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About This Club

A group dedicated to those who enjoy reading/writing and sharing Christian poetry - covering all themes, eg. praise, hope, love, forgiveness, encouragement, God's creation, daily life ...the list goes on) ~ Free verse or rhymed ~ all abilities welcome. A place to discuss past, present, upcoming projects too!

  1. What's new in this club
  2. Well done! Those are powerful images and your rhythm is compelling. I also look forward to the rest!
  3. Very nice image, Joshua! I look forward to reading the finished poem. Blessings, MaryAnn
  4. Step back from the edge of cavernous despair? Look away from the depths of ruin? Find a path from the forlorn To walk along the spires of the day's new light. Be swept up into the bosom of Love And forget the weight of the darkened day's past. (Just a bit of a poem that I've been working on lately.)
  5. I wrote a short hymn, after reading Mark 1:40-45 from the King James Authorized Version [bold and brackets are mine], an account about Jesus healing a leper, focusing on the last verse: But he [the leper] went out, and began to publish it much, and to blaze abroad the matter, insomuch that Jesus could no more openly enter into the city, but was without in desert places: and they came to him from every quarter We blaze Thy Name abroad To every corner fill By Thy sweet grace your holy Name As people flock and yield Yield then they must to Thee, These constrained countenances* Those joyful elect set free Whilst will to His Will meshes. Afterthought: I am generally a plodding reader with the archaic-sounding KJVA. But the writing is so lyrical, the verses are generally easy to memorize--and that for a mediocre memorizer as myself. I tried to create the same effect with the hymn. I confess the final two lines should please both theological Calvinists and Arminians😎 __________ * The constraining Spirit, Who "sets the captive free", is by God's design unleashed to thirsty listeners who in turn enjoy the constraining, gifting and guiding Spirit. More: Constrained by the Spirit and Freeing Captives Verses. Note: for the second link, you need to scroll down a bit to see the Bible references
  6. (after reading reading Matthew 10:32 and Matthew 10:38-42) Note: I'm excited that today I'm breaking my COVID fellowship fast to go to my church's early morning service. Excited, because there we receive, behold, gain fresh hope and transition to another phase of "out to the world in His Name". Below, I wrote this to a folk melody/song I have in my head, an imaginary hammered dulcimer clanging in the background: How lucky are we when fellowship sways When we are together While we are together We receive the Son How unlike our former natures are we Taking the Supper Savoring the Supper The Son in His Glory so speaks Beyond the hills, Heaven's hope in us climbs We take our leave Healed in this reprieve To travel the Son-soaken Way Six days shall we work, entrust seed to the Father Watching in prayer A heart's distance, praying Until the Day made for us awakes
  7. Thank you, MaryAnn, for listening and sharing.
  8. Wonderful, Ragamuffim! Praise the Lord! I look forward to hearing the music that goes along with your powerful words. Blessings, MaryAnn
  9. The song is like a gift to me--needed it for affirmation. For the last five years, I've experienced an onslaught of reactions to things I apparently stuffed way back in my subconscious. I've been shocked, disappointed and unnerved, as I had to learn a whole new understanding of inner self-control, that kind that pleases God. I'd say I'm phasing out of the shock and experiencing the healing of Jesus' stripes as I learn to trust our loving Father in a more childlike way.
  10. (this morning, the first thing I did after making coffee was to flip on the TV to the TBN channel and watch a few Bill Gaither Memories specials. The last one about Gospel music stuck with me, because after watching, I went hiking for an hour and a new Gospel tune with evolving lyrics popped into my random thinking. I sang this as I walked around (I'll try to figure how to record and upload the singing, later): It's never too late . . . to turn . . . to Jesus Like as the prodigals became Apostles Peter an' Paul! They fell to tough Love, Rose up from the depths of depression. Thomas doubted God lives, Saw the Son Is, Submitted his soul! If it had not been for the Spirit Travailing for us, day and night, And our Attorney Jesus Pleading before the Magistrate, And our Heavely Father Declaring us "Innocent!" Because of the Blood, out of God's Love We are Victory's chil--dren! And we know that God lives, confess the Son Is, Walk in His Free-ee-dom!
  11. You are worth being healed, dear Nikki. Jesus thought so. That is the reason He took 39 stripes on His back for you--one stripe for each of the 39 disease categories recognized by modern medicine. Interesting, no? 1 Peter 2: 24 - "By the stripes of Jesus, you WERE healed." Love and Blessings, MaryAnn
  12. Thank you for sharing this emotionally powerful poem, Jared. As a former writing professor, I love what your own instructor said to you: "And let that page come out of you -- Then, it will be true." The words of a great teacher! Blessings, MaryAnn
  13. (Ok, last one... promise... found in storage today some of my very old poems I wrote in High school. Hope you enjoy.) This one was written with respect to Langston Hughes. (was written as an assignment from my 11th grade AP English teacher...) "The instructor said, 'Go home and write A page tonight And let that page come out of you -- Then, it will be true.' Though it be a bit larger than a page This; the paper I find come out of me in rage, I have to write or you could set me in a cage ___________________________________________ Supposing that he is not as rich as thee, What makes him more or him less free? If he has fewer possessions see, how's that effect your decency? Supposing he had not gone to school and learned about you, Does that make him less human, mortal, or innocent too? What if you were put in his shoes, how would you feel collecting dew? Supposing you were he, and all you thought you held dear fled, What if you couldn't tell me your next meal or your bed? But what if you had enough, but only enough to rent a shed? Supposing you were, you did, you had, or hadn't, nor sought, Can you justify your actions, for you are not? What give the right to judge on a man's background; poor or rot? Supposing he is crude, bitter or rude, unethical or smug, What makes you despise him makes you like the mug! Does answering hatred for hatred do anything more than to move the rug? Supposing he had the right to smile, you know him less than you know me, So, how succumb you to think him a vagrant be? What right have you to label him a savage for all to see? Supposing you knew, you were there to witness his life, What if you witnessed what he saw, if you saw the strife? When his father, drunk, would beat him to a pulp with no reason for a fight. Supposing you heard the cursing he put up with as even a child, they'd all but shout; Foul language directed at him from the dining room, living room, outdoors....; ringing loud. What if his only example was of abuse and curses, if no pity met his tears aroused? Supposing all this, I say, you don't know the circumstances. What's more, treating hatred like-wise only adds tips to his lances. If hatred is his only example and upbringing, correction of love enhances. Supposing he's as ugly as a pig or as blond as the sun, Could you possibly do him more harm than the scum? What if he's a Jew, a German, a Spaniard, or a bloody French nun? Supposing he had a defect or a disease, maybe an accident. What appearance of look or blood, place or faith could mean a cent To subtract his character or respectability, as if that need have to repent. Supposing he has no collar, a blue color, or even a pink, If he was a garbage man, a painter, a kitchen chef, or an internet link, What does it matter if you're a judge, a doctor, or a lawyer, do you think? Supposing we had no janitors, what would happen to our facilities? What if there was no minimal jobs? Why, our nation would fully cease! And while a doctor can save a life, a chef can save a visit with just a little ability. Supposing his skin is black, yellow, tan, white, orange, or blue, Does that change his character, rights, or ability? Here's a clue, What impudency of retardancy loves to linger on is the discriminators hue. Supposing he's, Oh! God forbid, richer than you! Why should you connive behind his back actions to consume? What reasons do you have? He's smarter? More clever? Fiscal I presume? Supposing those can't be the reason... is your ego really that big!? What does more power or more money give you? Not enough to take a swig! How can possessions please, but to broaden the need for more digs. Supposing he's more well known, a celebrity perhaps, or a prick. If he's ignorant, yet more popular, a diva that gets away with the stick, What's that to you? You should have more pity on him; he's in worse conditions than the hick! Supposing you have more character, but he gets more credit, What makes those green eyes glow? Any other way, I wouldn't have it! You do what is right, that's sufficient; deservingly, one way or another, the creep will get it. Supposing he is crooked, haughty, and/or corrupt, It'd be best not to retaliate, deviate or plan until sun-up; What time will tell is often better; sooner or later, society will correct itself and he will get hung-up. Supposing he is illegal or a fiend, or just plain despicable, A monstrocity hidden from the public, is your timing impeccable? What good will vigilante actions do? Very little if he is respectable. Supposing the greens get the best of you, what would you have to say for yourself? What reason would you have to draw attention to yourself by self-help? Why risk giving the police something to look at, or the 'blood hound' a field day: to set you in a vertical shelf? Supposing you decide not to wage a person war, being all the wiser, What attracts the paparazzi is a hint and a bit of research, press for hire. Place the news in the hands of the media or report it, and his house will set itself on fire. Supposing he's rich and straight, a combination rarely seen, yet existent; Could you possibly stereotype the exceptional? Sure, but it wouldn't be fair to the recipient. What good would despising the righteous do? But to mirror an image of your intent. Supposing you had ill-intent for such a man, how are you any better than a fiend? For to have a man of such is an attribute to how capitalism is deemed, What makes it work and tick relies on such men, despising is no less foolish than it seems. Supposing he is older than ye, with gray hair and beard, way over the hill, What he's seen makes him all the wiser, of knowledge if lesser will. Respect is warranted and deemed a proper if you want, in this world, a place to fill. Supposing he is not as old as you, but ever so younger too, With his naivety and your experience, a match to fit seems all too few. What makes the match uncanny? You're out dated, and he's got not a clue. Supposing his pride overshoots his head, and all the more ignorant, What's a plan better suited than to have experience learn the impotent? To pass on knowledge to the next generation. To free the innocent. Supposing he's all he says and more, a genius in his own right. A smart with the aleck on the optional; naive to the tip with knowledgable might. What new education be the next generation, being naive; will no help be in sight? Supposing his new ideas and young wit exists, will old mistakes be visited? What cause would you have not to mentor the child? Wisdom can't be rented. Old will pass, and the new will rise; better wise than meet demise, as hinted. Supposing he's a decrepit old war veteran, doin' not too swell, What's impeccably an old recluse, if not for you, any all could tell. A man a grump, louse, unresponsive, haughty, and a pain from hell: Supposing he's rude, hard of hearing, of language that's damnable, and hard strung, Who complains non-stop; a man who'd bring out a gun if a bird but sung: What compels you to stay is simple, if found, if motive be well hung. Supposing you got hi mot talk, if he, aloud, reminiscence on experience, What, do you suppose, he would say if he let none hidden, no hesitance? Could you imagine? Would you believe? To prove? There is no measurement. Supposing he told you about his training, how they were trained to kill, That in war, you hadn't want no friends; no attachment fill. What those who do get so close, when bullets start to fly, and people start to die; they lose their will. Supposing he had learned by experience; he had a friend he looked to. What one did, the other backed, they protected each other. Helps too few. War is hectic. Things happen. He survived, but lost man after man on the lou. Supposing man after man died beside him; he became to all indifferent. To survive, he became lost to the world, hardened by wars' terror, no resistant. What was left after death of camaraderie and society; cause inconsistent. Supposing he, by battle hardened, came to be who we see. What inclination could cause you to blame what experienced he? He, with personal sacrifice and patrioticity; with humble servant's pity should we be. Supposing he is a politician, or a lawyer. A man who thrives on arguments. Whose success depends on how well he can spin and implement. What causes you to despise only gives him reason for his cause to supplement. Supposing you had a cause to hate, could you possibly justify it? What reason could you bring to be callous toward him with such grit? A man who defends a man whether right or nay, and could allow guilty rit. Supposing such men did not exist, what do you think would happen to our freedom? Without due process of law, how shaped we be but of a witch hunt of heathdom? What would our democracy be, but an oxymoron, see; who has need for such a kingdom. Supposing there is a better process, where is it? Show me, and I will correct this; What can we do in a world where fabrication could be anything just? And doubt includes every evidence, any piece, no decency trust remiss. Supposing you are convicted of your innocence, all evidence points to you innocuous; You've been set up, but how are they supposed to know? All's superfluous. What would you rather, your lawyer take the evidence as fact, or plead your case in spite of this? Supposing he is a reporter; a self-indulging, half-preserving, one-sided conformist; What animosity you have for such a person only makes your public light diminish. If, you say, only he did his job and was the devil's advocate, as ma admonished! Supposing we had no press, no news service, or paper, or radio channel space. Could you possibly imagine the digression we would face? What could give an inclination of their worthlessness in that case? Supposing they gave no discretion what-so-ever, could you imagine the harm inflicted? What would you rather? Digression? Non-discretion? Or a conformist? What would be more resisted? Could you decide which would be best? As for me, I'd rather it stay at least consistent. Supposing he's loco, weird, dorky, a jerk, a drunk, or a slut. What if he's a sailor, a soldier, a pilot, or an old crab who lives in a hut. Could any occupation, background, looks, or other ever justify your action? Could it possibly get you out of a rut? Supposing you think me; full of it. This nonsense seems to be eluding wisdom and wit. If you think I'd be offended by it, let me say this; your entitlety, respectfully, is unhit. What you say, I respect. All opinions are valid, and rightfully so, but I say this; this came from the heart, or I would not have rit. Supposing, who-ever he may be, you have a reason to hate him. Could you do more harm than to show your animosity? Do you think you could change his character? Can hatred do anything? How 'bout some pity? What good would come from it? What defiance could ever cause you subsidy? Supposing all this, what cause would you have? For to only hurt will abound. What point could there be for malice or animosity? It's misplaced; it will only confound. To hate will shape who you are, as your actions do, and others react accordingly sound. Supposing you had a reason; a reason for despair, loneliness and destruction. Why? If you had a reason to hate, to despise those least innate, or those of stature. You could, but why? What? Why? Supposing you had a reason, what could it be? Would you tell me? What reason? Why? _______________________________ This is my page for English AP.
  14. The blessing of ages, the light of the world, Like a touch from angels, radiant splendor of a herald; Wisdom abound from it's intricate doorstep, Flowing around him, discernment clung like a corset. Same plot, burdened all the same, As the price of knowing disconcerts the main; The more the knowledge, the greater the secrets enhance, As his mind sees nothing of value, for all per chance. Seeking purpose, looking place after place for a subtle hint, Counselor of man, bewilderment replaces befuddlement; Many look to his counsel, amazed as to his context words, Of words at alarming rate to halt presupposed flight of swords. Searching, yearning to find the truth of purpose and of worth, To find what makes the feeling prolong: that of the homely hearth; Of all that we look for and work for throughout our life, The point of which peace flows through and all stops strife. All encompassing, searchingly somber he to find reason, Throughout the years, of days, months, and every minute of the season; Every waking second stood he looking, truth evading, Glaring in his face it stood, not realizing, ignorance restating. In the field he looked with waving bands of single strands, Where men toiled to bring food to the land with work of their hands; Then followed into the streets, through main and slum he went, Beggars, poor and simple, die with hunger as no food there sent. Through a blacksmith hammer he looked uncanny, With nail and shoe he pressed for horse so handy; And through the back door stood the staunch horse, Unused, uncared for, laying in pasture, wind puncturing, hair coarse. With forest encompassing, studied him in color, As green flourished and life flittered, his thoughts sour; Savagery expressed, as life runs in a circle so uselessly, While fire and city grows on the embankment relentlessly. Then to a wharf did he fly to embark to unseen places, In a ship of the sea, of a vast sea they sailed to see all new faces; A new visage, an old mask, as visited lands lay mislead, With similar questions, they too look to the same, all conceited. On to the market, expression of money and tangibility, And so he works, comes to wealth and abode considerably; He buys all to his content, hope renewed, yet it's controlled, For he knows not to what end, realizing time decays all and is destroyed. So to the temple he creeps, with despair and solemn perseverance, He studies the words of God and listens to priest reservations; Confounded, seeing corruption as lawmen and law contradict, Even so studying, as teachers of men live life of the opposite. Yet he comes to realize to his fault, his regarding error, The error of all, other words, man as a whole is of erroneous labor; Only the word of God, of the creator, could possibly reason lease, And so pleased, his hope encompassing, the wise man sleeps in peace.
  15. (found in storage today some of my very old poems I wrote in High school. Hope you enjoy. - this one was my attempt at a love poem...with a twist.) Emanating gray, tints of white arrayed, Majestic skies of blue above the mountain's purple hue, Wings of the great, our pride encompassing never late; Falling, destined, as if on cue, replacing solitude renewed. Swirling, twirling, as if alone, two complacent as one, Diving, fighting, nature's impressment of love, Sighing lightly, running slightly under the rising sun; Fluttering, fleeting, no need of indifference solve. Nesting, resting, two lay at bay with no touch of delay, Worthy of note, loves enduring passion aloft, Both perplexed to stay, the blooming cravings of May; Of delicate touch, the caress... oh, so soft. The birth of the new, full of life and fortitude of savvy jaegars, Not of the sea, the majestic celestials are all but baby eagles.
  16. (found in storage today some of my very old poems I wrote in High school. Hope you enjoy. - this one was written in remembrance of 9/11.) A war on our homes, our hearts, and our minds, Of strangers on every sense of worth and thought; Sighted acceptance, the mask of tolerance rid with taut, With malcontent and a misconception, our patience grinds. Our understanding not withstanding their line of sight, Fearing what we do not know acts as much on them as on us; Imposing what makes sense to us, the paradox unsolved becomes dust, Hostilities grow and extremes of impulse ignore what is right. Truth forlorner, most unknown, actions of animosity engulfing all, Estatic violence grow to coordinated malice, terror spreading; Political failure leads to vigilante actions of chaotic heading, As misteachings with misgivings adds rifts in international law. Searching for purpose, radical actions increasingly hasten, Tactics influence global death tolls, as terror shocks the nation.
  17. (found in storage today some of my very old poems I wrote in High school. Hope you enjoy. - this one was an attempt at biblical allegory.) Blue waves of the silver lining, Scattered shadows of the purple bane; The simmering sun straining without comply to shining, Onto the chaotic normalcy of the darker reign. Unable to break through, on and on cower the grey hearted. Doomed to fail, never to do, the clay ends before it has started. Slivers of orange shine through all but frequent, With a tint of yellow gracing the head of those below; Dismal among many, bitter bickering among delinquent, Black encompassing, all hope seeming shallow. Red laws binding all to despair, none accomplishing, By darkness, treachery all of this now demonstrating. A story painted white tells of a prophecy of hope, Light shines of the pages, of the wonderful words, in notes; Beautifully orchestrated, the sound leaving blackness unable to cope, And the light became life and walked with the weary as rote. Not of the darkness, this light saw the despair of the revealed, Blackness fought to consume this threat, which never prevailed. Shimmering florescence spread throughout the surrounding faces, As they finally understood, the grey had piqued, life throughout spreading; Beady black eyes consumed by destruction, nothing more replaces, Sought to continuously to obviate the plan of the light's heading. Finally surrounding the light, the world goes black, then in splendor, a light, So brilliant as to blank out the sun, and so ascends as intended leaving, with it's blood, the world pure white.
  18. I pray for today to be a better day Washing away the tears of yesterday When I see the sun shine through It helps for my hope to renew And my strength in You I can abide Because your always by my side Even in the darkest of the dark You still leave your mark Making this life bareable When inside I feel so terrible Only You could make a difference In this instance When I feel such defeat Im laying my burdens down at your feet
  19. Thank you, Chuck. I am so glad you were blessed!
  20. I like your poem, Mary Ann! Many blessings!
  21. I Walk by Faith by Mary Ann Diorio I walk by faith, And not by sight, Tho' great the storm, Tho' black the night. I listen not To doubt or fear, But to Your Word, I turn my ear And place my trust In It alone, And count Your promises As done. ____________________________________ © 1996 by Mary Ann Diorio, PhD All rights reserved.
  22. A poem of depth and beauty. Thank you for sharing it.
  23. (A visit to the priory in Weston Vermont) I take a single step onto the path, grass and weed underfoot, stones marking the way. I came expecting the complex and received simplicity. For what shall I pray and what canonized words should I use? ‘Our Father in heaven,’ but this discourse points toward my needs. My prayers have already been heard. I surrender to the world around me, untouched by the progress of today and yesterday. I surrender to the silence where the Spirit’s voice is amplified and I am left without petition. My final step, reached after meditation well spent, listening to the voice of my creator, He who has counted the hairs on my head, He who has said come and in the quiet has given me rest. Donald P James Jr 2019
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