guy.
Jesus commands that we set ourselves against one another.

Delighted for your being Christian too.
Glory and Peace ever after,

PP
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Default Re: Place here your personal-favorite poems - 10-24-2007, 10:21 PM

My all-time favorite poet is Julia Moore, also known as the Sweet Singer of Michigan.

Here is a poem she wrote to convince folks to join the temperance movement.

THE TEMPERANCE ARMY

Come all ye friends, and citizens,
Where-ever you may be,
Come listen to a few kind words
A friend will say to thee,
Although going to speak to you
I mean you all no harm,
Tho' I wish you'd join the army
Of the temperance reform.

Come join the glorious army
Of the temperance reform,
And every man that joins the ranks,
Will find it is no harm,
To wear Red Ribbon on his breast,
To show to this rare world,
There is one that joined the army
And his colors has unfurled.


Come all men in our nation,
Come join this happy band,
And make your homes an eden,
Throughout our happy land.
Your homes will then be happy,
Your friends will all be kind;
And in the domestic circle
True happiness will find.


Ah, from this temperance army,
Your feet shall never stray.
Your mind will then be balmy
If you keep the shining way.
Your paths are strewn with flowers,
And your homes are rosy light,
And God will watch the hours,
For He's ever on the right.


Come all ye merry happy lads,
And listen to my rhyme.
Don't be afraid to join the pledge
And let be the cursed wine.
Ah, lay the flowing bowl aside,
And pass saloons if you can,
And let the people see that you
Can be a sober man.


Go join the temperance army,
And battle for the right,
And fight against the enemy
With all your main and might.
For it is a glorious army
This temperance reform,
And the badge Red Ribbon
Will do you all no harm.


Upon request I will cite scripture for all these facts in God's Holy Word.

✝ This is a Christian community and we worship GOD of the Holy bible, the only Living GOD. We worship Jesus Christ, Son of GOD and Savior. Anything else is absurd. ✝
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Default Re: Place here your personal-favorite poems - 12-07-2007, 06:47 PM

Here's one I wrote to tell the truth about fags and the hypocracy of Catlicker priests:

Robin Hood, so it seems, was a fairy
So poor Maid Marian kept her cherry
'Till the good Friar Tuck
Shouting, I'll try her f**k
Was the first man the maiden made merry



Pour out thy fury upon the heathen that know thee not, and upon the families that call not on thy name.... Jeremiah 10:25
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