Priest poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of priest poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on priest are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
He stands so tall, and shining bright We marvel at the sight Of one who teaches, sound and true. Who longs for love for me and you From God. Who else could give this gift? This feeling that will surely
From birth to death I am on alter Everything is destined then how can I falter Without no fault I am defaulter Only good faith can be exalter The creation has to follow path of creator Between good and bad
The minute that you meet her she will tell you she is ill She keeps all her medication upon her windowsill And I have to say It makes a fine display Her grandchildren are fascinated by their colours, shapes and
The door closes behind me with a snap. My footsteps echo strangely on the street’s pavement. I feel the urge to go back. A pale sun is struggling hard to escape the cloud’s clutches. The smell of incense covers the
In Chicago, by the early 70’s, many great churches had taken flight Off to suburbia they went, seeking refuge from crime and blight In the late 60’s, one man answered the call to win the lost to Christ He moved
The mother knows compassion and grants permission the father accepts responsibility and manifests reality the child is born and experiences god directly the adolescent unfortunately forgets its connection to the divine the teacher shares self-evident truths and growth occurs the
Let it remain ovarian pure. After strangulation the truth, for hypoxic euphoria. Flies in your face the dirt, the denial, the terracotta of superposition of speech, hiding self-interest. Blackened Crozier for wrinkled crotch, drops the ashes of love on unopened
They walk in dreams nightmarishly spirits of nameless faces staring without eyes. The screams: of a child on whom you poured boiling water. The screams: of a girl made to wear only flesh, because she ran away with a priest.
All hail to a noble Saviour of low birth who lies in a cradle surrounded by beasts. The chants of joy and gladness from all the earth mark his lowly birth with wonderful feasts. All hail to our Lord whose
Awareness becomes a burden, with opposite thoughts in conflict, Crawling like roaches on your skin. Sage or beast it was same. They run on the bricks in sun or drift at night on unwrapped voices. Every thread of a dialogue
NEW MOON SPELL in the backwoods of the Louisiana bayou, voodoo is alive and well… Calling on fire, wind, earth and water in the shadow of the torch lights as the dance of the dead is danced, caught up in
Today gives me an ethernal hurting of the raging night, my moon had crashed on the wings of flamingoes While saying farewell to crying winds of the creek when waves slapping sideways on crazy shores of silence, another watchman of
Time sets upon the arcane taboos you wear the unknown fear like cowries around your neck, a bulletproof jacket did not work, the fish in the brain was the religion. Whom do you trust now in the caveful of seekers?
I could not take it, the fear. Transient flesh vibrant in a sunken ship. On a coral island deconstruction of a fallen window. Jumping on million skins. The level of violence was rising. Rebuttal will not convey the truth, the
Asphyxiated by curled hands. Punishment for tainted moon, it has floated down to darker side of continence. You push the body in wall, Coal burns in the eyes. The shadow at last, leaves the body. The high priest, goes for
After separation from death rain-scented moon was rising in broken sky. Night birds started fluting one to another relentlessly; earth unjointed, was speechless, in failures we meet often, a little while. I was ascetic scaling blood pollution, the life had
Waiting, wailing, weeping! When..when..when ??? The expected turns out to be the unexpected!! What have I done? Why do I merit this award? Months and months of agonizing waiting… rewarded with a still- born! Only to have a heart torn?
When night will not speak and shoes will float on the water; legs of truth will not move. Latched to absence unreasons held the hands of time. I stopped believing in myself. The genome had come in a bottle. when
You know the hardest things in life. Is to be supportive to a person who has serious problems and will not admit in having them. Life is like a streaming water flowing and still but deeper than and angry waves.
Not contentious I will put you in moon for another rain. The invisible sex ticks the gravity of mouth that eats the murder. My body becomes an emperor even for the dust. Not the naked cloud. Blood colors the name
An accountant, businessman, psychologist, or teacher? Great challenging and responsible endeavors, but for who? What was God thinking when he made you? A doctor, lawyer, Janitor, engineer, or carpenter? All good and noble professions, but for who? What was God
Well there’s Hooverville on the edge of the river haint nuttin boot flimsy cardboard e’en with clothes will shiver waiting for tension to be released like a arrow in a taut quiver major organs ready to burst open cuz day
Under the tree of learning of another life, the primitive father arrives. Casts a spell of wisdom, between sorrow and death with a speck of tears in circle of beings. But a rain-soaked serpentine path leads to a ravine. A
In this blood-watered land forms flow fluid as serpent becomes lizard, lizard becomes turtle, turtle become cicada, cicada becomes sea urchin, becomes sacred owl with onyx eyes In this soul-fed land fugitive figures fuse into each other, my breath becomes
Betrayals from long-ago, Resurfaced when I saw you. Though time had past, The wounds still bleed. As if the damage, Was done yesterday! No apologies ever flowed, From your evil lips. Sympathy was never implied, All I could see was
You showered down the staircase, in waves of color and crystals You left petals of pink orchids across the hallway How coulld I remain in this place, knowing you were here I’ll never walk down this old eroded street again,
A pair of hazel eyes look at me. Your ‘bandana’ runs up to forehead, a scarf covers nose, chin and below, the pinky complexion of your cheeks lures me to paint you as a lovely maid. There is no invitation
His uniform starched and ironed parade style proudly, he stepped down from the squad van Nothing depicts him from the regular combatant except the fiber helmet, considering the hazard of his job; this looks pretty light, one would say He