Two Poetic Reflections Upon Holy Scripture

Here’s some Holy Scripture hip-hop poetry (Beautiful Eulogy) and some classic poetry (John Donne).

Symbols and Signs
by Beautiful Eulogy

Pump the brakes, stop sign
You saw the sign now you Ace Of Base
Preacher saw them dollar signs
He on that paper chase
Stuffing profits in his pockets
A wolf with a sheep’s appearance
And the reason he’s making that scratch huh
Is cause those ears itch
Pimping out the Gospel (watch out)
A prostitution of false doctrine
Lies whistle in the wind
But we listen
If there’s a little truth mixed in
Find a pastor that suits you
On your TV with a suit and tie
Hitch a ride in his private jet
And you’ll be lookin’ stupid fly
Materialism
And selfish ambition
Is a foolish religion
The riches of God’s mercy
Is worth more than your superstition
Tell me how does a Christian begin
To develop discernment and wisdom
First we submit every symbol and sign
To the authority of the Scriptures

Yep, are you the kind
That’s completely consumed
By symbols and signs?
If you are that’s fine
But don’t you find it interesting
How most of the time
Your self-interpreting seems to coincide
With what’s deep inside
Your heart’s desires
Seems rather convenient, doesn’t it?
I’m not saying that God can’t do it
Not saying that God won’t do it
That might very well be the case!
I’m simply making an observation of how much weight you place on it
What seems to be at stake and how much of your faith is actually banking on it
And how much of your mysticism is mixed with your religious philosophic system
Sometimes what we believe to be true from our supernatural pursuits is actually a fluke
A series of events that’s used to distract you from the truth
But, I’ll give you a sign that’s obvious
One of the most supernatural acts is that God through His Word has actually revealed everything pertaining to life in Godliness
There’s this idea that an individual
Is somehow more spiritual
If he sees these signs and symbols
And takes what’s normally invisible
And makes it simple
But I say the mark of a mature man
Is the one who reads God’s Word and understands
And allows that to govern his decisions and his prospective plans

I like it when the wind shifts
They say it’s the movement of the Spirit
Still small voice, ya’ll hear it?
Remember that time I saw that leaf fall
I was positive it was God’s call
Wait for it, listen close
Y’all missed it?
I cite Gideon, Samson, Paul
Elijah saw the clouds split
And know that God did it
And does it still
Still, his presence feels like chills
Right, and if I’m honest it doesn’t happen often
Something must be wrong
It’s boring when my life is more like the book of Ruth than Exodus
I’ve never seen the partin’
Of an ocean
Or a cloud by day or pillar by night
Just a normal everyday working of life
Where things that suck royally
Is evidence of His royalty
Scratch your temple
So deep it’s simple
Silly us, ignore the plain
We prefer a riddle
Dying to see a miracle
While holding God’s diary
Looking for signs

A Valediction: Of the Booke
by John Donne

I’ll tell thee now (dear Love) what thou shalt do
    To anger destiny, as she doth us,
    How I shall stay, though she esloygne me thus
And how posterity shall know it too;
     How thine may out-endure
      Sybil’s glory, and obscure
     Her who from Pindar could allure,
    And her, through whose help Lucan is not lame,
And her, whose book (they say) Homer did find, and name.

Study our manuscripts, those myriads
    Of letters, which have past twixt thee and me,
    Thence write our annals, and in them will be   
To all whom love’s subliming fire invades,
         Rule and example found;
         There, the faith of any ground
         No schismatic will dare to wound,
    That sees, how Love this grace to us affords,
To make, to keep, to use, to be these his records.

This book, as long-lived as the elements,
    Or as the world’s form, this all-graved tome
    In cipher writ, or new made idiom;
We for love’s clergy only’are instruments,
         When this book is made thus,
         Should again the ravenous
         Vandals and the Goths invade us,
    Learning were safe; in this our universe
Schools might learn sciences, spheres music, angels verse.

Here Love’s divines (since all divinity
    Is love or wonder) may find all they seek,
    Whether abstract spiritual love they like,
Their souls exhaled with what they do not see,
         Or loth so to amuse
         Faith’s infirmity, they choose
         Something which they may see and use;
    For, though mind be the heaven, where love doth sit,
Beauty’a convenient type may be to figure it.

Here more than in their books may lawyers find,
    Both by what titles mistresses are ours,
    And how prerogative these states devours,
Transferred from Love himself, to womankind,
         Who though from heart, and eyes,
         They exact great subsidies,
         Forsake him who on them relies
    And for the cause, honor, or conscience give,
Chimeras, vain as they, or their prerogative.

Here statesmen (or of them, they which can read)
    May of their occupation find the grounds,
    Love and their art alike it deadly wounds,
If to consider what’tis, one proceed,
         In both they do excel
         Who the present govern well,
         Whose weakness none doth, or dares tell;
    In this thy book, such will there nothing see,
As in the Bible some can find out alchemy.

Thus vent thy thoughts; abroad I’ll study thee,
    As he removes far off, that great heights takes;
    How great love is, presence best trial makes,
But absence tries how long this love will be;
         To take a latitude
         Sun, or stars, are fitliest viewed
         At their brightest, but to conclude,
    Of longitudes, what other way have we,
But to mark when, and where the dark eclipses be?

The Penguin Poets, p. 42-44.