Take me back to the old Paths, when Moms were at home.
Dads were at work.
Brothers went into the army.
And sisters got married BEFORE having  children!
Crime did not pay; Hard work did;
And people knew the difference.

Moms could cook; Dads would work;
Children would behave…
Husbands were loving; Wives were supportive; and children were polite.

Women wore the dresses; and Men wore the trousers.
Women looked like ladies;Men looked like gentlemen; and children looked decent.

People loved the truth, and hated a lie;
They came to church to get IN, Not to get OUT!

Hymns sounded Godly; Sermons sounded helpful;
Rejoicing sounded normal; and crying sounded sincere.
Cursing was wicked; Drinking was evil; and divorce was unthinkable.

We read the Bible in public; Prayed in school;
And preached from house to house.
To be called a Christian was worth living for;
To be called a traitor was a shame!

Sex was a personal word. Homosexual was an unheard of word, And abortion was an illegal word.

Preachers preached because they had a message; and
Christians rejoiced because they had the VICTORY!

Preachers preached from the Bible;
Singers sang from the heart;
Sinners turned to the Lord to be SAVED!

A new birth meant a new life; Salvation meant a changed life;
Following Christ led to eternal life.

Being a preacher meant you proclaimed the word of God;
Being a deacon meant you would serve the Lord;
Being a Christian meant you would live for Jesus;
And being a sinner meant someone was praying for you!

Laws were based on the Bible;
Homes read the Bible;
And churches taught the Bible.

Preachers were more interested in new converts than new clothes and new cars.

Church was where you found Christians on the Lord’s day, rather than in the park,
on the creek bank, on the golf course, or being entertained somewhere else.

Give me that old time religion!
‘Tis good enough for me!
I still like the “Old Paths” best! Jeremiah 6:16…

#copied.

Shriveled scene scribbled upon canvass is fading
My old model dumped in dustbin died for up-springing of new flowers
The silhouette stuns, stings, drips tears, then raises fears
Atop absorbed focus on the coming sunrise
Life is coming, is coming to roost
Am I ready for the raid of new revolution?

I put away the stained days I spent wailing for your coming
There is spirit in this fizzy feisty fight put up to live, to put death to flight
I once Idled, let cobwebs sweep through those rims
Now, I’m aiming to  scrape dark patches off final dirt stands
I refuse placid existence, tacit collusion with fate, take courage
The collage college is, I accept, not perfection
The pastiche of Purity’s prefecture is ever presently metamorphosing
But now that I’m living, I’ll never let Death come back
Never! Never! Never!

The material as centre is atrophy in the making
Give your all to toys, things and themes, and try time, for fruits
See the project tail off into disappointing void
But I’m alive now, won’t take stop-start for norm
My hope is born again, is brand new, glitters in sunshine, getting brighter

You, Lord, have planted desire where dead sooth chambers once were
Once fearful of living, now becoming fearless of death
The track is thin, but you made me fit in
Put springs in my steps, helped me fight the fight of faith in joy…
Thank you so much!

Today I look through the window, and see hope
The dust covered roofs, rain will wash clean
So I look out, and see clean roofs instead
And smile
Gratefully.

http://www.christapoet.wordpress.com

MADE AGAINST NATURE

The real man is made against nature

First is time, next is dime

Another is personified, Yes! Sophisticated

Forgetting that sometimes, ignorance is bliss

Picking up fruits from Eden

To satisfy the house that is today and gone tomorrow

 

To be or not to be?

Is the question thrown to every man today

Staining to be seen

Rather than abstaining to be glorious

 

The GET-RICH-QUICK-gadget has even flooded the hearts of children

Making them lack nutrients gotten from milk of this ‘era’

With many adults losing faith

Deserting the fact that the trying of faith gives life to patience

Patience which basks in the test of time

Even the time of my first line, the real man

For him, nothing is too late but in due season

Being in the country of Luke of 6:38 street

The currency in his hand aids the fulfillment of his purpose against the tide

Against the time

Against the 70years limit of old age and dim eyes

Against the hurricane that comes with its adage “Tsoon-na-me”

Against what’s far shunned

As a writer, his pen drops

To let the Spirit work

He voice ceases

To let the Spirit visit

Though nature thought of him as a target

Being fashioned by The King

The weapons of destruction were now made for decoration

That he may fulfill his mandate in his hometown .Genesis

Street 1, House 27.

 

 

 

Style comes to play when these edifices we seek to raise
Romanesque, Gothic, architectural sprawl and splendour resplendent
From foundations rise then, things we’ve dreamed and seen as befitting
Sitting on acres, thinking, holding things and frames
Marble and glass and a sea of colour-spawn accounts, from start to apocalypse
Our own stories should fit in here too, I think

So sounds choirs create as chant and psalmody verbalized resound, sonic perfection sung
Wrung from fronds like palms laid before our king
Many words said, many names proclaimed, one vision appealed to
Apparently
I look to the vessels and see golden glitter, look to the pews and hear tired ‘phews’
Gracefully garmented choir tries to charm with sonorous rhythms
But a chasm is widened as they retreat to seats, to regular routine
Like the rest of us church folk, church bunch seeking charm, finding only sham
And more- shame
Lame, destroyed by fear of our own wrongs done, those deeds done that shut us down
We may cheerlead for our people’s fine voices, but who’s won the adulation?
God’s not fooled

So we’re trim and clean cut for Sunday’s same serenade
Nicely dressed up and reeved up for what talks and faces we’ll have and see
Business deals sealed and partners to seek out, a time to hang out
But is it love or self seeking service that drive these engagements, I ask
Are our meetings only taking forward traditions, social settings devoid of Christ’s full presence
Are our hymns and confessions heart felt or head read
Are we truly free, not hiding behind smiles and breeding death beneath
Are not our wells deeply poisoned, isn’t our salt stale, worn of taste?
What’s our worth, what has the world seen of us?
Where is the fear and offence in the eye of the sinner and the vile
Why is the world so at home with our profession, why are we so cozied up to its style?
Why is life mild and dull, where’s the daring stare of the saint, the defiance of our timeless army?
Decimated horde, ours, I think…
May God decimate that tendency!

Come now, beloved, let us desire His fire
Let the flame of love be real in us, let us be dried of starving moist
Let our hearts be earnest, be daring, be at unrest
Wrestle down dire cowardice, give Him every stained gown
Give up fighting truth, die to come alive, slay deathly slime, rot
Disperse the dark
And let our God, Lord of the light, make us His Church again.

Utter beauty
Purple sunset paints a faint portrait but still, its heart-snatching
Roaring, thundering to crash, smashing awe into stunned eart, waves to ears
Blossoming flowers, lush dainty things, delicate, love-recollecting
Terrible heights, mountains staring down monstrously upon little me
Rugged descents, steep sharp, trapping, enrapturing, as hawks soar
We gawk, even stand still, in rolling green pastures, sheep feed, dew thick downed, drenched grass slades
Sparkling landscape glittering gold as sun reflects extra-terrestrial splendour
I shut my eyes, breathe in, breathe out, sigh out a sign of deep seated gratitude
Someone gives us the life in which to behold these

My heart softens as children cheer and laugh and play joyfully in the streets
Simple innocence, reminiscent of perfect rest God affords us forever
This forever reflected now, from our soul’s deepest wells, to vast skies’ span, unscaled
When love grows slowly, then bursts forth in confession, lover to beloved, declared, revealed
ike surging waves furiously advancing our way, these spectacles unwrap
The indescribable feeling of being held by overwhelming, comforting, uplifting hands
No world would truly recount to our dim sensation; He, artist per-excellence,does
Makes our perceptions come alive to His rivetingly wondrous works
Makes us see, even through cracks from the dungeon of fallen man’s flesh, brilliant light
Helps us make sense of strips scattered abroad, splintered pieces from a once perfect world
We see these best when we’re there, here with Him
When God smiles upon us.