Tag Archives: Christian poetry

Farewell Sweet Porneia: an Elegy

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Neither is there any creature that is not manifest in his sight:
but all things are naked and opened
unto the eyes of him with whom we have to do.
Hebrews 4:13

When first I met you, girly-girl
you gave my hormones quite a whirl
believing I had found the pearl, Porneia . . .

The shell was richer than your charm
assuring me you meant no harm
my stroke of luck: you clasped my arm, Porneia.

You called me with that sultry voice
and made me think I had no choice, Porneia.

You glistened in a fantasy
of pixillating pink HD.
Your flesh tone’s ever-changing hue
sure made me want to do it to
that someone just beyond my view, Porneia.

I emptied every magazine
in search of angles yet unseen.
The angels fell upon my screen, Porneia.

More I tasted, more I needed—
yet the bed remained unseeded
waiting for your rose to bloom,
recurring passions to resume
in contemplation of your womb, Porneia.

Exposed: your jaded artifice,
that bright celestial orifice,
gynecologic precipice—Porneia.

I took you for a worldly muse
dead mistress of the thousand views;
my carnal will could not refuse,  Porneia.
With your deceit I came to grips;
you represent true love’s eclipse—
the spurt of passion died in drips, Porneia.

Alas, our book of love must end.
The final chapter’s pages bend;
the bookmarks, now deleted, send
each one, a flower to your  grave.
My sinful soul you could not save, Porneia.

Oh what has come between us, princess?
Now your rare allure evinces
fearful alarm, the urge to flee—
our love was never meant to be.
Thus ends it all twixt me and thee, Porneia.

 

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IMAGE CREDIT: muzhand.livejournal.com

Drowning vs. Dead

Rescue

It’s not  being given a lifeline at last;
bobbing in the swell, latching onto hope,
grateful the well-meaning rescue ship passed,
half-dead, but floating when they threw the rope.
It’s a different scenario—more vast
more madly stupendous, worthy of awe.
It’s a cosmic miracle unsurpassed:
completely defying your grasp: love’s law.
You were dead on the seafloor, waterlogged.
Crabs had drawn near as you rolled in the weeds.
Your heart was long cold, every chamber clogged;
the scavengers tearing where darkness feeds.
The first metaphor can be misconstrued
when God hauls you up, alive and renewed.

 

 

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Christian Types & Anti-types in Limerick

The riddles of John’s Revelation
Imply a large-scale desolation.
The end is not too clear
But looks rather nuclear:
A well-deserved A-bomb-in-nation.

A quorum of biblical scholars
turned their doubts into thousands of dollars.
Armed with Document Q
they revealed nothing new
but the dirt neath’ the white of their collars.

A proud “health & wealth” Oklahoman
was renowned as a gospel-tent showman.
While the scriptures he twisted,
their tithing assisted
his rise from poor hick to rich Roman.

A sexually diverse professor
(assured he was not a transgressor)
spoke only of openness
glossing sin’s brokenness;
rainbows and tolerance, yes sir.

A Mormon, who lost his own ephod
Realized he was running quite slipshod
He invoked Joseph Smith.
(Yes, it may be a myth—
but it’s not like misplacing your I-pod…)

A Christian whose faith was prophetic
held to views that were truly pathetic.
This crazed Pentecostal,
not quite an apostle,
had taken an End-Times emetic.

A sober and staid Presbyterian
was distrustful of thoughts millenarian.
After smoking some bud,
he awoke with a thud;
in his sleep he’d become Rastafarian.

A preacher who fleeced his disciples
overdrew his own balance of scruples.
He was finally captured
(defrocked and un-raptured)
and rent by his destitute pupils.

A sister who waxed Pentecostal,
mistook herself for an apostle
Speaking pure glossolalia
she sure could regale ya’
with prophecy; crazy—but docile.

Anita Fuentes Channel HERE

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For This Let Men Revile My Name

 My friend, brother and hymnologist shared this poem with me.
(Calling it a “poem” is almost demeaning. I should say he shared these stupendous words of eternal life with me…and I am grateful)

Shall I, For Fear of Feeble Man

Shall I, for fear of feeble man,
The Spirit’s course in me restrain?
Or, undismayed, in deed and word
Be a true witness for my Lord?

Awed by a mortal’s frown, shall I
Conceal the Word of God most high?
How then before Thee shall I dare
To stand, or how Thine anger bear?

Shall I, to soothe the unholy throng,
Soften Thy truths, and smooth my tongue,
To gain earth’s gilded toys, or flee
The cross, endured, my God, by Thee?

What then is he whose scorn I dread,
Whose wrath or hate makes me afraid?
A man! an heir of death! a slave
To sin! a bubble on the wave!

Yea, let men rage, since Thou wilt spread
Thy shadowing wings around my head;
Since in all pain Thy tender love
Will still my sure refreshment prove.

Savior of men, Thy searching eye
Doth all my inmost thoughts descry;
Doth aught on earth my wishes raise,
Or the world’s pleasures, or its praise?

The love of Christ doth me constrain
To seek the wandering souls of men;
With cries, entreaties, tears, to save,
To snatch them from the gaping grave.

For this let men revile my name.
No cross I shun, I fear no shame,
All hail, reproach, and welcome, pain!
Only Thy terrors, Lord, restrain.

My life, my blood, I here present,
If for Thy truth they may be spent,
Fulfill Thy sovereign counsel, Lord!
Thy will be done, Thy name adored!

Give me Thy strength, O God of power;
Then let winds blow, or thunders roar,
Thy faithful witness will I be:
’Tis fixed; I can do all through Thee!

Jo­hann J. Wink­ler,1708
trans­lat­ed from Ger­man by John Wes­ley, Hymns and Sac­red Po­ems, 1739