Denis Martindale Poems
Comments about Denis Martindale
* The Cross Of Christ
The jeering crowd like jackals stood,
To see what must be done.
Though once they thought this man was good,
They didn't see God's Son.
They called Him Rabbi, Teacher, Lord,
Yet now He was Rome's slave.
So all His claims were now ignored,
For who was He to save?
The nails were driven deep inside...
More drops of blood soon fell...
Once lifted, hoisted, crucified,
His life was just like Hell.
Torment and torture lay ahead.
His scourged back stung and bled and bled
As briars bruised His brain.
His mother wept each passing ...
If I could write the bestest poem,
The bestest of them all,
Then that would be more than a whim,
More like a miracle!
For I'm not blessed with eloquence
That flies off from the page,
Surpassing all poetic trends,
Since I've not reached that stage...
But, when on form, I'm still quite good