"galilee" poems
I have been in the moon
In search of love all noon
Searched through deserts
Even through garden of Eden.
I have Searched beneath the sea
Travelled wide even to overseas
Still could not find love.
I went to Vatican
Even to Mecca
Driven through the romantic sites of Paris
Bath in the Brazilian beaches
Flown across the Atlantic
Pitched my tenth for few days on the Antarctic
Spend some more on the arctic
Still I saw no love.
All I saw was lust
Angels with broken hearts,
Rotten roses,
Withered lilies,
Death faiths and monsters on beautiful faces.
I saw bullets in church offering boxes
Just wedded on number plates of ambulances.
I saw wars in diversity
Pain and mourning crowding all cities
The devil celebrating the dead of peace.
I saw three wise men
Where went love, I asked them
They said love has been nailed on the cross
Buried with trust
They are heading to Galilee
To await his return.
I followed with dreams
I met many returning with smiles of frustration
From where I was going with pregnancy of expectations.
We arrived to the scene
Like a nightmare, I witnessed higher sins
I saw men taking pleasures with men
Some with animals, some women with women.
Gun everybody walking sticks
People feeding on people flesh
With human blood the thirsting ones quench their thirst.
Is this where love is expected to return?
The wise men retorted,
Yes, the saints have been raptured
And his seven years reign has just began.
Then in a flash, I remembered that I have been taught
Taught about this dreadful end
I had also taught kids
Under trees at nights
Just to threaten them to live right.
What I thought was a mare threat or a fallacy
Has been awaken against my fate in reality.
Oh! We are among the leftovers
Left to reprove ourselves or be doomed forever.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
This is that blessed Mary, pre-elect
God’s ****** Gone is a great while, and she
Dwelt young in Nazareth of Galilee.
Unto God’s will she brought devout respect,
Profound simplicity of intellect,
And supreme patience. From her mother’s knee
Faithful and hopeful; wise in charity;
Strong in grave peace; in pity circumspect.
So held she through her girlhood; as it were
An angel-water’d lily, that near God
Grows and is quiet. Till, one dawn at home,
She woke in her white bed, and had no fear
At all,—yet wept till sunshine, and felt aw’d:
Because the fulness of the time was come.
8.1k
Silly, silly, silly me.
To think I'm free, and that I'll be somebody?
Silly, silly, silly me.
You can't be free, and that's just it,
All you are is 'somebody.'
Some-body.
"Some body."
But that's not true!
Look at Trostky and Lenin,
Michael Myers and Lennon,
The other Lennon.
It's hard to differentiate in name and legacy,
Because both Lennon's were revolutionaries,
Marching around like the freshman from heaven.
But neither believed they were the result of divine intervention in the affairs of man,
Because this convention would threaten their worldview and beckon away their sanity...
In the same way that the Pope or ****** let their divine vanity commit greater blasphemy and bring them future agony.
Now neither Lennon nor Lenin came anywhere close to being men from Galilee,
In fact they were more the men of the galaxy,
Or at least, John was, with his peach fuzz beard and his belief that love is greater than fear.
The other Lenin implemented the New Economic Policy, to starve the proletariat and start his revolution on an already hypocritical trend that would continue quite the same until the very end.
And it proves something, does it not?
Violence sends a message to no one but the instigator,
Changing them to justify, and claim is wasn't misbehavior;
But that's a lie, no idea of mine is worth the death of a human mind,
And to pretend otherwise makes one delude themselves that they aren't an instigator, but an illustrator,
Painting in the blood as if ****** makes an innovator.
And for ****** there is no vindicator,
Violence is an image breaker,
Indulged in by poor imitators who think they're right, and the world is wrong.
Unaware this makes them weak, not strong.
Now John Lennon was the true revolutionary;
Although he succumbed to violence, he veered away from it, even when it was necessary.
He fought the war, and yes, the war did win,
But at least he didn't cover his scars with artificial skin,
Or deny his implicit wrongs as a result of all original sin.
John Lennon used the word 'nigger' to the opposite effect.
He used the word to trigger something bigger and correct,
The wrong that seemed so propagated by the last colonial tide,
Of which the other Lenin defected and took colonialism's side.
John Lennon was Utopian and told us of a better world;
He interjected definition, and caused old thoughts to curl away in fright,
And bite the dust despite their might and past dominion of industrialism,
It was a schism, and it still plagues us to this day.
John Lennon understood we over-complicate way
To
Often.
Silly, silly, silly me.
To think I'm free, and that I'll be somebody?
Silly, silly, silly me.
You can't be free, and that's just it,
All you are is 'somebody.'
Some-body.
"Some body."
"Some body" is something,
And some body can change the world.
Sep 12, 2011
Sep 12, 2011 at 1:34 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
The coming of Trump
Like the coming of Jesus
Is hailed by the masses
He knows how to please us
Or maybe it’s that
He just knows how to tease us
Cuz he’s clearly not Christ
Nor is he close to Jesus
The coming of Trump
Like Jesus went through Galilee
All that’s missing
Are the palm fronds ya see
But Jesus rode an ***
Trump rides an airplane
And so you’d have to say alas
The two just aren’t the same
The coming of Trump
With all the adulation
As if his words alone
Could really save the nation
And those who are prone
To not have any patience
You find at every stop
Wishing him their salutations
The coming of Trump
Like Jesus’ Sermon On-The- Mount
Talks about bringing
Many things into account
He’s gonna build a fence
At a huge discount
The Mexicans will pay for it
Which for him is paramount
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2016. All rights reserved.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 4:50 AM UTC
Jesus he's my savior
He lived near Galilee
I know about his ministry
And of his great love for me
He sought out his disciples
They followed him blindly
He loved the poor and healed the sickly
And he helped the blind to see
I know that he's my savior
He died to set me free
Each day I love him more, his disciple I will be
As I walk the path of righteousness and spirituality
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 5:08 PM UTC
Dear Lord, let me recount to Thee
Some of the great things thou hast done
For me, even me
Thy little one.
It was not I that cared for Thee,--
But Thou didst set Thy heart upon
Me, even me
Thy little one.
And therefore was it sweet to Thee
To leave Thy Majesty and Throne,
And grow like me
A Little One,
A swaddled Baby on the knee
Of a dear Mother of Thine own,
Quite weak like me
Thy little one.
Thou didst assume my misery,
And reap the harvest I had sown,
Comforting me
Thy little one.
Jerusalem and Galilee,--
Thy love embraced not those alone,
But also me
Thy little one.
Thy unblemished Body on the Tree
Was bared and broken to atone
For me, for me
Thy little one.
Thou lovedst me upon the Tree,--
Still me, hid by the ponderous stone,--
Me always,--me
Thy little one.
And love of me arose with Thee
When death and hell lay overthrown:
Thou lovedst me
Thy little one.
And love of me went up with Thee
To sit upon Thy Father's Throne:
Thou lovest me
Thy little one.
Lord, as Thou me, so would I Thee
Love in pure love's communion,
For Thou lov'st me
Thy little one:
Which love of me brings back with Thee
To Judgment when the Trump is blown,
Still loving me
Thy little one.
3.4k
~~°♡°~~
He had died upon a cross
Three days laid to rest
Women came unto His tomb
With a vision blessed
As they saw the stone was moved
An angel then appeared
*"Why is it you come to seek
A man who is not here?"*
They looked into the tomb and saw
The cavity was bare
The shroud was neatly folded
But Jesus wasn't there!
The joy they felt beatific
When Jesus did they see!
They obeyed His next command
To meet at Galilee
In amazement and some fear
The women ran to others
Proclaimed the news Christ was alive
To the waiting brothers!
And two of the disciples
Did walk to Emmaus
To find the Lord amongst them
Though their eyes they could not trust
When they could see, and found it He
Said, "Our hearts burned within us!"
Then Jesus came, good as His name
To folk who were to wait
He showed his scars, the telltale mars
Sat with them and ate!
He led them up to Bethany
Blessed them all around
They were amazed, with His hands raised
He was lifted from the ground!
Can you imagine trumpeting?
Can you hear the sound?
Could there be it's equal?
In glory to be found?
Jesus rose to heaven
*The clouds were then His
CROWN*
SøułSurvivør
(C) 4/16/2017
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 1:21 PM UTC
I am a poor man
sitting on the corner of
Your Conscious
and Your Reality.
All day everyday
I sit in that spot and
beg for change.
But keep your quarters, nickels, dimes
for someone else
'cause all I want is a cup of change.
A cup of change
to water my feeble hope, thorny rose
rooted in concrete hatred.
Roots, like my fingers,
too feeble to hold anything
but this patch of dirt to remind
me, I exist.
ALMS! ALMS! ALMS for the poor of heart!
But keep your quarters, nickels, dimes
for someone else
'cause all I want is a cup of change.
A cup of change
to wash away the muck kicked in my face.
A cup of change
to cleanse the wounds made
by verbal bullets shot out of nine millimeter mouths
wielded carelessly by boys society has deemed as men.
I sit in this spot and fester,
like a dream deferred.
My skin, cracked and brittle
like aged parchment, hangs over my frame
like sheets over antiqued furniture.
I sit in this spot with
arms open wide, heart open wide, eyes open wide
BEGGING FOR CHANGE!
But keep your quarters, nickels, dimes
for someone else
'cause all I want is a cup of change.
A cup of change
to strip the lies and propaganda
from the decrepit facades of your ideas,
storefront workshops left from the age of enlightenment.
My body yearns for nourishment
but I can't afford your lies.
But keep your quarters, nickels, dimes
for someone else
'cause all I want is a cup of change.
Now I'm not asking for a Jesus on Galilee moment,
just a cup of change to feed what's left of my soul.
But who am I to ask for anything?
I am just the poor man
sitting on the corner of
Your Conscious
and Your Reality.
All day everyday
I sit in that spot and
beg for change.
But keep your quarters, nickels, dimes
for someone else
'cause all I want is a cup of change.
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 10:54 AM UTC
ome orth azarus, come th laz, ome for zus
echo in the winds outside the empty cave;
In the desert an insurrection
to deluge the earth from cauldrons of faith;
Tinderbox by the Dneiper, an interview stolen;
Dance of Ishtar caged, the demiurge call.
Treading on ice, our mortal lives;
Ancient wells wailing with the earth;
A vessel weathering the storm, sinking
now at Galilee.
At Golgotha, by the empty Crucifix;
it all began here in Bethlehem where we wait.
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 3:03 PM UTC
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen:
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed:
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide,
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride:
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!
2.4k
Oh, crees tu?
Te consagrare
Estoy sangrando para ti
Oh, eres mio
Estoy muriendome para ti
As Peter stands alone in the battlefield
He prays to God, his only shield
But the shield
Was not blessed
Who will walk by his side
When he marches into the crusade
A King not fit to wear his crown
Who rested on the Judgment Day?
Recuerdas tu?
Los angeles tuvieron
Ojos negros
Oh eres mio
Yo capturare tu aureola
Y la llevare al infierno
Loneliness, as told by Peter
Is an illuminated script
Just worn through years of long stagnation
And hangs upon a crucifix
How does it feel to feel nothing
To strive, to fear, to achieve something
You know will never reach the end
Just darkness around the ******* bend
Oh, yo no creo nunca mas
Yo no te quiero
No tiene sentido
Oh, yo no te adoro nunca mas
Estoy cansado de perseguirte
Y me duelen los pies
And as I grew, I always knew
That I was disillusioned
For footprints never followed me
To Babylon or Galilee
Oh, I betrayed them all three times, three times, three times, three times
While singing hymns and stupid nursery rhymes, rhymes, rhymes, rhymes
About walking with that boy to battle
I saw his flag in the light
And I regret, not being there
To watch the disciples fight
A smile, a smile, a cross, a cross
Across the hill
Towards Paradise Lost
2-3 part harmony:
Part 1: (No te quiero
No, I don’t want you
No te quiero
No, I don’t love you
No te quiero
I don’t want to fight for you)
Part 2: Paraiso Perdido, Perdido, Perdido
Paraiso Perdido, Perdido….
Part 3: He stands alone in the battlefield…
He stands alone in the battlefield
He stands alone in the battlefield
We all stand alone in the battlefield
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 9:20 PM UTC
I am only an ocean, a great rage and the ever-sinking sea
Lamenting every marred sailor forged in the waters of Galilee
No more shall sailors mourn a forgotten plea:
A ransom for hell, where devils run free
Forgive and forget
But never forget my eyes
The rage you lament
Remains lost to solemn lies
You are only now, only here, and solemnly mine,
For what is brimstone but ash beneath the dying brine?
You are my sword, my heart and my final lament and plea
Forget not my mind lost to hell’s every subtlety
There is only rage that awaits among this sea
Forever pining for a ransomed eternity.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 9:10 PM UTC
You’ve tamed the beasts -
my lovely Lord -
the twisted troll
the chucky doll
the banshee keening on the marsh
You whipped me to the temple
(they say you were too harsh)
these cravings flame insatiable
a harpy gorging fatty flesh
i ****** the thorns into your eyes
and cackled as they bled:
behold God’s raving jest!
then found you loved me best.
like wild waves and wind
You stilled at Galilee
such savage ache and violent lust
You lull with tender potency
once more a child
quiet, wide-eyed
my head rests on
the Master’s knee
Apr 1, 2012
Apr 1, 2012 at 10:21 AM UTC
Peace? and to all the world? sure, One
And He the Prince of Peace, hath none.
He travels to be born, and then
Is born to travel more again.
Poor Galilee! thou canst not be
The place for His nativity.
His restless mother’s called away,
And not delivered till she pay.
A tax? ’tis so still! we can see
The church thrive in her misery;
And like her Head at Bethlem, rise
When she, oppressed with troubles, lies.
Rise? should all fall, we cannot be
In more extremities than He.
Great Type of passions! come what will,
Thy grief exceeds all copies still.
Thou cam’st from heaven to earth, that we
Might go from earth to heaven with Thee.
And though Thou foundest no welcome here,
Thou didst provide us mansions there.
A stable was Thy court, and when
Men turned to beasts, beasts would be men.
They were Thy courtiers, others none;
And their poor manger was Thy throne.
No swaddling silks Thy limbs did fold,
Though Thou couldst turn Thy rays to gold.
No rockers waited on Thy birth,
No cradles stirred, nor songs of mirth;
But her chaste lap and sacred breast
Which lodged Thee first did give Thee rest.
But stay: what light is that doth stream,
And drop here in a gilded beam?
It is Thy star runs page, and brings
Thy tributary Eastern kings.
Lord! grant some light to us, that we
May with them find the way to Thee.
Behold what mists eclipse the day:
How dark it is! shed down one ray
To guide us out of this sad night,
And say once more, “Let there be light.”
2.2k
Have you found a Saviour;
One to emulate,
Then denegrate,
Whip and crown and tree?
Then turn, and say,
It wasn't me.
Would I have seen the god-like qualities,
Listen to the sermons,
Eat the fish and bread,
Drink the watery wine?
Would he raise me from the dead?
Could my feet fit the prints
On the sands of Galilee.
Would he admonish me
For having two coats,
Finishing my smoke
With one straw in my coke?
I have found my Saviour.
His name is Xavier.
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 10:49 AM UTC
*Weathered oak of ancient age
Sandblasted by Sirocco storm
Ribbed and dry and redly sage
Deep corrugated graining, worn.
Grown on hillside far away
Far, in England’s verdant land,
Hewn by artisan of old
Hewn by axe and sinewed hand.
Hauled across a raging sea
By barque of seaman’s sail and hope,
Washed by salted wave and gale
Lashed to deck by weathered rope.
Dragged across hot dunes of sand
To a land called Galilee,
Hauled by He, betrayed by man,
Upon the hill of Calvary.
Hoisted high by Roman hand
Stark against a leaden sky,
Red blood stains on oaken cross
On which His Crown of Thorns shall cry.*
M.
Easter Sunday 2014
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 7:32 PM UTC
oh starry night
where
coral red starfish
flap
their wings
for flight
migrate
across
the
Sea of Galilee
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 3:55 PM UTC
Come down, O Christ, and help me! reach Thy hand,
For I am drowning in a stormier sea
Than Simon on Thy lake of Galilee:
The wine of life is spilt upon the sand,
My heart is as some famine-murdered land
Whence all good things have perished utterly,
And well I know my soul in Hell must lie
If I this night before God’s throne should stand.
‘He sleeps perchance, or rideth to the chase,
Like Baal, when his prophets howled that name
From morn to noon on Carmel’s smitten height.’
Nay, peace, I shall behold, before the night,
The feet of brass, the robe more white than flame,
The wounded hands, the weary human face.
2k
upon
the
holy waters of Galilee
where
faith
painted
her
portrait there
and
i
feel her gentle breeze
Oct 24, 2018
Oct 24, 2018 at 10:29 PM UTC
Blackened bird upon my brow;
Corvus Christi on my crown:
Could there be, oh could there be
Balm, sweet Balm in Galilee
Wild Roses grown in Gilead
White Daffodils on Sharon's sea . . .
The shores, the shores of Sharon's sea:
wingtips lapping cedar beams
leave no trail of murrey'd deeds;
tapping shoulders with your blades
rustling in the hollow reeds,
among the Seals of Solomon
Two Lovers, lost in Lebanon,
rose, to where the Stars of David bloom --
She in gules and He in vert . . .
Sable Bird upon our brows;
Corvus Christi on our crowns.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 1:47 AM UTC
There in that crevice, in that corner
buried in horror and humiliation:
a broken resolve, a frozen dream;
waiting in resurrection, guiding
us on, that still small voice
in the wilderness of the heart
that just never gets smothered.
There is a risen Lord in all of us, waiting
waiting to tide over, waiting to cross over;
Yes He finds us, when unsteady
faith is rocking in a hundred storms,
walking on the waters. Yes
the sea of Galilee is indeed here;
When in awe we sit by the doors
of that right reverend,
or that elevated achiever,
He allows our tears to wash his feet,
our hair to dry them up
and pours His simple love out;
He revives the dead in us; Yes,
He is death revived,
the resurrected Truth in us, the
eternal Hope of an unfamished fragrance.
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 12:08 PM UTC
Here in receding darkness, the sky meets the earth;
In waning hours, here the music of the waves
consoles the mourning sands; here I go pursuing
the citadel of mists, rising lotus-like from clouds
hanging on rugged mountains in the distance.
Maelstroms in the desert carry vortices of sand
and moist fragments of mirages of oases;
The fury of the sea brooks no contenders:
***** make home the sands levelled flat of my
feats; Again the uproar of mist-filled thirst.
Invisible companion, tonight, in moonlit silence,
will you come walking waters, like those ages
many, of Galilee ago? A storm is brewing.
A labyrinth of seasons in the Catherine-wheel
of life, growing and swirling out of the haze;
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 7:50 PM UTC
GOD grant a blessing on this tower and cottage
And on my heirs, if all remain unspoiled,
No table or chair or stool not simple enough
For shepherd lads in Galilee; and grant
That I myself for portions of the year
May handle nothing and set eyes on nothing
But what the great and passionate have used
Throughout so many varying centuries
We take it for the norm; yet should I dream
Sinbad the sailor's brought a painted chest,
Or image, from beyond the Loadstone Mountain,
That dream is a norm; and should some limb of the Devil
Destroy the view by cutting down an ash
That shades the road, or setting up a cottage
Planned in a government office, shorten his life,
Manacle his soul upon the Red Sea bottom.
1.4k
Sometimes, before bed,
I try on the outfit
I have laid out
for the next day
in front of the mirror.
It’s like
peeking through the
wrapping paper
before Christmas Day.
Sometimes
that outfit neatly tucked
in the corner of my room
by the closet
is the only thing
that will get me out of bed.
After already hitting snooze
for three hours,
first class skipped,
lunch date cancelled,
self-loathing amassing
at an alarming rate—
those neatly folded clothes
look like a savior atop a
carpeted Sea of Galilee.
To mistake it for vanity
is to be the one who
has never feared
once their feet left the bed
they would drown.
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 8:52 PM UTC