Saint John 8: 1-11

It is the topic of many homilies:
What was Jesus writing in the dust there
At the feet of the woman those men didn’t like?
Possibly he was writing to you and me:

“I know what you do when no one’s watching.”

Or

“I know what you say in self-deception.”

Or

“I know what you think when you are silent.”

Or

“I’m going to fry your *ss if you hurt my child.”

And then there is this other mystery:
Why was there dust in the Temple, anyway?

William Shakespeare, 1564 - 1616
How can my Muse want subject to invent,
While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
For every ****** paper to rehearse?
O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me
Worthy perusal stand against thy sight;
For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,
When thou thyself dost give invention light?
Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth
Than those old nine which rhymers invocate;
And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth
Eternal numbers to outlive long date.
If my slight Muse do please these curious days,
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.

My Poem - R.I.P. Main man.
How can I find inspiration, when your eyes
reside in my mind,
renovating my headspace.
No beauty could surpass your being,
clouding the cosmos,
searching the clouds of my soul,
For something to
relocate my focus.
As if you would ever read my musings, written upon unworthy wood pulp
But you, perfect, living forever
less perfect and untouchable in my ******
and immature words,
wishing they could be as flawless.
Let my pain go unnoticed,
for your ultimate beautiful,
immortality.

If I ever said I revel in darkness,
I misspoke.
If I ever sang the praises of dusk,
I was mistaken.

Because it’s not the dark I enjoy,
nor is it the night I adore.
I realize that now.

It’s the contrast
—the beauty—
of the specks of light
shining through the black sky,
the heroes who are not fazed by the sunset.
I realize that now.

I realize that now, on a cloudy night.

Objection, your Honor!
On behalf of the accused,
I demand that this excessively
    harsh sentence be reduced!

Beside that, Your Honor
Can judgement be dispensed
Behind the subject’s back
    and without hearing his defense?

Moreover, Your Honor
Is this what you call fair?
To destroy, with zero evidence
    a man and his career?

But answer me, Your Honor
—Though I highly doubt you can—
Who gave you the authority
    to judge your fellow man?

As one of the blue-jacketed workers
As a defiant student
As a child of poverty
Who never had a bicycle to ride to the Sorbonne

I repudiate your vivid red flags
And your graduate-school keyboard revolution
And your catalogue of cliches’ and cant
And your crawling housefly symbolism

As one of the blue-jacketet workers
As a defiant student
After an all-night shift in the plastics factory
I like my cuppa Earl Grey tea in my bleeding hands

Someday I’ll have a bourgeois balcony
And from it look down on your stereotypes

Slowly, first he took down the skirt,
Then tenderly came the blouse,
He grasped the bra and pulled it out,
Finally, it was the underpants.
:
:
:
:
:
Don't be naughty,
He took them from the clothesline.
28/4/2019

I am a clerisy of one
I argue with myself a lot
And as I speak I know I’ve won
I’m all about me, and you are not