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The
Poetry of Karina Guardiola-Lopez
Introduction
Karina Guardiola-Lopez is a Messianic Jew, born and raised in New
York City. She has been writing since her youth and began to take
it seriously in high school. Karina attended City College and obtained a B.A.
degree in English with a focus in creative writing.
Her book, "Poems, Prose and Phases" is a decade of creative works.
From lyrics to poems to short stories. The encounters with the
good, the bad, the ugly and everything in between. From heartaches
to the occult, to cults, music, to friendships, foe-ships and
ultimately to God.
From innocence to ignorance to seeking something more value than
intelligence, salvation!
A journey with a pen, a pad and all phases in life.
See below to purchase Karina's poetry book! |
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*Bruised,
Striped and Pierced
(A
poem for Passover)
With
the bread of affliction,
Bruised, striped and pierced,
Bitter
herbs and salt water, to remind us of Israel’s tears,
The
egg, the haroseth, the symbolism and tradition,
The
lamb that atoned that gave us salvation and redemption.
Rewind
to a story, when once captive in a foreign land,
Slaves
in Egypt, under Pharaoh’s commands,
400
years of bitterness and abused hands,
But
Adoni spoke to Aaron and Moses about HIS new plans,
For
Israel to be free,
Yet
Pharaoh disagreed,
Moses
warned him of the consequences,
But
Pharaoh would not hear his plea.
Pharaoh’s disobedience and failure to submit,
Caused
God to permit,
Plagues to spread,
For
the Egyptians to live unfit.
Bloody
waters, frogs, lice and fleas,
Boils
and hail, locusts and disease,
Darkness over Egypt,
And
still Pharaoh wouldn’t seize
Even,
with the all the suffering he had seen,
The 10th
plague was death, to every first born son.
A
foreshadowing of what was to come…
Pharaoh then began to reflect,
Israel
placed blood on their doors, a symbol to protect,
It was
a sign to the Angel of death,
To
skip over them, and to move on to the next.
Pharaoh was torn and upset,
But he
finally submitted,
He was
wrong and he admitted,
God
made him an example to all those uncommitted.
Life
without God is neglect,
HE
Rejects none, is the one who protects.
From
the beginning and the end,
The
Echad as we comprehend,
The
Lion and the Lamb,
Like
Issac and the Ram,
The
Ruach and the Man,
Our
deliverance to the land,
Pesach
is the remembrance, of being free,
A
symbol of God’s love indeed,
A
story of friction and affliction,
Ending
in salvation, redemption and glee.
The
bread of affliction is the bread of life,
Bruised, striped and pierced,
A
prophetic, unleavened token,
That
paid all our arrears.
* Poem not found in poems,
prose and phases*
Define Divine
Like fine wine,
Refined,
We are the branches,
He is the vine,
From the beginning of time,
Of creation and design,
The way, the truth and the life combined,
Salvation to the Nations
Blow the trumpet in Zion,
For here comes the Lion,
He is the Lamb
that was slain,
He is the truth and the way,
The key to eternal light and salvation,
Spread the word to all the nations.
Soles of
Souls
The Soles of Souls stomp and
stampede, searching for salvation. Seeking sentiments within
strangers and scanning speculations for solutions. It’s a sad
secluded world although you are never in solitude, surrounded by
societies whose motives are suspect and selfish; I sympathize
for my lost species, unaware of their significance, misguided by
the shade and shadows of sinful spirits, instead of striding
towards light as the salt of the earth. But I remain optimistic
and I hope these seeds become steams and sprout by the Holy
Superior’s rain, may it create a spark that will emerge into an
inner flame.
*Yeshua
There
was once a women being blessed,
A
husband put to a test,
A life
about to come,
But
different from the rest.
They
were visited by angels,
Had
messages and dreams,
They had
to receive,
That
this virgin would conceive.
This
child was the King they had all predicted,
The one
from the scriptures,
To grow
up and be convicted,
And
slain.
Yeshua
is his name,
The
future was about to change,
He would
live on earth,
Die in
it
And then
in heaven he will reign.
He grew
and became a teacher,
And a
prophet,
But
called a liar,
Had a
life no one desired.
Yet had
the power to forgive,
Cure the
sick, and heal the blind,
Turned
water into wine,
The man
was divine.
A
Nazarene, a king
and the
salvation for all the Jews,
But many
questioned…
What? No
crown, No throne and No jewels?
Rejected
by his people,
Betrayed
by friends,
But
those who read the prophecies,
Knew how
the story will end, (yet begin)
He was
sentenced to prison,
He was
sentenced to death,
And
heresy was the reason,
And He
had no regrets.
He had
to carry a board,
His
sides were pricked with spears
Worn a
crown of throne,
His
wrist and feet were pierced.
He was
beaten badly,
Yet had
no broken bones,
Was
given a sour drink,
The
solders gambled his clothes.
Hours
passed by,
And
Yeshua died,
Three
days passed,
Those
who saw his empty tomb
Knew He
was alive.
He is
the king that was once predicted,
The one
from the scriptures,
The one
that was convicted and slain,
But now
in heaven he reigns.
And now
we wait patiently until he returns again.
Red
Whether his
eyes are like
The sunset,
a starry night or blue sky,
Rounded or
slanted like almonds.
Whether his
skin is like the rich soil,
Sun kissed
or milky and porcelain.
Smooth like
silk or gritty like sand.
Whether his
hair is like straw or curly like wool,
I’m certain his
blood was red.
You are my first,
my one
and only,
the one who always keeps it holy,
the only that never left
me
lonely,
Lord, you’re never phony.
Listen, you taught me the truth,
Speak it, and I’m making that move.
Innocent
Sheep, Listen Again! (Beware of False Prophets)
A proud look
and a lying tongue,
And a hand
that sheds innocent blood,
From
innocent sheep and the innocent young,
Once sons of
God but now a son of a man,
Being
brainwashed about false hopes and plans.
Doing
blasphemies in factories disguised as sanctuaries.
Know them by
their fruits. What do they consume?
Real sheep
know the HIS voice but the goats are confused.
Death for $20 but Eternal Life is Free.
Hello to
you too.
What is
this flyer for?
You say I
am a positive person?
I have an
inner light?
Why do you
squint?
Why are
you holding my hand?
Where are
you taking me?
Why is
this place so foggy?
Do you
want to play cards with me?
I’m pretty
good Black Jack.
Hey, my
cousin wears shells in hair.
Why all
the crosses?
Why all
the idols?
Are you a
Christian?
Are you
just spiritual?
You want
me to place my money inside your bible?
Can I see
which chapter it is?
Oh it’s
Isaiah I see.
Have you
read this scripture before?
You say
you can tell me my future?
Okay, I’ll
give you a 20.
I’ll make
it $50…
But only
if you allow me to read
Isaiah 8:19.
I know you came here to
tell me my future,
But I came here to tell
you yours,
You see a long time ago,
I was in your seat,
And someone also gave me
this word to read.
And now nothing is the
same.
And that “inner light”
you see,
Is not my aura or chi,
It is the Ruach Hakodesh,
The Holy Spirit in me.
So, you
make a living in stacks of 20’s,
But
eternal living is free!
And when
those 20’s run out,
Where do
you think you will be?
F.R.O.G.S.
F ully
Relying On God’s Salvation.
A low bar in the spiritual,
Fast money and hypocritical.
Artificial, superficial, fanged wolves in fleece,
Hand dipped in the grease,
Foul scent when they speak.
When you sin with your mind then you sin in your heart,
When you sin in the physical, you sin when you walk,
When you sin in the spiritual you sin when you talk,
(All sin is critical just give him your heart)
Cotton hands walk around and bald sheep lying in chalk.
Who works in factories disguised as sanctuaries?
Con artists pushing boundaries,
No different from the ones who sit in D.C.
Creating lies of false hope and deceit.
Burning facts, creating myths
And then spread them like seeds.
Before Creation
(Inspired
by William Blake’s The Tyger)
So
they say He is a spirit,
Did He create the snake too?
Or
was the snake once fang-less?
That turned into a venomous viper.
But not successful in the world,
The industry never gave him a break,
His plan began to
unfurl,
So he tried another route,
Needed to accomplish his dream
With his words, he fooled many,
Was a light among the strangers?
Provided darkness to his brothers,
When he spoke he said one thing,
And when he walked did another.
But the rapper was unwrapped,
And many saw his false motives,
Successful in the outside
But his heart was corrosive,
You can’t
get"
crunked
"in
the church!
A Christian gangsta and no heist?
Bunch of babble and foolishness,
Creating gang signs for Christ?
Instead of listening he’s talking,
Instead of slowing down he speeds
Put the mic down for a minute,
And pick up your bible and read.
The Sour Hour
(
The experience
at D.W.C.)
Ready
for battle,
Here comes a war,
Bring the:
Cults, Trends and Sects Down,
In the name of the Lord.
It’s the breaking down of
doors,
the enemy
has been expose,
Strip!
Fall to your knees
now put on some clothes.
Lives being victimized,
the killing of sheep,
the enemies waiting patiently
together they reap.
I saw
the game,
lying for the money and fame,
friends are now my enemies
but victory I gain.
They
hide behind smiles,
the hugs gave me denials,
conversations meaningless
artificial and foul.
But I
smelled it,
Wild Lifestyles
Dry and mild,
Lukewarm soldiers only last for a while,
The
mission is to spread
common sense and the truth,
like a virus overrunning
to the old and the youth,
Conviction
scares and scatters’ to the soul’s
points of views,
if you get offended
then these messages are for you .
I asked my grandmother a question about my faith,
Slapped me across the face.
“You should never question God it is never okay,
Just believe what I tell you. And you will be saved”
I just wanted a solution to my confusion.
I was young and foolish and not guided by truth.
Was it blasphemous to ask?
I just held on to my bible,
But never opened it at all,
I wanted to please the Lord,
And so I did what I learned,
Was I meant to see shadows?
So a ministry I had earned.
So I continued to hop over incense,
Place garlic heads in my pocket.
Listened to Walter Mercado’s advice.
Placed alconfor in back of the doors,
Tied loose hairs into knots,
Held sacred the talisman that I wore.
Face readings and palm readings,
Underwear worn inside out,
Guided by astrology and numerology,
Was this what God was about?
Until I picked up that book,
The pages flipped and they took
Conviction and correction,
And now nothing has been the same,
My vision is now different,
And now I am aware of the enemy’s game.
*Amen
to Amen II
The things I know now, but
never knew, vision renewed,
now
the mind pursues what is good. No more idols, no more
statues, no more magic candles, No more Babylonian
traditions , Like Ruth, with conviction, a
transition, a conversion, no longer seeking
perversion. The pagan rituals, no longer habitual, day
by day learning the true roots and erroneous customs
by men which were never ever influenced by Hashem.
Walking the Walk
I
feel like I’m walking on a very thin thread,
And
if I fall, below is a six foot bed,
Please Lord; guide me on this road,
Without you, I won’t make it on this thin dental
floss.
The Battle on the Narrow Path
Tongues like arrows, like spears to strike and
pierce,
The walk is narrow, clouds aside, the view is
clear,
A lucid recognition of what interferes,
It’s artificial, superficial and insincere,
I’m stay firm, guided by the hand larger than
this sphere,
But those blinded will never see it, even if
near,
On a road with no baggage, in need to persevere,
I keep my eyes on the pilot, the driver, the
pioneer,
There is no room on this road for fetid
racketeers,
Dirty hands from dirty minds, those dirty souls
and I, will never cohere,
No room on this path, so they turn and they
steer,
Those uncovered seek a fall, the injury is
severe,
I have victory in the conquest, like protected
with veneer,
But the show is not mine; I am not the host of
the premiere,
I’m just a woman not a pharaoh and not even an
emir,
Remaining humble, remaining hopeful, the outcome
a souvenir,
A battle wound, a scar and I’m still wearing the
bandolier.
Karina
Guardiola-Lopez
Across the painting
(In Rememberance of the Holocaust)
He sits in his grandmother’s rocking chair,
writing with his left hand, unnaturally,
sitting across a painting of
arms wrestling between the smoke,
bruised hands, bloody hands,
hands that worked all day hands,
hands in fists, fighting through the smog.
Inside a building, with right hands stretched
out,
are many men in the big black boots, and hats,
holding big black books,
crowds in rows wait for them,
tired mothers and children, hopeless seniors,
the sick and handicapped hidden inside the
dark.
A curious child peeks through a broken window.
Millions of six pointed stars bundled and
burned,
Torah pages and prayer shawls buried 6 feet,
strings of curls lying in a corner,
fathers and husbands outside in lines, duct
taped mouths, while
waiting for a signal, staring into the
heavens,
their eyes look up, and meet with the little
boy
outside the painting, sitting in his
grandmother’s rocking chair.
Karina
Guardiola-Lopez
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