My favorite poems are
Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Coleridge and
Fire and Ice by Robert Frost.
Is there any few lines that express desperation and pain quite as elegantly as these?
Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.
I think not. The image of dying of dehydration while surrounded by a literal ocean of water you cannot drink is so . . . perfect.
As for Fire and Ice, that's short enough to reprint whole:
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
"From what I've tasted of desire/I hold with those who favor fire" is just perfect to me in every way.
I mention this because I've stumbled upon a treasure trove of modern Christian poetry that makes me wonder why I haven't seen Samuel Coleridge or Robert Frost's shambling corpses looking for revenge upon us all. (If you do see them, be sure to give them Glenn Beck's latest book along with a printout from googlemaps.)
Only God could pay for my sins
Only in flesh
Could my God die
Jesus hung on a hand hewed cross
Silhouetted against a darkened sky
5 points for Silhouetted against a darkened sky, 5 points for spelling "Silhouetted" correctly, -15 for hand hewed cross. It's hewn. Hand-hewn. Wait, -20 for implying that there may have been mass production in the year 33 CE.
On that tree
Was the Word of God
Forever faithful and true
Betrayed and scorned by evil men
Including me and you
When did I beat the risen Lord
When did I curse His Holy Name
When did I deny Him and then run off
Hiding in absolute shame
-20 for almost making me choke on my 7up upon being asked when I beat the risen Lord. You probably shouldn't combine "beat" and "risen".
I didn’t do that, no not me
Jesus I did not betray
It was them, it was them
Evil men, their vicious lies
That killed the Lord that day
But in my heart the truth burns deep
Innocent, no I an not
My sin and yours held the nails
Our soul depraved and full of rot
-50 for making me say that out loud to see if (a) you were still sticking to the meter, and (b) if there were some meter related reason to say "our soul" rather than "our souls".
But on that cross on Calvary’s hill
The full and complete price was paid
“It is finished”,cried my precious Lord
And with that our souls were saved
I think the main problem here is the kind of thing musicians run into: you have to fit the lyrics into a certain rhythm and song length, so you end up with some really weird word choices and expressions in order to do so. This guy had to get in the evangelical salvation message no matter what, so the end went right off the rails.
I ponder upon Your Forgiveness and Grace
Through You I came to salvation’s embrace
Who am I that You'd take notice of me
I present all that I am to You, willingly
Once in sin I was separated from You
Now restored and alive to Your Truth
My deepest joy is praising Your Name
You changed me, never to be the same
Where once my path was dark and cold
You reached for my hand and took hold
Planted within me a desire to be holy
To have no fear but to trust in You only
My Savior, Lord, Fortress and Shield
My whole being to You I forever yield
That makes Only God look like the work of Robert Blake (did he who make the lamb make thee?) When I become Empress of the Entire Freakin' World, I will burn all rhyming dictionaries, because that is the only explanation for this.
It’s My Time To Fly
Lord, you know all about me
You see what’s in my heart
Only you alone can guide me
And show me where to start
With patience you teach me wisdom
In faith I’ll learn to walk
Lord, I’m an eaglette, still learning
Sometimes, you’ll hear me squawk
Squawk? The first clue you're not writing poetry is that you used the words "eaglette" and "squawk".
Cast out of my nest
My parents built for me
Out went my toys
It seemed crazy to me
Baby eagles have toys?
It’s time to stretch my wings
I have to learn to fly
I’ve watched my mom and dad
Now, It’s my time to fly
They showed me how to eat
Taught me how to hunt for food
Daily catching meals in flight
It tasted mighty good
"It tasted mighty good" has removed my will to live.
When I see storms are coming
I don’t run away and hide
I stretch my wings towards Heaven
And above the cloud I’ll take my flight
Seriously, that's the end of the poem. It's a good thing I've already given up on living. Which may be why I'm feeling positive about this:
Men don't believe in a devil now
as their fathers used to do
They've opened the door to the broadest creed to let his majesty thur
there isn't a print of his cloven feet or a fiery dart from his bow
To be found on earth or anywhere.,
for the world has voted it so.
Okay. You have to admit that there isn't a print of his cloven feet or a fiery dart from his bow is like poetry, in the way that toilet water and wine are like one another, being liquids, but I'm sensing some teabaggery politics in here. the world voted on the devil? Also, do women believe in the DEVIL now?
But who is mixing the fatal draught that kills both heart and brain,
And loads the earth each passing year with ten hundred thousands slain?
Who blights the bloom pf the land today with the fiery breath of hell?
If the devil isn't or never was - won't somebody please rise and tell?
I like "draught". I just do. The word itself, the spelling, it makes me happy. (You already knew I was wierd, I'm sure.) "Blights the bloom of the land" isn't killing me.
Who dogs the steps of the toiling saint and digs the pits for his feet?
Who sows the tares in the field of time when GOD is sowing pure wheat,
But the devil is voted just not to be - and of course the thing is true. -
But who is doing the kind of work the devil is supossed to do?
Won't somebody step to the front row right now
- and immediately begin to show -
How the frauds and crimes of the day spring up -
for surely we want to know!
The devil was fairly voted out
- and of course the devil's gone -
But simply folk would like to know, who carries his business on?
I'm guessing people who foist such trash upon an unsuspecting internet, that's who!
Just to help you with the soulbleed you undoubtedly have right now, let's take a trip to the pleasure dome:
In Xanadu did Kublai Khan
A stately Pleasure-Dome decree,
Where Alph, the sacred river ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers was girdled ’round,
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.