Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Poetry church.
No one leads,
everyone pleads.
Wails and chants.
Whispers and rants.
Through stained glass
windows
of same sky above,
heart mysteries ride
on prism-lighted love,
dancing down walls
of isolation,
no such thing
as hell and damnation,
here where we come
to faithfully search,
get saved by our prayers,
in Poetry church.

the (eternal?-- wow, what an overused word) mystery of consciousness. yes, get me to the church on time..

we come far and wide
to share our minds
the building pew-less
space between the ears
the doors always unlocked
we mingle with our brethren

thanx for the inspiration, hes
a church indeed

I get much more from the Poetry Church than I ever got from the Methodist...

Just a way of saying I really enjoyed this poem ... Sue

I’d heard that they worshipped a word
and read from the poets of old;
they sing from the songs of the nations
and honor orations, I’m told--

and even of those who are silent,
it’s dialogue somehow they seek:
poetically voiced benedictions
to merciful peacemakers meek.

So why would their faithful so stifle
their faith in a small idle box,
if that whom they love as one living
lets poetry be orthodox?

Jesus, where are the peacemakers!?

(okay, was that out loud?)

ok, so it's a BIG stifling idle box....

Hester, your poem is great, and hopeful, and open. Thanks!

Get me to the poetry church on time

Thanks Hester.

I, too, enjoy the "poetry church". Hester, thanks for your uplifting poem.

Y'all come see some of my "penny haiku" in my "Life in the Horse Lane" column.

"Willburrrr!"says "Mr. Ed"...I think Mr. Ed bumped his head in his stall. Maybe I
spend too much time in mine. Hoo Hah! May the congregation say "Amen"