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Walking in the Spirit, copping
a feel
of the flesh.
sobroquet Aug 2013
Our Father
         Woe! to these  demonic determined downtrodden deceivers,
         Woe! Oh Thine merciless mendicants of misery and maleficent mendacity
         Woe! Oh common corrupt conniving cunning calumnious crusaders of crucifixion...
          scurrilous screeds scribbling sorrows
          The Lord will sharpen thou pencils...
Thou pocket protectors whilst melt into thine *******...
Thou spectacles opaque and  permanently smudged...with  other assorted
myriad miseries
       Thou  mittens will be smitten with interminable degeneracy...
       Oh languid leaders of licentious lubricious larceny..
          Oh craving calculating copious concupiscent  calumnious falsifiers...
         Oh maudlin mocking  manipulators, multitudinous marauding machinations
  Thy God is an angry God
 a vengeful God
     a jealous God

  Oh **** pots and gall!  Oh sordid ****** insalubrious denizens of depraved      degeneracy
Take heed  thou names mightn't appear in the almighty book of life when  judgement deigns an  
 opprobrious order of objurgation
                     terrible tragic tempestous tribulations  of treachery                            
  Oh  Woe! Alas!
           They are fallacious febrile fabricators, fallen , fragmented flawed fugacious furtive     falsifiers!!      
          scalawags and rapscallions..rascals of ribaldry..forlorn fallen away backslidden  recalcitrants…
            Oh misguided miserable miscreants, maladies and agitation be thy lot!

         This rant has been brought to you by:
         The Most High and Holy Priest of the Ignoble Church of Alliteration & Utter Skepticisim
To be spoken with great force and fervent  magniloquent sententious fury as from the  pulpit in a lecturers sermon.
(hell and brimstone;  pompous, sanctimoniously vain glorious, strutting and finger pointing, with frenzied gesticulations)
Cynthia Danso Jul 2015
The Lord hand picks the unworthy
The outcasts, the needy
The downtroden and filthy
Drowning in despair
Shaking in fear
Staggering in sheer agony
Wondering what just might be
What life really means

His hand is upon the lost
Those still imprisoned by their past
The backslidden and fallen
living in sin and lust
Brewing with contempt and disgust
Crumbling into dust
Wondering if the Lord is just
if they can ever come back

The face of the Lord shines upon
Those who weep and bitterly mourn
The Broken hearted and torn
Who stay up until dawn
Singing the burial song
A chorus of whaling voices
A choir of morbid faces
Wondering what the next phase is

The Lord is gracious
The Lord is kind
The Lord will save us
The lost sheep he will find
His people are declared righteous
Adopted, sealed and sighed
Wonderfully and fearfully designed
Chosen, before the beginning of time
We all chosen
Phil Riles Mar 2017
Revive backslidden hearts back to your righteous ways. Wake up those in lukewarm slumbers. Remove fear and resentment of rejection from us. Help us to Love people who look, behave, smell and talk differently than we do. HELP US TO SEE THE BIGGER PICTURE LORD. THE SMALLER ONE HAS HELD OUR ATTENTION LONG ENOUGH!
Ray carty Jul 2018
Down stream, all the values go,
Where are the people I used to know,
That banner of strength, oh it waves so weakly,
Feeble with the fear of speaking freely,
Mind you P's and your Q's,
Sharpen your handles, don't let it go askew,
Speak carefully and dread won't follow you,
If you slip up they will be sure to follow through,
Filled with hope? No that went away,
Faith? no it has backslidden out of the way,
Promise? Only that they will take your life,
Physically and mentally alike,
Ride the waves, is all they know,
Forget about what's good, it's ok to be evil,
Holding on to a figment of the past,
As our world and our lives slip right past,
Oh land is no longer free, the people no longer brave,
The people that fought for freedom, are not the same people fighting today,
The rockets are glaring, the bombs are bursting,
In a war you'd never thought was one,
A war for your daughter and your son,
A war that we must fight and fight to win,
Embody the spirit that came before us,
And bring hope, and faith again,
This is not the end.
Bobby Copeland Jan 2020
Of course it's three a.m. again--
Time long encircled in the blues--
And grateful for the company
I pull out old shellacs;
Dinah, Eartha, Big Maybelle,
Then Tina, early blues with Ike
On a long playing record, songs by
Little Walter, Blues Boy King,
Songs Ginny used to sing
At juke joints in northwest Tennessee,
Before she made her way out west,
Vegas and L.A., when cheap scotch at midnight was enough.
And now, somehow, pure grain and Percocet
Have stopped her, some say accidentally.
Man trouble too,
Horn players with habits,
Car dealers and one evangelist,
Backslidden but believing,
Tapped now to speak well,
Ignore vices and regrets.

— The End —