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Books Of The Bible

The Words Of God
The Old And The New Testament
Creation Of The Universe
New Covenant
God And Humanity
The Death And Resurrection Of Jesus Christ

Books Of The Bible
A Collection Of Sixty Six Books
Thirty Nine From The Old
Twenty Seven From The New
These Testaments
Consisting Of Literature
Of All Types

Prose, Or Story
Prayer, Or Song
Types Of Literacy Used
Bringing Excitement And A Challenge
Through Different Types Of Writings
The Words Of God

From Genesis, Written By Moses
To Revelation, Written By John
Books Of The Bible Had Many Different Authors
Written At Different Times
In Different Places
Guided By God
They Wrote In Their Own Words
The Scripture
We Know And Love today

Poem By: Ryan DeWelt
Jessica Sep 10
You said I should write Hallmark cards
You thought my poetry was ridiculous
Acerbically, you mocked my writing
I can still hear your mafiosi laughter
Drowning in your omnipotent villainy
The likes of which floods all areas of your victims’ lives
Aside from having become a cartoon adversary
You’re truly missing out
Not necessarily on my poetry, but literature as a whole
Perhaps that’s a symptom of a waning soul-
To feel and appreciate nothing but the harshest emotions
And none of the heartfelt notions
That help artists’ create their work.
We don't need
Other worlds
We need mirrors

We need thin waists
And a hysteresis curve
To the hips

Let us drink in the sea
And laugh as our number
Comes up

Let us commit
To be noncommittal
And talk nary a word

On age and death
Over afternoon tea
In the bright withered garden

Where the goodness of man
Longed to be more
Than its darkling reflection
Justin Lai Sep 4
i dream of bookmarks
on days better forgotten
ink spilling over

numbness of squalor
these pages, revolving doors
truth within fiction

on sturdy armrests
hearts leaping from cliffhangers
fillers overhead

like sipping of teas
action belying motive
laughs the red herring

over second guessing
of heroes turning human
let presumptions fly

questions, swarming in
faster than the credits roll
home in a stupor
i miss reading
Dante Rocío Sep 1
with, on, a truck’s van
speeding scrapping,
alas, vagabond voyage ceiling

Well, astral jumping from a car /cinnamonned sun/
isn’t hard then I see, creek

the cloak, the moment and me the contracting,
a book of flights spread open, we
a discarding,
as its wing from gold smothered in
most blue sky and a red sign towards
embarking to a new life/face encrusting

Joy, lazy, lounged,
like a banjo in its autumn on a porch jiggly slouch,
strings light freeze at wind, clasp, then step up and
as the hitchhiker dance.

Amèlie, I caught your sound!
your theme, lastly away,
the accordion’s as of now met,
adopted in a knee’s set,
one leg around the other a mess.
Hanging springs of it, at edge.

eyes currently in wood carved,
steampunk clogs, clads there

whole body a cello,
from boots with folly drunk
through wood prolonging curved
to the “f”s at the end of ideas and
caramel hair known as falling leaves’


Laid open!
Onward higher!

so off
Driven through cloudy bright like summer
Road onward and in my third eye sown,
Thanks to the vicissitudes of
Amèlie Poulain‘s old accordion searching,
The Tarnation soft story in radio swaying.
I just saw my image on others’ cars limits,
Riding more hitchhiking than wind,
Than Fiddle on the Roof,
That could swerve on and on
With those old music clogs
Without things to be due hold
You’ve known me since I started looking down at myself.
What the hell were you thinking when you said : “ I’d be there for you” ?
Isn’t it funny you were actually there to pick up my midnight calls,
Isn’t it funny you were actually rooting for my crusade against the trolls.
Well, I fed on your optimism, twined around it and faked my smiles.
You could’ve gone along with my act but you chose not to.

You’ve known how my dry frown turns upside-down
And yet you make me figure it out by myself.
You please yourself by seeing me out of my comfort zone .
You are selfish, you use me to tickle your funny bone
But I know you mask your good intentions behind the sly wink .
I’m no fool, turning a blind eye to the things you do.

You’ve known places I like to go on a Friday evening
But you take me to the hole I won’t even visit on a Monday morning.
It’s uncanny to face someone else’s fears with them
And you have walked the mile in my old-dusty boots.
I sometimes feel that you’ve reached out to my roots,
Reminded them of my unique existence or maybe resilience.

You’ve known , yes you’ve known it all
And you decide to stay and continue the journey with me.
What’s your intention, motivation, illusion ?
I used to ask these questions and found myself in delusion
But I don’t care anymore about anything and everything.
I’ve known too, maybe not enough but I will always try.

Days - months - years - decades
They crawl like serpents on the Earth
Every passing minute without you
Is an eternity without your smile.

Twenty long years in the mouth of Poseidon
Two decades playing chess with the Gods
I've lost so many men in the bellies of beasts
I pray I don't share the same fate.

Divine women ensnare me with their charms
Using my sorrow as a sword to break down my walls
I hunger for a woman's touch, yet I won't be satisfied
If it's not your hands warming my bones at night.

Penelope, Penelope, Penelope
I miss you everyday.

Inspired by the epic poem - *The Odyssey* - by Homer

By the way, I finally know how to italicize and bold my poems! Hooray! They don't have to look boring anymore!
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