Poetry?

[Erinwilcox]

Does anybody else write theological poetry? Or even other kinds of poetry? Care to share?

 

[lmnop9876]

yeh, my sister did once, i'll post it up if i can find it. it's about Christ the prophet, priest, and king.
sorry bout the bad capitalization.

 

[Erinwilcox]

I guess that my duty as a Christian is to forgive you!
But, my pastor did once say, "Children, learn your grammer if you don't want to go to hell!" I forget what the context was, but it did make sense at the time!

 

[Paleoconservatarian]

I used to write poetry back in high school. But I don't really think I'm worthy. It was a challenge, a puzzle, but it was never very good. I prefer to read good poetry than to write it. Plus, I can have some pretty odd tastes at times.

Also, I tend to dislike much of the poetry I read. It makes the good ones more enjoyable, but makes the search painful.

I ain't much of a theologian, nor a poet. So I guess I'll leave the theological poetry to more capable (culpable?) folk.

 

[StAnselm]

Come on, Erin - you wouldn't start this thread if you didn't have some of your own.

I'd love to read it.

 

[Erinwilcox]

Alright. I'll give you the first theological poem that I wrote. I added the last stanza more recently-it was too much end on hell, so I made it evangelistic!

God's Work of Salvation in Sinners

The awesome pow’r of GOD compares with nought,
His love, so rich and full, cannot be bought.
No love on earth can begin to compare,
With his vast love, which He's willing to share.
He graciously gives to all who believe,
But to those who doubt, they'll nothing receive.

He sent His only Son to live and to die
With this earth’s low, sinful men! O, O, but why?
To give His sinless life, our sins to repay.
On a cross He was nailed, and died in this way.
But death could not hold Him, His church still to wed,
After three days entombed, He rose from the dead!

GOD offers salvation to all that will come,
But who will accept? All men? Nay, only some.
For all men are sinners, wicked, base, and foul,
They will not come, their evil hearts won't allow.
But some hearts He'll soften, until they're as clay,
Then mold and make them in His wonderful way.
He'll grant them salvation, His great love to show.
What'ere His saints pray in His will, He’ll bestow.
They'll love Him, serve Him, ‘til in glory they meet,

The one whom they love, who with joy they will greet.
But those that refuse, the sweet love that He offers,
No mercy will be given to those sinful scoffers.
They heard of His love, and they hated it too.
For they didn't repent, and they nothing did do.
They wallowed in evil, and they gloried in sin,
When the judgement day comes, they will not be let in.
But into the lake of burning fire they'll be cast.
With the devil and his angels, always to last.
Separated from GOD they forever will dwell,
Spending all of eternity suff’ring in Hell.

So now one must see the need to repent,
To believe in the Son whom God has sent.
Trust in the Savior with all of your might,
If you seek the Lord, He’ll grant your eyes sight.
Pray for forgiveness, your sin’s He’ll forgive.
Fervently ask God that your soul might live.
Only the Lord can soften your hard heart,
Beg that He’ll set you and your sins apart.
The Lord is so good and He is so kind,
Seek him now with all of your heart, soul, and mind.

 

[Jon_]

I have a mess of cheesy, spastic love poetry that I wrote for a couple of different girls that caught my fancy. That's about it. :o

Soli Deo Gloria

Jon

 

[Erinwilcox]

I have a mess of cheesy, spastic love poetry that I wrote for a couple of different girls that caught my fancy. That's about it. :o

Soli Deo Gloria

Jon

You sound so REFORMED! Is this the same Jon who spoke out so vehemently about dating and courtship? Just kidding, of course. There goes my sense of humor getting me into trouble again!

 

[Jon_]

You sound so REFORMED! Is this the same Jon who spoke out so vehemently about dating and courtship? Just kidding, of course. There goes my sense of humor getting me into trouble again!

Ah, well, I... um...

Soli Deo Gloria

Jon

 

[Erinwilcox]

I rest my case. I can picture this:

Jon is now an old man with ten daughters. He hobbles out to the mailbox, leaning heavily on his cane. Opening the mailbox carefully, he pulls out the contents therein. Oh my! What is this? A letter? To his daughter? With a MAN'S NAME ON THE OUTSIDE?!?!?!? Oh no! Forgetting about his decrepid back, Jon throws his cane down, rips the letter open, and finds inside. . .mushy love poetry! Jon is startled past all startling. He pulls open his garage door, hops onto his Harley, and rushes away to the address given on the envelope. He arrives. He throws the cycle into park. Dashing up to the front door (yes, he did forget his cane), he pounds on the door with a pound that defies ignoring. Creak. The door opens slowly and a skinny young man pokes his head out the door. One look into Jon's face and he starts to slam the door shut with a scared look on his face. "Wait a minute, young man," Jon bellows. "Did you write this spastic love poetry to MY DAUGHTER?" "UM, yes," the boy replies, "I did." He is shaking from head to toe. Jon looks at the young man with wonder in his eyes and exclaims, "Wow! It's really great stuff! In fact, its so good, that I'll even let you court my daughter if you teach me how to write stuff like this!"

 

[Erinwilcox]

Alright. I'll stop picking on Jon and his mushy poetry now (oops, I wasn't supposed to say that! ). Does anybody have any poetry that they would like to share? I guess we can include you, Jon. . .

 

[Paleoconservatarian]

I have a mess of cheesy, spastic love poetry that I wrote for a couple of different girls that caught my fancy. That's about it. :o

Soli Deo Gloria

Jon

I made that mistake once. She actually had it framed!

 

[StAnselm]

I made that mistake once. She actually had it framed!

You showed it to her?

I have two sonnets buried somewhere, written a few years ago...

 

[lmnop9876]

i usually write songs, not poems.
about the only poem i can write is,
roses are red, violets are blue,
sugar is sweet, and so are you.

but i WILL find that poem of my sister's, she won a prize for it once. it was really good.

 

[Erinwilcox]

I have to admit. That last poem was sooo original! Hasn't that been written on almost every valentine for the past who knows how many years?

 

[lmnop9876]

I have to admit. That last poem was sooo original! Hasn't that been written on almost every valentine for the past who knows how many years?

I'm highly original.
I have to admit, this is my favourite poem of all time, I've tried to convert it into a song format with guitar, but I haven't really done it justice. It's just so sad and sweet.

A lonely young wife
In her dreaming discerns
A lily-decked pool
With a border of ferns
And a beatiful child
With butterfly wings,
Trips down to the edge of the water and sings:
"Come, mamma! Come!
Quick! Follow me!
Step out on the leaves of the water-lily!"

And the lonely young wife,
Her heart beating wild,
Cries, "Wait till I come,
Till I reach you my child."
But the beautiful child
With butterfly wings
Steps out on the leaves of the lily and sings:
"Come, mamma! Come!
Quick! Follow me!
And step on the leaves of the water-lily!"

And the wife in her dreaming,
Steps out on the stream,
But the lily leaves sink,
And she wakes from her dream,
And she know 'tis her dead baby's spirit that sings:
"Come, mamma! come!
Quick! Follow me
Step out on the leaves of the water-lily!"

I just love it so much, it's so sad, so sweet, yet so true.

 

[Erinwilcox]

Okay. . .I guess I must be the stupid home schooler here. I don't get it.

 

[Paleoconservatarian]

Here's one of my favorites:

After Apple Picking by Robert Frost

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still.
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples; I am drowsing off.
I cannot shake the shimmer from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the water-trough,
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.

And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.

One of my English teachers back in high school had me use this poem as a base for writing my own poem by writing between the lines and fixing up the result. I'll see if I can find it and post.

 

[Erinwilcox]

This poem was my response to being a constant outcast in the youth of my church.


Prayer for Pietistical Peers


My heart is filled with sorrow now.
A troubled look has crossed my brow.
For growing up is hard, you see.
Doth all the trouble lay with me?
Those around me are deep in sin,
Without a sign of grace within.
I am as a light in the dark,
Glowing bright with my Savior’s mark.
I condemn that which God calls wrong.
With Christ in me, I can stand strong.
Should I be silent, till they see
That life is not just filled with glee?
Nay, but "Repentance" I must cry!
Yet, when rejected, I still sigh
They mock me, taunt me, scorn my name,
Help me, Lord, to remain the same!
For by Thy grace, I stand for right,
I stand for truth, Lord, and Thy might.
The trouble does not with me lay,
But in the hearts, dear God, of they
Who shun Thy law and scorn Thy grace.
From these, oh Lord, You’ll turn thy face
In the time of Thy judgement day,
If they turn not from sin’s dark way.
Then they’ll all be sentenced to hell
Where then forever they must dwell.
Save their souls, oh Lord, my God,
And spare them from thy judgment rod.

 

[lmnop9876]

Okay. . .I guess I must be the stupid home schooler here. I don't get it.

don't get it?? ok, neither did i the first time i read it. you've just got to feel sad as you read it. i think the point of it is to show the kind of sorrow that parents feel when their children die. and that's why i like it.

This poem was my response to being a constant outcast in the youth of my church.


Prayer for Pietistical Peers


My heart is filled with sorrow now.
A troubled look has crossed my brow.
For growing up is hard, you see.
Doth all the trouble lay with me?
Those around me are deep in sin,
Without a sign of grace within.
I am as a light in the dark,
Glowing bright with my Savior’s mark.
I condemn that which God calls wrong.
With Christ in me, I can stand strong.
Should I be silent, till they see
That life is not just filled with glee?
Nay, but "Repentance" I must cry!
Yet, when rejected, I still sigh
They mock me, taunt me, scorn my name,
Help me, Lord, to remain the same!
For by Thy grace, I stand for right,
I stand for truth, Lord, and Thy might.
The trouble does not with me lay,
But in the hearts, dear God, of they
Who shun Thy law and scorn Thy grace.
From these, oh Lord, You’ll turn thy face
In the time of Thy judgement day,
If they turn not from sin’s dark way.
Then they’ll all be sentenced to hell
Where then forever they must dwell.
Save their souls, oh Lord, my God,
And spare them from thy judgment rod.

wow! so deep. too deep for me, i must admit.