Christian Poetry
- Thread starter Gregg
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Puritan Sailor
Puritan Board Doctor
Check out authors like William Cowper, John Milton, Edward Taylor and Anne Bradstreet. Cowper was a contemporary of John Newton and wrote several hymns, a few of which are still popular today. The other three were puritan poets. Milton in England, and Taylor and Bradstreet in New England.
[quote:1fba5ce97f][i:1fba5ce97f]Originally posted by Mary[/i:1fba5ce97f]
Gregg,
You've written poetry and hymns?! Wow. Have you tried to get them published?
Most of the poetry I like is from the 19th century and previous. 20th century stuff tends to be very humanistic. [/quote:1fba5ce97f]
Reply...
Hi Mary. I once submitted one of the poems to a Christian magazine who replied back to me that they could not publish it because of the numerous other submissions that were sent in.
I have them all written in a book. They are all very Calvinistic in their content. Perhaps some day they might be used to edify others.
Gregg,
You've written poetry and hymns?! Wow. Have you tried to get them published?
Most of the poetry I like is from the 19th century and previous. 20th century stuff tends to be very humanistic. [/quote:1fba5ce97f]
Reply...
Hi Mary. I once submitted one of the poems to a Christian magazine who replied back to me that they could not publish it because of the numerous other submissions that were sent in.
I have them all written in a book. They are all very Calvinistic in their content. Perhaps some day they might be used to edify others.
Saiph
Puritan Board Junior
Salt Pillar
You are the statue
the white-cast woman,
of frosted mineral.
Your lucid eyes
piercing the hot dry air,
your fiery tongue
parched to stone.
the wind burns
and whispers
through you
with a hollow scream,
head turning back,
arms outstretched.
I know what
Made you look.
I feel it too,
Like a seizure
From deep within
Of fear and doubt
Swelling up
from the blackness
in your crusted heart.
The unbearable weight
of seeing what we are
engulfed in the liquid heat
of God's forge.
By Mark Kodak 2002
[Edited on 4-20-2004 by Wintermute]
You are the statue
the white-cast woman,
of frosted mineral.
Your lucid eyes
piercing the hot dry air,
your fiery tongue
parched to stone.
the wind burns
and whispers
through you
with a hollow scream,
head turning back,
arms outstretched.
I know what
Made you look.
I feel it too,
Like a seizure
From deep within
Of fear and doubt
Swelling up
from the blackness
in your crusted heart.
The unbearable weight
of seeing what we are
engulfed in the liquid heat
of God's forge.
By Mark Kodak 2002
[Edited on 4-20-2004 by Wintermute]
FrozenChosen
Puritan Board Freshman
T.S. Eliot was a Christian poet who is pretty revered by even the extremely secular circles.
I need to read more of his poetry, personally, but you can tell that he became a Christian during his career as a poet. Some of his poetry is kinda dark, but I think that showcases our hopelessness without Christ.
I need to read more of his poetry, personally, but you can tell that he became a Christian during his career as a poet. Some of his poetry is kinda dark, but I think that showcases our hopelessness without Christ.
:book::cool2:
:toff:
:idea2::lepre::grad:Earthen Rest
With old and withered hands he overturns the
Dark, cold soil of his flower bed to expose
What it had purposed for millennia to conceal-
What we were, we are not, but will be.
Looking down the lurid chasm I ask:
"What's it like to finally find your rest?"
Breaking the fleshy seals of his heavy lids
He looks up at me with gray solemn eyes-
His languished lips could only quiver for a time,
Or an eternity-as both seemed to intertwine-
Finally his grave voice rings out in mournful reply:
"you'll never find it through searching, it finds you "
Having spent his final breath in appropriate brevity
His bony hands embrace the earthen blanket-
To his former place returned.
What he was, he is; his slumber now resumes
With a young, smooth hand outstretched; I touch the
Cold stone-which echoes back with eerie certainty
My own faint, transparent image.
(c) Craig French
Winter 2001
I tend to enjoy 20th Century poetry...and I do like Cowper, and some of those Puritan folk.
With old and withered hands he overturns the
Dark, cold soil of his flower bed to expose
What it had purposed for millennia to conceal-
What we were, we are not, but will be.
Looking down the lurid chasm I ask:
"What's it like to finally find your rest?"
Breaking the fleshy seals of his heavy lids
He looks up at me with gray solemn eyes-
His languished lips could only quiver for a time,
Or an eternity-as both seemed to intertwine-
Finally his grave voice rings out in mournful reply:
"you'll never find it through searching, it finds you "
Having spent his final breath in appropriate brevity
His bony hands embrace the earthen blanket-
To his former place returned.
What he was, he is; his slumber now resumes
With a young, smooth hand outstretched; I touch the
Cold stone-which echoes back with eerie certainty
My own faint, transparent image.
(c) Craig French
Winter 2001
I tend to enjoy 20th Century poetry...and I do like Cowper, and some of those Puritan folk.
Thanks Mark. I have considered trying to get it published. I'm only worried that I'll need to produce more. I have a few more...but it seems I'm rarely moved to write.
It seems the only things I can write about are when I'm confronted with death, or something like it. For instance, my grandfather's death and my considering what he love (gardening), and the fact I think he's in hell caused me to come up with that one.
Here's another. I don't think it's as good. And as a forewarning: It's not against Easter, or anything like that. Here it is. It's a mixture of a feeling of meaninglessness...which is cold...the cold weather, and the idea of "capturing" the experience or "freeze framing" it.
Easter Morning
The crisp air chills my skin.
The sun begins to rise...
Photographic stillness
Surrounds the congregation.
The service is to occur outside.
Lake Erie has attracted a multitude
Of sea gulls. Their noise is all that stirs the air.
I turn my gaze to see if it's time.
The conductor raises his palm, everyone stands.
The silence is broken by the monotones of song.
I lift my eyes to my father,
Soon I'll reach his shoulder's height.
The early hour drains out a laborious yawn.
The singing drones on:
"You ask me how I know He liiivvves
He liiiives innssiiiide......"
A wisp of cold air silences the world
Their lips are moving; their breath is only wind.
The sun is higher. Their postures are
Frozen in Photographic stillness
It seems the only things I can write about are when I'm confronted with death, or something like it. For instance, my grandfather's death and my considering what he love (gardening), and the fact I think he's in hell caused me to come up with that one.
Here's another. I don't think it's as good. And as a forewarning: It's not against Easter, or anything like that. Here it is. It's a mixture of a feeling of meaninglessness...which is cold...the cold weather, and the idea of "capturing" the experience or "freeze framing" it.
Easter Morning
The crisp air chills my skin.
The sun begins to rise...
Photographic stillness
Surrounds the congregation.
The service is to occur outside.
Lake Erie has attracted a multitude
Of sea gulls. Their noise is all that stirs the air.
I turn my gaze to see if it's time.
The conductor raises his palm, everyone stands.
The silence is broken by the monotones of song.
I lift my eyes to my father,
Soon I'll reach his shoulder's height.
The early hour drains out a laborious yawn.
The singing drones on:
"You ask me how I know He liiivvves
He liiiives innssiiiide......"
A wisp of cold air silences the world
Their lips are moving; their breath is only wind.
The sun is higher. Their postures are
Frozen in Photographic stillness
BTW,
Mark, do you have any other poetry? I liked what you wrote. I'm not sure if this was your intention, but I pictured Lot's wife...capturing a biblical theme, relating it to the human condition, and doing that with images is difficult. When I've tried it usually comes of like "propaganda". You did it well.
Mark, do you have any other poetry? I liked what you wrote. I'm not sure if this was your intention, but I pictured Lot's wife...capturing a biblical theme, relating it to the human condition, and doing that with images is difficult. When I've tried it usually comes of like "propaganda". You did it well.
Saiph
Puritan Board Junior
I like the juxtaposition of Easter and the Resurrection with cold indifferent nature, winter as sleep, as death. . .. .
Here is another one of mine:
(allusions to Eliot)
[b:aa3033f102]Triptych[/b:aa3033f102]
I have seen fear
in a handful of dust,
and tasted
the salt of heaven's tears
drinking deep
draughts of shame,
not of glory.
I have watched
the descent of the dove,
and heard the thunder
echo from elysiums shore,
the Word unspoken,
spoken
in flesh and blood,
in wine and bread.
Teach us to number our days,
beneath this tired mantle
of eternity,
for that grey hour of hope
soon to fall.
Who will escape
the ruin of it all ?
Who will descend
the crumbling wall,
by the harlot's bloody thread ?
Here is another one of mine:
(allusions to Eliot)
[b:aa3033f102]Triptych[/b:aa3033f102]
I have seen fear
in a handful of dust,
and tasted
the salt of heaven's tears
drinking deep
draughts of shame,
not of glory.
I have watched
the descent of the dove,
and heard the thunder
echo from elysiums shore,
the Word unspoken,
spoken
in flesh and blood,
in wine and bread.
Teach us to number our days,
beneath this tired mantle
of eternity,
for that grey hour of hope
soon to fall.
Who will escape
the ruin of it all ?
Who will descend
the crumbling wall,
by the harlot's bloody thread ?
The Covenant of Grace
Copyright 2001, by Daniel E. Harris.
Meter: 8.7.8.7.
All the trees of Eden's garden
Have much fruit to satisfy.
But the tree of good and evil,
eat of it and you will die.
This the covenant of Eden,
by God's word it was secure.
Here God tested His creation
Would man choose to remain pure?
Man was placed in Eden's garden;
God would test his loyalty.
Adam fell to sins temptation:
endless death his fate would be.
A new covenant of was needed,
one to saved this fallen race,
one to offer man's redemption
- a new covenant of grace.
Christ would be the substitution.
He's the lamb slain for us all.
He would take our sins upon Him
and by death fulfill the law.
This, the covenant of mercy;
this the promise given men:
He who trusts alone in Jesus
is forgiven of his sin.
8.7.8.7 -
suggested tunes:
I WILL PRAISE HIM - Margaret Harris (without chorus).
RIPLEY - Lowell Mason (8.7.8.7. D. - combine for 3 verses).
EBENEZER - Thomas Williams (8.7.8.7. D. - combine for 3 verses).
[Edited on 4-21-2004 by Dan....]
Copyright 2001, by Daniel E. Harris.
Meter: 8.7.8.7.
All the trees of Eden's garden
Have much fruit to satisfy.
But the tree of good and evil,
eat of it and you will die.
This the covenant of Eden,
by God's word it was secure.
Here God tested His creation
Would man choose to remain pure?
Man was placed in Eden's garden;
God would test his loyalty.
Adam fell to sins temptation:
endless death his fate would be.
A new covenant of was needed,
one to saved this fallen race,
one to offer man's redemption
- a new covenant of grace.
Christ would be the substitution.
He's the lamb slain for us all.
He would take our sins upon Him
and by death fulfill the law.
This, the covenant of mercy;
this the promise given men:
He who trusts alone in Jesus
is forgiven of his sin.
8.7.8.7 -
suggested tunes:
I WILL PRAISE HIM - Margaret Harris (without chorus).
RIPLEY - Lowell Mason (8.7.8.7. D. - combine for 3 verses).
EBENEZER - Thomas Williams (8.7.8.7. D. - combine for 3 verses).
[Edited on 4-21-2004 by Dan....]
Regeneration
Copyright 2002, by Daniel Harris
Meter: 8.7.8.7. D.
We, who've been regenerated
by the Spirit's quick'ning voice,
were not changed of our volition,
but our Sovereign's gracious choice.
We, who dead were once in bondage,
have been made alive in Christ;
freed to choose that which is holy
by the Saviour's sacrifice.
We, who once were not a people,
were engraft in Israel's tree;
by the faith which God has given
made as one of Abram's seed:
Not of merit, not of knowledge,
nor by birth, nor human will -
If such things could earn God's favor,
doubtless we'd be heathen still.
8.7.8.7. D.
Suggested tune:
AUSTRIAN HYMN - Franz Josef Haydn
"Glorious Things of Thee are Spoken"
[Edited on 4-21-2004 by Dan....]
Copyright 2002, by Daniel Harris
Meter: 8.7.8.7. D.
We, who've been regenerated
by the Spirit's quick'ning voice,
were not changed of our volition,
but our Sovereign's gracious choice.
We, who dead were once in bondage,
have been made alive in Christ;
freed to choose that which is holy
by the Saviour's sacrifice.
We, who once were not a people,
were engraft in Israel's tree;
by the faith which God has given
made as one of Abram's seed:
Not of merit, not of knowledge,
nor by birth, nor human will -
If such things could earn God's favor,
doubtless we'd be heathen still.
8.7.8.7. D.
Suggested tune:
AUSTRIAN HYMN - Franz Josef Haydn
"Glorious Things of Thee are Spoken"
[Edited on 4-21-2004 by Dan....]
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