Mobility Of The Sun
My Lord, you are the Poet,
Who notes me with thy strong hands.
I can only aspire to know it
And extend thy word to all known lands.
You have set in me for the sun
A tabernacle for his regal throne,
From which he arises for his daily run
Throughout heaven's every zone.
Each morn I await his excellent ascent.
Onward with his golden lamp of God,
He begins at one end of the firmament
And runs on with the light of Aaron's rod.
poem by Albert Price
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Garden of Faith
Death disrobes the body of our fancy garments,
And clothes us with more common fashion:
A mere loincloth of sky blue silk,
So that we may feel the warm passion,
Of resurrection’s gorgeous spring
And the spiritual blessings it will bring.
So sleep on calmly with Jesus,
Beneath your coverlet of blue skies,
And know that the summer garden of ease
Will be there when you arise,
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poem by Albert Price
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Booty Everywhere
There’s a new dance craze
Comin’ on the media both ways.
They all like it out west
And east it passes the test.
The girls don their lingerie,
Then agitate it every which way.
She does the reel and the shake,
Making more moves than an earthquake.
Your mind’s control is her rear rotation,
Making your only thought gratification.
Forgetting all God knows you need,
You’re ready to bow and humbly plead.
But the booty shakin’ doesn’t stop,
So it’s best you leave before you drop.
poem by Albert Price
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My Nimble Moon
So lovely you grace the height of glory,
Repeating nightly to the listening earth the wondrous story.
I read in your looks a knowing judge of love,
A knowledge acquired by eyes peering long from above.
Then, with pretty flight, you perch the throne
And listen to the musings of the owl in his somber tone.
His song to you makes the crickets sing,
And a harp plays as God tunes the strings.
Gleam forever, moon of my fancy dreams,
For never are the droplets of sunlight as sweet as they seem.
poem by Albert Price
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Pluto's Treasure
Golden objects are most outstanding,
But without loving, they are missing flavor.
But let’s not forget stunning silver,
That the maid often loves to savor.
And brilliant copper, with its rosy sheen,
That every craftsman should well know.
But cold iron, as Kipling likes to say,
From all of these, takes the show.
Not mentioned yet, but not to be overlooked,
Is platinum, our bright and lustrous pal.
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poem by Albert Price
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Engine Of The Soul
Build me an engine -lady of my dream,
Let it be powered by eternal steam.
May patience be your tool of design,
Planning completeness with a cunning mind.
To drive the pistons of a soul's production,
We need fire with extreme combustion.
This fire from the fervor of powerful prayer
Will create the steam with warmth to spare.
The engine comes to life with a blast and a toot,
And begins to harvest the spiritual fruit.
Run on my soul, with speed aplenty;
For the harvest is rich and the prayers are many.
poem by Albert Price
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Hummocks Of Nirvana
Lush hillocks to titillate your feet,
Shadows of trees admiring your curves,
Waterfalls under which all speech is sweet,
Sooth away the encroaching nerves.
Served at twilight is the sublime desserts
With its mounds of ambrosia topped with crumbs.
And the luscious glimpse of grass skirts
With the distant throbbing of the great drums.
Platters piled with fruit never ending
Sweeter than the loftiest sentimental whim
Disappearing into the shadows ever bending
With the doubling harmony of a glorious hymn.
poem by Albert Price
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Park Samaritan
Resting in the park one day,
I saw a cuddly little mutt.
He looked like he came a long way
And was suffering for an empty gut.
I offered him a moist hambone,
Which he very politely took.
And soon he was gone to find
Comfort in some suitable nook.
Off he went down a trail
To find a soft spot for his meal.
The wag of his lively tail
Was more than a thanks could reveal.
In a spell he gingerly returned—
To show me his spirits were higher.
And with a friend his gift had earned,
A beautiful silky-furred admirer.
poem by Albert Price
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Quest for the Unknown
Dear God and Creator of the known world,
Allow me to understand the essence of your truth.
Be it by messenger or angelic herald,
I desire your instruction forsooth.
Your craftsmanship is glorified with much data.
By what theory may they be compressed,
So that my comprehension can be greater,
And my appreciation of your glory blessed?
Your stars are objects of beauty so great,
And their mystery transcends every theorem,
That man studies their nature every night,
In hope that you will expose your holy axiom.
poem by Albert Price
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Blossom of Paradise
In God’s most sacred garden valley,
A flower of inviolable beauty and charm.
The blossom of exquisite sweetness
With the spirit to resist all harm,
Glowing like the icon of a cherub,
Boldly tempts and tries all the senses.
Posing itself front and center,
It washes away all sinful pretenses.
Soft and warm, with smoothness sublime,
Responsive to the gentlest touch,
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poem by Albert Price
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