"manger" poems
Enchanted by spring’s
rustling whispers
... whistles swirl
in the pungent springtime breeze;
steeped with a bedazzling
cadence
heart dancing
to a hummingbird’s
whirs
waves of breath,
of little wings waft,
whooshing throughout
twining honeysuckle lattice
a
tiny manger
beset of hidden gold
precious speckled eggs,
silver lining of smallest hopes
fruits of fruition
continuum beheld prize,
concealed in interwoven rootlets;
potently perfumed flowers
while away
the waning dark hours;
swollen full flower moon
waxing yellow,..
heavenly fragrance
sweetly-scented suckled nectar
the one with eyes of a child,
wonder ― hidden inside,
marvel in the light of grateful eyes
imbibing an unholdable moment's
spellbinding elixir
... poetry alive
air so poignantly perfumed
with blossom
moonstruck
by spring’s frolicking cadency
a reverent moment's
edifying intoxication
a sobering beauty that just is...
someone ... May 2017
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 12:19 PM UTC
Christmas can be a time
when families get together:
Young children scream, wine glasses gleam,
both ready for M&S dinner.
TV's in the corner
rerunning Home Alone,
Heart radio's in the kitchen,
Chris Rea's driving home,
again.
Toddlers find the wrapping
more engaging than the Duplo
Teen couples find the company
less of interest than their own.
The dog's confused and excited
with so many different sources
of scratches and pats, he can't relax,
his whining is remorseless.
Christmas can be a time
when families are missed,
the parcel made last post
winging off to little sis.
Zoom will come in handy
to laugh across the miles,
the screen will mask the tears
and focus on the smiles.
Gran will talk of Christmas past
when everyone was home
'Cept in Gulf War 1 when Uncle John
went away, ....
Christmas can be a time
when budgets get stretched tight,
cash pressures get to breaking point
and prompt senseless fights.
Some focus on opportunity
to spend some gilt-free money,
the only prayers are for extra hours
and a faster tesco trolley.
For others it's simply ' Yuletide'
an excessive celebration,
a winter feast, all you can eat,
give in to all temptation.
Most focus on the family,
even more on the gifts;
there's little time for Jesus
assigned amongst the myths.
Some do remember Jesus
from half forgotten carols,
they know there's something more
than donkeys and angel heralds.
For there He is in the middle,
noticed once in a while;
it's His birthday, but all He's getting
is a half-hearted song and a smile.
He's no longer a babe in a manger,
He's now a resurrected King,
waiting for those who would worship
to stand and welcome Him in.
Whatever your experience of Christmas
you can come just as you are,
His love is unconditional
He'll accept you warts and all.
So come on!
It’s a season to celebrate!
To dance, to sing and to shout!
Your Saviour invites you to join Him,
so when you sing this Christmas, make it count.
Nov 27, 2016
Nov 27, 2016 at 5:43 PM UTC
twice by god's accidental interference,
our crash vehicles, super sized shopping carts,
connect, we are manger-penalized for unnecessary roughness
and disturbing the supermarkets peace
what better way to judge character than to examine
a single persons shopping cart contents?
hers,
all organic, milk, heirloom tomatoes, even the Chardonnay,
grown upon the farms of the island and vineyards on
the forks that shelter the isle from the ravages of the Atlantic
mine,
Hebrew National franks, yellow mustard,
very classy brioche buns, a six pack of Corona Light,
and funny colored, funny looking, rusted russet potato chips
with a tremulous smile, and an overly loud, derisive sniff,
pronounces me dead man walking sooner than later,
to which, I respond,
then, teach me, where shall we dine tonight?
later that night,
after a thousand kisses of her fluttering eyelashes,
she props herself upon an elbow and
in a tone sincere and caring,
extracts from the poet promises of
natural exclusivity
from now on, healthy, natural only, organic and pure,
from the soul soil of our shared habitat
her suntan skin, garden-digging hand, I clasp,
softly climbing on top of her,
announce with total genuine sincerity and solemnity;
I swear it, from now on, all my loving will be sourced locally
rewarded with a laugh and a gentle but hard enough,
garden to table (with her free hand), head smacking,
I noting nod, good naturedly
that both the laugh and smack,
as well,
*sourced locally,
sourced lovingly,*
which then seeded
this new only love jointly authored poem,
planted in our mingling blossoming crashing
bodies
5/29/17 i
12:43pm
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC
(o, holy night)
sweet carols ring throughout the dark
echoing joyously — warm words
wrap their arms around us
with our hearts aglow
we know that we sing
of mercy and goodness
and fulfilled promises
(the stars are brightly shining)
we dance in peppermint winds
against skies ablaze with colored lights
spinning on the water’s surface
but none shine more brightly
than this dawn breaking in me
for come has the One for whom
this weary world’s been waiting
(it is the night)
the air is thick with symphonies of spices
cars glide past us, eager to make it home
children laugh, there are strangers no more
baby born, God of angels and galaxies
distant no more
(of our dear Savior’s birth)
how beautiful this truth -- that
thrill of hope became tangible in a manger
love itself swaddled in cloth
the cry of this child
broke centuries of silence
His eyes bright with a promise
of all things new and glorious
o, how divine
how divine is this night
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 11:17 AM UTC
The bright sun’s rays
Are dappled as they strike
The manicured greensward.
He, tall, lithe, teeth all aglow
In cream slacks and pastel blouson,
She, fair and fairylike in acres of shimmering gauze,
Alight from the auto
At the site of their ‘manger al fresco’
Let us call them Justin and Jocelyn.
The basket is heavy
No matter.
He lifts it clear to carry
She gasps, he grins.
In minutes the scene is set
The rug, the plates, the glasses
The pate, the cold chicken,
The fruit….the wine.
He deflowers a bottle of Moselle,
Wishing it were her.
Guessing as much she blushes.
Ants retreat to nests
Wasps attack alternate targets
Flies zoom elsewhere to feed.
And all the while the sun
The golden sun continues to dapple.
The rain is not quite horizontal
As Joe and Judy
Run from the bus stop
To the stony beach.
Not quite horizontal
But driven off the sea it tastes salty.
He, ordinary, average, in a dampening grey mackintosh.
She, hair bleached in a sister’s frock and jacket
Holding hands,
And hold each a sandwich
Cellophane wrapped.
Squatting against the seawall
They eat.
Wet eyes flash bright signals.
Joe has a small thermos
Its vegetable soup,
And somehow a hardboiled egg appears,
To share.
The rain continues its attack.
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
( )
( )
< < ( ) > >
< >
< >
< >
/-------\
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
( oh god ! It's almost time to start the poem ! --- I'm getting nervous )
,~,~,~,~,~,~,~,~,~,~,
when I was a kid I got lost and I totally freaked out
when I was finally calmed down by a neighbor
I realized I was never more than 3 or 4 houses from my house
I had been there many many times
It just looked different on a real sunny day
••
They all called me LITTLE JEFFY
///
God was I a cute kid !
//
And smart !
•
Jesus was I a smart kid !
/////
//// ////
In those days there was no television
So we all knew each other
And did this thing called
Playing with each other
••
How things have changed
Now kids play video games or have *** with themselves
While pretending to have *** with another !
What weird kids !
••
•• ••
=0=
( see ! I'm zipping right along with poem now !
Wow !
Look at me go ! )
••
The trouble with Americans is that they are all ********
But god loves them anyway some say but I don't really think so cause why should he bother loving an ******* ?
///
we are the dreams that stuff gets made from
• •
Lying in the manger with you for awhile
// //
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 5:13 AM UTC
Imagine if the nativity
Took place now instead of then
With technological advancement
It'd be on the news at ten
In fact it would make youtube
A film clip at the stable
Taken by a shepherd boy
Underneath a table
The three wisemen would go on Skype
The gifts would be en route
No need to travel all the way
With the traffic in Beirut
Phone banks would be all set up
To raise funds for the birth
The internet would be a buzz
With the greatest news on earth
No camels, inns or drummer boys
There'd be no one there at all
The Angel of The Lord would be
Black Friday shopping at the mall
In fact I do not think that it
Would be a deal that we would follow
Social media and the press
Would make it all seem hollow
I'm glad it happened when it did
As time has come to pass
With Jesus in a manger
And wisemen there en masse
I don't think it'd be Christmas
If Christ was born today
Without a cd or a movie deal
Or a sport that he would play
Christmas is...and always will
Be the story we were told
I'm glad it didn't happen now
If I may be quite so bold
Unto man a child was born
And he, the son of God....
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
Yule envelope your being
With imperfect generosity
Yule be swept by the tide
Of beloved ambiguity
Yule christen the emerald
And new ruby revelation
To unviel the contingency
of a jubilant nation
Yule welcome the lesson
In manger and hay
And You will show love
For the rest of your days
Dec 25, 2010
Dec 25, 2010 at 2:22 PM UTC
Mon papa, c'est le plus fort des papas.
Mon papa, c'est le plus beau des papas.
Mon papa, même quand il est fatigué, on dirait Richard Gere.
Mon papa, même si il est carnivore, moi, je l'aime quand même.
Mon papa, quand il mange, on dirait qu'il a 5 ans, mais moi, je l'aime quand même.
Mon papa, il a des voitures super cool qui font vroom.
Mon papa, quand il conduit, on dirait Michel Vaillant, même pas peur.
Mon papa, quand il me dit bonne nuit, j'ai même plus peur.
Les monstres sous mon lit, eux, ils se désintègrent avec la force des bisous de mon papa.
Mon papa, parfois, il ronfle et je l'aime quand même.
Mon papa, quand on est dans la piscine, il joue au crocrodile avec nous.
Mon papa, quand il porte des choses, les manches de sa chemise se déchire sous les muscles.
Mon papa, avec une barbe, on dirait un homme des caverne, c'est trop cool.
Mon papa, quand il fait des câlins, on disparait sous ses couches d'amour.
Mon papa, quand il nous emmène faire du shopping, il supporte des heures et il sourit.
Mon papa, il nous laisse faire des trucs qui lui font peur, mais il veut nous faire plaisir, alors il dit oui.
Mon papa, il m'a laissé faire du saut en parachute, et je suis même pas morte.
Mon papa, il râle parfois mais on sait qu'en fait, c'est parce qu'il nous aime.
Mon papa, même quand il voyage, il pense à nous.
Mon papa, il nous emmène en voyage avec des photos tout le temps quand il travail.
Mon papa, il nous emmène en voyage tout le temps quand il est en vacances.
Mon papa, il fait des trucs de papa trop génial.
Par exemple, il connait nos restaurants préférés, et il sait ce qui nous fait plaisir.
Alors il nous y emmène.
Mon papa, même quand il est en colère, il est beau.
Mon papa, quand il sourit il est comme Thor, le dieu du tonnerre, il est puissant.
Du coup, parfois, ma maman elle fait un nervous break down.
Parce que mon papa il est trop beau c'est même pas normal.
Mon papa, il a un double menton pour que si un jour Game Of Thrones arrive dans la vraie vie, on pourra pas lui trancher la gorge.
Mon papa, il fait du vélo plus vite que le Tour de France. La preuve, ca fait des années qu'ils sont en France, mon papa, lui, il est déjà à Dubai.
Mon papa, parfois il oublie notre anniversaire quand on lui demande au pif, mais il oublie jamais de le souhaiter, donc on lui pardonne.
Mon papa, il voyage en first class.
Mon papa, il connait les aéroports mieux que James Bond.
Mon papa, il regarde des series TV de jeunes.
Mon papa, il porte des costards.
Mon papa, il nous emmène manger des dans endroits incroyables.
Mon papa, il nous emmène dans des hôtels de luxe.
Mon papa, il devrait être président du monde.
Mon papa, il est mieux que les autres papa parce que c'est le mien.
Mon papa, il est irremplaçable.
Mon papa, si on m'en donnait un autre, j'en voudrais pas.
Mon papa, je veux que celui la.
Mon papa il est pas toujours là, mais c'est pas grave, parce qu'il est jamais ****
Mon papa, il traverse le monde mais après il nous raconte, alors c'est cool.
Mon papa, il fait une super vinaigrette. Dommage que j'aime pas la vinaigrette.
Mon papa, quand il fait un barbeque, ca fait beaucoup de fumée et pas beaucoup de feu, mais c'est pour mieux nous impressioner quand il fait rôtir la viande.
Mon papa, il parle Anglais.
Mon papa, c'est le meilleur papa du monde.
Mon papa, je l'aime, même si maintenant, il a presque un demi siècle.
Mon papa, c'est comme un druide.
Ca meurt jamais.
C'est trop cool.
Mon papa, c'est comme une mode indémodable, tu veux jamais le remplacer, il est toujours tendance.
Mon papa, on peut pas le comparer a une mode fashion, parce que c'est un humain.
Mon papa, c'est le meilleur humain que je connaisse.
Avec ma maman et ma soeur et mon chat, mais chuuuuut.
C'est un secret.
Mais ce que je préfère à propos de mon papa, c'est que dès que je le vois, je peux lui dire:
"mon papa, je l'aime."
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 12:08 PM UTC
Passover or Easter or Happy Any Ole Thing, Sam I Am
she
asks me good naturedly
which to wish me - a happy this or that
and a poem’s immaculate conception is instant arisen arising
hot ****
rueful smile and unruly reply
a solid out loud Ha!
neither either or he writes and so believes
for I am a god loving man,
whom we’ve -Him/It/Me have agreed
that I may call
Sam I Am
and the answer to your question is
why not
for most quests and questions can be well-answered
why not!
my genes my historical beings my ancestors and my issue
all declaiming that I am a jew who left egypt, no defaming, a slave to no man who cannot love another like his own self
but some in all that I write, this deity boss slips in quietly unseen in one of his jokes-on-us-disguises like singing ave maria
and thus whose to say
his rightful name, is not
Sam I Am
my choice and the big D
(a self-employed informal his choice, nom-de-guerre)
has agreed via his acknowledgement in his normative style of
low volume taciturn tacit acceptance
so wish me a u happy
anything you want-to-call-it-day
don’t matter. but know this u were there
when, all on that happy day where, @ the manger,
when this Sam-Approved-Appeared
poem was born and Sam blessed it with a
hot ****
she laughs, tosses back in my face, some schematic I
prior penned that I can’t recall the when or where or my
nom-de-guerre employed but fits this ex-slave perfectly
“there are no lines or lies in my writings
there are no definitions and
perception is only your truth”
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 12:22 PM UTC
The donkey and the ox
what a racket they must have made!
Munching on the straw
from the crib in the manger.
Such thick headed beasts!
How did our Savior survive
with all of His toes -
His swaddling free of slobber?
Imagine, if you will
their warm grassy breath forming
little clouds that were filled
with His radiance.
And pity poor Joseph
asleep, off to the side, and Mary
completely exhausted.
For, while resting, they missed
what soft brown eyes sensed -
that before shepherd or angel
or wise man arrived, a feast
had been set for the taking.
(For Sherry Smith)
Tom Spencer © 2018
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 8:01 AM UTC
I remember quite distinctly
The night the Angel came
Hovering above my field
And calling me by name
Fred, the Angel yelled to me
Waking all my sheep
I yelled "you stupid ****** twit"
I've just got them to sleep
He said a king was born to man
And I must go to see
I said, "I've got these bleating sheep"
I don't do this for free
The angel said follow the star
All the way to Bethlehem
I told him, you must be ****** daft
My next shift starts at ten
I've been around the world a bit
And I've seen a lot of stunts
But this angel hung right in the air
And his wings did not flap once
He said there is a child
And he will be the King of Kings
I didn't really listen much
I was still watching those **** wings
The sheep were going batty
The field was bight as bright could be
I said, of all the shepherds round here
Why did you come wake me?
He said to travel swiftly
And to follow yonder star
I said, I'm off to bed mate
I'm not going on that far
Then there came a bolt of lightning
He had barbecued a ewe
I thought this bird means business
I mean just what could I do?
I left my flock with Charlie
The shepherd two fields over one
And I said I'll be back soon mate
I'm off to see the holy son
I met up with some others
All of us had the same tale
Of an angel flinging lightning
So we all felt we best bail....
I got there in December
I'd been travelling for months
The only thing I thought of
Those wings...did not move once
There inside a manger
behind an inn...full up each day
Was where I saw a vision
I'll remember to my last day
Three wise men dressed in robements
A little kid, and his tin drum
Some donkeys and a camel
The baby Jesus and his mum
Dad, was in the corner
All alone hanging his head
He said "How could this have happened"
"I never left the bed"
I looked upon the baby
And I looked down upon that face
He looked at me and smiled
You could feel a state of grace
I really didn't know then
What I was here to do
But, now I know my task was
To tell everyone I knew
So, I started out on homeward
To tell old Charlie of the kid
I picked him up a present
Yep..that's exactly what I did
I guess the world must owe me
and this I 'll stand and shout
You could consider my gift to Charlie
Was the first true gift given out
Now, I sit and watch the sheep here
People come up just to see
The shepherd who started gifting
The shepherd...that is me!!!
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
Peace broke out
with a rash of shepherds
Peace broke in
while most were asleep
Peace broke out
with a choir of angels
Peace broke in
with the bleat of sheep
Peace broke out
in a backyard stable
Peace broke in
and beggared belief
Peace broke out
in the stink of a manger
Peace broke in
with a cry of release
Peace broke out
to a child breast feeding
Peace broke in
to a mothers relief
Peace broke out
in the hearts of believers
Peace broke in
to the middle east
Peace breaks out
to those who believe him
Peace breaks in
to the hearts of the meek
Peace breaks out
here in Ealing
Jesus breaks in
as the Prince of true Peace
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 3:26 AM UTC
You push me under
the river water,
the rumble strip,
the war-torn manger.
Appear on the small screen,
you slow me down
in this inch-drawn recovery.
We are still human.
Still human.
You pin me down
to distant dreams,
to the patient quick,
the train-stop silence.
Appear in the doorway,
the hangman's wedding;
homeless ribbons and bows
for the missing persons of the world.
You gave us our depression.
We wore it as a badge of honour.
You keep me far
to relinquish confusion,
a hall of mirrors-
empty basket in the bulrushes.
Appear as a melody
spinning loops through my wrists,
a one-way confession-
loose confetti, falling ash;
ash after ember,
warmth after rain.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 11:45 AM UTC
So stick up ivy and the bays,
And then restore the heathen ways.
Green will remind you of the spring,
Though this great day denies the thing.
And mortifies the earth and all
But your wild revels, and loose hall.
Could you wear flowers, and roses strow
Blushing upon your ******* warm snow,
That very dress your lightness will
Rebuke, and wither at the ill.
The brightness of this day we owe
Not unto music, masque, nor show:
Nor gallant furniture, nor plate;
But to the manger’s mean estate.
His life while here, as well as birth,
Was but a check to pomp and mirth;
And all man’s greatness you may see
Condemned by His humility.
Then leave your open house and noise,
To welcome Him with holy joys,
And the poor shepherd’s watchfulness:
Whom light and hymns from heaven did bless.
What you abound with, cast abroad
To those that want, and ease your load.
Who empties thus, will bring more in;
But riot is both loss and sin.
Dress finely what comes not in sight,
And then you keep your Christmas right.
3k
My soul, there is a country
Far beyond the stars,
Where stands a wingèd sentry
All skilful in the wars:
There, above noise and danger,
Sweet Peace sits crown’d with smiles,
And One born in a manger
Commands the beauteous files.
He is thy gracious Friend,
And—O my soul, awake!—
Did in pure love descend
To die here for thy sake.
If thou canst get but thither,
There grows the flower of Peace,
The Rose that cannot wither,
Thy fortress, and thy ease.
Leave then thy foolish ranges;
For none can thee secure
But One who never changes—
Thy God, thy life, thy cure.
2.8k
Percepts of enlightenment & civilization to encounter
The grim aftermath of tales unspoken from the galaxies afar
Betokening Indian tales of deeper truths than ever,
For the Great Spirit still swirls in gestures previously milder,
At a snail's pace and surely winning the pursuit among souls or
Is example better than pre-conceived precept?
or
“Is that a dog in the manger?”
Now cherishing the viper?
The human dilemma between liberty & authority?
“Has mythology now become psychology?”
A dingy white color in disguise of tranquility
To suit the blemished features of the 21st century
With fair women & brave men turning fables into verse,
Yet Socrates’ doctrine about death bespeaks a wafture so callous!
The new-age “iron claw” screams nastiness in time and space.
The pretences of mankind like the puritan;
Mars trapped in the net of Vulcan,
Jupiter is serene and above the conflict to win,
While Venus tries to fight upon the plains of troy
That the Greek gods of serenity may win at Tuscany.
“When do these sultry groans of mortal remorse cease?”
To calm the sordid uproar that Love may peruse
Through the scattered white aromatic rose petals
In search of the scintillating path back to the highland stables
Were snowflakes are an irresistible lure for the Arctic snowbirds!
Nature herself is proud of her designs
Yet!
There is nothing grating in mortal cosmoses but direct villainy.
Sinister fate climbs the lonesome banister faster
Before the “fanged dawn” descends nearer,
As stronger minds virtually become weaker;
These “shameless actors” are melted into “thin air”
“Must they cheat themselves with that same foolish vice of honesty?”
Mischievousnesses feed!
Like beasts till they be fat, and then they bleed
As they are led to bend the curve of “No return”
Since it is only rational that after the darkest of nights
There is a brighter day to reveal the true knights
Of the once gloomy age of Democritus.
Tis plain, from hence, that our vows
Request hurtful intense things,
or useless at the best.
Sep 17, 2009
Sep 17, 2009 at 5:16 AM UTC
I
Awake, glad heart! Get up and sing,
It is the birthday of thy King,
Awake! Awake!
The sun doth shake
Light from his locks, and all the way
Breathing perfumes, doth spice the day.
Awake, awake! Hark, how the wood rings,
Winds whisper, and the busy springs
A consort make;
Awake, awake!
Man is their high-priest, and should rise
To offer up the sacrifice.
I would I were some bird or star,
Fluttering in woods, or lifted far
Above this inn
And road of sin!
Then either star, or bird, should be
Shining, or singing still to Thee.
I would I had in my best part
Fit rooms for Thee! Or that my heart
Were so clean as
Thy manger was!
But I am all filth, and obscene,
Yet if Thou wilt, Thou canst make clean.
Sweet Jesu! will then; Let no more
This ***** haunt, and soil Thy door,
Curse him, ease him
O release him!
And let once more by mystic birth
The Lord of life be born in earth.
II
How kind is heaven to man! If here
One sinner doth amend
Straight there is joy, and every sphere
In music doth contend;
And shall we then no voices lift?
Are mercy, and salvation
Not worth our thanks? Is life a gift
Of no more acceptation?
Shall He that did come down from thence,
And here for us was slain,
Shall He be now cast off? No sense
Of all His woes remain?
Can neither Love, nor sufferings bind?
Are we all stone, and earth?
Neither His ****** passions mind,
Nor one day bless His birth?
Alas, my God! Thy birth now here
Must not be numbered in the year.
2.6k
captain kirk ate kittens. the azaleas
marched in the dark
and no moon wept snow.
it was that
dark.
all quiet rot, healing now...
we clay inside but dis-urn
we have no kiln. no kin.
we move
like a dreaming fetus
in the womb of all prisms.
like lightning on
a pin.
we have ever been
the king's
vassal.
star chattel in the manger .
happy mad
hatters.
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 9:50 AM UTC
Long ago, a Savior was born
and hidden within a humble birth;
covered with the cloak of humanity,
His presence impacted this earth.
Although we remember His birthday,
know that Christ is no longer a child;
He stopped being an infant, who was…
helpless, quiet, tender and mild.
He grew in strength and wisdom;
He demonstrated His holy authority;
He lived as He divinely taught;
He set the example, for you and me.
He gave of Himself completely
and paid the ultimate sacrifice.
He embodied God’s covenant of love;
His actions were timely and precise.
After suffering the shame of crucifixion,
He was briefly buried in a rock-hewn tomb;
three days later, He triumphantly exited
with a glorified body from Resurrection’s womb.
Today He lives and sovereignly rules;
so people of faith, it’s time to agree
that we must continue to live Godly lives,
seeing that… the manger is still empty!
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Matt 1:18-2:15, 27:46-54; Acts 2:22-24; Heb 7:25;
1 John 2:1-2; Rom 8:34
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 5:58 AM UTC
My song shall bless the Lord of all,
My praise shall climb to His abode;
Thee, Saviour, by that name I call,
The great Supreme, the mighty God.
Without beginning or decline,
Object of faith and not of sense;
Eternal ages saw Him shine,
He shines eternal ages hence.
As much when in the manger laid,
Almighty Ruler of the sky,
As when the six days' work He made,
Fill'd all the morning stars with joy.
Of all the crowns Jehovah bears,
Salvation is His dearest claim;
That gracious sound well pleased He hears
And owns Emmanuel for His name.
A cheerful confidence I feel,
My well placed hopes with joy I see;
My ***** glows with heavenly zeal,
To worship Him who died for me.
As man He pities my complaint,
His power and truth are all divine;
He will not fail, He cannot faint;
Salvation's sure, and must be mine.
2.5k
Their lives bleed into mine
What am I becoming?
As long as I'm bleeding in line
I can hear war drums drumming
I feel my purity and youth leave me
As their lack of couth feeds me
And their sweet tooth bleeds me
Until eventually I too am greedy
In this ****** atmosphere
Our ***** past is clear
Inspiring future fears
And hardened tears
Drowned by beers
And empty cheers
Through the years
Until we're here
As a ****** stranger
Head banger
Teenager
In Jesus' manger
This blight
Of life
As a simulation
Of assimilation
Into a nation
Of incineration
In a ****** mire
Lit by the fire
Positioned higher
I call my sire
I fidget in the cage
Of this pivotal maze
Called the Digital Age
I'm in need of healing
From this dark feeling
That I'm an innocent child reading
A book about a grown man bleeding
Always met with a hateful greeting
While sympathy is fleeting
Being replaced by our own jadedness
After living with those who hated us
We develop defensive thorns
Resembling demonic horns
To match public scorns
My first love
Drew first blood
And I couldn't halt the blood loss
Exacerbated by the mud toss
Of the sinister town crier
Exposing my heart's desires
So I said never again
For the bleeding to stop
When dealing with men
Is like meeting the cops
Aware that I'm defenseless
They start beating me senseless
So I become a judge myself
Part of the sludge for my health
I won't budge unless it's for wealth
Accepting the cards I was dealt
They bled into me
Now red is all I see
No way to get free
So I follow their lead
And choose to bleed
As they pray and plead
It becomes my turn
To cause the burns
That I had learned
When I was spurned
And lost my purity
Now blood cures me
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 5:09 AM UTC
Ya Know Peoples’ Behaviour’s...
Getting... Stranger And STRANGER... !!!
NO... Away In A Manger... !!!
But PLENTY of DANGER... !!!
In... Peoples Behaviour... !!!
Because Corona’s Brought Flavours...
When It Comes To THAT PAPER... !!!
That Are A... GAME CHANGER... !!!
So Some Peoples Behaviour’s...
Beginning To Tailor...
Itself Towards... Vader’s... !!!
Because of DICTATORS...
Who Have Now Endangered... !!!
MORE THAN... Livelihoods...
Now Lives Have Been Took...
That’s EVEN SHOOK CROOKS... !!!
So Behaviours Now Look...
Like They’re Ready To Cook...
MUCH MORE Than PROTESTS...
When Leaders Send Feds’...
To Now Fire BULLETS... !!!
At WOMEN On Front Lines...
Who Now STAND AGAINST...
Racism And Violence...
That Lead To Black Deaths... !!!
By... Taking of Breaths...
By Some YES Policemen... !!!
They’re Behaviours ATTEST...
To Delivering STRESS...
To Lots of Blacks HEADS... !!!
So OF COURSE Some Are VEX... !!!!!
About Treatment We Get... !!!
But... Protest Behaviour...
Has Got... INSTIGATORS...
Who May Be IMITATORS... ?!?
And... CONTAMINATORS...
Used To Be MUTILATORS... !!!
of Behaviours Now Caused...
By BLATANTLY FLAGRANT...
ABUSE of THEIR Laws... !?!
Hold Up... Let Me PAUSE......................
Did I Just Call Them... " LAWS "... ?
What Do They Stand For... ?!?
Cos They’re CLEARLY NOT Made...
To Now PROTECT The Hoards … ?
I Mean... MASSES of People...
Who Seem READY For WAR... !?!
In... Different Locations...
It Seems That Behaviours...
Are Now Fighting For...
MORE Than Freedom of Thought... !!!
IT’s... FREEDOM To TALK...
That’s Now Being Cut SHORT... !?!
When Clearly Behaviours...
Should OPEN UP MORE Than EVER BEFORE... !!!
But THESE MANIPULATORS...
Have Their Perpetrators...
of Behaviours That Walk...
With Talk That Is FALSE... !!!
From These CORONA Wars...
To These CLOSED Corridors...
Where Decisions Are BOUGHT !
I Dunno Anymore... ?!?
If We’ll Ever ENFORCE...
Behaviours Like Jailers...
For Traitors Who Break Laws... !!!
ESPECIALLY When...
They Are Leaders And Lords !!!
Instead of Behaviours...
That... DESTROY The Poor... !!!
We NEED CASTIGATORS...
And... Coordinators...
Whose Behaviours Are PURE... !!!
Instead of These FAKERS...
And... New Age ENSLAVERS... !!!
Who Drive These Creations...
of Thoughts That I TAILOR...
To Speak On These Subjects...
Like Peoples’...
.... “BEHAVIOUR”....
Nov 27, 2020
Nov 27, 2020 at 2:18 AM UTC
(the birth of Christ - in Gen-Z slang)
Mary and Joseph were tight-ship.
Mary was a real-one, and no clout-chaser
One night Angel Gabriel overstreeted with word
that Cap-G made Mary chabby with soup-baby
Mary was shook and big-mad but Joseph
was baby-goggles for Cap-G’s quinlan fetus
so Mary was “okrrrrrrrrr”
A minute later Mary and Joe had to roll deep,
adulting to Bethlehem with tribute to Augustus,
the main character, but no mo-mo swerved em’
ghetto and asan Mary was Cap-G’s baby-mama!
Later these bchaps rfts biters brang Cap-J
some bag and herb to extra flex for Cap-G
while angels lay in the cut with lowkey bop.
———————- translation
Mary and Joseph were married and in love.
Mary was an average girl not into notoriety
.
One night Angel Gabriel appeared and said
that God made Mary pregnant with his child
Mary was shaken-up and and angry but Joseph
Was excited for them to have God’s beautiful child
so Mary was had no choice but to say “OK”
Months later Mary and Joe had to travel far together,
As citizens, to Bethlehem to pay taxes to Augustus (Caesar).
Emperor of rome, but a lack of motels caused them to
Stay in a manger and there Mary had God’s child.
Later these rich star followers brought Jesus
some money and herb as gifts to impress God
while angels gathered and sang to comfort the child.
Dec 17, 2021
Dec 17, 2021 at 5:14 AM UTC
__A Daily Christian Poem Series Leading to Christmas 2025__
_Introduction_
Each day, a spark.
Each verse, a prayer.
From the turning leaves of September
to the manger’s quiet light,
we gather joy, not as escape,
but as witness.
This is not a countdown.
It’s a pilgrimage:
toward Emmanuel,
toward the Word made flesh,
toward the holy mischief of God-with-us.
Some sparks will rise from scripture,
some from sidewalk grace,
some from the ache of waiting.
But all will burn with the promise
that light shines in the darkness,
and the darkness has not overcome it.
So come,
bring your candle, your coffee, your longing.
Let us walk together through psalms and puddles,
through prophets and puppies,
through grief and gladness.
Let us strike the first spark
and watch joy take root
in the soil of our days.
Sep 25, 2025
Sep 25, 2025 at 5:19 AM UTC