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Author Topic: The Poetry Thread.  (Read 17076 times)

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Deborah-Leigh

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Re: The Poetry Thread.
« Reply #20 on: October 26, 2006, 04:44:43 PM »

I dedicate the following  poem to the founder and everyone here on this forum.

I composed this poem on 16.10.1986. I dedicate it for the first time.  All my poetry that has remained on record was acknowledged in a National competition. The last poem that I have on record was written in 1994. I was not a prolific or qualified writer, just a wounded one...

The reason I dedicate the following poem here, is because in the final sentence of this poem as I was reading it again, it reminded me of all of YOU…of the wisdom aglow through your posts here and every teaching that appears on Bilble-Truths.. “speakers speaking in full glow with words of wisdom he’s come to know”.

THE MOTH

In eyes so spoken in speech so rare
Are spoken words no words could dare
Like lamp and moth to task they take
See light and dark no eye can fake.

But if a moth and light by night are severed
The soul of Man cannot be measured
For blind to light an eye ill taught
And danger to folly this soul is wrought

No courtly gesture or posture to bear
the light of words that eyes do share
the glint and gleam of light aglow
in eyes that show the light they know.

Or for this purpose beyond the screen
Or eyes that cancel every dream
And shut the open eye may seem
If stolen to darkness and darkness it preen

Not words in which we fare
Nor grievous feeling we can bare
in clashing swords with words and more
combining wrath to even score.

Combining of minds and brushing astray
The task of words to battle say
In burning eye that speaks more brittle
Gesticulating hand doth say so little.

The moth that flies around the glow
With fluttering wings more words doth show
Her love of light in anguished flight
Can burn her wings and words alight

So what this playwright fights to say
In less than moth to light obey
A dimmer mind flutters not by lamp
But rests in darkness where no words camp.

Like man a moth in fluttering light
Puts humming of words to the soul of her flight
Not seeking ovation or to splendour enthral
To make of her journey the light to tell all.

So held by a flame reflected in eye
Each one a moth with memory shy
Catching each moment in time like light so divine
Using only but words the light to enshrine.

For light in emotion and noiseless commotion
Not seeking applause knows real devotion
Alone in her flight in bright of the night
Lit by endeavour her only leisure

Hypocrisy we deem is not we dream
Where man speaking to preen his self and esteem
To bring audience applause to make his delight
Shows lesser a soul than a moth in flight.

He who speaks knowing fear
Does normally participate words more dear
For pride he doesn’t fill his purpose
Like applause for a moth he knows is worthless.

This lesson we all can learn
To still a tongue doth make one burn
But nearer patience with this we grow
The nearer the flame we come to know.

For outward folly of word and eye
Is nowhere matched by light we spy
Of speaker speaking in full glow
With words of wisdom he’s come to know

Arcturus   :)...in l-o-n-g training :D

« Last Edit: October 26, 2006, 04:49:45 PM by Arcturus »
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Deborah-Leigh

  • Guest
Re: The Poetry Thread.
« Reply #21 on: October 28, 2006, 01:56:33 PM »

HEALTH AND WEALTH

Does worry bring my bread?
“Not so!” a voice it said
“For bread to worry is not wed
and in your bed you should never dread.”


Then what will then be left and read?
“That you did dread within your bed?
or better said that in the day
you battled each plan to have YOUR WAY?

The Lilies are fairer – “so it is writ”
-but NOT of the one who thought they could sit
and in between  the idiom lies
“the one who DIDN’T sit to find time to despise”

What Lilies do conceal
- reason does reveal
“and even THIS POOR
a man knows not more.”


“To Lilies that do bend…”
man lends to a trend!
“to keep up his name
and fame to defend!”


“What know you of a Lilly?”

You’d think it only silly
“To be seen nothing more?….
and to seek NOT TO SCORE?
“In lifes maddened game?”
-   and man takes to SHAME…
-   “If he is to blame.”

To contrive to deny…
“That man seeks wealth before health?”-   
AND couples the two
As he would lace his shoe!

“On which foot does it fit?”

On the man who would sit
“and bend to his need?
-and say its not greed!”


And so in his sitting
“He knows he’s not quitting”
-   and neither does he smite
-   “the lilly that is white?”

“But neither does he walk….”

-   and neither does he fight!
“And neither does he take time
in God’s grace delight.”

But bent in endeavour…
“He craves for his pleasure.”-   
and uses his leasure to measure
“not sever the illusion of his mind that says..
YES! Be kind! And do it this way! And..
“Have it TODAY!”

“And so this shoe he doesn’t lace”

bent in his haste….
“and his disgrace.”
And even though a God he knew
...he finds more truth in his lace and shoe”
27.2.1994

Romans 1 : 20 For ever since the creation of the world His invisible nature and attributes, that is His eternal power and divinitgy, have been made intelligible and clearly discernible in and through the things that have been made, His handiwords. So men are without excurse, altogether without any defense or justification.

Psalm 37 : 1,2,3

Fret not yourself because of evildoers, neither be envious against those who work unrighteousness, that which is not upright or in right standing with God. 2.For they shall soon be cut down like the grass, and wither as the green herb.  3 Trust, lean on, rely on, and be confident in the Lord and do good; so shall you dwell in the land and feed surely on His faithfulness, and truly you shall be fed.

I hope someone enjoyed this.....

Arcturus :)
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Deborah-Leigh

  • Guest
Re: The Poetry Thread.
« Reply #22 on: October 29, 2006, 02:42:17 AM »

YES! Sorin! ;D

That WAS GREAT! ;D

Thank you.....Where did you get the one from Ray?.....I have read I'd say 99% of what he has written on Bible-Truths and missed that one! ;D

Arcturus :D
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Deborah-Leigh

  • Guest
Re: The Poetry Thread.
« Reply #23 on: October 30, 2006, 03:39:09 PM »

Tks :)

....had not read this article by Ray....because I live in Africa and have seen  tremedous injustice, hate, war, ignorance, blindness and racial prejudice...

Have now to read and will have to catch up!.'....~Tks

Arcturus :)

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Deborah-Leigh

  • Guest
Re: The Poetry Thread.
« Reply #24 on: November 01, 2006, 04:34:11 AM »

BLACK CONSCIOUSNESS

Long have my people suffered
Ruddered to such waste
And voting power now to grate
Upon the whip of human hate

Long have my people travelled
Wearied by the throng
Of worked to bone and marrow torn
In ignorance the robe so worn.

Long have my people burdened
The black of skin and simple song
And affluent the social norm
Of white woman’s lot to she is born

Long have my babies cried
In dust and penniless dignity
While glinting cutting sight of white
Cuts narrow strips off black mans bite

Long have my brothers in silence
In mild and blackness child
The lamb that doesn’t speak
The child that is so meek.

Long have my tears burned
Upon sand so hot and banned
The struggle for tomorrow
Born to-day in vote to borrow.

Long has been the wind
That now has turned to face the hurt
That rages now to burn
Not heal, or help, or learn.

Long has been the time
The journey black and white
And march all we do
Straight back into the night.

Long has been the cry
To free, to live or die
And so we continue on
The journey just begun.




WHITE CONSCIOUSNESS

Why don’t they speak
So dumb do they sound
So quiet so numb
From where do they come.

Why don’t they think
So back of beyond
Where our Shakespeare sound
Of such we are found

Why don’t they sing
Could they never compose
Such as Mozart or Bach
From Heavens repose.

Why are they black
Their  skins tarnished so
From hell’s kindled foe
Into sorrow they go.

Why can they smile
Such dazzling teeth to show
And eyes filled with love
Never seen from above.

Why can they kill
With screams oh so shrill
When we do so much better
Atom bomb death to fetter.

Why to they huddle
Midst themselves in a muddle
When we stand so proud
Alone in a crowd.

Why do they glide
In a huge human tide
And give birth as do rabbits
In pastureless habits.

Why do they live
Not like us ne’er to be
Why cann’t we be them
Or them just like me.





GOD CONSCIOUSNESS
 
Long have my people waited
-   Why didn’t they come?

Long have my people called
-   Why didn’t they answer
To My Love?  (14.3.1994)


Isaiah 50 : 2  Why, when I came, was there no man? When I called, why was there no one to answer? Is  My hand shortened at all, that it cannot redeem? Or have I no power to deliver? Behold, at My rebuke I dry up the sea. I make the rivers a desert, their fish stink because there is no water, and they die of thrust.

Isaiah 59 : 1 Behold, The Lord’s hand is not shortened at all, that it cannot save, nor His ear dull with deafness, that it cannot hear.

(These two  scriptures match up with the Black White and God Consciousness Trilogy that I wrote in 1994. I found this match TODAY,  from studying  L. Ray Smiths critique of James Kennedy’s sermon titled God is not responsible for the eternal fate of Africans listed on the home page!)





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gmik

  • Guest
Re: The Poetry Thread.
« Reply #25 on: November 02, 2006, 01:08:30 AM »

Truly amazing. God has gifted you  :)

Sorin, aren't you glad you started this??  I didn't think it would show us such creativity and insight.  These are keepers.

gena
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eggi

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  • Posts: 497
Re: The Poetry Thread.
« Reply #26 on: January 28, 2007, 06:12:39 PM »

"I"
-----------------------
By Giorgio Gaber
-----------------------

The word "I"
it is a concept which grows little by little
for a child it is a sweet echo
it encourages your first steps
towards an intimate certainty of self

The word "I"
with time it assumes
a more precise tone
sometimes it is in danger
of being annoying
but it is also a sign
of a childlike logic
it is a recurring but venial sin.

I, I, I
only I.

But the defects of the adolescence
are not cancelled with age
and strangely in adults
they become more alarming and grow.

The word "I"
a strange fear
that is hidden in vain
the fear of not becoming somebody
it is an exaggerated need
and a little morbid
it is the distressing image of Narcissus.

I, I, I
and still I.

I that have not been born
to always remain
confused in anonymity
I put myself first
I don't like the idea of being
one among many
every day I expand myself
I can be the center of the world.

I am always present
I am disposed to whichever sentiment
which makes me feel important
I must be quick
exalted by this mania
to assert myself at all costs
I sell myself to the point of inflation
I want to be the center of the world.

I do not respect anybody
if it serves me I can also pretend
being good
I must dominate
I am a being without ideals
made thirsty of power
I am in command
I must be the center of the world.

Conceited, presumptuous I
exhibitionist, pompous, proud and
prideful I, megalomaniac, braggart
eager and invading
sickening, arrogant, unkind
I, only I
everywhere I.

The word "I"
this sweet little syllable
it is fatal that it is spreading
in the logic of the western world
perhaps it is their last sin.
I.
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Here’s how to tell if you have faith; how do you live… what do you do… what do you accomplish in life… what are your goals… What is there about you that proves that you have this faith and belief inside of you? What?

gmik

  • Guest
Re: The Poetry Thread.
« Reply #27 on: January 29, 2007, 10:45:21 PM »

W  O  W  !!!!!!

gave me the goose bumps.
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John

  • Guest
Re: The Poetry Thread.
« Reply #28 on: January 29, 2007, 11:16:18 PM »

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rrammfcitktturjsp

  • Guest
Re: The Poetry Thread.
« Reply #29 on: January 30, 2007, 12:37:08 AM »

Got a question to you poets,

  I love writing things to music.  Might I try to put some music to these poems?  I can hear the music already, especially with Kenny's stuff.

  Sincerely,



  Anne C. McGuire
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Sorin

  • Guest
Re: The Poetry Thread.
« Reply #30 on: January 31, 2007, 09:37:05 PM »

I've decided to post this here again and leave it this time. Sorry for removing it last time.

My poem about those greedy-deceiving two-faced televengelists that plague our television stations.

Jesus Is Profitable


Want to get rich and not work a day?
Get on tv and have something to say
As long as you're using Jesus' name
You're on your way to fortune and fame

Offer healing cloths, and miracle water
The scattered sheep will all come together
And give you whatever you ask for it
Even though it's water from your toilet

Jesus is profitable
So why be a fool?
As long as your able
Use Him like a tool

You'll have whatever your heart may desire
Your own multi-million dollar Empire
Supported by followers who are going to pay
For all your expenses, each and everyday

Tell them that you need their money to save souls
Otherwise Jesus wouldn't reach those
That have never even heard
And His death was in vain, and absurd

Jesus is profitable
So why be a fool?
As long as your able
Use Him like a tool

Once you bestowed the fear of hell
You'll have them all under your spell
They'll do whatever you say
And support your Ministry in everyway

They'll do whatever it may take
just to escape from the fiery lake
That on that ressurection day
Will be cast into anyway




« Last Edit: January 31, 2007, 09:41:13 PM by Sorin »
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Sorin

  • Guest
Re: The Poetry Thread.
« Reply #31 on: January 31, 2007, 09:40:40 PM »

This one's about the Harlot.

The Christian Deception


Like a plague it spreads across the land
Poisoning the mind with all the lies
It strips you of all logical thoughts
It utterly rapes your mind

It causes you to worship out of fear
Of going to a place that's not even there
By using the fear of hell
It controls you like a puppet

It offers empty promises that will not come to pass
In vain you follow the religion of mass hypocrisy

The Christian Deception
Don't believe the lies
The Christian Deception
Is what I despise

It makes you believe in square circles and contradictions
It says your soul is immortal and will never die...
Then what's the point of the resurrection?

Free your mind, open your eyes, see the hypocrisy I despise
And
Dechristianize, dechristianize, dechristianize
The weakened mind!!!


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rrammfcitktturjsp

  • Guest
Re: The Poetry Thread.
« Reply #32 on: January 31, 2007, 11:12:47 PM »

To all poets,

  There's a great deal of stuff that would make great songs.  May I have your permission to work these into music?  I just wanted permission before I began though?  Please respond either in this thread or to my pm.

  Thanks.

  Sincerely,



  Anne C. McGuire
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hebrewroots98

  • Guest
Re: The Poetry Thread.
« Reply #33 on: February 01, 2007, 01:36:38 AM »

Indeed, beautiful and touching poetry.  THANK YOU :)
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Sorin

  • Guest
Re: The Poetry Thread.
« Reply #34 on: February 15, 2007, 02:55:03 PM »

I did not write this, but I just think it's such a great poem. Thus I decided to post it here for your viewing pleasure.  ;)



Jonathan Swift (1667–1745)

A Satirical Elegy on the Death of a Late Famous General


His Grace! impossible! what dead!
Of old age too, and in his bed!
And could that mighty warrior fall?
And so inglorious, after all!
Well, since he's gone, no matter how,
The last loud trump must wake him now:
And, trust me, as the noise grows stronger,
He'd wish to sleep a little longer.
And could he be indeed so old
As by the newspapers we're told?
Threescore, I think, is pretty high;
'Twas time in conscience he should die.
This world he cumbered long enough;
He burnt his candle to the snuff;
And that's the reason, some folks think,
He left behind so great a s---k.
Behold his funeral appears,
Nor widow's sighs, nor orphan's tears,
Wont at such times each heart to pierce,
Attend the progress of his hearse.
But what of that, his friends may say,
He had those honors in his day.
True to his profit and his pride,
He made them weep before he died.
   Come hither, all ye empty things,
Ye bubbles raised by breath of kings;
Who float upon the tide of state,
Come hither, and behold your fate.
Let pride be taught by this rebuke,
How very mean a thing's a Duke;
From all his ill-got honors flung,
Turned to that dirt from whence he sprung.


-------------


I wonder how many of us {humans} are going to wish we could sleep a little longer?
The last line is killer too.
« Last Edit: February 15, 2007, 02:58:39 PM by Sorin »
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Deborah-Leigh

  • Guest
Re: The Poetry Thread.
« Reply #35 on: February 15, 2007, 03:52:22 PM »

Sorin

That was very well written 8) ;D

Will the world miss us when we go/
Oh no Oh no I do not think so

Will the crowd notice that we are no more
Only if we owe them a debt to even their score!

Will we be missed by those we have kissed
Only if love did not make us remiss

Did we notice others and love them true
Only they canl know and so will we too

When that Trump does sound and from graves we resound
Our exact soul rags or riches will be found

Will we be dressed in His Spirit of hope and of love
 Will we be dressed with Gods robes of grace from above

Or will we be mean and bitter to task
and into the fire of God be thrown at last

How will we fare on that fine day
When Jesus returns on His special day?

A heart that is clean and conscioence so true
This is my prayer for me and for you.


Peace to you

Arcturus :)

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iris

  • Guest
Re: The Poetry Thread.
« Reply #36 on: February 15, 2007, 08:32:07 PM »

Sorin

That was very well written 8) ;D

Will the world miss us when we go/
Oh no Oh no I do not think so

Will the crowd notice that we are no more
Only if we owe them a debt to even their score!

Will we be missed by those we have kissed
Only if love did not make us remiss

Did we notice others and love them true
Only they canl know and so will we too

When that Trump does sound and from graves we resound
Our exact soul rags or riches will be found

Will we be dressed in His Spirit of hope and of love
 Will we be dressed with Gods robes of grace from above

Or will we be mean and bitter to task
and into the fire of God be thrown at last

How will we fare on that fine day
When Jesus returns on His special day?

A heart that is clean and conscioence so true
This is my prayer for me and for you.


Peace to you

Arcturus :)




Hi Arcturus...I really liked your poem. Did you write it yourself?


Iris
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Deborah-Leigh

  • Guest
Re: The Poetry Thread.
« Reply #37 on: February 16, 2007, 02:09:43 AM »

Yes Iris, I did....

Thank you that you liked it... :D

Peace to you

Arcturus :)
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PKnowler

  • Guest
Re: The Poetry Thread.
« Reply #38 on: February 16, 2007, 03:58:17 PM »

Here's a poem a friend wrote that I thought would fit nicely here.
He's a UR believer. It's powerful!

NO HOPE IN HELL!

I look at the church today, listen to what they say
We have no hope in hell, no hope in hell
They know for sure,they know this well
What to do, where to go
They say that God doesn't run the show
Christ died on the cross for your sin
But that is not enough to win

No hope in hell is what they say
Listen to them and there's hell to pay
We have to make the church to see
That Christ is the only reality
No hope in hell, no hope in hell
Christ died for Hitlers Soul
Just as He died to make them whole
To the cross is where I'll be
Because He died to set all free
God will have all men saved
For now we know hell is just the grave
He is the living God of all men
For we will not die in our sin
Saved by fire, but not from hell
These are the things they will not tell
No hope in hell, no hope in hell
Christ is the hope I saw, for now God is all in all

Mike Kramer
2/12/07
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Snowfire

  • Guest
Re: The Poetry Thread.
« Reply #39 on: March 08, 2007, 01:55:07 AM »

The Touch of the Master's Hand

by Myra Brooks Welch

'Twas battered and scarred, and the old auctioneer
thought it scarcely worth his while
to waste much time on the old violin,
but he still held it up with a smile:
"What am I bidden, good folks," he cried,
"Who'll start the bidding for me?"
"A dollar, a dollar"; then, "Two!" "Only two?
Two dollars, and who'll make it three?
Three dollars, once; three dollars, twice;
going for three..." but no.
From the room far back, a gray-haired man
came forward and picked up the bow;
then, wiping the dust from the old violin,
and tightening the loose strings,
he played a melody pure and sweet
as a caroling angel sings.

The music ceased, and the auctioneer,
with a voice that was quiet and low,
said; "What am I bidden for the old violin?"
And he held it up with the bow.
"A thousand! And who'll make it two?
Two thousand! And who'll make it three?
Three thousand, once, three thousand, twice,
and going, and gone," said he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
"We do not quite understand
what changed its worth." Swift came the reply:
"The touch of the master's hand."
 
And many a man with life out of tune,
and battered and scarred with sun,
is auctioned cheep to the thoughtless crowd,
much like this old violin.
A "mess of pottage," a glass of wine;
a game; and he travels on.
He is "going" once, "going" twice,
he's "going" and almost "gone."
But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd
never can quite understand
the worth of a soul and the change that's wrought
by the touch of the Master's hand.
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