Where I summarize each of the twenty-seven books of the New Testament into a couplet.
I hate poetry. It’s blue-collar work. Like a bricklayer, poets grind out an existence one word at a time.
Words become sentences, sentences become stanzas, stanzas become poems…over a period of days. Weeks. Even months.
One fourteen-line sonnet can demand fourteen hours to craft. And then you are not even sure it’s any good.
The process is long, brutal and nasty.
That’s why I like the couplet. You’re only dealing with two lines of five to six words each. Unless you’re writing thirty-nine couplets…like I did with the Old Testament last week.
Or twenty-seven couplets…like I did this week.
I paint a painful picture. Tongue-in-cheek, of course, because I enjoy the final product with a smug self-satisfaction.
So, I hope you experience the same kind of satisfaction after reading these couplets…without the work, of course. Let me know what you think. And have a great Friday.
The meek revolutionist surpassed Moses—
Unheard, he redeemed the broken masses.
Soon I must be isolated, sifted—
Follow me, to death, that none would be wasted.
God mingled with women, children, heathen
Through Christ-man, who sought the lost with passion.
Believe for eternal: the wilderness
Exposed the lamb, the light come out of darkness.
I witnessed Peter babble on the balcony—
His hair and mouth aflame like cranberries.
A purity is unearthed from the gospel:
Purity embraced alone by faith, by people.
The cross of Christ conforms the man-carnal
Into a separate, holy being, just and eternal.
Beautiful in decomposing being,
The divine light of the Gospel is burning.
Crushed with Christ, exhausted, the yoke, the thong
Broken—don’t turn and put them on again.
His people swarm like molecules, his body,
The church, a husband and wife entity.
Like a tree loses its leaves, Christ abandoned
His deity; to give us joy, he descended.
In Christ we hide, the emptied deity—
In Him dwells the fullness of Godhead bodily.
The pure dead first, then, sublime living, ascend
To meet the Lord who will from heaven descend.
Live for, exalt Jesus in your crucible
And suffer to become dark and beautiful.
My boy, elders should be sacred and sane,
Immersed in our rare mystery alone.
Then solider, farmer, domestic utensil
Imitate as worthy servants of the gospel.
Tell each Cretan to be sober and sane,
Like a fragrance they should adorn our doctrine.
The ancients permit you to destroy this man,
But remember, you’re no longer a slave, so forgive him.
The backbone of this book, dense and verdant,
Is salvation ends in Christ incarnate.
Faith breeds works: Abraham did, in faith, offer
The body of Isaac on the altar.
Why so strange that you suffer and burn?
We must shadow Christ, even in resurrection.
Do not mourn as bereft of Christ’s return—
The longsuffering of God is salvation.
As little pure children pass through light,
Be happy and gay, love incarnate, like Christ.
Madam, I joy! You and your brood are couth.
You love and obey God, you walk in truth!
Old bountiful Gaius, your servant hood
Has nurtured pious wanderers real good.
Avoid the dark dreamer who inhabits
The land of Cain, Korah, and Judas.
Exit the dragon—descending from the sky
Is the abode of God, his pure, rare bride.