"methodist" poems
"You know, I used to be good at math,"
He says,
A cigarette cradled in his fingers,
Spilling ash on his blue jeans.
He rearranges himself, removes his jacket -
It's much too hot for leather now -
And reveals a Dean t-shirt.
Too cool for school, I suppose.
"The rules just got too crazy, too specific.
Too dependent and tangled.
Well, too much so for the effort I was willing to exert."
He's frank, I'll give him that.
How does he make utter sloth seem so innocent?
Too cool for school, I suppose.
He calls himself a Methodist.
Not like that, though.
He says he's just figured life out.
He means the hows, not the whys.
The stops along the tour of personal success.
A Methodist.
Too cool for school, I suppose.
Aug 11, 2010
Aug 11, 2010 at 1:10 PM UTC
I decided today when I woke up
To write a poem for everyone
I'd start off with the very old
And end up with the young
In between I'd have kings and queens
Along with a peasant or two
A genius with a dozen degrees
Even a few without a clue
For the in-laws and the outlaws
Though at times they act the same
If right now they're sitting next to you
No need to mention names
I'd also write it for the Catholics
Protestants and Jews
So as not to leave anyone out
A Methodist marching band with kazoos
What would a poem for everyone be
Without rodeo and circus clowns
The ones that paint happy faces
Over the top of their life's frowns
The tall the short and skinny of course
Those that are tipping the scale
Which these days are most of us
But let's not dip into that well
And of course I can't leave out
All the gays and all the straights
Who never knew that they were straight
Until the gays knew they were gay
I guess we've all been labeled
I really don't mean to offend
Oops...I almost forgot to include
All the mustached women and hairy backed men
If you find you weren't in here
And think that your unmentionable
I'd like you to know my friend
My rudeness was unintentional
You may take this poem for everyone
And do with it what you wish
Perhaps the closest receptacle
Where it may join it's friends...the trash
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 8:42 AM UTC
I didn't ever write a
Journal entry about last Wednesday night.
It was strange, the dampness
In the air and the cough in
My throat, and the whole world felt
Empty and deadened.
She didn't really want to
Go, and I guess I didn't either, now
That I think about it, after
All I could have been writing a paper.
But I had my alterior
Motives, which fell through and
I wanted to get out of the
House, to clear my stuffy head.
So we walked, like two girls who
Can survive on their own mistakes
And then after awhile
We walked back.
But we walked to the little
Playground instead of home because I guess
For nine-thirty at night we were
Both a little unsettled.
And we talked about God and I
Looked at the leaves on the
Pavement and thought about how different the
Uniform Methodist windows were from ours.
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 7:49 PM UTC
I don't believe in God
I'm sorry
I'm not actually apologising
for the fact it's just what I've been conditioned
to say by society
Sorry?
Don't get me wrong
I was shackled as a child
to Sunday school after Chuch
and my informative
young woman years were left dead
by Girls Brigade
didn't make me less wild
Mother was Presbyterian
Father was Methodist
(You don't think I was messed up by this?)
Christened as Chuch of England
Raised as a Baptist
I think, all of the above
fall under 'Christianity'
but I'm not sure of this
So many secular emotions
under one umbrella
I'd bet, someone's gonna get wet
Then there is Islam and Hinduism
Sikhism and Judeaism
and spiritual beliefs like
Bhuddism and Druidism
How do all those different Gods compete
for our favour? To get us to lay down
as followers, to be the mat for their precious feet?
It would have to be a pretty mean feat!
I imagine them as Gladiators
fighting for the right for the masses to cheer
Winner takes all but, Losers get the non believers
What do you think the Ancient Gods
think of their petty squabbling?
The Eygyptians, the Greeks?
who simply stated humans
were to worship them religiously
and it was done, because they can
They seemed more fierce to me
sitting on Mt Olympus and coming down
occasionally, at least they had a face
What's been touted today to the human race?
I don't know enough about Religion
to make choice or want to learn
I married a Roman Catholic
that opened a whole new can of worms
An Irish Roman Catholic
Yeah, I see you nodding your heads
Suicidal, I think is the term
So I decided my children would not
be burdened by my religious ineptitude
They can choose their own beliefs
for I surely won't intrude
on their individual right to make
a decision based on their own feelings
I know I'm probably wrong, I just want
them to believe in something
Anything that makes their day better,
that helps them sleep at night
I won't choose their religion for them
I don't think that's right
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 1:33 AM UTC
The Twin Souls speak to me,
During the desert suns and
Tranquil moons,
In its greatest oracle,
They tell me
‘Save yourselves or
Remain unsaved’.
They took me to Egypt,
On the magic carpet that
Was dowsed in my room-
Some may call it a rug-
But for the Twins,
They flew during majestic
Nights
Seamless heights.
Nights I look back,
On how my twin was created,
How our paths had crossed
And how lucky
Even blessed we’d been.
Days I look forward,
With my twin and I
Drenched in Kelly Green in our ceremony of
accomplishments
Or seduced by the sun,
Escaping Methodist systems,
And enchanted by esques’ in the forest
Other nights,
My twin was gone,
An empty burden I felt
Swell my chest.
On those nights,
I prayed to the Souls to which
They promised
to keep us together
Some times the Twins advise me,
‘Do not set yourself on fire
to keep others warm’
And
‘Other people are not medicine’-
That is, except for the Twin Souls.
I taught my twin
Lessons of life,
And she taught me
Lessons of gratitude.
I must admit,
We were both a bit
Damseled,
A bit Distressed
[Still dressed to impress]
When time has run out,
Hope is lost,
Spirits are killed,
Demons are in disguise,
And hell breaks loose
I pray to the Twin Souls,
To hold us eternally whole
In the wake of the full moon
Because my TWIN SOUL,
Will never escape
The Encased LOVE and PURSUITS
Of my HEART
For she is a true work of
Art.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 4:27 AM UTC
They danced on the steps
Of the first methodist church,
Not caring who watched or
How their young feet hurt.
When the clouds rolled over
The sun and the wind ceased
To be breathing. They
Stopped their tom foolery and
Accepted that life sometimes is still.
They walked to the water.
There they saw the ships bounding
Across eclipsed waves like horses
Through golden tinted field.
The two feared for the sailor's,
Yet the sailor's knew not
They were thinking of them at all.
After the water, leaving the sailor's
On their waves, they wandered to
The fishermen's docks, where
Crooked poles and wavering hulls
Stood ***** and set pointed to the sun.
These were the men of patience
And respect, feeling death and life
Around them in dualistic harmony.
Because they held no lure or pole,
They watched the masters work, as
Masters usually do. The sun trickled
Through thin white cloud as the
Wind pushed the two's hair over brow.
The masters were discontent
In their catch and their day. Their frowns
Showed failure and they wished
That the cold winter weather would go away.
Even masters can fail.
The two thinking of two different things,
Then conversed on where they should
Go to next. One said the tower, where she
Had never been before, and the other said
The park, where he had been many times.
Their differences were their love and
Their love was what kept them true.
A master pulled up hard on his bamboo rod.
"A catch," the man screamed in his tongue,
"I've got a catch here! Won't you see! Won't you see!"
The two shot over to where the master
Stood, their eyes peeled to the end of his line.
As the man reeled and reeled and reeled, he
Soon did reveal a battered tin can and a weathered old boot.
The master plopped the two on the wooden dock,
Cursing to the God of his choice.
The two picked up the boot, the can, cheered and said,
"Thank you", running up the concrete strand.
As they reached their bus stop, they realized
What they'd done and started to laugh at all
Of their fun. The two giggled and cackled,
Screamed and roared, until the two could no longer
Take anymore. After a minute or two, the sky
Straightened out, turning full blue, so the birds
In the sky who soared and cooed, showed they
Had no rules they were forced to uphold.
The two agreed on home. When their
Bus appeared, they felt the same, seeing that
Living together was a much better game.
Tomorrow would be new start, just like
Today was another part of a puzzle never
To be finished, only taken to heart.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 1:34 AM UTC
My Kingdom has a place for you.
If you followed all the requests, I asked of you?
But I'm Catholic.
My Kingdom has a place for you.
Well, I'm Protestant.
My Kingdom has a place for you.
Well, I'm Methodist.
My Kingdom is reserved for you.
If you abide by my commandments.
They were spoken and written to guide you.
But I'm Muslim.
My Kingdom is reserved for you.
I'm Pentecostal.
Still, my Kingdom is yours too.
Whatever religion you belongs too?
I don't discriminate like people amongst you do?
I notice.
I acknowledge it.
And decides, who comes into my place.
For, I Am God.
Even if you are spiritual only.
My words affected you.
And have found a connection too.
For , I Am God.
Plus, I Am Love.
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 4:24 PM UTC
I was 14 and at a Methodist summer camp.
They told us we could spend the last night outside.
Clear sky, under the stars I was happy.
Then he put his hands on my head.
And his hands down my pants.
It felt wrong, I was no longer happy.
I wanted to escape, but I couldn’t move.
The next day I went home.
I was called names.
I lost my friends and “silly” rumors spread.
I put myself in that situation. It was my fault.
It took me 10 years to realize,
It was wrong,
I couldn’t get out,
It wasn’t my fault.
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 3:36 PM UTC
There was a man from England
In truth a man of God
Wigglesworth's a funny name
And he was a little odd.
He earned his keep as plumber
Worked hard to learn the trade
But he knew a man named Jesus
So he HEALED and souls were saved!
There were even some occasions
Where he brought folks from the grave.
He was not a man of letters
Could not read till 23
But he always had a love for God
As humble as can be
He had great compassion
Would set the captives free!
Before his ministry began
He wanted to be pure
He would lock himself behind closed doors
The Lord worked out his flaws
He was of a different age
But his memory endures
Everywhere that man went
The people flocked around
The lame could walk! The blind could see!
The meetings holy ground!
He was not a Methodist
Episcopal at all
But he went to those churches
When he received a call
He believed in Pentecost
And he brought a Spirit fall
Everything he did in life
Was for his love for Christ
He gave all his money
For missions - at great price
He couldn't even spell
But no action was a waste
Powerfully written
His books sold round the earth
"EVER INCREASING FAITH"
To this day has worth
Oh! That we'd have his faith now!
Here in the U.S.
But WE worship MONEY
So we are in distress
We worship self and worldly gain
And our lives are a mess
Take me, OH! My precious Lord!
Pull me from this mire!
I want to be a Wigglesworth...
To THIS cause I ASPIRE!
Give me his compassion
The tears! In ME INSPIRE!
For years I have been waiting
You've tried me in the fire!
I want ever more of YOU!
Jesus! Take me higher!
Yes! I have the willingness
Yes! I'll build my faith
But will I stick to it?
For that is what it takes!
There was a man in England
His first name was Smith
And there's scarce a man today
Who can match his gifts.
We haven't the willingness
All WE want are perks
Scarce a "workman of today
*Who'll roll up sleeves and WORK.*
SoulSurvivor
(C) 4/15/2016
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 1:36 AM UTC
Hey Hollywood!
How are you ******
All of you!
Talentless Phonies
All of you!
Fakes!
Acting?
A Talent?
So sick of your lies
Pretending to be
A Somebody
STOP kidding Yourselves
Not one could compare
Not one
The Somebody died
And you couldn't act if your lives depended on it
All of you are
Nobodies
Useless
Actors/Whores (pick one)
Trollops
Taxi Dancers have more skill
Eight Children
With five wives
And all you do is cheapen him
He was referring to Wally
Not some phallus
IDIOTS
Somebody never pretended
to act
Somebody never was trained
to act
Somebody once dropped his pants
An Act?
No
Just bad behavior
Bud
Somebody knew how to behave
(take note whores) (did you get it right?)
A Methodist?
Maybe NOT religious
But so much
Better than some cheap act
Somebody behaved the Best
(even if he did love ***
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 10:24 AM UTC
I was asleep outside the church door
when at a quarter to four
I get a boot in the chest
And a loud voice boomed out
"I think it's best
if you leave"
I quite sleepy, replied,
"Is it the bible that lied
Can I not sleep in the heart of my maker?
If not,
Then tell me who is it, that is my creator"?
A silence ensues then he shoos me away
I limp off to the methodist church
where more people lay
on the cold of the stone
chilled to the bone.
I don't blame God for my lot
for I'm in his plan
just a plot on his graph
and you've just got to laugh
when you see it like that.
We are the crossbeam
in the dream of a better day
and you'd better get used to it
you're going to see so much more of it
It's **** and you know it
do something about it or do nothing
and hope that tomorrow will bring
something more than a cold church stone floor
and a boot in the chest
I leave it to you
I'm sure you know best.
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 3:41 AM UTC
When I was a young man
A long time ago I was a
Student intern sent to
Brooklyn Methodist Home
For the aged to learn what
Ever I could. A guest with
No specific mission I set
Out to learn what it was
Old folks had to say their
Lives had gained specially
Wisdom-a brazen quest.
Among the old I visited
Two ladies stand out in my
Memory. One was a lady
in her eighties and bed-
Ridden. She talked to
People and in places I
I could not see or hear
They had lived with her
In a New York that was no
More; had passed away
More than seventy years
Ago. She looked out upon
Streets of playing children
Was one of them laughing
and shouting. She saw and
Heard all clearly and to
Her her childhood friends
Were as real to her as she
To them. The other woman
Was a widow of a minister
In her eighties as well. She
Was alert and most proper.
She played the piano for the
Able residents before dinner-
A hymnal piecece no doubt
The dining room was quite
Elegant with linnen table-
Cloths and proper silver
And crystal, it was that sort
Of place I called upon her
With my subject saying
Can you tell me what you
learned about life by be
Coming old. She hesitated
but only a moment taken
aback by frowardness I
Suppose then she said:
"Lean not to your own
Understanding but trust
In the Lord with your whole
Heart, Mind and soul" A
Quote from the Book of
Proverbs she said but she
Had made it her own. I
Can see her yet in her dignity
Her firm hold in our life.
The other lady I cannot see
But it seems I can see and
Hear those children playing
On those streets of long ago
And I know each gave me some-
Thing more precious than gold
God can make all things new
Beyond our understanding
Wonderful to the wisest.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 12:36 PM UTC
i believe religion to be none other than a wicked curse.
i cannot bear the thought to affiliate with an organized group of people who believe in a specific set of ideas which occurred in the past.
the reason behind my logic associates with the basic perception-
there is more than one belief- so which is true?
i ask this because only one can logically be true.
catholic, christian, methodist, lutheran, mormon, buddhist, hindu, etc.
i have constructed in my mind the reasonable ideology that the truth will never be fully discovered. i may try to search for answers, but in the end, i know nothing can ever be factually explained.
in conclusion, i have chosen to be me.
if this banishes me to hell, so be it.
if this sends me to heaven, so be it.
i'm a realist and i have faith- but i will never indulge fully into one religion that "believes" they are right because i will always ask myself- "are they?".
religion is a curse that i wish to avoid in life.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 2:29 AM UTC
I keep company and sit
with the empty shells
and yet the clam pit's full,
perhaps there was a cull on clams.
I claim my free prize,
I see potatoes with
the eyes that don't see me
oh goodie, goodie,
chips for tea.
We're either in it for the money or the fame and altruism's just a name that rolls off eager tongues
so
I play dominoes with those who play with blank dull faces in spots I'd rather be than having tired old chips for tea and still the eyes cannot see me
it comes again to what we know and what we grow and who plants where and when
a company indeed of men, primitive, Methodist, I've gotten ****** with most of them
in the fields and down the pub by half past ten for half a pint of brutish beer, we are only what there is out here and what we give is not too much or not a touch on what we should.
This rambling day,
ivy I would rather be than that
with eyes but who sees me?
a rose, a rose, she grows
but not so quick as can't be cut.
In Yorkshire they aspire
In Lancashire, perspire,
In Wales they have a choir
I prefer to sweat.
As you might plainly see or
as it seems to me to be
poetry's a conjuring,
something
to clear the system out
akin to Ex-Lax
I have no doubt.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 2:47 AM UTC
they say we meet people for a reason
so then i must have met you to feel true agony
i know you so that i may want you
and i want you so that i cannot have you
if it is true that this is fate
then fate must want me dead
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 5:39 PM UTC
Here is something that I read in the headlines today
And I AM OUTRAGED… (Just kidding guys...)
It goes like this;
“An ex-communicable hubbub broke out in the halls
Of the church today as a certain group proposed
That a super God named Sofia created God
While depicting images of the feminine deity.”
(Can you imagine such a thing?)
The article went on -
“The conflict is over the lefts’ constant barrage of
Attacks to modify references of a male being the
Supreme deity by pointing out that God also has” -
And I quote, “Motherly qualities.”
What an awful a thing - I just don’t know how these
People get off the bus without knowing they are on
The Lunatic Fringe – who do they think we are?
(Again I’m being sarcastic here.)
Back to the article;
“United Methodist leader, Dado do dis do dat said
At the annual conference of the 12 tribes of Brooklyn
That no comparable words of heresy had been spoken
In the last 15 centuries and that just when the church
Begins to lose its grip on powers and principalities,
Weird sort of things like this start to happen.
He went further stating that these ideas must be
Eradicated from Christian thinking.”
Or what? Or these women are taking over?
“Bishop Dado do dis do dat continued – We wanted
Woman speakers who could carry on the Christian
Tradition – but look what happened.”
(You haven’t heard anything yet.)
“The women, who were venerating Sofia as a Goddess
Used ****** images to express the divine and held a
Workshop on belly dancing.”
(All right -)
“And went on further stating that the woman claimed
That with their hot wombs they give formula
To life and with the nectar between their thighs -
We women create the world as we know it.”
(LoL… go Sofia… )
(This was a real article in a real paper.)
The point here is this.
We are in the age of Aquarius and
The Aquarian age is a feminine age.
And that’s what we are experiencing.
There are those who will, for their own
Reasoning, exaggerate both sides of the issue -
Jesus said it this way, “It’s just birthing pains.”
Before the child is born there is a lot of difficulty.
But the child that is being born into this age
Is a beautiful thing.
Move over Dado do dis do dat,
There’s a new sheriff in town
And she ain’t likely to put up with
Your crap any longer.
Names changed to protect the guilty...
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 12:36 PM UTC
A practicing and devout Catholic
Married a talented and charming wife
However but not of his faith
Surely it could be said
With very little sadness
That there was a Methodist
To his madness.
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 1:30 PM UTC
(20 minute poetry)
This is what it's for
and if it's war, that of
Megatons if bombing runs are measured that way in the rule of the old school tie Conservative party lie kind of way who I wonder are they in the pay of?
Arms dealers
Life stealers?
Guns for money and isn't it funny how politicians turn up at these fairs.
I don't understand how that isn't classified as underhand dealing.
Stealing away more lives every day and we
suffer for it,
taken to a war for it
another,
what if we didn't fight?
don't go to war
didn't steal lives?
It's a novel idea that will be filed away by some old dear who works in Whitehall, the same old dame who has shares in her name in an arms manufacturer and lives well on the dividends of a war related annuity.
I'm sure she'll be
pleased
as her stock goes up as the bombs rain down.
Don't be misled by what you're being fed,
It'll be poison one, poison all and on the steps of the Methodist hall someone will read the names of the dead on a scroll of honour which is something else fed to us as a truth.
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 11:36 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Communities
We often read about communities:
The intelligence community
The black community
The LGBT community
The arts community
Communities
The Hispanic community
The white community
The evangelical community
The educational community
Communities
One imagines a community:
Volunteer fire department, VFW
Parks, shops, a Methodist church across the street
From Our Lady of Guadalupe
Communities
But communities seem mostly to be
Lonely people stereotyping others
On the InterGossip with big ol’ words
Sep 1, 2021
Sep 1, 2021 at 7:58 AM UTC
They still weep;
Not as often in those early days
When the telegram delivery boy,
Every bit as foreboding as the Grim Reaper,
Had arrived at their particular doorstep,
But at odd, importune times:
When the light shines just so in his old bedroom,
(Some instances just as he left it,
Other times clean and empty
As if never occupied at all)
The sound of boys playing baseball
In the field on the Klondike Road,
The bells at the Methodist Church
Ringing for another young couple.
Still, the world rolls along
In its own diffident manner:
There are cars, butter, and gasoline now,
Young men who were at Midway and Omaha Beach
Are back on the line at the mill,
Their mothers plan weddings
And buy dresses from Larson’s down in Ridgway.
They may pause briefly if they catch something
In the eye of a friend
Who has no need to buy frocks
Or reserve banquet halls,
And they will say, casting down their eyes a bit
Life goes on, I guess.
Yes, but they still weep
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 9:12 AM UTC
It's that time
or
sometimes it's this time
but
one time at this or at that time
it'll be my time
the communion wine was drugged
the Methodist chapel was bugged
and the man on the 'rugged cross'
couldn't give a toss about me.
Bobby robbed the offertory
so
no hope or hymns for him.
Death has possibilities
not meant to be
but definitely
true.
The boys in blue caught Bobby
threw him in the clink
***** *****
went the coins as they rattled
in his pockets which were as deep
as the hole he was in
and still no hymn for him.
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 5:30 AM UTC
High up
Is the window
Where the little tree gazes
Out, at the big tree.
A curving bay that frames
The white-walled sanctum,
Bright, quiet and airy
Like a Methodist chapel
At rest.
A simple wooden table
Holds a delicate tree rooted
In a small, square ***
As it gazes
Through the glass
At its giant cousin.
The Autumn comes outside
Its herald carried
By little, yellow leaves
Borne against a backdrop
Of lush, rain-wet green.
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 1:12 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
The Men of the Bible Class Pose for a Photograph
on the Steps of the Methodist Church in 1968
My grandfather once threatened some other old man
With his pocketknife just before the ten o’clock
Maybe it was over a point of theology
That’s surely as exciting as Bible class ever got
The Baptist men were the city council
And most of the school’s board of trustees too
But the Methodists somehow had more self-assurance
You can see it in their bearing and their suits
They seem to be their fathers in 1898
With railroads and sawmills – great times ahead
Mar 23, 2021
Mar 23, 2021 at 7:48 AM UTC
momma mia man date
comb the second Sunday during month of May
can be traced back to ancient Greeks and Romans
festivals held
to honor mother goddesses Rhea and Cybele
setting precedent for Mother's Day
where early Christians fancied festival
known as “Mothering Sunday.”
Fast forward to the early
twentieth century 1908 when
Ann Maria Reeves Jarvis (a social activist then,
and community organizer
during American Civil War) era to quieten
grief fraught entrapment also cited
as informally memorializing her mother,
who begot said noble men
touring daughter
paying homage to woebegone
lachrymose role with accolades
to endure tragedy and loss put upon
child bearing women,
this event held (rain or sun)
at St Andrew's Methodist Church
in Grafton, West Virginia, which did quicken
in subsequent decades to formal fete,
where poets (like me) did open
the special occasion with ranked midshipmen
commercialization cropped as ken
be expected by the early 1920's imbolden
greeting card companies such as Hallmark gen
er rated a market (money making of course) even
though Jarvis believed companies sought profit
NOT prophet, thus misinterpreting
and exploiting idea of Mother's Day and met
aforementioned founder, who tried to jet
tis sin the ****** appetite of the ole mighty dollar,
but her lofty ambition did get
thwarted by mass marketing
the quaint idea,
plus she feared going in debt
and though the industry
(initially proposed entailed low key
acknowledgement, the originator
(Ann Marie Jarvis) still esteemed re
formed unsanitary living conditions with zee
less ness and aplomb
set a course where greater longevity doth hum
all because, she sought to regale "mum."
May 7, 2018
May 7, 2018 at 11:31 AM UTC