Category Archives: Christian

Colleen’s 2019 Weekly #Tanka Tuesday #Poetry Challenge No. 128 #SynonymsOnly #cinquain

p-challenge-header (1)Taking

her by the hand

he  led her into the stream,

the crowd began to chant the psalms.

Rebirth.

 

 

 

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RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #240 Do&Say

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Before the altar,

the couple will say, “I do.”

a vow before God

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This week’s entry for Sue Vincent’s #Thursdayphotoprompt #Writephoto

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A time of despair

lay cold breath upon the land.

While Lord King Arthur

retired within his chamber,

sat alone, in cuckold’s grief.

No consolation

could he gain, from grieving wife,

or courtly knights,

till from the high battlements

joyful cries when far below

in supplication,

knelt his once favourite knight

who, though hermit now

pledged his service and his sword

to the man whom  once he wronged.

Thus was pestilence once more,

purged from proud, fair Albion.

 

 

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MLMM’s Photo Challenge #249

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We dismounted. Staring in awe at the scene before us we knelt down and gave thanks to the Lord. Our quest had not been in vain. Our beloved Emperor Hadrian would reward us well for had we not found the place they must surely have called Golgotha.

We entered and searched diligently but there was nothing to suggest that the sect known as Christians had interfered with it in any way. It was empty, the mud floor overgrown with brush. It had probably been ransacked many decades previously but we could not afford to take any chances.

We would find lodgings in the village and leave a sentry here while we sent dispatches to Rome. Nothing was to be disturbed on pain of death. All we could do now was wait until we learnt our beloved Emperor’s wishes for this place that seemed to hold so much significance for the followers of this so-called Messiah.

 

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COLLEEN’S WEEKLY #TANKA TUESDAY #POETRY CHALLENGE NO. 114, Try & Life #SYNONYMSONLY

life-is-likea-cup-of-tea

On our first attempt

to justify existence

he was not convinced.

The creator of all  things

chose to  become destroyer.

 

 

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COLLEEN’S WEEKLY #TANKA TUESDAY #POETRY CHALLENGE NO. 111, “CELEBRATE & NUMBER,” #SYNONYMSONLY

life-is-likea-cup-of-tea

We come together,

rejoice in communion,

partake of the host.

Rituals and practices

bringing comfort to many.

 

 

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Sue Vincent’s wonderful Thursday photo prompt #Writephoto #Haibun

 

stone-in-the-wood

Beautiful bower,

Stained marble stones hide bleached bones.

A place  of sadness.

 

From his raised throne at the head of the hall, the Compte LaReine turned to his master chevalier.

“I’ll see them now, my three guests.”

The heavy oak doors at the end of the hall swung back and three white robed knights were invited into the long, wood-panelled hall. They had surrendered their swords and shields, distinctively marked with the red long-halted cross.

The three approached the dais and bowed low before the Count. Dubois, their spokesman started to introduce himself and his companions but was rudely interrupted by a loud, bellowing voice demanding the reason for their apparent desertion from the Templar order.

Unbeknown to them the Count was dismayed that they had not been willing to divulge the whereabouts of the legendary famed Templar treasure. He knew that the Order had lost favour and wished to curry favour with King Phillip. After secret negotiations he had agreed that the three, accused of heresy, although falsely, would be confined for two days and without trial, put to death as ordered by the King.

“Take them below,” he thundered and roughly, without ceremony, they were lead away. Two days later they were unceremoniously put to death and their bodies taken and placed in a shallow grave in the forest to be forgotten.

So they remained for the next two centuries until the Pope was persuaded to grant a pardon to all the French Templars and throughout the country, the bodies were exhumed where known and re-interred beneath marker stones in the territories where they were once revered for their piety and fighting prowess.

These stones remain a place of pilgrimage, although more often  a destination for treasure hunters and the curious.

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#FirstlineFriday

Amber light streamed down from the arched windows, splattering the altar and their upturned faces. The priest held the ornate, silver chalice in both hands and raised it above his head. His low, droning incantation repeated by his two surplice-clad assistants. 

All three turned to face the expectant congregation. Already a queue had formed for the communion ritual. The first communicants already knelt before the screen that separated them from the Holy of holies.

The three officiates moved towards the kneeling line with their platters of communion wafers and wine chalice.

As the priest leaned forward he lurched and trying to grasp the arm of his assistant he dropped the wine chalice to the stone floor before collapsing with his hands clasped to his breast. A red stain slowly spread across the flagstones as the echo of the falling cup died away.

Cries of alarm and shock escaped the stunned congregation.

All except one.

A tall, strangely pale figure got up from his seat at the back of the nave and laughed. Placing his black cape over his shoulders he skipped to the door and exited.

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Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto /Footprints

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Joannus Rodriguez took one last look to right and left then quickly ran across the sand.  They had gone. For two days he had been  hiding in the small cave at the base of the cliff. Nobody had thought to climb over the rocks and search the shingle beach  to the West. They had all  been  concerned with the few items that he had left in his small, upturned skiff. These paeons were so predictable, a bundle of gaudy blousons, some cheap stockings and a small cask of cheap brandy had kept them arguing amongst themselves for hours. Now it was time to make his way to  the house of the Throckmortons. Then after a good meal they could commence their spreading of the true faith. They had all the ecclesiastical vestments safely hidden, ready for him to begin his tour of the houses of the faithful. His flock who still supported the old religion before the upstart Elizabeth the frigid cat had driven them  underground.  Those steadfast men and women who were forced to keep their services hidden. Proud in their defiance of those heretics who threatened them with imprisonment, painful tortures and violence, even  death. All for their belief in the true God through his representative on Earth, His Holiness Pope Benedict.

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Ronovan writes #165 #Haiku Passion and play

Oberammergau,

decennial passion play

Celebrating Christ

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