Use Me Lord

I don't allow religion
to close my eyes
to who I am
to where I've been
and where I'm going.

So I won't fit in,
even when some think
they know me.

And I won't attend,
even when I'm invited,
because unless I have a seat
at the master's table,
not interested in his crumbs.

There is something inside of me,
bigger than me,
stronger than man,
wiser than woman.

Tried to keep my mouth shut,
didn't want me speaking truth
couldn't do anything with me.

Distractions,
always moving me
telling me where to go
who to talk to
what to do.

When I awoke to the game,
I hit my handlers where they hurt,
and I progressed.
Truth wasn't pretty,
it didn't make them happy.

As for love, they couldn't feel me.

I ran away, came back,
ran away, came back,
ran away, came back,
a slave to the past.

Freedom, I cried.
Remove the chains that keep me bound.
There is a new me,
beyond what I see.

Nicholl McGuire

Messengers of the Lord - a poem by Nicholl McGuire

 

 

I would love to tell the perfect story
would love to always give God the glory.

But sometimes down moments
get in the way,
and sometimes, I too, forget to pray.

God gives his messengers a lot to say,
direct listeners to his one pathway.

Give the soul peace, emotions will cease.
Show men love, remind them of the dove.

Don't know when God will say, "You're done."
Darkness works to put an end to the Son.

But even when you are not right,
and even when there is no light,
still keep God in your sight!

There will be trouble, fallen rubble,
and grandmaster teachers
will pop like a bubble.

They claim to know,
but are used like foes,
they speak on talkshows,
but will die like a rose.

A slow, painful death to those,

with so many foes.

They use to sing God's praises,

but then they got money raises.

 

Had they been humble and said, "I'm not right."

Then maybe God would have called off the fight.

 

Heavy consequences to pay

for those with much to say,

that's why we should all pray.

 

Lessons to be learned,

shouldn't be about how much money earned.

 

Yet, keep going forward with bad deals,

and the world will see unholy men

at the bottom of hills.

Nicholl McGuire

Poetry Writing is a Gift - How to Write Poems

Some things don't easily come to others no matter how much they would like to do something.  Writing poetry is one of those things that can't be forced.  Like with any creative work, if it doesn't come naturally, if it isn't something that you appreciate, your words simply won't flow.  Readers will feel the absence of the gift.  I came across a page on Hub Pages that just might help those who truly are gifted in writing poetry to expound on their talent.  See here:  http://hubpages.com/hub/Poetry-Forms

Nicholl McGuire on Ipadio

For poetry recited by the blogger and poet of this blog, feel free to go to her personal page at Ipadio to hear samples of her work. The link is:  http://www.ipadio.com/channels/NichollMcGuire

Thanks for stopping by!

In a Box

It was a big box.
My son brought me a gift
it took some time, I needed to sift
through the pain and the heartache,
found something good I could take.

He said it was for me with a big, bright smile.
His mind had been walking for at least a mile.
Missed his sorrowful, little mother,
found comfort from his big, happy brother.

So he created a masterpiece
in black and white,
wasn't meant to worry me or to fright.

For he wasn't angry or nervous about me,
He just wanted me to "See," to "See!"
He put a crooked smile on my black face.
He had drew me in an odd space.

With a black box and lines all around,
it looked as if the work made sound.

A black firetruck with he and I on it.
something to ponder standing, then I sit.
Still trying to study all of it.

My red heart had been opened with black,
evidently knowledge in his art, I did lack.

Arms held wide,
he gave me red flowers
glad I hadn't died.

Life can be a very dark, strange place,
it makes you think who cut in on your race?


Nicholl McGuire