Featured A poem I wrote

Dont break his heart Skan, tell him ya love em back! Unrequited live could scar em for life! :love2::smilewinkgrin:

Maybe even do it in a poem....er, roses are always nice also. :laugh:

 

And here is one for the Arminian mind:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
God had no idea
But I certainly knew

 

And here, for your entertainment, is a poem to suit the average West Virginian ctizen:

Your teeth are like stars
that come out at night

 

Wow, youse guys gettin shoes for Christmas? :godisgood:

 

This is a true story. My wife grew up in Kentucky, while I was growing up in Mississippi. Her Dad and Mom went to visit her Dad's brother in New Jersey. Word got out that a family was coming from Kentucky. When they arrived, a small crowd had congregated to see if they wore shoes. Thankfully, they were wearing them.

 

Ever since I learned poetic metrics, I cannot write poetry without a consistent metric of some sort.


Here are some I wrote a few years ago:


LET THE CROSS, O GOD, BE MY ALL

When the cares of this world distress and press,
And my faults and my fears yield doubts and tears.
May the song of my heart no less than bless
As I shout through the years: “His coming nears!”

Ah, my soul, I command:
Let the Cross be my Hope and my Stand!

Let the Cross, O God, be my Hope--
Founded, grounded, always bounded--
And my faith unshaken in Thy truth
That in wisdom I cope
With the weakness of youth!

Let the Cross, O God, be my Stand--
Yearning, burning, never turning--
And my feet unfaltering, ever still
That I heed Thy command
And succumb to Thy will!


When the channels of sanction to view be few
And the filth and the black of sin attack
May the power of God be true and blue
As He turns my eyes back to grander track!

Ah, my soul, be thou wise
With the Cross as my Sight and my Eyes!

Let the Cross, O God, be my Sight--
Glaring, staring, always caring--
With my eyes beholding Thy matchless Grace;
And Thy sweet Gospel light
Let it compass my face!

Let the Cross, O God, be my Eyes--
Gazing, blazing, never phasing!
Keep that scene of limitless love in view
That my sin I despise
And my heart Thou renew.


When the evil around me shall dare to swear,
And my spirit forlorn is pressed to scorn,
May my lips sealed in love with care be fair
When in sadness I morn; in joy Christ adorn.

Ah, my soul, I beseech,
Let the Cross be my Voice and my Speech!

Let the Cross, O God, be my Voice--
Preaching, teaching, always reaching!
When my heart despairingly writhes in grief
I have made it my choice
It alone metes relief!

Let the Cross, O God, be my Speech--
Shouting, touting, never doubting!
Let my lips unfettered breathe forth Thy praise
And my tongue I beseech
That Thy name ever raise!


When the forces of hatred and lies arise
And provoke to complain of grief and pain,
I know God shall never despise my cries;
And from sin I abstain; in Him remain.

Ah, my soul, God obey:
Let the Cross be my Path and my Way!

Let the Cross, O God, be my Path--
Heading, Treading, never dreading!
For the shade of Death shall not bid me fear,
Neither man's feeble wrath
When my Saviour is near!

Let the Cross, O God, be my Way--
Going, growing, ever knowing:
More and more Thy richest mercies I claim
As I kneel down to pray
And petition Thy name!


When the minions of Satan draw nigh and high,
And proclaim in conceit of my retreat,
I hope for the day when I sigh good-bye
And this feckless elite shall face defeat!

Ah, my soul, heed the call!
Let the Cross be my Life and my All!

Let the Cross, O God, be my Life--
Living, giving, and forgiving!
When the storms in billows round me assail
Thy compassion is rife
And Thy might shall prevail!

Let the Cross, O God, be my All--
Ringing, singing, ever clinging--
With my tongue and deed in gain or in loss
I can nevermore fall
When my all is the Cross!




OH WHAT IS MAN?

As I behold amazed,
Enchanted by Thy grand display
Of creatures animate, who by their lofty deed
Do paint the heavens, sea, and land
In pristine hues and lush array,
And crafted with a mind unfazed
Do daily labor for their young to feed
As shapen by my Lord's command,

I wonder at my form—
This trite enigma of mine own
Whom Thou afore had fashioned through Thy breath and hand—
And matching visage, trunk, and limb;
Comparing facet, flesh, and bone,
Petition Thee my soul inform
Whence in this lowly shell Thy likeness brand
To manifest Thy sovereign whim.

Mine eyes behold in awe
The cheetah whom Thy word hath framed:
Her splendid coat of gold Thou gently brushed with spot;
Yet greater still than keen design
Among the beasts in lands untamed
Thou grantest strength within her paw
To trek with speed unmatched in any lot
And far surpass these limbs of mine.

In wonder I behold
The eagle bold and regal soar—
Her throne an endless kingdom braced within her span.
Aloft the world she seeketh prey
With vision brooding shore to shore
Wherein no secret shall unfold;
But yet are bound the arms of earthen man
And here unaided shall they stay.

My vision doth embrace
The rugged ox in grazing pasture lands,
How scarce his strength is equaled in his quaint domain
That only through a broken will
With yoke and plow to heed commands
Can feeble man his force replace!
Yea, powerless am I, and shall remain
With needs mine hands cannot fulfill.

I yet incline mine ear
To hear the gentle robin's choral tune.
His perfect ambient song can soothe the deepest woe
And parting not in note or key
In breaking dawn or lucid noon
To swoon his maiden year by year.
Yet I my lips must tame to sing and flow
And teach me proper harmony.

Oh, what is feeble man
That Thou didn't claim him as Thine own?
Why formest Thou the stronger, sweeter, brighter still
Than man whom Thou exaltest more?
Why grantest Thou this clay Thy throne
Bestowing him Thine heart and plan
Revealing hidden treasures of Thy will
That he Thy glory may adore?

But hearken, soul, and hear
The Spirit's crisp and tender call:
“Yea, for my pleasure hills and seas in all sustain
The beast ablaze with legs unbound,
The royal wing to tower all,
The brandished brute with might to fear,
The docile member perched in sweet refrain
To kiss the morn in joyful sound.

“But naught of these, my child,
My richest majesty may claim;
For thou canst lift thy weary feet and run to God!
Can such the sprinting feline do?
And bear thou not the boorish shame
Of savage beast forlorn and wild
As if thine arms thy Father doth defraud
To grant thee not the heavens blue.

“For in the gallant sky
This king from yonder peereth down,
But thou, O blessed form, may fix thine eyes on Me!
And some indeed thy might excel,
To wit the task thou hast the crown:
But ask of me—I shall reply
And give thee fuller strength on bended knee
To keep my will and do it well.

“And envy not the song
My feathered chorus sweetly sing.
For though with perfect joy and bliss their chords appear
They fathom not their Maker's grace
Nor sense the joy the tidings bring
Of love redeeming, vast, and long
That breaketh bonds, dispelling woe and fear
And every wicked deed erase.”


What is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?
For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honor.
Thou madest him to have dominion over the works of thy hands; thou hast put all things under his feet:
All sheep and oxen, yea, and the beast of the field;
The fowl of the air, and the fish of the sea, and whatsoever passeth through the paths of the seas.
(Psa 8:4-8)

 

Since we're in a sharing mood, I might as well share the first and only sonnet I ever attempted:

I lift my pen a sonnet for to write
With subject lofty, metre meet, and yet,
As nib meets pad I feel a tinge of fright.
Two bards, asleep, yet speak; their wit unmet.
John Donne and William Shakespeare penalize
My verse. One mind in heav'n and one in earth
Examined love through faith and carnal eyes
In odes of highest literary worth.
I dare presume to emulate their quill?
Regard what Donne hath done and I'm undone!
'Tis vanity of will to follow Will.
Against their brilliant hues will mine be dun.
I shall not tempt the 'Lizabethan lash.
(And thought 'twas vain to vie with Johnny Cash!)​

 

I used to be obsessed with sonnets, but I liked the Italian structure (abba-abba-cde-cde) because it was a little more challenging). However, I am aware that Shakespeare likely mocked the magical love-centered themes common in the Italian sonnets.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sonnet_130