"intelligibly" poems
On this anopisthographic format,
Seems contradistinguishable
To my previous puerile verses,
Disharmonising against contrivances
To be intelligibly indicated,
Through dimunitive confabulations,
As habitually optated by
My personal preferations.
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 11:57 AM UTC
Their humble characteristics are recognizable,
with a lifestyle lacking excess and opulence;
familiar with the idea of “sowing and reaping”,
they know their actions always have consequence.
Apostles of Christ examine ways of Kingdom building,
and are not tied to one specific church location,
for their daily needs are not hierarchically-based.
They avoid wants of gratuitous, personal recognition.
Operating with a pure heart, free of lust for things,
they live a simple life, without concealed agendas;
speaking The Word intelligibly, over all situations,
they promote the Kingdom without unholy propaganda.
They understand the functionality of wealth and money,
but are not motivated by King Midas’ golden greed.
Instead they lay down their lives for the Gospel,
with a servant’s heart, that’s reflective of His seed
which was been planted deep within their inner soul.
Not concerned with their reputations, they serve those
wanting to mature and grow into their identity in Christ,
while overcoming the ongoing pangs of spiritual throes.
The Apostles of Christ demonstrate a divine influence,
pushing the members of The Body in finding real purpose.
They also teach others how to develop an intimate walk
with God, in a relationship that goes beyond the surface.
Since their spiritual and psychological needs are met,
Apostles of Christ can endure periods of great hardship.
Their souls remain satisfied with God’s holy Presence
and they joyfully train The Body in areas of discipleship.
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.
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Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
2 Cor 2:17, 10:10-14, 11:17-12:8; 1 Pet 5:2; 1 Tim 5:17;
1 Cor 4:9, 9:14; Mark 10:42-45; John 10; Rom 15:20;
Rev 12:11; Acts 9, 20:24; Gal 2:19-20; Phil 3:8-14
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 4:10 PM UTC
*I contend that it is not my place to give testimony or
To tell what love is but that I must include love
Here now so that I can get on with my story
Intelligibly with the help of the word itself
Without any other ideas or explanation for it.
Dr. David Dosa, speaking on behalf of Oscar the cat,
Stated that Oscar was never wrong and that Oscar
Seemed to have some innate ability to know when a
Patient at the Steere House Nursing Home was going
To pass - going all the way back to when the cat was a kitten.
Dr. Dosa went on to say that the pernicious, anti-social cat
At the Rhode Island center would only cuddle up to those
Patients who were in their last 2 to 4 hours of life.
The talented Oscar has proven the medical staff wrong on
Several occasions when patients were close to death.
Dr. Rosa – when asked about Oscar’s accuracy stated
That Oscar was right 100% of the time and that to his
Knowledge or to his staff’s knowledge that Oscar had
Never gone in and cuddled up to any person who was
Not near death, something that he had to accept - that
The cat had better instincts than he – a doctor – possessed.
At present, I hope that I have sufficiently captured
The reader’s understanding that there are yet many
Things out there in the real physical world that neither
Science nor religion can understand but I know what
Oscar knows – what he knows is this thing called love.
Now that phrase is not at all to my liking.
For to say a man is fallen in love, -
Or that he is deeply in love, -
Or up to the ears in love and sometimes
Even head over heels in love carries
With it an idiomatic implication that love is
Somehow beneath the man (fallen) – something
Regurgitated in Plato’s opinion which with all his
Divinity ship – I for one hold that the thought of Love
Being beneath a man be damnable and heretical.
While Oscar the cat simply says – let love be what it will.
And possibly, just possibly - gentle reader -
Without any further current explanation, so do I now
Join ranks with Oscar as I write of a love that is
Alive and well – and if I do not come and cuddle
With you it is not because I do not love you.
Tis but my task to find those in greater need and
When I find them near death, afraid or lost
I, like Oscar, I know of their fear and of their
Desperation so with pen in hand
I purr next to them cajoling
Them onto their next great experience.*
Jun 1, 2017
Jun 1, 2017 at 10:14 PM UTC
We are on a journey to a known destination
But we've not found the way.
Drought, famine and violent breeze_
The season is still harmattan;
Dew and mist_ despite the passage of several days,
Months and years, we are still in the morning.
The unpleasant interlude_ his own time bought with brute_
The previous night was spent chasing away
Our exploiting messiah; but showed us not the way
Who only pointed to the promise land;
And mocks us now with hypocrisies.
Wet by the morning dew,
Chilled to the bone by the violent breeze of this season
And blinded by the mist patches;
The bodies are not able and the eyes can barely see.
Weve still not found the way,
How shallow and unbecoming, but we keep going!
Africa, in this jungle,
Must we employ the robber who destroyed our door to help repair it?
Why do we run around begging for sycophantic helps?
Why do we not pause and reflect:
Find means of getting some warmth and weathering these patches of fog?
Why dont we act wisely and intelligibly?
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 2:55 AM UTC
If only we could have seen
the way we would become
years after that first
night
when we only saw each other.
Making love
Silently
Innocent souls
intelligibly linked
Speaking without words
A look, sweet caress,
Warm touch
An abyss of unity;
Bliss.
Shh! Don’t speak.
How inconspicuous and slow
the descent into
Vice.
Mutual passion silently transformed into
sly betrayal
Envy, Jealously, Greed
My weapons distilling your desire.
Surrender to my body.
Don’t speak.
Falling, falling,
Two souls grazing the inferno
Damaged now
but we can’t go back
Too late to talk.
Silence is King.
Imagine
Our deepest selves metamorphosized
into words!
Thought exposed
Can you imagine?
No, no I cannot
Sacrifice the last part of myself
you didn’t take.
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 11:21 PM UTC
The day of Pentecost had fully come, as they met in one accord
A sudden sound, a mighty wind, a token of the Lord
Cloven flames, tongues of fire, as thy sprit thus descent
Prepareth the soul for gentle gales, yet convicted to repent
A miracle yet of the mind, upon prophets of old
To preach to nations intelligibly, effects to thus unfold
Perplexed and thus bewildered, as languages be spake
Other tongues of utterance, the faith of Christ awake
A solemn feast brought to a halt, a mighty great concourse
To hear the good news of the Lord, observed with some remorse
To meaneth truth and yet be mocked, to claim they’re full of wine
God chose the weak to confound the wise, as branches of the vine
The day hereby thus prophesied, by Joel of centuries past
The miracles, signs and wonders, fulfillment brought to last
Peter’s message communicated restoreth divine favour
The fruit of Christ resurrection, he ascended our great saviour
Fully clothed with power, his rising yet not disproved
The supernatural phenomena, his word shall not be moved
The same Jesus who was crucified is both our Christ and Lord
As still proclaimed amongst the earth, which we could not afford
Allegiance owed to he who reigns, who sat on David’s throne
The highest honour in heaven, our hope in Christ alone
A sense of awe, an awesome joy, others joined to listen
As the multitudes were saved and to see the Lord’s love glisten
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 1:53 AM UTC