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 ...
The Con Artist!
She walked into my home,
like she walked into my heart
and then into my dreams.
She picked up my favourite things
and put them in her sack.
She explored my heart and my home,
eventually taking everything.
I stand outside looking in.
She is watching the large screen TV,