"lema" poems
Meal is still lame like an injured camel. For lame are the camels name Amel and Elma and Emal and Lema.
For all these are blind to their danger, their gamble
But truly I tell but one camel is lame
Now I beg ye fair maiden please tell me it's name?
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 1:48 AM UTC
Jesus, Son of The Father
Hanging on a Roman Cross
Pierced for the iniquity of men
Killed for the love of His bride
With nails in His hands
Swords in His sides
Thorns on His head
His body slain
The body to feed His bride
His blood poured
The blood to quench the Church
"This is my body"
To eat of it
To feed the bride.
The Body of Christ,
The Bread of Heaven
To delight in the Holy Eucharist,
The spiritual feast, in Communion with God
To worship the Holy Name of the Savior
"This is my blood"
To drink of it
To quench the bride.
The Blood of Christ,
The Cup of Salvation
To delight in the Holy Eucharist
The spiritual feast, in Communion with God
To worship the Holy Name of the Savior
Hanging on the Roman Cross
God, The Son Himself crying to the Father
"Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachtani?"
"My God, My God, why have You forsaken me?"
Plagued by the false view of the Father
The pagan god in the hearts of men
Inherited with the humanity of The Son
While the sin of man
Hangs with the Son of Man
The earth shaking
And hearts breaking
With eyes crying
And law tearing
With the world changing
And The Son dying
The trueness,
The oneness
Of the Father
United with The Son and Spirit
In communion with The Spirit and Son
The Gifts of God
For the People of God
To partake in whenever together
In Remembrance of the savior
Christ died for us
Feed on Him with our hearts
And remember our union in Him
With Faith and Thanksgiving
We are saved by the triune God of grace
By the Love of the triune God of love
By the Blessing of God Almighty
The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit
Be upon us and remain forever
Let us keep the feast!
Allelujah!
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 9:30 PM UTC
Bleak the rays shattered through broken panes
life, dust, dust, future and smoke
automobiles and gunshots solitary this hour
when screams rend the air, not my turn today -
no, not as yet. Mother, I want to rest my head
in your lap. Can I weep?
*Cactus in my soul, I ask, Can I, all that I am?
Lust is the death of man. Gouge your eye that lusts.
Broken void of my afterdays, that mourn
like the wind on the dunes*
Mother, I am well. There is love, there is hope, light
hidden like nuggets in piles of the dark.
Mother, I must be well.
It was the other night. Nightmare in loop.
Shamed, stripped beaten violated.
I am in a well, deep pit, drained
of all the essence of light
I can hear your voice echoing with the ray
shattered tumbling down the walls
*free, free I am the wind mourning in the dunes
can you tame the wind?*
In the depths, and in the deaths islanding life
mirage of oases, Mother, I have found him,
my Senor, to whom I give my ring
Violate me, visage of the abyss,
burn me, but can you find me?
beat me, chain me, but can you enslave me?
I am not here in these nerves and veins.
I am all of Augusta, America,
I fly in the Masts above the skies
*Sweet Lord, I see you have deemed heaven
for me, no purgatory but here.
I accept, I surrender, I submit. To thy will.*
Mother, do not negotiate. I am strong.
Where in my naked body have you found me?
here, in these bruises, have your embers soothed?
I am the Lamb that does not cower.
I haunt your soul as guilt.
In what little's left of it.
*He finds you in the catacombs where
I haunt the crypts that no vicar penetrates.
When all is lost, when death is certain at the sea,
there opens a way and I will walk out*
Mother, I am coming. Have faith, for faith maketh.
I hold you here in my ***** smouldering pain,
that gets me to wake every haunting day.
Every day that brings the sound of darkness home.
*I fly in the Masts above the skies.
Tame me, I am the wind breaking the dunes.
Ilohi, lema sebachtani sebachtani*
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 12:36 PM UTC
Ali Ali, Sunday go with Me.
Don't stay in heaven, it's too quiet up there.
Bring cookies. Bring juice.
And Maybe... don't leave halfway again.
I called You.
You said "lema' sabachi'th''ani."
I heard: "Let's go Sunday, tiny bunny."
Sep 9, 2025
Sep 9, 2025 at 9:50 PM UTC
It happened on a Friday
Round about nine,
When He who was Divine
Bore sin-yours and mine-
And was hung upon a wooden cross
His hands and feet nailed tight
Yet none who knew His silent plight.
That within all His power and His might
Was cruxified -to bring the light-
Unjustly hung He out in sight
The one known as the King of the Jews
From the time of noon
Up until three
DarkneSs covered the sky entirely,
And with the outcry of these words:
"Eli Eli Lema sabagtani"
My God,why have Thoust forsaken me
He drew His last breath
And died-for all to See
The one known as the King of the Jews
The Temple curtain spliT in two
As He the King of the Jews died
so that We could enter
In Gods sight.
Forever after He paid the price
For me and you:
The one known as the King of the Jews
And after He had left this mortal plane
They broke not His bones
Left Him just the same,
And they laid Him to rest
In a TomB -in a cave
His life been given
His DesTiny remained-
As the Saviour to all mankind
The dead and the brave.
He had come to earth
Not to condemN-but to save:
The one known as the King -became the
Slave.
He who bore no Sin-carried ours
Just so that we could be saved
From the wrath of the Almighty
He showed us the light,
Yet died unjustly
To AnSwer our plighT
The one known as Jesus the Christ
But on the Sunday morning
He had risen triumphantly,
Over Death He had won
Yes GodS only Son-
Who one day will return
To rule up Highly
On the right hand side
Of God-Lord Almighty
Thus remember the FridAy
Through till the Sunday,
Never again will Life stay the same
For He called us each upon the name,
To teach and obey His words left behind
And to love all of all mankind.
For He died once ago a very long time
So that tHose who believe in Him
Find redemption ,salvation
From judgement and condEmnation.
He will come back someday
This much is true:
The one known as
Jesus-the King of the Jews!
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 1:22 PM UTC
• Vivendo, descobrindo e agradecendo.
Parece que se nasce todos os dias, que Deus nos manifesta o seu amor através da beleza infindável que se descobre todos os dias no sol, na chuva, no vento, no mar, no ribeiro...
Por o universo ser preciso, maravilhoso, e sempre constante nos seus ciclos criadores de vida. Temos de fazer alguma coisa por todos o que nascem desprovidos de amor, de sentimentos, de vontade de ser recordados neste mundo. Para sempre ficarem na memória dos outros seres humanos que parecendo insignificantes tem sempre presente quem tem coração. Respeitar uma sociedade que parece estar ali para acolher pobres, resolver os problemas dos mais desprovidos. O que faríamos nos em condições de pobreza, miséria, fome, guerra? O que faríamos nos se todos acreditassem na vida, na morte e numa ressurreição que Deus através dele seu Filho provou? O que faríamos nos se a natureza não fosse gratuita e uma fonte inesgotável de recursos? O que faríamos nos sem memória, pensamento, razão? Por sermos felizes agradecemos a beleza das estrelas do orvalho, da noite, do dia...Temos todos de viver com a esperança, com o trabalho, com as pessoas, com o amor! Se nosso lema fosse: viver, descobrir, agradecer tudo seria mais fácil para nos alegrar e dar a nossa vida um sentido mais puro e sereno. Viver de uma forma positiva e apaixonada ajuda nos a descobrir nossas potencialidades escondidas, adormecidas.
Vivendo, descobrindo, agradecendo
Nas vivências e descobertas todos os seres humanos conseguem perceber melhor a sua genialidade e existência. Quando penso em Deus, vivo mais... A nossa terra onde Nascemos nunca deixa de ser nossa e sempre bela aos olhos de quem nela nasce, vive e por vezes morre... Não existe quem não esteja grato a ela, seus antepassados, seus lugares preferidos que perduram nas noites, nos dias... A grandeza de ser grato ajuda a viver, impulsiona a descobrir caminhos inimagináveis e impossíveis de ser recordados. Quando se agradece: o cheiro de uma rosa branca, o canto da cigarra, o uivar do lobo, o chilrear dos Passarinhos, a luminosidade da lua cheia. Fico perplexo, emocionado, sentido por saber que vivendo e sempre agradecendo o meu ser.
Victor Marques
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 4:22 AM UTC
Al pedir el boleto hay que impostar la voz.
¡ISOLA BELLA! ¡ISOLA BELLA!
Isola Bella, tiene justo el grandor que queda bien, en la tela que pintan las inglesas.
Isola Bella, con su palacio y hasta con el lema del escudo de sus puertas de pórfido:
HUMILITAS
¡Salones! Salones de artesonados tormentosos donde cuatrocientas cariátides se hacen cortes de manga entre una bandada de angelitos.
HUMILITAS
Alcobas con lechos de topacio que exigen que quien se acueste en ellos se ponga por lo menos una aigrette de ave de paraíso en el trasero.
HUMILITAS
Jardines que se derraman en el lago en una cascada de terrazas, y donde los pavos reales abren sus blancas sombrillas de encaje, para taparse el sol o barren, con sus escobas incrustadas de zafiros y de rubíes, los caminos ensangrentados de amapolas.
HUMILITAS
Jardines donde los guardianes lustran las hojas de los árboles para que al pasar, nos arreglemos la corbata, y que ante la desnudez de las Venus que pueblan los boscajes nos brindan una rama de alcanfor...
¡ISOLA BELLA!...
Isola Bella, sin duda, es el paisaje que queda bien, en la tela que pintan las inglesas.
Isola Bella, con su palacio y hasta con el lema del escudo de sus puertas de pórfido:
HUMILITAS
1.2k
Broken,
Cracked open,
Unveiled to me my loneliness
And that I am the cause.
Dropped off a building into flight:
Number CX884.
I am human,
Waking up my tear ducts
I am not 'just fine,'
And my day was not 'okay' or even 'great'
But then there is grace.
Opening my arms to receive a hug
And relaxing them.
A circle
Surrounded by the Alpha and Omega,
Spun around and around
Looking into the eyes of the Outsider,
The one without a home,
The one who points my eyes to my only home.
The one who was not okay;
Eli Eli lema sabbachthani
But infinitely more than okay
Infinitely infinite.
I am surrounded.
Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 4:11 AM UTC
Elohim!
(I)
trusted friend… betrays
healing hands… pierced
holy teacher… silenced
and nailed to a cross
“Jesus of Nazareth
King of the Jews”
***
my son
died today
Elohim!
(II)
Heed my voice crying in the wilderness!
Do not abandon me in my anguish
But attend, and weep with me now!
*for blood rage would not be subdued!
“His blood be on us!” they cried”
“And on our children!” they shouted*
Shine your light of mercy on my soul!
I stumble through the bleak wasteland of grief,
blinded by infinite darkness!
*for blood rage would not be subdued!
“His blood be on us!” they cried”
“And on our children!” they shouted*
The righteous cry but does the Lord hear?
I call unto you as my son did cry
“Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?”
*for blood rage would not be subdued!
“His blood be on us!” they cried”
“And on our children!” they shouted*
Elohim!
(III)
Silently
He watches the sleeping woman,
in the unquiet repose known only to a grieving mother
she moans, *“blood rage…powerless.. my son”
“Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani!”*
Tears well in his eyes
As his heart is once again pierced
Gently
his hand brushes her forehead
the touch causing her to stir slightly
and cast it away as though a fleck of dust
dare intrude on her personal nightmare.
Kissing her cheeks, her eyes,
He whispers “Mother!”
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 9:14 PM UTC
The periapt otiose stone helotage that the tactiturn builders
Rejected at Golgotha, bode the heart of Heaven has now
Become the corner-stone henting the regal worm of worms
With temerity of the spire of spires; And they look ignominious
Upon the necromancer that they pierced testifying a vision of
Living beings, a saviour, an insuperable scorned man,
The maxim of kings, the miracle man of blood and water
Invidiously feeling despised crying out loud;
''Eloi, Eloi, Lema Sabachthani'',
Whom the ill-starred crucified and divided purloin his robes
At the rolling of dice. Yet still God raised from death much alike
The Nazarene himself had disintered Lazarus, resurrecting after
Four days his friend buried at Bethany; alike too Tabitha
Which (Simon), Peter, presented before the widows and believers
commanding alive in the name of the Almighty Holy Lord
From the clutches of the darkened Sun, clinging to the
Dark side of the moon within a star-less sky
Annointed the way to the Father.
ELEETE J MUIR
Jan 28, 2018
Jan 28, 2018 at 9:35 PM UTC
Él no me gusta,……. él me encanta.
Amarlo se ha convertido el motor que impulsa mis ganas.
Si, besarlo, sea en la mejilla, en la frente o en esos labios sabor a devoción, es el lema de mi alma.
No, él no me gusta...él me encanta.
Me encanta cuando el brillo de sus ojos a los míos acicalan.
Los visten de las ilusiones más pueriles,
humanizando mis esperanzas,
manifestándose en la fe en el ser humano.
Él no me gusta...él me encanta.
Cuando mis oídos escuchan su voz,
los cosmos se alinean y guiñan sus ojos,
bendiciendo una unión que pudo ser completamente frívola,
más se transformo en los incandescentes matices que viste el amor.
Nunca he amado tantos mis olfatos como ahora que él está en mi vida.
El poder oler la magia de su dignidad,
saborear los añejos sabores en cada línea de su boca tibia, tierna, y seductiva,
mirarlo con dulce encanto, y si, hasta con suspicacia por sentir el milagro de haberlo encontrado,
escuchar esa voz que inunda mis adentros de emociones inefables,
tocarlo es como cuando la tarde se besa con la madrugada,
si, ahora por fin entiendo el diseño maestro de estos olfatos,
y con él, cada uno de esos sentidos se encuentra en casa.
Si, él me gusta como para inventar nuevas maneras de saborear el café de la vida.
Pero me encanta más,
como para por siempre enlazar mi alma y mi piel a su vida.
Él no me gusta....
¡Él me encanta para redefinir la palabra…estoy completamente feliz, día tras día!!
LeydisProse
9/11/2017
https://www.facebook.com/LeydisProse/
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Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 11:06 AM UTC