Submissions by Baldwin
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
12th May 2020 6:56pm
12th May 2020 6:56pm
J-Z and his "If"
I wonder why
a man who tells us not to deem the past
as something that contains a wealth of pleasant scenes
will keep referring to events
that played out on a crucial day
in 33 CE
as glorious, love filled,
to be remembered, too
as those that brought and brings
salvation unto men like me and you.
And then there is the way,
despite his bold assertions that to think on "coming times"
as ours, since they, as yet, are not realities,
is foolishness,
he keeps rejoicing in his visions of
just what he claims he’s certain...
a man who tells us not to deem the past
as something that contains a wealth of pleasant scenes
will keep referring to events
that played out on a crucial day
in 33 CE
as glorious, love filled,
to be remembered, too
as those that brought and brings
salvation unto men like me and you.
And then there is the way,
despite his bold assertions that to think on "coming times"
as ours, since they, as yet, are not realities,
is foolishness,
he keeps rejoicing in his visions of
just what he claims he’s certain...
#satirical
405 reads
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SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
14th Apr 2020 3:30pm
14th Apr 2020 3:30pm
Jealousy
There was a “Once”
when the majestic prince of all the bene elohim,
that is to say, the one who held the office of accuser
of bad men,
was asked by God to tell
what he’d been up to recently.
The Satan then replied,
“Oh, I’ve been spending all my earthy moments
making little bluebell flowers angry
at a bee”.
And when HaShem seemed vexed
with this brief answering
and said how much endeavors to make
flowers sin (supposing that they could)
was like a dog’s harsh barking hour...
when the majestic prince of all the bene elohim,
that is to say, the one who held the office of accuser
of bad men,
was asked by God to tell
what he’d been up to recently.
The Satan then replied,
“Oh, I’ve been spending all my earthy moments
making little bluebell flowers angry
at a bee”.
And when HaShem seemed vexed
with this brief answering
and said how much endeavors to make
flowers sin (supposing that they could)
was like a dog’s harsh barking hour...
#jealousy
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SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
13th Apr 2020 1:07am
13th Apr 2020 1:07am
What I didn't do
I am the angel who was sent by Yahweh down
unto to the earth,
down to the outskirts of Jerusalem,
at break of dawn on Easter day
to free and roll away the tethered stone
set then to block, close up decisively,
the egress and the entryway of Jesu’s
gifted tomb.
Forgive me please, HaShem,
if I make bold to say that I’ll be devil damned,
if what I did so early on that morn
showed Jesus to be You, the God of all,
instead of a just man that you redeemed
from death,
confirming that he was indeed, but only this, ...
unto to the earth,
down to the outskirts of Jerusalem,
at break of dawn on Easter day
to free and roll away the tethered stone
set then to block, close up decisively,
the egress and the entryway of Jesu’s
gifted tomb.
Forgive me please, HaShem,
if I make bold to say that I’ll be devil damned,
if what I did so early on that morn
showed Jesus to be You, the God of all,
instead of a just man that you redeemed
from death,
confirming that he was indeed, but only this, ...
#WritingPoetry
360 reads
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SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
12th Apr 2020 5:21pm
12th Apr 2020 5:21pm
Jesus' love
O Jesus, Lord!
You are so soft,
like down,
like flakes of falling snow,
so good to me
that I can never,
any longer, frown.
You’ve taught mankind
to plainly see, to know
that, like old Plato
and the Orphics claimed
before you came
to earth,
and like the Gnostics, too,
assert against the orthodox,
I have (I am)
an entombed soul
and its intended berth,
its telic goal,
its home is up aloft,
not here within
this doomed, corrupt
(though blessed as good
by...
You are so soft,
like down,
like flakes of falling snow,
so good to me
that I can never,
any longer, frown.
You’ve taught mankind
to plainly see, to know
that, like old Plato
and the Orphics claimed
before you came
to earth,
and like the Gnostics, too,
assert against the orthodox,
I have (I am)
an entombed soul
and its intended berth,
its telic goal,
its home is up aloft,
not here within
this doomed, corrupt
(though blessed as good
by...
#Christian
394 reads
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SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
12th Apr 2020 4:39pm
12th Apr 2020 4:39pm
Incarnation
To suffer death
was so for him
an easy thing to do.
And being raised
was just a matter of
a small wait in a tomb.
The hardest part
of his becoming
hard enmeshed
within the world
which knew him not
was squeezing down
all of what the Logos was
to be inside
a woman’s womb
to then be made
a tented person
wrapped in flesh.
was so for him
an easy thing to do.
And being raised
was just a matter of
a small wait in a tomb.
The hardest part
of his becoming
hard enmeshed
within the world
which knew him not
was squeezing down
all of what the Logos was
to be inside
a woman’s womb
to then be made
a tented person
wrapped in flesh.
#death
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SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
11th Apr 2020 2:10pm
11th Apr 2020 2:10pm
Golgatha
I watched him die,
this γόης,
this thorn-crowned
nail impaled ψευδοπροφήτης,
this broken "Jewish king"
who’d be the ruining of Israel
if we, his covenanted people, took seriously
his claim that Yahweh’s mandate
makes it clear
we should display
a piety that centers in
a loving non-resistance to our enemy,
the Kittim, Romans, hated conquerors,
who revel in idolatry.
He cried aloud
with his last breath,
bereft of joy ...
this γόης,
this thorn-crowned
nail impaled ψευδοπροφήτης,
this broken "Jewish king"
who’d be the ruining of Israel
if we, his covenanted people, took seriously
his claim that Yahweh’s mandate
makes it clear
we should display
a piety that centers in
a loving non-resistance to our enemy,
the Kittim, Romans, hated conquerors,
who revel in idolatry.
He cried aloud
with his last breath,
bereft of joy ...
#despair
324 reads
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LOVE POEM
Published
10th Apr 2020 7:05pm
10th Apr 2020 7:05pm
distance
How sad it is to know
that I will never have
your mouth,
your blazing lips,
pressed close
and avidly on mine,
or never hear
within a sheltered night
you whisper low
and soft against my ear,
within desire inflamed,
as if in ardent prayer
my name.
that I will never have
your mouth,
your blazing lips,
pressed close
and avidly on mine,
or never hear
within a sheltered night
you whisper low
and soft against my ear,
within desire inflamed,
as if in ardent prayer
my name.
#sensual
362 reads
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SELF POEM
Published
9th Apr 2020 6:29pm
9th Apr 2020 6:29pm
No Jewels
As I grow old
and now approach my Moiraid end
the writing skills that I was taught,
that I acquired
and used with some elan,
throughout my life
for working up good poetry
have all become like renegades
to me.
Fair metaphors and similes
that once dripped from my pen
without a moment’s thought,
have in these dimming days
become things lost in fogs.
And oh!
no matter how much effort
I expend in search of them,
an easy apprehension of the kinds
of fine, enchanting words
that was much mine...
and now approach my Moiraid end
the writing skills that I was taught,
that I acquired
and used with some elan,
throughout my life
for working up good poetry
have all become like renegades
to me.
Fair metaphors and similes
that once dripped from my pen
without a moment’s thought,
have in these dimming days
become things lost in fogs.
And oh!
no matter how much effort
I expend in search of them,
an easy apprehension of the kinds
of fine, enchanting words
that was much mine...
#WritingPoetry
#aging
320 reads
12 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
8th Apr 2020 4:27pm
8th Apr 2020 4:27pm
Farmer and his gun
A predatory weasel saw
a farmer with a gun
sitting by what then was left
of all his weasel pilfered hens
so ready to unload
a bullet now and then
to foul the weasel's head and limbs
and make the little carnivore undone.
"I'll scram from here
and 'flee the coop'",
the weasel said.
"Yes, given that my hunger for
a Coronel Sanders breast and leg
might bring my death to me,
my acts of poaching chickens from this man
no longer's any fun".
a farmer with a gun
sitting by what then was left
of all his weasel pilfered hens
so ready to unload
a bullet now and then
to foul the weasel's head and limbs
and make the little carnivore undone.
"I'll scram from here
and 'flee the coop'",
the weasel said.
"Yes, given that my hunger for
a Coronel Sanders breast and leg
might bring my death to me,
my acts of poaching chickens from this man
no longer's any fun".
#parody
330 reads
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LOVE POEM
Published
7th Apr 2020 10:40pm
7th Apr 2020 10:40pm
another kiss
And up she brings her mouth to mine,
and then she sets her shining eyes to dazzle me,
to set my blood on fire.
And when intoxicated by her tongue
and towering kiss,
I know the wild expanse of hard desire
and how I die within her body's press.
Possess me then, and harrow all my flesh.
And give to me this death
again, again, again.
and then she sets her shining eyes to dazzle me,
to set my blood on fire.
And when intoxicated by her tongue
and towering kiss,
I know the wild expanse of hard desire
and how I die within her body's press.
Possess me then, and harrow all my flesh.
And give to me this death
again, again, again.
#lust
361 reads
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LOVE POEM
Published
6th Apr 2020 7:12pm
6th Apr 2020 7:12pm
Kiss
She turns and bares her neck to me.
She wants, she says,
my tapered tongue to glide,
my mouth to kiss,
a pulsing warmth along the length of it,
to shiver her and make her breasts
come hard alive and ready for my touch.
She shall not be deprived of this,
her aching wish.
She shall be shivered well,
and shivered much.
She wants, she says,
my tapered tongue to glide,
my mouth to kiss,
a pulsing warmth along the length of it,
to shiver her and make her breasts
come hard alive and ready for my touch.
She shall not be deprived of this,
her aching wish.
She shall be shivered well,
and shivered much.
#erotic
457 reads
4 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
5th Apr 2020 9:37pm
5th Apr 2020 9:37pm
night
Let us taste as quickly as we can
the night's cool flesh
and press it wildly up against our skin.
A twilight such as this,
with all the earth now swaddled in
a star sung lullaby,
and evening's black pulse rushing
through the sky,
may never come again.
the night's cool flesh
and press it wildly up against our skin.
A twilight such as this,
with all the earth now swaddled in
a star sung lullaby,
and evening's black pulse rushing
through the sky,
may never come again.
#lust
421 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by Baldwin
