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Imagine, if you will my friends
A skein of silken thread,
White as floes of feather snow,
The very tip is red.

Imagine then, this thread to wend
The universe about
To wrap red Mars & every star
A thousand times enroute.

Let nebulae be woven there
The planets knitted tight
The skeins are lit
like lanterns fair,
The red tip scarlet bright.

That tip so insignificant
Can represent this life.
It's carmine hue
the blood we shed
In suffering & strife.

The rest of the
White stretch of string
Why, let's let it be
A tale untold, let it hold
The rest... Eternity.

Yet all that stretch of silver skein,
This concept may be tough,
But, my friends, it never ends!
There'd never be enough!

So why do people struggle so
To resist the endless love?
Let that tip of velvet yarn
Be dipped in Jesus's blood!

For then the skein
which then remains
Will indeed be white!
Sin's dark stain can be retained
And it is dark as night.

Hell or heaven. Listen friends!
This poet has a voice
Heaven. Hell. Truth to tell...

Eternity. YOUR CHOICE.


Catherine Jarvis
12/13/2019
 Dec 2019 Seeker
SøułSurvivør
I've had a life of sorrow,
I've lived a life of pain.
Wednesday's child. Full of woe,
I've lived a life of shame.

I won't elicit sympathy,
I won't be bright & witty
I'll simply be true to self
I surely don't want pity.

Whenever IT happened
Really matters not
But I had tragedy when young
Was by a devil caught.

IT set about a cycle
Which, like a gerbil wheel,
Made me shunned,
Made me run,
To a trap of tungsten steel.

I was trapped by drugs & vice
Alcohol & more
Accepted *** instead of love
Practically a *****.

I felt unloved. Unlovable.
Ever since a child.
So I died on the inside
Became rebellious... WILD!

I was a cheat. I was a thief.
I ripped off stores for *****.
So I was in the trap of guilt,
Could not help but lose!

I should have died SO many times!
Dragged by a speeding car
By a drug crazed jon of mine
You think THAT left a scar??

But God had SUCH mercy!
He gave me such GRACE!
Heart of stone, and yet...
HIS OWN!
No, I was NOT a WASTE!

I have no doubt I'll always have
Doubts the devil brings
But now I'm LOVED and LOVABLE!

BY THE KING OF KINGS!!!



Catherine Jarvis
12/29/2019
My past is dead. I'm dead along with it. But I've been reborn into Christ's Kingdom. Here I've found the thing I've missed the most... LOVE.
 Aug 2019 Seeker
SøułSurvivør
Who will climb the stellar stair?
Who will know the wonders there?

What will give transcendent worth?
Free us from this weighted earth?

How will we leave this fallen world?
What can save us, boys & girls?

The man (or woman) who is "pure"?
Can THEY help you? Are you SURE?

People who are SO devout
Are THEY certain they'll get out?

Those who think their minds equipped
To build an interstellar ship?

They sit and ponder,  as earth dies,
How they can go live in the skies!

But there are those who still Believe.
They pray to God, Who's greatly grieved!

If you want to leave this vice
Let me give you some advice.
PUT YOUR TRUST IN JESUS CHRIST!

He's the One on Whom to call!
He will free from Satan's thrall
He's the Savior of us ALL!

The devil sifts, as with a sieve
But Jesus died that we might live!

How can we think that our own power
Will save us in that final hour?

We cannot work for it, nor buy it!
It is God's gift... please don't deny it!

A giant gap, 'tween us and God
He is HOLY! it's not odd!

With an Apple Adam drove the wedge
With wood and nails Christ built a BRIDGE!

It happened when His life He lost
God's Mighty Wrath... spent at the cross!

Then, buried like a seed... a Rose
The RESSURECTION! He AROSE!

You want to leave this devil's lair?
Jesus calls you... and He CARES!
His sacrifice put that bridge there

JESUS CHRIST... THE STELLAR STAIR!
John 3:16
 May 2019 Seeker
SøułSurvivør
How do I even start this text?
What words to use?
What should come next?
In my body, no longer vexed!

I can't remember this good feeling!
My mind is giddy!
My senses reeling!
I finally received a healing!
You best believe
I have been kneeling...
No devil brood to do more stealing!

I was ill. Terribly cursed.
I went to the doctor
Expecting the worst
His response was not rehearsed...
My kidney problem was reversed!

I had a problem on many points
Uric acid in my joints

I had a fog inside my brain
I felt tired, my body strained.
My whole system felt restrained.
My tears made my pillow stained.

Oh! But now I am so elated!
All the symptoms have abated!
Everything in us is related!
More progress anticipated!

I might even find a job!
There's Someone I wish to applaud
Don't find it strange.
Don't find it odd...

I give ALL the PRAISE TO GOD!!!


Cathy Jarvis
9/27/2018
My kidney function has reversed! I was nearly in kidney failure... But now I am healed by the stripes of Jesus Christ! I will be bold about talking about HIM. I owe him everything. The uric acid in my joints has gone down significantly, and the same had affected my brain. There are a lot of other changes, also. Thanks for reading! ♡♡♡
 May 2019 Seeker
SøułSurvivør
I don't honor Easter
Bunnies hoppin' on one leg
I have no taste
For colored "peeps"
Or chocolate Easter eggs

Thanks to
Emperor Constantine
We have this pagan brew
I find the worship of Ishtar
Has me in a stew!

The holidays of pagans!
And to see events of Christ
Blended in with all of it
Has my stomach in a vice!

Take your rabbits
And your "Ishtar" eggs
I'll just have to pray
I'd just prefer to call this time
RESURRECTION DAY!
Research the above. Ishtar was a Babylonian fertility goddess. That's where the bunnies and eggs came in. Ishtar was later renamed ashtaroth. One of the members of the Demonic Trinity. Sounds like a good thing to worship, eh?
 May 2019 Seeker
Dominique
Lunatics
 May 2019 Seeker
Dominique
I know the toothless women
Who crumple on the streets
The rain bleeds through their cardboard,
The cold drips through their feet

I know the dying children
With anaesthetic arms
The angels crowd around them
With time that burns their palms

I've hugged the brainwashed gangsters
With money drenched in blood
I've heard their broken weeping
While digging up the mud

I've seen the starving faces
Of the tired girls at home
The broken, hectic psyches
That eat them to the bone

I know the burning poets
With a desperate thirst for life
The need for finding soulmates
That pierces like a knife

There's weary public servants
Who risk their lives for good
And prove compassion every day
Yet stay misunderstood

Human love is buried
Beneath the plastic weight
Of angry allegations
And a world that feeds off hate

These people may be messy,
But they're beautiful and real
With hidden dreams and secrets
And ability to feel

We have a place to run to
With lights of peach and gold
Where all the weight is lifted
And all our tales are told

We live in total freedom
So safe beneath the moon
And though it seems ambitious
Our dreams will save us soon
The night brings comfort to those who need it most
 Mar 2019 Seeker
MicMag
Viral
 Mar 2019 Seeker
MicMag
What's it take
These days

To write a poem

That makes the world go mad
That brings the crowds to their feet
That spreads like wildfire
Through a dry winter forest

Is it those excessively long words?
The loquacious ramblings
Of an insecure mind aspiring
To authentic intellect?

Is it perhaps...
     the "creativity"
               of      varied      spacing
  or...    could it be..... the lack
                              of capitalization
               the loathsome little letters
               screaming out
                         hey, look at us!
         ... or maybe it's
               the punctuation marks,
     littered, haphazardly
          through the text
                    (whether used correctly)
               or, theyre not?!
     despite worrds mispeled
          and a grammar might is broken
   can these tricks increase interest
        though miswritten or misspoken?

Is the trick alliteration
Whose bite brightly bids us
To center on the snappy sounds?
Although all along
     unvoiced underneath
Ideas idle in the isles
   (or perhaps the aisles)
Of the mind
To meld and craft and bind
Our thorough thoughts
And worthy words
Into lines
Which
Heard by herds
Raise the
                  Praise for which we
                  Privately, desperately
                  Pray

Maybe it's a magical mix
Of splendid in-your-head rhythm
Marvelous meter that perfectly clicks
Flowing smoothly without schism

Well-spaced stanzas
Well-used time
Well-crafted phrases
Well-thought-out rhymes

Well, maybe not...
     those gems are often ignored
     cast-aside, unclicked, abhorred

Why?

Because the modern world
doesn't need your rules
your restrictions
your regulations
your misguided boundaries
your oppression
your antiquated ideas
   of "the right way"
   to write
   to speak
   to act
   to live
   to (fill in the blank)

No, what the modern world needs
is
Negation!
Contradiction!
Resistance!
Revolt!

And poetry whose words
Say the same thing
Repeat the same meaning
Echo the same lyrics
Rephrase the same thoughts
But in an ever-so-slightly
Different
Varied
Changed up way
Line
After line
Of synonyms
          over
               and
                    over
                         again

-----

What's it take
These days

To not give in
To narcissism's spiral?

But more importantly:
What's it take

To make my poem go viral?
Only halfway cynically written, I swear!
 Nov 2018 Seeker
ConnectHook
Open, dark sepulchers! Autumnal woe
whips the dead leaves, which scattering, whirl below.
Bright orange memories of summer’s cheer
Flame out in phantom grimaces of fear.
Bare eldritch limbs reach out against the dusk
and spectral winds disturb each withered husk.
Thoughts wax sinister, existentially . . .
for such we shall become, eventually.
All hallowed saints acknowledge even this,
Departed from a world they do not miss.

Unable to assimilate true night,
The nation now embraces plastic fright,
Satanic sweetness surfeiting its young
while judgement in the wings, awaits, unsung.
They purchase Chinese plastic slasher-masks
To celebrate those diabolic tasks
They wish were only nightmares of the mind;
And so they show they’re spiritually blind;
Culturally and politically as well,
For thinking there’s no Heaven, nor a Hell.
As if Life’s stunning triumph thrills them less
Than spectral superstitions they profess.
They glorify the grave, though life is good—
Their children freely tour the neighborhood . . .

Oppression that prevails beyond our lands
Bears testament to this. Who understands
How real the threat of gruesome harm can be
Where terror’s costly fear is given free?
Imagine those who fled forevermore
Real graves and bones, blood; homelands wracked by war—
Survivors, having seen such things fulfilled
May wish they could forget how some were killed;
Their Halloween replaced with realer fates:
by bombs, in wars, in dark tyrannic states.
From whence true refugees take flight from death
to live where freedom draws an easier breath.
Uprooted, then transplanted, seeking life,
Believing they have now escaped the strife
Must they be thus subjected yet again
To fear’s oppressive rule, so now as then?
Traumatic scenes are glimpsed, it’s all in fun . . .
Meanwhile, those who have lived it come undone.
Ironic morbid joke: where freedom reigns
To purchase fake cadaverous remains;
Permit the grave to thus enslave our brains.

There was a brighter side to all this rot:
In neighborhoods your adult mind forgot;
So long ago, so lost in childhood’s mist.
Of what did earlier Halloweens consist?
It wasn’t all about the grave, the gore.
You didn’t buy your costume at the store.
Your mommy helped you tailor some disguise;
A character to charm, and to surprise
The neighbors known to live along your street.
Nostalgic masquerade: the bittersweet . . .
Now, our nation’s hypoglycemic kids
Gorge on what diabetes’ law forbids.
Macabre, this epidemic in our streets:
Sugar-addicted specters draped in sheets
Or dressed in Wal-Mart costumes of the ******
who ask for candy (grabbing on demand).

Were I the Lord, I’d find it all less cute
And curse it, as the fig-tree, to its root—
Slam shut the cover on the fearful tome,
Restore true life, reviving every home
Till Treats and Tricks alike speak more of faith
And God’s own Spirit banish every wraith.

The horrors you exhume in idle hours
To haunt your artificial autumn bowers
Are real for some, who question, once a year
What’s wrong with you, romanticizing fear,
When Death and Hell are real—however near.
Halloween 2018
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