Complaint about writing rhyming Christian poetry

I need to vent.

I keep trying to write rhyming poetry, because it's much harder than non-rhyming, and builds good discipline, I think. Only there's a problem. If you are writing Christian poetry, the words you tend to use the most often just don't rhyme with much of anything.

For instance, take "Christ." Christ doesn't rhyme with anything but "heist" and "poltergeist". Try to write a poem using that, now!!

"Faith" doesn't rhyme with anything but "eighth" and "wraith" (which I did once use, which I guess means I don't get to do it again).

"Love" is famous for having only a few rhymes, two of which are "shove," and "glove." "Dove" and "above" are slightly more promising, but really overused already.

And then there's "hope..." Dope, mope, lope, pope, slope, nope, cope ... a larger selection, it's true, but not exactly the sorts of words one really wants to use in a poem about the Lord Jesus Christ. And "Jesus" doesn't rhyme with anything at all!

This is why I have such a large collection of two-thirds written sonnets. I start out strong, and then get to the last third and just can't make a rhyme to save my life. I have a bookmark for a website that provides you with a list of all rhymes for any given word, so I'll use that and find that the word I want doesn't rhyme with anything. I'll think and think to come up with something else that will also express the idea, look it up, and guess what? It doesn't rhyme with anything either!

Here's an example of a would-be sonnet that died an untimely death due to lack of plausible rhymes (and my inability to wrap an idea up in the lines permitted):

Afflicted, reviled, cursed, the scum
of the earth; destitute, stoned, sawed and slain,
the Saints march in. All Heaven, look—they come!
The Lord’s Redeemed come in a tattered train,
and trailing glory. Here not many strong
not many wise, not many rich when they
were called to leave their homes and start this long,
long journey of splendor and pain. Oh say,
you hosts, are these the ones their Father knows?
They’re clothed in sheepskins, goatskins, barefooted,
bloodied and beaten, orphans and widows:
they bear the wounds of Christ.

Here's another, about the book of Joshua:

From out the desert they came in, sun worn
and hardened, with their children and their sheep,
their tents and their God. Men from childhood sworn
to this: to fight to win, to claim and keep
this land that God had got for them. They learned
their parents' lesson well. Before their flood
of men great cities fell; they bled and burned
before the Righteous One to whom their blood
was due. What panic was in Canaan then--
when God hurled rocks upon their heads, and stopped
the sun above.

There's more, believe me. (sigh) Maybe I'm not cut out to be a sonnet writer, but there's just something about it I can't resist--it's like a verbal puzzle (and anyone who knows me knows I like puzzles).

That's all now.

Come Now, Death's Shadow

The experiences this poem discusses happened years ago. I wrote it awhile back as more of a reflection on them than anything else.


From dust we came
to dust we must return
some of us covered in blood and small—
a life that barely lived
a heart that barely beat, though fast,
beneath frail ribs and paper skin,
while blind eyes and downy brows
mark the image of God
being knit.

Hear me, Lord!
Hear my whisper, hear the flutter
of silent movements
stopped within my frame—
my fallen frame, too weak to hold
the life You chose to take.
The garden’s curse
exacts its toll again.
Bitter, familiar sin!
I feel its sting now,
deep within my body,
piercing to my heart.

My love
cannot dry up,
like my blighted child.
It flows in rivers down my face.
It carves its place
in the landscape of my life—

But that deep pool, clear
and only sweetened by salt-tears
shall water the seed of Your Word
within me.
Your will, Your mysteries, Your plans
for me and mine—
for that soul whose properties You know—
Your Providence and choice,
and mercy seen through mortal pain—
these lessons I will learn,
take from Your hand the grief,
call You blessed,
and remember

This child, too, belonged to You.