POETIC BLOOMINGS

POETIC BLOOMINGS is a Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild site established in May 2011 to nurture and inspire the creative spirit.

WHICH CAME FIRST, THE RABBIT OR THE EGG? – PROMPT# 101

HAPPY EASTER!

Simply, write an Easter poem. Your piece can be faith based, as it is the biggest day in the Christian church calendar. Or it can be a secular Easter poem bringing to mind chocolate rabbits, colored eggs and such. You can pen a poem of rebirth, or a poem about coming back from a set back.

MARIE ELENA’S POEM

Egg image

Risen, Indeed!

Pondering the blood-drenched tree
There but for His mercy, me
Tear-stained face, I bow the knee
Hallelujah!  He is risen!
 
Low, for me His blood was drained
Love entombed, yet not contained
Absolution, as ordained
Hallelujah!  He is risen!
 
 
 © Copyright Marie Elena – 2013
  Image credit:  http://joyknitcrochet.blogspot.com/2011/01/egg-cracking-expert.html
 

WALT’S  POEM:

THE HUNT IS ON!

Woven baskets brightly colored,
hidden in the thicket, near the picket
fence. Let the search commence.
Scurrying under the privet,
bunny rabbits head for cover
and over by the gate the children
take a peek for the prizes they seek.
Services have concluded but the thrill
has not eluded these excited souls.
The hunt is on, let the fun begin!

 © Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013

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158 thoughts on “WHICH CAME FIRST, THE RABBIT OR THE EGG? – PROMPT# 101

  1. I haven’t got enough of the line messaging form yet, so here’s another! 🙂

    He’s Risen!

    Another Sunday morning:
    I’m tired, I wanna go back to bed!
    What’s the big deal?
    So, it’s Easter, so what?
    Oh foolish, simple mind, don’t you
    Hear the bells ringing?

    Why are you so wrapped up in yourself?
    Today’s the brightest day of the year!
    Don’t you hear the choir? A host of angels,
    They’re singing.

    Get up! Look around:
    Today’s the day your Savior rose;
    Today’s the day your are made whole!
    Haven’t you heard
    That He’s risen from the dead?

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013

    Independent message:

    “Hear the bells ringing, they’re singing that He’s risen from the dead…” from “Easter Song” written by Annie Herring (one of the greatest Christian song writers that has ever lived!).

  2. claudsy on said:

    Lovely one, Erin. Kudos again.

  3. Henrietta Choplin on said:

    Beautiful, Meg… delightful, Walt!! Happy Easter everyone! 🙂

  4. Henrietta Choplin on said:

    Easter Basket

    Fill
    your Life
    with the Joy
    of things that you
    Love. 🙂

  5. Happy Easter, all! Marie, I love that second line, yes! Walt, suddenly the thrill of child-wonder returns!

    He is Alive

    If we had been there at on that day
    To watch them take His body down
    And then heard His disciples say
    ‘He is not here now, but is risen’
    If we had seen with our own eyes
    The guards that watched the stone sealed grave
    Would we like Thomas, have replied
    When I see Him I will believe?

    We will be here on That Day
    When Jesus’ Grace and Glory rends
    The sky; like the veil, done away
    Then, as His Majesty descends
    We will see with our own eyes
    The One who died to set us free
    God is not dead; HE IS ALIVE
    When we see Him, all will believe

    © Janet Martin

    • Janet, one of the questions I always ask teens and preteens in my Sunday School is: Would you give up your Smart Phone? Drop it on the ground to follow Jesus? How would you know he was the real deal? Will it take fire and brimstone… or will you temper your time on your phone, take time each day to turn off all the noise and pray? Thomas gets a bad rap… but, like Judas, he is a necessary part of the story. He fesses up to his incredulity. Same with the Magdalene… cast by men a thousand years later as a prostitute, a woman at the well, possessed by demons and cured… but never given credit as the first real leader of The Way.

      Talk about food for thought! Thanks, Janet. Amy

    • Beautiful, Janet!!

    • Marie Elena on said:

      And all will bow the knee. BEAUTIFUL, Janet.

  6. Pingback: Rolling Stone | echoes from the silence

  7. EASTER

    Some say that love cannot be defined.
    It’s too complex for logic minds
    To comprehend, so we love in our time
    Here, groping our way like the blind.

    But love is not beyond definition.
    When Jesus gave Himself to crucifixion
    And then rose in Easter resurrection,
    He defined true love: the absence of sin.

    #

  8. WHO IS LAUGHING NOW?

    Why is Jesus laughing today
    on this Easter Monday?
    Satan sits in fiery pits,
    Fuming with anger
    Because he hoped the Lord’s Promise
    would be broken on the cross.
    The king of the fallen angels
    Must continue to bow
    Before God and this hurts like hell.

    #

  9. MARIE ELENA! That is an excellent poem you’ve written.

    Wishing you and Walt and everyone here who celebrates it a very happy Easter.

  10. Something from days gone by, but always applicable:

    I Am Crucified

    My Jesus sacrificed His life in my stead
    Beaten and scorned, with thorns on His head
    Nailed to a cross until He was dead
    The innocent blood of the Lamb was shed

    Laid in a grave, my Lord left alone
    Three days later, He moved the stone
    Revealed to the world the truth He had sewn
    The sins of the world, my Jesus atoned

    The sins of the world include yours and mine
    All taken by Jesus, the Way, the Vine
    All part of God’s plan, His holy design
    That we could live on and let His light shine

    So, I’ve made the choice that I may be
    Crucified with Christ, the One who saved me
    No longer do I live, but Christ lives in me
    His sacrifice made, that I might be set me free

    The life that I had, I have given away
    Christ lives in my heart, and there He will stay
    By faith, I let Him guide my life every day
    I trust in His wisdom to show me the way

  11. ejparsons on said:

    His Resurrection

    As He looked down at those who came to watch,
    He could not help but wonder why
    They could not see who they were crucifying.
    They did not realize who was about to die?

    “King of the Jews” He’d been called in jest.
    They’d hung a sign above His head.
    They didn’t realize just how right they were,
    But they’d find out when He was dead.

    For they knew not this man named Jesus Christ.
    Though the scriptures had made it very clear.
    The prophets had written about His birth and death
    And that explained why some people were here.

    Others were here just to see this man die,
    They didn’t even care about His crime.
    This crucifixion they didn’t want to miss,
    His death would surely change the course of time.

    Some couldn’t believe that He was still alive,
    After all the cruelty He’d been through.
    No human deserved to be treated that way,
    Even the soldiers had pity on this Jew.

    Still a few knew exactly who Jesus Christ was,
    And they were here to be a witness
    To the end of the Hope that the Lord God had sent.
    To the beginning of salvation’s righteousness.

    But as Jesus looked down, He looked down with love
    And He asked His Father to forgive.
    Forgive those who had crucified God’s only son,
    Forgive them, so they, too, may live.

    As He gave up the ghost on that old rugged cross
    No longer did this world hold perfection.
    The world went dark as the Light was extinguished
    And it stayed dark until His resurrection.

    • Earl, although your poem is entirely taking place in the time of the actual crucifixion, isn’t it ironic that today, notorious prisoners (and that’s how many people thought of Jesus) get huge crowds near the jails at the time of their executions? Even clamor for showing them on TV.

      We never learn. And here’s this man suffering on a cross, asking God to forgive them. If that isn’t a lesson in sacrifice and humility, nothing is. Well done, Earl. I wrote one, too, but it’s different in theme… Peace, Amy

    • Marie Elena on said:

      “The world went dark as the Light was extinguished
      And it stayed dark until His resurrection.”

      That says so much. And Amy is so very right: “We never learn. And here’s this man suffering on a cross, asking God to forgive them. If that isn’t a lesson in sacrifice and humility, nothing is.”

      AMEN.

    • Henrietta Choplin on said:

      … this touched me…

    • Oh wonderful!!! Your last two stanzas are so powerful!

  12. BLOOD

    The price of sin is blood,
    an ancient law which
    has never been revoked.
    How much blood
    to cover my sins,
    your sins,
    the sins of a world?
    The blood of the world,
    your blood,
    mine?
    No.
    The price has been paid —
    in full, for all — by one man,
    nailed to a cross
    and bled,
    bled until his fluids
    ran clear.
    The blood of a man,
    dead on a Friday,
    risen as Son of God
    on Sunday.
    Blood shed to pay
    the price for you
    and me.

    • Mark, this was visceral, direct, and there is no doubt about where you stand in relation to Christ. Thank you for your testament. I feel as though, every day, we of the Christian faith write our own small gospels by our words and actions. Peace, Amy

      • That is a great way of looking at it Amy. I wonder how many of those Gospels would be rejected by the Church?

        • Thanks, Mark. Well, considering the fact that they threw out gospels from Mary Magdalene (didn’t want to show her being the first teacher of the disciples, among other things) and Thomas (mentioned Jesus kissing Mary M. on the mouth; also spoke of her teachings), and others, I have a feeling we wouldn’t stand a chance. We sometimes have writings from Gandhi, Dietrich Bonhoffer, Mother Teresa, Dr. King, Malcolm X, et al, in our worship. I’m just musing now over the idea of the Gospels of Hagee and Falwell, yikes!

    • Marie Elena on said:

      How wonderful to hear your voice again, Mark. Thank you for this poetically stated truth!

    • Wow! This is amazing, Mark! How thankful it makes me…

  13. Blessed Easter to all!

    Cross on a Hill

    By David De Jong

    A lone cross shadows the valley below
    Its arms outstretched facing the storms that blow
    Fashioned a dark, drizzled, early Spring day
    Rough beams of wood, with everything to say
    With hammer and chisel, cold tools of steel
    Each driving blow made me wince with the feel

    Tears flowed freely leaving stains in the grain
    Hammering the nails causing all His pain
    All alone as one abandoned by God
    Rendering this symbolic monopod
    Once finished I planted it in the earth
    It took all of my strength all I was worth

    I placed it facing the storms and the winds
    This symbol of forgiveness from our sins
    My heart emptied securing it in place
    All I could see was the look on His face
    I begged relief, forgiveness of my past
    He brought me grace, hope, true peace that will last

    I trod the fields to gather varied stone
    Each represents a burden of my own
    Placed with prayer at the foot of this cross
    My trials my burdens left in the dross
    Nothing can move them placed there in His name
    He carries me, taking my guilt, my shame

    I drove His nails I wove His crown of thorns
    I led the crowd with shouts and deathly scorns
    I lashed the whip across His ravaged back
    I took His life but He didn’t ask it back
    Instead He gives me life, life so complete
    A life where my Savior washes my feet

    When I go to visit this humble place
    It still stirs my heart, His amazing grace
    I think of the grave, the stone rolled away
    How that stone really wasn’t in His way
    It was moved, so we could see deep inside
    Christ the Lord has Risen! In Him Abide!

    • David, for me, this evokes the shame we all feel when, as a congregation during the Passion Play, we are all yelling, “Crucify him!” A startlingly personal look at the passion, the crucifixion. Your remark about how he didn’t need the stone moved says it all. It was, as everything else in the Gospels, done for US. Peace, Amy

    • Marie Elena on said:

      My heart is racing, David. This should be set to music, and sung regularly, though I know I could never make it through without my throat closing and my eyes so filled with tears that I could not see the words. Much like Stewart Townend’s “How Deep the Father’s Love for Us.”

      How deep the Father’s love for us,
      How vast beyond all measure
      That He should give His only Son
      And make a wretch His treasure

      How great the pain of searing loss,
      The Father turns His face away
      As wounds which mar the Chosen One,
      Bring many sons to glory

      Behold the Man upon the cross,
      My sin upon His shoulders
      Ashamed I hear my mocking voice,
      Call out among the scoffers

      It was my sin that held Him there
      Until it was accomplished
      His dying breath has brought me life
      I know that it is finished.

      I will not boast in anything
      No gifts, no power, no wisdom
      But I will boast in Jesus Christ
      His death and resurrection

      Why should I gain from His reward?
      I cannot give an answer
      But this I know with all my heart
      His wounds have paid my ransom

    • Henrietta Choplin on said:

      This is beautiful.

    • David, your poems always bring oceans of comfort and peace to me. This is an incredible poem! Thank you, my friend!

      • There are so many wonderful poets/writers that share their hearts, their pains, their joys, their hopes here. They make me laugh and some draw tears, tears of pain and tears of spiritual koinonia (I have no clue how to spell that word). I feel blessed to be welcomed and to be a part of it. Walt a Marie have created a truly special place. It is I that thank you young grasshopper.

  14. In my walk with Jesus, the avenue we travel is very wide, totally inclusive, and… what I need to give the world. Love to all, Happy Pesach and Easter to those who follow the twin paths, dictated by the moon’s cycle. Love, Amy

    Nothing to Prove

    Don’t need miracles
    Loaves and fishes;
    Lazarus wishes

    Don’t need purity,
    a Virgin birth
    for his time on earth

    Don’t need witnesses
    Kings from far away
    God’s voice on baptism day

    Don’t need him calm
    He threw over tables
    Taught radical fables

    Didn’t need a temple
    Homeless by choice
    Folks understood his voice

    All I need is his example
    His hand stretched out to the poor
    To street kids, to ‘untouchables’

    He was real and human
    Dragged his cross to Calvary
    Questioned God as he hung from a tree

    I don’t need resurrection
    No “Mary, don’t you know me?”
    No Doubting Thomas: “See?”

    All these things could have happened.
    If they didn’t, I would
    still follow him best I could

    The Way is peace, love
    The Way is easy if you let it be
    If you turn off the world and be free

    © 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

  15. My Mother and Me in the Easter Parade

    Before she married my father, my mother
    Worked for a lady who made hats. She
    Had a shop on Euclid Avenue called “Miss
    Hattie’s Hats” even though her name really
    Wasn’t “Miss Hattie”. Her shop was on
    Euclid Avenue near east 105th. . a posh
    Part of Cleveland in the 1930’s.
    Miss Hattie taught my mother everything
    She knew about making hats. They became
    Good friends and every year they looked
    Forward to the Easter Parade.

    On Easter Sunday afternoon, ladies from
    All over Cleveland would walk up and
    Down that part of Euclid avenue wearing
    Their newest outfits and best hats.
    Reporters from Cleveland’s 3 newspapers
    Would be there and take pictures. Miss
    Hattie would open her shoppe and serve
    Tea and the ladies could stop and rest
    For a bit. We all prayed that Easter Sunday
    Would be sunny or at least not raining.

    One year my mother and I were photographed
    Together in front of Miss Hattie’s shoppe. I
    Was wearing a navy blue straw hat with
    Ribbons that fluttered down the back. My
    Mother wasn’t working for Miss Hattie any
    More (she stopped when she married) but
    My mother and Miss Hattie remained friends.
    Today that picture is yellow and brittle and
    Always requires an explaination.

    My grandchildren have never seen a long
    Line of women, dressed in their fancy best
    Posing and smiling on a windy afternoon.
    My children also never understood the point of
    The “Easter Parade” and when I tried to explain
    I realized that there was no “point” – it was just
    Something people did when they wanted to be
    Part of society, perhaps in with the “in” crowd, a little
    Bit more than just their lonely selves.

    • I love the song and Garland/Astaire movie, “Easter Parade.” They put a spin in the song “In your Easter bonnet/with all the frills upon it…” by having Judy present Fred with an embellished top hat!

      I love that tradition, long since passed into “that was then.” I believe the advent of the automobile made walking down the streets less desirable… This was an intimate portrait, and lovely as well. Would love to see the photo… and why it needs explanation! Easter intrigue! Who’d’a thunk it?? Amy

    • Marie Elena on said:

      Oh my. As usual, Marian, you have me right there with you. Your story is captivating, and your poignant end will stick with me a long time to come.

    • Henrietta Choplin on said:

      What a beautiful memory!!

  16. sheryl kay oder on said:

    This poem was written for Poetic Asides on April 13, 20018. We were to write a poem inspired by a song. The Easter Song is one of my favorites. Even thought it was Passover when I originally wrote it, it is an Easter poem.

    The Easter Song

    “Hear the bells ringing, they’re singing you can be born again.
    Hear the bells ringing, they’re singing ‘Christ is risen from the dead.’…”

    Victory.
    Unbounded joy.

    At this Passover time
    I think of my Passover lamb.
    His shed blood was sprinkled
    on the doorposts of my heart.

    The Lord has promised
    He will pass over me
    and all who trust in Jesus,
    saving us from spiritual death.

    Jesus alone could raise
    Himself,
    Lazarus,
    Jairus’ daughter,
    the widow’s son,
    and one day, me.

    No wonder my heart sings
    when I think of this song.
    “Hear the bells ringing;
    I’m singing…”

  17. Pingback: Nothing to Prove | Sharp Little Pencil - Amy Barlow Liberatore

  18. A Simple Remembrance

    This do, he said, remember me
    not just my death, my agony,
    but that my life has set you free
    to do God’s will.

    The bowing head and bended knee
    helps us recall humility
    to feed our brothers faithfully
    with spirit fill.

    The man who suffers understands
    that broken hearts and empty hands
    lead one to honor God’s demands
    on Calvary’s hill.

    We read his words and pray he be
    our guide throughout eternity,
    poor lost indebted lambs are we.
    He paid our bill.

    On Easter, as we sing glad songs
    of resurrection, we grow strong
    to model Jesus’ here among
    his people still.

  19. janeshlensky on said:

    Friends, my mother has been gone for ten years now, but I always reread some of her poems at Easter, one of her favorite times. I hope it’s ok to share one of her Easter poems with you today. She was a lovely woman and an old soul and I miss her ever day. Here is one of my favorites.

    The Cross and I

    If I had lived when Jesus lived
    I wonder, which would I be?
    One who responded to His call
    and followed trustingly?
    Or would I, doubting, have turned aside
    and coldly closed my heart
    and one day watch Him crucified
    and never take his part?
    Could I have seen His nail-pierced hands,
    His anguish and agony,
    and in my heart feel no remorse,
    still unrepentant be?
    These answers I will never know
    but I do humbly vow
    that I’ll try to obey His Holy Word,
    and not reject Him now.

    Mary Garner Craver
    from Edgewood Poems

  20. Marie, your poem is as deep and beautiful as your faith.
    Walt, yours “cracked” me up – sounds like the Buffalo Boy is already halfway to Dyngus Day!!! Great work, both of you. Much love from the jazz wife of pastor in flip-flops, Amy

  21. Flip-flops? Deconstructed sandals? I needed to give the “other” side for balance. Dyngus Day has become like “Black Friday”. It starts after Easter Dinner. Raising a cold malt beverage for the “Girl From Ithaca”! (Sorry, I have no idea where Ipanema is!)

    • Brazil, babe. That’s where the bossa nova was born. There’s also a wicked parody called “The Girl With Emphysema,” but I never learned the words… I’ll send you some bossa via email. Happy pussy willows and squirt guns!! (And on April Fool Day, too!) Amy

  22. DebiSwim on said:

    Because of Easter

    My body will perish,
    will give up its breath,
    but, thou, Lord has delivered my soul from death.

    What shall I fear,
    the darkness, the grave?
    No, Thou art the light, life everlasting you gave.

    Oh, death, where is thy sting?
    Thy sting is sin!
    But, Thou, Lord has triumphed, it could not win

    Now the grave has no victory
    and death no sting.
    Jesus, my Lord, gave my soul wings

    And though mortal I am,
    not always will be.
    In a twinkling I’ll put on immortality.

  23. claudsy on said:

    Walt and Marie, you served up some stunners for examples–yet again. Mine may seem dark than usual, but it came from the image that ran rampant through my mind at the reading of the prompt. It was two images layered, one over the other–one ancient, one recent from the news. That was what spoke to me and that is what I wrote. Please don’t give up reading until you’ve read it all, and then let me know if you think I missed a point. Okay?

    New World

    A street ablaze
    With anger, hatred,
    Flows with intent
    Based on fear of
    Self-rebuke.

    Amid shouting
    Turmoil staggers a
    Man, bent and torn,
    Flogged by the day’s
    Woes and struggles.

    Time’s acceptance
    Surrounds his mind,
    Cushions his sense
    Of purpose and life,
    For the sake of all.

    His road ends
    At a pinnacle,
    Where others wait;
    His last words here
    Echo down time.

    Self-rebuke,
    Woes and struggles
    For the sake of all,
    Echo down time.

    Rejoice, cry legions
    Of those working
    Toward love’s peace;
    Rejoice in having a
    Voice of power to hear!

    As always, verse is open to interpretation by the reader. That’s a given.

  24. A Peep Is Born

    Born a Peep,
    he did not cheep,
    but a sunny yellow
    was this bright fellow.

  25. A little clunky but the best I can do after driving all day. Hope everyone had a happy Easter.

    Easter Poem

    Ruff and tumble carpenter man
    Came so humbly as the Lord’s plan
    Healed the sick, anointed to preach
    At lake’s shore taught, he could sure teach

    Though man tried they couldn’t find God
    Fell short of the measuring rod
    Needed someone to seek God’s face
    Missing piece placed to give peace place

    When folks really listened they knew
    He’s the answer and question, too.
    Jesus is the addends and sum
    As the whys came forth, the wise come

    When Jesus died at hands of men
    His followers looked foolish then
    But three days hence proved to be wise
    When the Son rose with the Sunrise

  26. Divinum Mysterium

    So much of what I hear I doubt—
    so many charlatans call out
    to swell the crowds and win their praise.

    I am not easy to amaze.
    My scientific brain has ways
    of reasoning with mystery.

    And what I know of history
    reveals that human destiny
    is stories gnarled with tangled hope.

    Who doesn’t love a poet’s scope
    to twist a tale so people cope
    with elements we can’t believe:

    a virgin can our lord conceive
    who conquers death so we receive
    the bounty of eternity?

    I struggle every day to see
    the gift in God’s paternity,
    the broken bread and lifted cup.

    I seek humility and sup
    in wonder at Christ’s rising up
    and from an empty tomb, my eyes

    are dazzled with what mystifies—
    moments of loving sacrifice:
    suspended disbelief is mine.

    In God spirit and flesh combine;
    we struggle seeking the divine
    in us, profound unknowns align
    to raise me up, to make Him mine.

  27. The Fall & Rise of a Dreamer

    The Dreamer was a quiet man; he’d lived a quiet life.
    Ensconced in his own world, his sanctuary, his mind,
    His imagination, his dreams. He followed his own path
    On the outside looking in. The world held no place for him;
    His kind were never invited to life’s family picnic

    Perhaps he was mad he’d thought to himself.
    Nay! Said to himself, he always thought aloud.
    Conversations with the inner-man, the mind.
    A sign of madness surely. He had no time for reality,
    It hurt too much. It stung, it burned, it froze his soul.

    Came a day he saw a light. He saw the way, the future.
    He stepped forth into the bright new dawn.
    He enthralled those around him with his charm and wit.
    He wrote, he sang, he danced, he laughed.
    And the great and the good laughed WITH him.

    Inside still he harboured a fear never to be voiced:
    They would turn as vicious spiteful serpents do.
    They would cut him down from his new found glory.
    They would ridicule, belittle and laugh once more – AT him.
    Hush now! The voice inside, lest you wish the joy away!

    Came the day he’d dreaded most – the betrayal.
    They turned, they scorned, the whispered jeers.
    Face to face all sweetness and light and lies.
    The sugar-coated poison cut deeper than the truth.
    The truth they would not speak in words aloud.

    The truth showed plain in gesture, act and deed-
    They meowed and purred still in his sight.
    But scratched and clawed and bit hard behind his back.
    They pushed him once more into the cavern of darkness.
    And there he sat alone, in thought, in pain, in his dreams again.

    But they knew him not, for he was stronger than they could see.
    Try, try, try again! He scoffed and crushed the feeble spider ‘neath his boot!
    He rolled away the stone and stepped forth into the bright new dawn.
    And proclaimed: “I am here, I will not leave, I will not hide!”
    You! You will see that I feel no pain nor will I feel mercy!

    And so he rose, growing from strength to strength.
    And the cold and callous shrunk away sneering still.
    Their fear was of no concern, the loyal, the true, the trusted –
    They still stood proud at his side. They held sword-guard at his back.
    They proclaimed in a clamour:“He is risen!. His dreams you won’t deny!”

    Iain

  28. Easter Precious

    Her patent leather Mary Janes
    enhance the frilly turned-down sock
    matching her dress’s crinoline,
    the swirly skirt and ribboned bow
    tied in the back like a bouquet.
    Her floral bonnet catches light
    a country garden on her curls.
    It’s only right to catch the eye
    of any Bunny passing by with
    eggs and peeps and pastel toys,
    even the eyes of little boys.

  29. Our Sins Rose With Him

    Alone, forsaken, He hung there,
    Surrounded my sinners:
    The ones He loved,
    The ones He hung there for.
    He cried our, “My God, my God,
    Why have You forsaken Me?”
    He prayed He’d take the cup away,
    Still He was obedient into death.
    We, standing there could not see
    The point; we didn’t know,
    Or didn’t care,
    We hid our faces from Him;
    God laid our iniquity upon His Son.
    Even those closest to Him couldn’t see,
    They’d heard His words,
    Never really understood,
    Until that third day
    When He rose, and all the dead rose with Him.
    He ascended from hell to Heaven,
    And all the dead rose with Him
    To glory; because He has risen
    From the dead, and our sins rose with Him.

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013

  30. seeking
    forgiveness, hope and love
    finding

  31. Metamorphosis

    Snow melt and gentle rains
    clean the earth and turn her mantle green.
    Shoots appear and turn their stalks to the sun
    in the brisk spring air.
    In the barns, burrows and nests new life appears
    and gives us hope.
    Spring is the season of change, of life not death
    for winter only fades into memory
    as we enjoy the metamorphosis of the seasons.

  32. Here’s one I wrote today in a poetry meeting with several of my friends. It’ll probably be on my blog (along with theirs) in a couple days. 🙂

    Jesus Christ

    A ragged beard and homespun cloak;
    The message of our salvation,
    By God’s authority was spoke
    Unto this sinful nation;

    A broken bread and cup of wine:
    Passover feast that night was blessed;
    A plea to God, “Not My will, Thine”;
    In humility He was dressed;

    A purple robe and crown of thorns;
    A wooden cross upon a hill;
    Surrounded by jeering and scorns:
    “Forgive them, Father!” Then was still;

    An Easter morn and rolled back stone;
    Shining angels, good news bringing;
    His love unremitted was shown,
    And to His cross we still are clinging.

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013

  33. Iris D on said:

    The eggs did get boiled, dyed, and painted,
    The plastic ones filled with candy and gum,
    The basket decorated and goodies added,
    Sunrise was observed in solemness and song.
    Sermon and service, and feast are enjoyed,
    Time for searching for eggs at last,
    Greatest joy was when my 4 year old exclaimed,
    This egg is empty just like His grave!!
    Joy of resurrection has been taught.

  34. Wow, such wonderful expressions of faith and hope and joy! I do not have time to comment on all (but had to on some). Our words give such transparency to our hearts, and that honesty is something to be treasured here at Poetic Blooms. Thank you all, coming back time and time to browse through has made my Easter week very special and meaningful. God pour grace out in each of your hearts, minds, and lives. He lives yearning to fill us…let us each overflow.

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