The Distained Slain

The Distained Slain

by Seah Greenhorn

(poem with copyright)

Slain:

Festuring Manure,

Fertilize

Earth's Plains.

....in exactly SIX words.. a contest by MegK Write the scariest story in six words Based on Jeremiah 25:33, 34
http://wol.jw.org/en/wol/d/r1/lp-e/102005492?q=as+manure&p=par  sad • spiritual © Lucretia Mccloud 2016

IT IS

IT IS

by Seah Greenhorn

(poem with copyright)

It is what it is
'til it ain't;

cause you do what you can
'til you can't.

This thought
frees my mind
puts at ease

as fall trees
of their branches
their dead leaves.

10 lines Hearthrob
Create A Meaning Quote of Your Own

a contest by Hearthrob
Co-judges: editor
[ bookmark ]
Contest Info
Entries (9)
Comments (3)

Let's see what you can do in regards to the topic: Quote Yourself In Your Own Poetic Words

RULES: You will be DQ'ed if not followed

Any style of writing is allowed: Free form, rhyming, etc...

Please no pre-writes
Please keep it short (10) lines or less
Please place line count in AN
Please pay attention to grammar and spelling
Please proof read your work
Please no adult content, no profanity

Important Note: PLEASE PAY STRICT ATTENTION TO THE RULES
© Lucretia Mccloud 2016

Desire of a Righteous Man

Desire of a Righteous Man

by Seah Greenhorn

(Poem with copyright)

Circles.
Chains.

Losses.
Gains.

The Web of life
intricately complex
indeed.

Humanitarian focus
a must. A need.

Strip bare our land
how will our seed
feed

or stand?

Pollute our oceans...
no fish or corals will breed
to colorize international seas.

Will consumer greed
kill biodiversity

with its voracious
appetite promoting envy

leaving tiny fingers
cut to bleed?

No.

Reversal is held in capable hands
In accordance with a Grand Master's plan:

"To bring to ruin those ruining the earth.""

Isn't that the desire
of a Righteous man?

Contest: Peace, Chaos, Order
They say a picture’s worth a 1000 words but what comes to mind with this one?. The "photo" at this link is your prompt. Write what comes to mind in your preferred writing style.

I don’t have the required silver membership to post the photo here so please go to the link below.

Photo: BIO-Fear
http://sfbrennanart.blogspot.ca/2012/09/bio-fear.html

Rules:

- No Swearing
- No Adult Material
- 10 Lines Minimum
- 40 Lines Maximum
Based on Rev. 11:18 ... alsohttp://wol.jw.org/en/wol/d/r1/lp-e/2014642?q=rev.11%3A18&p=par  sad • hope • spiritual • love© Lucretia Mccloud 2016

Stress...Spice of Life or Kiss of Death?

by Seah Greenhorn

(poem with copyright)

How are you?

"Oh...
I am blessed!"

Their response
left me feeling
less.

True,

when under
duress

my outward form

may not persona...
my best.

By why do some
seem to sail on
at sea's tranquil ease

while I fight
with canvas might
not to tilt the boat
then end at
a watery

imposed rest?

What key do they possess
to unlock
a frazzled mind?

How do I leave
panick attacks
behind

as my heart beats
the fleet of a humming bird's
wings?

What beauty!

Their fluttering sounds
a delicate whisper.

Though the thump
inside me

as the village drum--

a call to arms
for the tragic outcome.

A funeral. With my arms
cross my chest.

After me hitting the ground
with an indelicate
pound.

No grace or dignity
as I smash my head
to cement. Then bleed
Instead.

Okay...

Am I too mental?
Need a room to be confined?

Please tell me the secret!

Is it hard to find?

Since said:

"The American Psychological Association has noted:

“Stress is to the human condition what tension is to the violin string:

too little and the music is dull and raspy;

too much and the music is shrill or the string snaps.

Stress can be the kiss of death or the spice of life.

The issue, really, is how to manage it.”"

Really?

How do I manage it
before it ends my life?

Before I surrender to the bell's toll
I'll take a breathe
listen to soft music
or take a nice leisurely stroll.

Then begin the search
for what represents

Gold.

Write a poem for contest No Stress
Am stressed, write me a poem to relax.....whatever comes to your muse...just write right.

http://wol.jw.org/en/wol/d/r1/lp-e/102014163?q=stress&p=par  hope • spiritual © Lucretia Mccloud 2016

Also...here is a link to the audio:

https://m.facebook.com/l.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Fsoundcloud.com%2Fseah-greenhorn%2Fstress-spice-of-life-or-kiss&h=oAQGNpW4T&enc=AZPPEyuF8QVBv20nNGtlGJfp-wROdTJIBf9EO3jk4K8PxP47deKrKK7-6tmujNYZ9As&s=1

Friend?

Friend?

by Seah Greenhorn

(Poem with copyright)

Once angelic
beautifully designed

Your intelligence
Superior

to many of your kind

You allowed blind envy
to corrupt
your selfish mind.

With the breeding of a plan
began
your ultimate decline.

Still
many choose
to waddle or run
lovingly after you

into the 'Lake of fire'
where death and hades--

Mankind's common grave

will be

Eternally
jailed

into non-existence
too.

Why did not you advise
them of what they would lose?

Did you not suspect
that people would actually

Love the Creator and His Son?

Did you really believe 
the battle,
with you as Leader
would be Eternally won?

That self-rule would end?

Temporary enjoyment of wickedness
leaves your 'lovers'
angry,

diseased

groping in dense darkness,
unhappy, yet joyful--
many pretend.

While actually displeased.

While also
causing ruin
to children
and animals

helpless to defend.

Since mankind's ruination
keeps panting on
to it's tragic ledge

Is there something
you feel must be said

to comfort your disciples
totally misled?

No...thought not.
Dishonesty in you
is so thoroughly bred.

Still
billions choose
to love you

as abused children
sadly so often do

Until enlightened--

a relatively few;

Although
love does not
exist in you.

In loyalty to you,

or rather
what you promote 
them freely to do

(because rebellion
you started

and then sin ensued)

they march or dance
to the death

like in Hitler's time--
your great fiend.

You will
never
be considered their
loyal and trustworthy:

'Friend.'

Always:

Malicious,
Wicked

and Sinfully 
Mean.

RESERVES ARE WELCOMED!!!
(The quote is your prompt.)



I LOVE  this quote!! 
WRITE A  SHORT POEM INSPIRED BY THIS BEAUTIFULLY DARK QUOTE!!

I WANT YOUR POEM TO LEAVE ME WANTING MORE!!!

GIVE ME YOUR BEST COLORFUL DARK  INSPIRED WRITE 


IF ADULT, LABEL AS SUCH. 

NO HAIKU, NO ACROSTIC, NO NOVELS!!!

http://wol.jw.org/en/wol/d/r1/lp-e/102007045?q=satan&p=par  sad • spiritual • death © Lucretia Mccloud 2016

'Our Fortress in Times of Distress’

 

by Seah Greenhorn

(Poem with copyright)

A Name
Magnificent
defamed;

deserving

Homage

Universal
Fame.

A Rock He
Proves to Be.

Crag,
Strong Tower--

His Sovereignty.

Causing to Become
What Needs to Be:

His Son A Savior
sent by His Majesty.

He takes a simple
ordinary man

instills skills
leading families
across wilderness,
land.

His Name
Jehovah
immensely

Grand.

A Fortress
into which
meek run.

Ran.

59 words Tower of Strength brevity 60 words or less http://allpoetry.com/poem/12483150-Tower_of_Strength_-by-Gab_Ambros_Wiest Rules open to all you must put words counts and prompt to you A.N. brevity write outside the box. enjoy "The salvation of the righteous is from Jehovah; He is their fortress in the time of distress. Jehovah will help them and rescue them. He will rescue them from the wicked and save them, Because they take refuge in him." Ps . 37:39, 40.

"Trust in Jehovah forever, For Jah Jehovah is the eternal Rock." Isaiah 26:4
"May people know that you, whose name is Jehovah, You alone are the Most High over all the earth."
Ps. 83:18 "The Rock, perfect is his activity, For all his ways are justice. A God of faithfulness who is never unjust; Righteous and upright is he." Deu. 32:4  hope © Lucretia Mccloud 2016

#Rachel #Wept

Rachel Wept

by Seahgreenhorn

(Poem with copyright)

As sheep slaughtered for famished, fare
His rage ravaged,
destroyed
our beloved heirs.

We wailed; we wailed
our shoulders hung.

No songs of mirth as mourning came.
And it still comes; yes, still it comes.

Though left, it never.

Our shoulders hung.

At night their cries we hear; we heard.
Whispering shadows.

Yet, in the morning... no. Not a word

Not a cry, beloved, did we hear.
No,
never more heard.
No.
Not a tender single giggle
or a cooing word.

We saw them suffer.
We felt their fear.

Our babies slain by swords;
silently bled, while we screamed
and wailed. Our hearts collectively rupturing. Our voices violenting thundering.
Our eyes raining our pains like oceans deranged.

Then we laid down like pierced wineskins.
Tossed aside waste. Wailing like wolves. Crazed. Inhumane.

We wailed; we wailed to no avail. No nectar sweet would us prevail.

Yes, 'King Death' won. Took our baby sons; jailed in the 'Land of the enemy.' Our loneliness had just begun. Though,
we were not the only ones.

In time we birthed sons; born anew
the hopes we held;
though temporarily forgotten
in King Herod's vengeful ... slew.

Refreshing words lifted our contorted spines. Unveiled our mournful faces
and massaged into beating our mangled hearts. Shined illuminating lights into our
bedarkened minds.

“‘Hold back your voice from weeping and your eyes from tears

For there is a reward for your activity,’"

"‘They will return from the land of the enemy.’" says He--Our Creator, His Sovereignty.

Thankful we were reminded to be:
as we yearn for the return
of our beloved progeny.

Based on contest: "The Eyes That Weep"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jGOEuTj-n14 
When mine eyes had wept for some while, until they were so weary with weeping that I could no longer through them give ease to my sorrow, I bethought me that a few mournful words might stand me instead of tears. And therefore I proposed to make a poem, that weeping I might speak therein of her for whom so much sorrow had destroyed my spirit; and I then began “The eyes that weep.” 


The eyes that weep for pity of the heart

Have wept so long that their grief languisheth,

And they have no more tears to weep withal:

And now, if I would ease me of a part

Of what, little by little, leads to death,

It must be done by speech, or not at all.

And because often, thinking, I recall

How it was pleasant, ere she went afar,

To talk of her with you, kind damozels,

I talk with no one else,

But only with such hearts as women’s are.

And I will say,—still sobbing as speech fails,—

That she hath gone to Heaven suddenly,

And hath left Love below, to mourn with me.

Beatrice is gone up into high Heaven,

The kingdom where the angels are at peace;

And lives with them; and to her friends is dead.

Not by the frost of winter was she driven

Away, like others; nor by summer-heats;

But through a perfect gentleness, instead.

For from the lamp of her meek lowlihead

Such an exceeding glory went up hence

That it woke wonder in the Eternal Sire,

Until a sweet desire

Entered Him for that lovely excellence,

So that He bade her to Himself aspire;

Counting this weary and most evil place

Unworthy of a thing so full of grace.

Wonderfully out of the beautiful form

Soared her clear spirit, waxing glad the while;

And is in its first home, there where it is.

Who speaks thereof, and feels not the tears warm

Upon his face, must have become so vile

As to be dead to all sweet sympathies.

Out upon him! an abject wretch like this

May not imagine anything of her,—

He needs no bitter tears for his relief.

But sighing comes, and grief,

And the desire to find no comforter,

(Save only Death, who makes all sorrow brief),

To him who for a while turns in his thought

How she hath been among us, and is not.

With sighs my bosom always laboureth

In thinking, as I do continually,

Of her for whom my heart now breaks apace;

And very often when I think of death,

Such a great inward longing comes to me

That it will change the colour of my face;

And, if the idea settles in its place,

All my limbs shake as with an ague-fit:

Till, starting up in wild bewilderment,

I do become so shent

That I go forth, lest folk misdoubt of it.

Afterward, calling with a sore lament

On Beatrice, I ask, “Canst thou be dead?”

And calling on her, I am comforted.

Grief with its tears, and anguish with its sighs,

Come to me now whene’er I am alone;

So that I think the sight of me gives pain.

And what my life hath been, that living dies,

Since for my lady the New Birth’s begun,

I have not any language to explain.

And so, dear ladies, though my heart were fain,

I scarce could tell indeed how I am thus.

All joy is with my bitter life at war;

Yea, I am fallen so far

That all men seem to say, “Go out from us,”

Eyeing my cold white lips, how dead they are.

But she, though I be bowed unto the dust,

Watches me; and will guerdon me, I trust.

Weep, pitiful Song of mine, upon thy way,

To the dames going and the damozels

For whom and for none else

Thy sisters have made music many a day.

Thou, that art very sad and not as they,

Go dwell thou with them as a mourner dwells.

"“This is what Jehovah says:
‘A voice is heard in Raʹmah, lamentation and bitter weeping: Rachel is weeping over her sons. She has refused to be comforted over her sons, Because they are no more.’”" Jer. 31:15 ... prophecy

"“A voice was heard in Raʹmah, weeping and much wailing. It was Rachel weeping for her children, and she was unwilling to take comfort, because they are no more.”" Matt. 2:18 ... fulfillment.

At Jeremiah 31:15 Rachel is depicted as weeping over her sons who have been carried into the land of the enemy, her lamentation being heard in Ramah (N of Jerusalem in the territory of Benjamin). (See RAMAH No. 1.) Since Ephraim, whose tribal descendants are often used collectively to stand for the northern kingdom of Israel, is mentioned several times in the context (Jer 31:6, 9, 18, 20), some scholars believe this prophecy relates to the exiling of the people of the northern kingdom by the Assyrians. (2Ki 17:1-6; 18:9-11) On the other hand, it might relate to the eventual exiling of both those of Israel and of Judah (the latter by Babylon). In the first case, the figure of Rachel would be very appropriate since she was the maternal ancestor of Ephraim (through Joseph), the most prominent tribe of the northern kingdom. In the second case, Rachel’s being the mother not only of Joseph but also of Benjamin, whose tribe formed part of the southern kingdom of Judah, would make her a fitting symbol of the mothers of all Israel, their bringing forth sons now seeming to have been in vain. Jehovah’s comforting promise, however, was that the exiles would “certainly return from the land of the enemy.”—Jer 31:16.

This text was quoted by Matthew in connection with the slaughter of infants in Bethlehem at Herod’s order. (Mt 2:16-18) Since Rachel’s grave was at least relatively near Bethlehem (though apparently not at the traditional site), this figure of Rachel weeping was appropriate to express the grief of the mothers of the slain children. But even more so was this quotation of Jeremiah’s prophecy appropriate in view of the similarity of the situation. The Israelites were subject to a foreign power. Their sons had again been taken away. This time, however, “the land of the enemy” into which they had gone was obviously not a political region as in the earlier case. It was the grave, the region ruled over by ‘King Death’ (compare Ps 49:14; Re 6:8), death being called “the last enemy” to be destroyed. (Ro 5:14, 21; 1Co 15:26) Any return from such “exile” would, of course, be by means of a resurrection from the dead. © Lucretia Mccloud 2016

Rule: Who Does It Best?

Rule: Who Does It Best?

by Seah Greenhorn

(Poem with copyright)

Ah!

Government...

Who's Right to Rule?

The Fight:

"For the People.
By the People."

Is that what we see;

as many a flag flutters
under our Creator's
soothing breeze?

Yet,
so often
marches

under trumpeting horns

led by warring ideologies
warn:

The battle will continue for
Sovereignties
dead

or about to be born.

What will it take?

Already,
in the past century,
about 100,000,000

people

died in war's casualties
alone.

Not talking about the internal anger
on mankind's streets
this does make.

How many more lives
are at stake?

Have not every nation
made it's share of mistakes?

What about Jeremiah's words under Holy Spirit spoken?

"I well know, O Jehovah,
that man’s way does not belong to him.
It does not belong to man who is walking even to direct his step."

Were these a foregleam of more kingdoms
broken?

The tide rises.
Then again...recedes.

Yet, mounting
the bodies
swept ashore
drowned
in turbulent seas.

What King or Queen Sovereign
will put us at ease?

Rule by the wealthy--Plutocracy?
Can they fill everyone's needs?

The ideas keep coming
like ants on a hill.
But muddy boots keep on trampling,
though they stalwartly build.

Such valiant efforts,
but really in vain.

Since the power they nourish,
it falters, not flourishes,
during thundering reigns.

The plains left scattered
with our youthful remains.

The clock
it keeps ticking

The earth?
Still in spin.

When will we realize,
this struggle will end?

JUST

Not
under man's
Sovereignty.

Theocracy

WIll Win!

The following mentioned because God's Kingdom cannot be purchased by monetary means. Actions are necessary too. "Jesus looked at him and said: “How difficult it will be for those having money to make their way into the Kingdom of God! It is easier, in fact, for a camel to get through the eye of a sewing needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God.”"  Luke 18:24, 25.

Plutocracy and the image are the theme and the prompt. You don't have to use the word or the image just stay on the topic.

Noun: plutocracy ‎(plural plutocracies) Government by the wealthy. A controlling class of the wealthy. Quotation 1933 — G. K. Chesterton, All I Survey, Essay XXIII: On Industrialism Modernity is not democracy; machinery is not democracy; the surrender of everything to trade and commerce is not democracy. Capitalism is not democracy; and is admittedly, by trend and savour, rather against democracy. Plutocracy by definition is not democracy. But all these modern things forced themselves into the world at about the time, or shortly after the time, when great idealists like Rousseau and Jefferson happened to have been thinking about the democratic ideal of democracy.

Tips: Be poetic, write something interesting, well informed, subtle, humourous, satirical, belligerent or profound, but do try to create a well crafted poem, free verse or rhymed. Don't just write a speech!
  hope © Lucretia Mccloud 2016

What Speaks Louder?

What Speaks Louder?

by Seah Greenhorn

(Poem with copyright)

Such lovely thoughts
poetically expressed.

Honey dripped phrases
trickling, tingling finely
my inner ears
and warm sponging
my delicate curved spine.

I watch closely your lips
moving my motives
sweet gently to tears.

How winsome your words!
How wise beyond years.

So thoughtful and heartfelt.
Much more than your peers.

Your counsel... profound.
Your advice... practical
to which one wants to strictly adhere.

Yet, your worldly-wise works

impale me;
drive my reason
to fear.

You see...
I breathe to feel
that you meant
what you prayed.

Yet, your concealed revealed
actions
shove honesty
.............................................away.

Since lifestyles
do preaching
mere words
should not play.

They inspire to soar
like birds to the sky
then twisted conduct does slay
weakened faith to soon die.

However,

when confronted
adamantly you demand:

"Just do what I say!
Just do what I say!"

As if
actions personal
can't words nullify.

Do you not know?
Have you never heard?

Actions speak Louder
than many a word.

If they should us hear
real 'Truth' ever clearer,

this proof solid
found in the Bible,

One must
Practice
what we
Preach.

For this is what the masses

Also

He
holds
much dearer.

Howdy

Contest is - write something based on the following quote :

“What you do speaks so loudly that I cannot hear what you say.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

4 lines minimum please - 400,000 lines maximum - brevity counts the same as an epic

No word count - no prohibitions - no salesmen will call

2 things

AP rules (label accordingly/ put contest in authors note...)
Be nice to others in the contest - because "don't be an ass" seems somehow disparaging
Co-host is one of my favorite poets - a woman of action - Candy Brown - if you have not visited her gallery of wonderhttp://allpoetry.com/Candy_Brown  please feel free to drop by....
a final thought as I ramble ...
If we cannot connect it back to the quote we will not count it - just sayin
that's it - write if you feel so inclined - thanks for stopping by
stay warm in the storm ...
m.
Awards:  600 for gold

"Do you, however, the one teaching someone else, not teach yourself? You, the one preaching, “Do not steal,” do you steal? You, the one saying, “Do not commit adultery,” do you commit adultery? You, the one abhorring idols, do you rob temples? You who take pride in law, do you dishonor God by your transgressing of the Law?  For “the name of God is being blasphemed among the nations because of you,” Romans 2:21-24.

© Lucretia Mccloud 2016

He Translated For A Great Many To Read by Seah Greenhorn (poem with copyright)

1536

Strangled.
Then burned

after
of heresy
convicted.

His noble efforts
at that time

cowardly
spurned.

His goal:

The many

Truth
to Learn.

His Fate
he knew
if he stalwartly
continued.

Still he doggedly
pursued

with uncommon,
obvious
Godly strength,

imbued

The Bible
to translate
to commoner's
English

ensued.

For them to read;

be educated
well-read

so as not to be
blind;

so as not to be
misled.

His dying prayer?
Not to be spared;

though he had
in wisdom fled,
replete with support
to Europe

to complete his translation
printed then smuggled
back into England.

To many a clergy
a tragic defeat.

SO
what words to God
would he in sincerity utter?

With a constricted throat
would he sadly retract

or fearfully stutter?

No. His desire?

Again...

Not for his life
to be rightfully
spared.

Righteously inspired
these words
he unselfishly said:

"Lord, open the King
of England's eyes."

For 'He' to be enlightened;
his mind made
wisely aware.

Three years later

in 1539, Henry VIII
dutifully required
every parish church
in England
and their parishioners
to possess

a copy
of an English Bible.

William Tyndale's
wonderful success!

An Authorization

Divine.

Such valiant efforts.
Such bravery of heart.

Over 700 languages
translated from English.
In whole or in part.

A Entire World
biblically 
Blessed.

Tyndale's
courageous efforts
left their mark.

His
Generosity of Spirit
smothered
Bible illiteracy's

Dangerous
Sparks.

William Tyndale (/ˈtɪndəl/;[1] sometimes spelled Tynsdale, Tindall, Tindill, Tyndall; c. 1494–1536) was an English scholar who became a leading figure in Protestant reform in the years leading up to his execution. He is well known for his translation of the Bible into English. He was influenced by the work of Desiderius Erasmus, who made the Greek New Testament available in Europe, and by Martin Luther.[2] While a number of partial translations had been made from the seventh century onward, the spread of Wycliffe's Bible resulted in a death sentence for any unlicensed possession of Scripture in English—even though translations in all other major European languages had been accomplished and made available.[3][4] Tyndale's translation was the first English Bible to draw directly from Hebrew and Greek texts, the first English one to take advantage of the printing press, and first of the new English Bibles of the Reformation. It was taken to be a direct challenge to the hegemony of both the Church of England and the laws of England to maintain the church's position. In 1530, Tyndale also wrote The Practyse of Prelates, opposing Henry VIII's divorce from Catherine of Aragon on the grounds that it contravened Scripture.
....

In 1535 Tyndale was arrested and jailed in
the castle of Vilvoorde (Filford) outside Brussels for over a year. In 1536 he was convicted of heresy and executed by strangulation, after which his body was burnt at the stake. His dying prayer that the King of England's eyes would be opened seemed to find its fulfillment just two years later with Henry's authorization of the Great Bible for the Church of England—which was largely Tyndale's own work. Hence, the Tyndale Bible, as it was known, continued to play a key role in spreading Reformation ideas across the English-speaking world and, eventually, to the British Empire.http://m.christianity.com/church/church-history/timeline/1501-1600/translator-william-tyndale-strangled-and-burned-11629961.html spiritual • love • death • hope • society © Lucretia Mccloud 2016