By Mercedes Lucero
dear mary metonym of mine to
mind *mary *mari *mare *mere
Magdalene or mother not as
Abuelita dreams…
Explore Poems: Christianity
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- By Chris WatkinsI was riding toward Damascus
to yell at some Christians and maybe
stone a few uninhibited women
when… - By K. IverAt my beloved’s burial,
I can’t see his body.
Only carnations. I hear
your name and my beloved’s
in the … - By Robert DuncanThis is the way it is. We see
three ages in one: the child Jesus
innocent of Jerusalem and Rome
- magically at home in joy -
that’s the year from which
our inner persistence has its force.
The second, Bergman shows us,
carries forward image after... - By Jupiter HammonI
O come you pious youth! adore
The wisdom of thy God,
In bringing thee from distant shore,
To learn His holy word.
Eccles. xii.
II
Thou mightst been left behind
Amidst a dark abode;
God’s tender mercy still combin’d,
Thou hast the... - By William LanglandIn a somer seson, whan softe was þe sonne,
I shoop me into [a] shrou[d] as I a sheep weere,
In habite as an heremite, vnholy of werkes,
Wente wide in þis world wondres to here.
Ac on a May morwenynge on Maluerne hilles
Me... - By William LanglandWolleward and weetshoed wente I forþ after
As a recchelees renk þat [reccheþ of no wo],
And yede forþ lik a lorel al my lif tyme,
Til I weex wery of þe world and wilned eft to slepe,
And lened me to a lenten,... - By William Langland‘þis were a wikkede wey but whoso hadde a gyde
þat [myȝte] folwen us ech foot’: þus þis folk hem mened.
Quod Perkyn þe Plowman, ‘By Seint Peter of Rome!
I haue an half acre to erie by þe heiȝe weye;
Hadde I eryed... - By UnknownHwæt! Ic swefna cyst secgan wylle,
hwæt me gemætte to midre nihte,
syðþan reordberend reste wunedon!
þuhte me þæt ic gesawe syllicre treow
on lyft lædan, leohte bewunden,
beama beorhtost. Eall þæt beacen wæs
begoten mid golde. Gimmas stodon
fægere æt foldan sceatum, swylce þær fife wæron
uppe... - By UnknownTranslated By Roy M. LiuzzaListen! I will speak of the sweetest dream,
what came to me in the middle of the night,
when speech-bearers slept in their rest.
It seemed that I saw a most wondrous tree
raised on high, wound round with light,
the brightest of beams. All... - By Richard Rolle[Alle perisches and passes pat we with eghe see]
It wanes into wrechednes, þe welth of þis worlde.
Robes and ritches rotes in dike,
Prowde payntyng slakes into sorow,
Delites and drewryse stynk sal ful sone,
Þair golde and þaire tresoure drawes þam til dede.
Al... - By CaedmonTranslated By Roy M. LiuzzaNow let us praise Heaven-Kingdom's guardian,
the Maker's might and his mind's thoughts,
the work of the glory-father—of every wonder,
eternal Lord. He established a beginning.
He first shaped for men's sons
Heaven as a roof, the holy Creator;
then middle-earth mankind's guardian,
eternal Lord, afterwards prepared
the... - By Harriet Beecher StoweLoudly sweep the winds of autumn
O'er that lone, beloved grave,
Where we laid those sunny ringlets,
When those blue eyes set like stars,
Leaving us to outer darkness.
O the longing and the aching!
O the sere deserted grave!
Let the grass turn brown upon thee,
Brown... - By Harriet Beecher StoweKnocking, knocking, ever knocking?
Who is there?
'Tis a pilgrim, strange and kingly,
Never such was seen before;—
Ah, sweet soul, for such a wonder
Undo the door.
No,—that door is hard to open;
Hinges rusty, latch is broken;
Bid Him go.
Wherefore, with that knocking dreary
Scare the sleep... - By Harriet Beecher StoweI.
MIDNIGHT.
"He hath made me to dwell in darkness as those that have been long dead."
All dark!—no light, no ray!
Sun, moon, and stars, all gone!
Dimness of anguish!—utter void!—
Crushed, and alone!
One waste of weary pain,
One dull, unmeaning ache,
A heart too weary even... - By St. John of the CrossI.
In a dark night,
With anxious love inflamed,
O, happy lot!
Forth unobserved I went,
My house being now at rest.
II.
In darkness and in safety,
By the secret ladder, disguised,
O, happy lot!
In darkness and concealment,
My house being now at rest.
III.
In that happy night,
In secret, seen... - By Hildegard of BingenTranslated By Barbara NewmanSpirited light! on the edge
of the Presence your yearning
burns in the secret darkness,
O angels, insatiably
into God's gaze.
Perversity
could not touch your beauty;
you are essential joy.
But your lost companion,
angel of the crooked
wings—he sought the summit,
shot down the depths of God
and plummeted to... - By Hildegard of BingenTranslated By Barbara NewmanThe Spirit of God
is a life that bestows life,
root of world-tree
and wind in its boughs.
Scrubbing out sin,
she rubs oil into wounds.
She is glistening life
alluring all praise,
all-awakening,
all-resurrecting.
- By Michaella Batteni.
i am sitting in sunday school
in a handsewn pink dress and white lace tights
i am putting my hand down when we
learn about david and jonathan
i am not asking if king david was bi
i am taking communion
i am bowing my head... - By Ashlee Hazethe pastor says
we are having church
and I begin to wonder what it means to
possess a thing you cannot touch
I caught the holy ghost once
after chasing him in the back pews
held onto him long enough to convince my mother of salvation
then...