Poetry

http://www.baptist-city.com/poetry.htm

http://www.jesus-is-savior.com/Book...Books/Dr Jack Hyles/i_am_an_idea_dr_hyles.htm
.
http://www.fbbc.com/messages/hyles_completer.htm There are a couple of poems on this page, one in which I HIGHLY recommend to the ladies.

http://home.columbus.rr.com/fredhutchison/Theology & Spirituality/The Lost Chord.htm

http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.com/~morgan/cheryl/poems.html One of may all time favorite poems in on this page. It is mistakenly titled A Christmas Carol here, I believe the proper name is In The Bleak Midwinter.
 
My all-time favorite poet is definitely e.e. cummings. He was a modernist, a poet, and a Christian. He does not capitalize his name, and he does not always obey proper syntax or grammar in his poems.

My favorite collection of his poetry is 100 Selected Poems. The link goes to Amazon.

He fought in World War I, which gave him a somewhat sardonic view of death, and though he was a Christian he does use mild profanity occasionally, though he does so far less than your average poet of the Modern movement. If you want an estimate of how often he curses, I would guess that there are 5-10 profanities in the entire book of 100 poems (not counting a few suggestive innuendoes). I would probably rate this book PG-13, but then, anyone under 13 is probably going to find it boring anyway.

If you want an example of his work, here's one of my favorites:

nobody loses all the time

i had an uncle named
Sol who was a born failure and
nearly everybody said he should have gone
into vaudeville perhaps because my Uncle Sol could
sing McCann He Was A Diver on Xmas Eve like Hell Itself which
may or may not account for the fact that my Uncle

Sol indulged in that possibly most inexcusable
of all to use a highfalootin phrase
luxuries that is or to
wit farming and be
it needlessly
added

my Uncle Sol's farm
failed because the chickens
ate the vegetables so
my Uncle Sol had a
chicken farm till the
skunks ate the chickens when

my Uncle Sol
had a skunk farm but
the skunks caught cold and
died and so
my Uncle Sol imitated the
skunks in a subtle manner

or by drowning himself in the watertank
but somebody who'd given my Uncle Sol a Victor
Victrola and records while he lived presented to
him upon the auspicious occasion of his decease a
scrumptious not to mention splendiferous funeral with
tall boys in black gloves and flowers and everything and

i remember we all cried like the Missouri
when my Uncle Sol's coffin lurched because
somebody pressed a button
(and down went
my Uncle
Sol

and started a worm farm)
Click to expand...

That should give you an idea of what to expect. I like him, but he's not for everybody.
 
Amy Carmichael, Irish missionary to India and author
of forty books, some of them poetic, here is one:

"'But these strange ashes,
Lord, this nothingness,
This baffling sense of loss?'
Son, was the anguish of my stripping less
Upon the torturing cross?
Was I not brought into the dust of death,
A worm, and no man, I;
Yea, turned to ashes by the vehement breath
Of fire, on Calvary?
O son beloved, this is thy heart's desire:
This, and no other thing
Follows the fall of the Consuming Fire
On the burnt offering.
Go on and taste the joy set high, afar,--
No joy like that to thee;
See how it lights the way like some great star.
Come now, and follow me.
 
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