"bethel" poems
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee!
E'en though it be a cross
That raiseth me:
Still all my song shall be
Nearer, my God! to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.
Though, like the wanderer,
The sun gone down,
Darkness be over me,
My rest a stone;
Yet in my dreams I'd be
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.
Then let the way appear
Steps unto heaven;
All that Thou sendest me
In mercy given:
Angels to beckon me
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.
Then with my waking thoughts
Bright with Thy praise,
Out of my stony griefs
Bethel I'll raise;
So by my woes to be
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.
Or if on joyful wing,
Cleaving the sky,
Sun, moon, and stars forgot,
Upward I fly:
Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.
3.2k
A Four day concert, created by Roberts, Rosenman, Kornfeld, and Lang
Was originally supposed be a three-day music festival, and up it sprang
But the citizens of citizens of Wallkill, N.Y. did not want their nice quiet town filled
With drugged up hippies that would overrun, and with this idea they were not thrilled
With many battles and protests, Wallkill passed a law on July 2, 1969 banning
The would be concert from going forward leaving the town quite less enchanting
Almost not getting off the ground, hippies all over demanding refunds for their tickets
Stepping forward, Max Yasgur offered his 600-acre dairy farm so no one would picket
The new location for the Woodstock Festival would be Bethel, New York
No one from the other town would not have complaints or come uncorked
Despite the many problems of people threatening to quit
Woodstock got off the ground despite things still being chit
This concert was poorly planned with two major setbacks, as news spread that it was free
There were congestion of cars that policeman had to turn away, for as far as one could see
Organizers lost huge amounts of money while hippies walked through gates without paying
But it was estimated that 500,000 people made it to the concert and they came in swaying
The music seemed to play non-stop as people sat and listened and some would play
It was very muddy from all the rain of what it did from much of the concert everyday
Listening to greats such as Creedence Clearwater Revival, Santana, Jimi Hendrix, Sweetwater
Can’t forget, Grateful Dead, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, Jefferson Airplane and Ten Years After
The concert ended and picking up the pieces began, that wasn't just the trash that was left behind
It was the lawsuits that many filed against the organizers since beginning to end put many in a bind
The greatest music festival in history later put to a movie that is divine
Something that will forever be talked about from the summer of 1969
Copyright 2013
All Rights Reserved
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
This day your either caught up in Baal, Baphomet or Bethel.
Since I was a kid they was trying to trip me in a fairytale..
Dragons are Good and alittle magic won't ****
So far from the truth but some say who's gunna make these scars go away... Well tell me where did the scars come from?
Cause we know evil is bad and good is the truth!
If your caught in a lie dosent that mean that God told you?
Certainly not!
It came from baphomets mouth, so why are listening to liars mouth?
Dragons are real and so are unicorns
But dragons destroy and it takes a sword and one man to overcome him..
Maybe it's me?
Maybe it's you?
I just wanted to show you Baal is what we create for fantasies and selfish ways.
Baphomet is the Devil who lies right in your face.
Bethel is a holy place that keeps truth as it's king and good as it's God.
Wake up!!! For one day we will be on one side or the other...
It's hard to tell the truth and love someone who dosent know Good, but it's easy to fall and give up for a lie and at the end never notice that lies were getting life from you.
Forgive me.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 11:08 AM UTC
WOODSTOCK
They came from The South, The North and The West Coast
450,000 together for peace and music, half a million at most
Richie Havens inspired all while singing his "Freedom" song
Country Joe McDonald dropped "F" bombs his whole set long
Carlos Santana amazed us, as he gave all and sacrificed his soul
Arlo Guthrie with Woody's **** packed his pipe and smoked a bowl
Canned Heat and The Bear asked us to work together united stand
Levon Helm pounded skins and sang "The Weight" with The Band
Joe Cocker warned us more than once that he might sing out of tune
One after the other, CSNY, Alvin Lee, Sha Na Na midnight 'til noon
Janis gave a piece of her heart along with a "Ball and Chain"
Jefferson Airplane sang about Alice out in the pouring rain
The Fogerty's sang about where they were born and two girls one proud
And for the life of me I can't figure out why The Who played to this crowd
Jimi capped it off with The National Anthem and "Purple Haze"
the perfect ending to four long daze of rock and roll blaze
So if your travels take you to New York Up State
Stop at Bethel Wood, the place where Rock History was written in Slate
"1969, when music was grooved in vinyl and carved in Rock"
inspired by the song "Woodstock"
written by Joni Mitchell
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC
In the swirling zephyr,
The grass dances weakly
I heard an escort,– Awaits my way to the Wolf Hall.
A triumphant sinister;—
My broken pleasure,— How lovely to see thy scraps again..
Such a bounty hunter
What the gods want now?
Doth not turn me around!—
Doth not hang me!
If thou loose my ties,—
Thou wilt be a murderer of all vines!
Spare me!— I am not thy prey;
I am not one of Greek's peccant,
Please, off loathing my purity!
This predator devoured me..
The ****** of his dark matter, stabbed me..
The mob held me captive,— by net traps
The culprit lies next to me—
Acted one alike raw; then I was sacked,
I felt the bethel was mocked,—
But my Lord won't despise me.
A paralyzed arrest screeched me
I was stroke— by a vermin quenched for meat..
Thou art the most cherished
It is still me..
Scattered with mud,
Dressed in a blanket;
Hoping to kiss thee
Bend for belief,— and not forgiveness
Wherefor thy body shivers?
Thy cup is condensing,
Lips ill-looking;
Red flames changing blue—
Am I still the hue?
I sensed—
Thou fell into the pit
My shreds, thy lust
The roots art on the tip of thy nails!
An ancestral plague poisoning whoever sits,—
And bridesmaking is a promiscuous habit—
To grasp a braided hair,— for an accessory
Behold, the lineage of romantic paintings,
Whence the bonds turn to heist
Looting innocence and staying in history...
May 8, 2020
May 8, 2020 at 4:13 AM UTC
It was 1969 the day was 15
I was up in the sky
I was only eighteen
White Lake in the town of Bethel, New York
I saw trees being hugged and loved
I saw no one eating pork
The rhythm, the sense of happiness and being free
I was one with everyone
like it was meant to be
I cried from excitement, tears full of joy
It’s like I relived Christmas
when I was just a boy
I made love with the one I’m with today
I have three beautiful children
And that’s how it’s going to stay
I kept the blanket that kept this family whole
all because of 1969
I rest with the blanket with the hole
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC
I waited for a while. For something to happen, an explosion, a bomb, something that would get me out of there. Why did I drive him here? The though span through my mind every second that I had to wait. We were at the propane store in bethel, and my dad was looking for a fire place. The temptation of my blue Subru in the parking lot, I had the keys. No phone, no board game, no s reaming family to entertain me. Just my dad, bob, and I. I had to do something, there were grills, propane powered lights, and thousands of gas tanks. There a burgers in the car, and grills all around, its taking this long. The keys jingled in my pocket, Get me out! How did this happen? We went to walmart. Past the target. Get some coffee. Soda's in the car! I could run!
I waited for while.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 9:35 AM UTC
Nearer, my God to Thee
Nearer to Theel
E'en tough it be
A cross that raiseth me
Still all my song would be
Nearer, my God to Thee
Though like wanderer
The sun gone down
Darkness be over me
My rest a stone
Yet in my dreams I'd be
Nearer, my God to Thee
With my working thouts
Bright with Thy Praise
Out of my story griefs Bethel I'll raise
So by my woes to be
Nearer, my God to Thee
Or if on joyful wing
Cleaving the sky
Sun, moon, and stars
Forgot upwards I fly
Still all my song
Shall be nearer my God, to Thee
Nearer, my God to Thee
Nearer to Theel
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
give me your heart
etched in a stone
of bethel gray granite
you perfectly hone
carving so intricate
amazing to see
show me a love
an how good it can be
Ma Cherie © 2017
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 6:07 PM UTC
I’ll look up and see a wasp
Or a bee, hunting around,
Ready to die.
Collaborations simplified in rivers abreast
Oh, the shores of Lethe are so delightful
With their ash marked eyes and solitude beggars
Potted plants of desiree, coal jutted shouts cross
Blanket crowds shoved in a bruised corner
With a madman screaming something about
Lasting generation and forced collaration.
See the basket cases? Claimed they were
From the devil, Dee did, muttering about kingdoms
and collard greens
With her stuffed, shrunk coat waddling round the
same Dickey’s, a corner from Westboro Baptist.
And kitty corner from the statues no one’s taking down
Cause Mr.White said nah son, that’s not right
As he bombed Bethel Baptist one more time.
And these shores are so delightful, don’t you see?
Harpooned sticks and scarecrows, oh sorry,
I meant social expectations, but who cares anyway?
Wondering why we all say “i want to die’,
Have you looked at the government mandating
People inhuman, or the money situation,
Should be on the news, but
No we here at Fox and CNN don’t believe that’s important.
Say, I don’t think we should have Onion headlines
On the New York Times.
So we say ‘i want to die’ and the Gazette tells us
it’s those **** video games again
or maybe it’s the stigma and lack of empathy from
The Powerful.
And you hear on the street,
“Weed’s ending this country,”
Sorry, I wanted a break from all this god **** noise
From a country pulling apart at the beaten seams
Of another unwritten book.
Anger, you’ll say, irrational, I’ll add,
But pointing at the statue in the park
And you wonder why all those wasps
And bees we look down on, the gerbils and
Hamsters
That we never pull a punch on
Why they escape through the way they know how,
Why, wouldn’t you too? But that’d require empathy, sir,
And apparently you lack more than morals, sir.
Look, there’s Dee, getting her collard greens
In her stuffy, shrunken jacket,
Round the corner from Dickey’s and cracked roads with
littered breezes blowing past cars open windows, honking and
brazen calls.
Welcome to the Lethe shores,
Don’t worry, you won’t remember a thing,
Slipped a bit of Liquid X in your alcohol.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 10:05 AM UTC
if i could tell you now, the places i’ve been
would your eyes seek to look outside of your skin?
and if i told you how much you would learn in a year
would you be too busy to lend me your ear?
if i told you about how you look from the sky
would you believe that you’re beautiful to more than one guy?
if i said that your heart was wrought with deceit
would your idea of love still feel complete?
if i spoke of the sadness you feel
would you still choose to skip that meal?
and if you knew that the darkness was the place that you dwell
would you find shelter from the sea at Bethel?
when you questioned the motives in spite of the plan
did you realize how far from home you ran?
and if you knew back then what i know today
would you convince your soul to stay?
but if i told you back then about the way you’d be saved
would you still choose to live life enslaved?
and if i explained the Truth you would know
would you shine a light as a your gift to bestow?
if my words were worthwhile i would proclaim
the child you are and call you by name
to fill you with hope and joy from within
but would you choose to lift up your chin?
if i thought to put these words into a rhyme
i would go all the way back to that time
and if i had enough courage for all of these words
would they ring in your ears like morning songbirds?
h.v.
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 5:20 PM UTC
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Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 4:23 AM UTC
I cried those words,
into puddling paragraphs,
just spilling sentences,
tripping on my tongue,
into rapidly coursing chapters,
pulsating pages,
fast moving meter,
in rivers of rhymes,
stacks of biblical books,
etched in my mind,
carved by hand,
on my life's headstone,
made of bethel gray granite,
to read : Here lies a poet.
Ma Cherie © 2017
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 10:47 AM UTC
like a burqua, women
wrapped around his
demeanor, rebels. he
gave the middle finger
saying, grass is always
greener in the summer
time. the sun spurned
this long black Friday.
rabid speculation
death for bethel’s children.
hands, mouth, feet, iron-
fettered & bounded. parents
blamed it on one horrid
baby boy. he groomed,
bewitched, excelled, beguiled,
erectly sprouting forth.
mother took for granted
forever will i am: we
miss your energy running
the streets like ******
fool? false. for they said
you lost your mind,
possessed by beelzeboul.
a **** tortured soul.
he was not fake,
& never phoney,
“sham you!” they screamed:
later paying homage.
quiet remains, but
i confess YHWV
when beloved left
they penned his fairy tale
fits of covert passion
tempered as women, wait
outside the synagogue -
he debated with the
rabbi so every thing changed.
God’s voice betwixt his lips,
for ever sealed & raised
above the people.
wandered off sheep miss,
guided from the path when
fell the night suddenly
en-lightened by sudden
incantations evoked from
a man with lighted face
jude, twinned, grew in skills
& oratory spells mastered.
mother took for granted
forever will i am:
we miss your energy
running the streets like ******
fool? false. for they said
you lost your mind
possessed by Beelzeboul.
a **** tortured soul.
he was not fake,
& never phoney,
“sham you!” they screamed:
later paying homage.
quiet remains, but
i confess YHWV
when beloved left
they penned his fairy tale
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 7:23 AM UTC
Sundays overlooking Bellah Field , parachutes of every color , like the kites we flew high over Asa Moseley Road , homemade ice cream , Grandmothers feast after Sunday school , choir voices of Bethel UMC in the distance , music in my heart , of cattle , rooster , guinea and Mothers piano ....................
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 11:41 AM UTC
Old paths never cobbled
float stones, over the years.
Through the winter each day I walk
or drive this trail,
I moosh down the mud and deep
down ought or else pushes back and
water takes the waymaker function,
path of least resistance,
coming up.
Hydraulic pluerosis pops a stone into my path.
An old stumbling stone, new position.
Kick'em out the way, see watcha find
Certain con
tained
coils of oughts thought steps as
rungs from
Bethel to where Jesus says the Kingdom
of right use right-e-o-us
righteo.
come hell or high water
A.
Lor' willin', if the creeks don't rise
B.
you trust your kenotic self to flow, least re
sist dance
A. or B. Either opens the gate,
t'm'yaad, eden bydemnation namin' imps.
Clouds of could'ves push-crash
---
dis ap
proven re
proven re
al itynessification.
judge you, I judge me and we judge each
the other,
I am first reader, I and my muse and the manual dexter/sinister
skill with the maigi
tech
(I key far faster than hemingway two finger typed,
if he did, like on tv)
I correct me, I was trying and, by trying doing.
Earlier in life I magined one sneaky lie true
because it came from
Yoda,
wise entity telling Luke,
there is no try only do,
maybe for Alienated Jedi minds, not mine,
mine works if I try to do and do, so trying and doing
is done at once.
Okeh. An earlier exploration was tainted by my wish
to be seen wise in relation to an imaginary
depicted fiction seen as the source
of base level words chock full o'
wisdom... nuts... Yoda was never real.
C'mon, gimme the old American
Try again. Emulate Socrates and Jesus,
sorta comboish,
Old Ben says it worked for him,
Kenosis-like. The thirteenth step in
In Ben's
experiment in thinking as an
American might, in the future,
relative to then.
People still read the
Auto-biography of Ben, right?
A proverbial treasure buried long ago
for you.
---------
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 1:20 PM UTC
Joyously we would meander through the peach groves in the month
of April ... A hundred blossoms on every tree , simple everyday beauty as far as my young eyes could see ..
Grape arbors under diligent care , wisteria filled the cool morning air ..
The morning dew , wind blew life into rolling hillsides , Springs new calves played tag in the afternoon sunshine ..
Guineas always longing for new places to forage , piglets in the henhouse , Brown rooster wing to the ground , dancing a warning !
Noon heat and four o'clock showers , the church bell in town struck
every hour ..
Bethel Church would come alive on Sundays , joyous hymns that echoed through the country ..
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 8:07 PM UTC
i have this piece of art they say is worth a lot.
its hanging on my wall above my most valued piece.
a sprig of fern, dried between the pages of a book, glued to
plain paper, framed in an old thrift store picture frame.
i like the contradiction hanging on my wall.
the expensive piece is roughly
three feet by four feet,
colorful and bright. created
by some contemporary English artist,
which is code for pretentiously posh.
Too expensive and chic because it's British.
Made in a medium that allows anyone
with an idea to become slightly successful
as long as people buy into the con
and like what they are selling.
i guess i am the sucker that i describe.
But beneath it is this three inch piece of fern
picked from a field in Bethel, NY. where peace
and love passed itself around in freedom.
it's held onto paper by Mod-Podge and faded
from some sunlight. i think my mother bought
the frame 15 years ago for some childhood
photo she never framed. it looks like
a 4 year old crafted the fern in
pre-school and brought it home for Mom
to hang up on the fridge like some achievement.
so when i'm sitting on my couch with
sunlight on my back, Alice Coltrane's Journey in Satchidananda
being played, coffee being sipped, enjoyment being had
and peace just out of reach...
...i find myself looking at the fern.
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 3:27 PM UTC
Kisses like fragrance they leave a scent on my cheek
For hours and Hours our words expires until our hearts intimately speak
It's a Good Night when I know your Falling back in love with me.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 5:49 PM UTC
There often is found, in many little towns,
A place where old-timers still gather around.
Not only old-timers, but “youngsters”, as well,
Especially on Sundays, they “stay for a spell.”
Some would argue, and say to you,
It is because there is nothing else to do.
This may satisfy a question in their mind,
I think, however, another reason, you will find.
It is here that folks have gathered, for years,
To sing, to worship, even shed a few tears.
It is here they sometimes bury their dead,
It is here they consistently hear the Word read.
It is at this place, though rare to find,
People find solace and peace of mind.
It is here that the Bible is still believed,
And its message is, without doubt, received.
The preacher may be “country” and not well learned,
But a place of respect, he most surely has earned.
You see, his sermons are not “watered down”
To satisfy the modern, politically-correct clown.
The music is still in agreement with the Word,
Never is the loud, night-club sound heard.
Yes, folks are “old fashioned” and “set in their ways”
In a few of these churches from by-gone days.
People still dress with respect and decency,
They are not caught up in the “come-as-you-are” frenzy.
The user-friendly atmosphere, that once was unknown,
Gives the modern church-goer, a relaxed tone.
To these little churches let us, with haste, return,
And the compulsion to "moderness", obediently spurn.
It is back to Bethel that we ought to go,
Where the “old-time religion” is still more than show.
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 9:17 AM UTC
You spin me like a carousel
And I've noticed you're a mademoiselle
You can always tug on my lapel
There's no story for me to sell
So those assumptions and suspicions can quell
I should start a bethel
For you and only you
Nobody else is invited
Just me, the VIP
Everyone else is an absentee
You make me feel more at ease
As my heart starts to crease
I can sell my nightmares for lease
So at least they can't be stuck to me
But you're more then welcome to be.
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 9:57 PM UTC
For everhow long this is going on,
this March Madness,
this Ides of March B'ware Beta test
based on the Shemitic glyph for house,
But, I read, some where, the A is a bull, maybe with a broken neck,
like, once upon a time
A looked like
a bull and not like house in the hills
home-base kinda feeling
in word, like Aces!
one hand claps another's,
we made it.
But beta,
home formed from
the spoken Shemetic phoneme for dwelling place
Beth, Bethel of divine upload download demo fame, as house of El,
The symbol ranked by sequence second
where the trickster bro in the great test story
wrestled with El,
and witnessed messengers of the same
going up and down with word from some going to and fro
What if that is where the idea of beta testing began?
What if?
Did you ever wish you had a real Brita water filter?
Beta tested your pattern ecog.
gotcha.
It is spelled βήτα in modern monotonic orthography and pronounced [ˈvita].
Testing
testing testing pro
fessing fessing fessing. Which makes more sense?
Mar 3, 2020
Mar 3, 2020 at 8:47 PM UTC