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In a land of 93 people
lived a preacher and a nun
In a church without a steeple
they preached to 91

The sermon was quite boring
so seven found the door
They left amidst the snoring
leaving only 84

The nun looked to the altar
and the scary hanging Jew
Twice 11 faltered
and that left 62

But the preacher kept on talking
and he didn't skip a line
Then 13 more were walking
leaving only 49

The nun began to worry
as she saw the empty pews
They were leaving in a hurry
by sixes, fours, and twos

A dozen minutes later
they were in the church alone
The ****** masterbater
and his faithful penguin drone

"So what are we supposed to do?"
the preacher asked the nun
They started out with 92
(or was it 91?)

To be honest it was 93
including priest and nun
You'd think that I would know this
as I wrote it in line 1

But the time is getting very late
perhaps I now can sleep
These lines are not so very great
and not so very deep

But they served my shallow purpose
as my eyes begin to close
And since nothing rhymes with purpose
I believe it's time to go
Far off in the distance
I hear her fretful wail
No purpose in resistance
it would be to no avail

Like Sirens from an ancient ode
she heralds my demise
Inviting me to her abode
and all that it implies

As a lamb unto the slaughter
in innocence I go
A manipulated plotter
of a life I could not know

Thus my friend I go to her
and freely seal my fate
I ask that you do not demur
for the hour is getting late

And so I bid the world adieu
and leave this disarray
As for the likes of me and you
there can be no other way
Working on my first folk song*

My demons are many
My angels are few
and the time for redemption
is long overdue
For the songs that we sang
from that merciless pew
were just words from an old
dying tome
But the gates of the garden
are opened at last
and an old voice is calling
me home

So to all of my critics
and all of my friends
I’ve loved every one of you
time and again
But the wheel must turn
from beginning to end
and my time with you
is now fading
For the darkness that
soon overshadows us all
will not long be keeping
me waiting

And finally I must
in good conscience proclaim
that the gods that divide us
are one and the same
And it matters not much
if we call them by name
for the names that we praise
are illusion
For the gods resonate
in reflections of men
and within we will
find absolution
710
Moses brought the rules
for every sinner saint
and fool
And handed each a portion
of the blame

But a man is only wise
when he begins to realize
that a wise man
never ever plays
the game
Warning! This poem contains foul language and the subject matter is intended for those who share my warped sense of humor (or humour for my European friends). If you are easily offended or devoutly religious, you should probably skip this one. That said, my apologies to Dr. Seuss.



And all the Hos knew there
was something quite odd
about this strange little
self-professed servant
of God



Father Xmas

Every ** down in Hoville
liked ******* a lot
but the Priest who lived
just north of Hoville did not

The Priest hated *******
(at least with the women)
He much preferred cute
little boys for his sinnin'

Why he was so nasty
and hateful and sly
I guess no one really
could understand why

Some said he was born
with only one ball
Some said that his shorts
were two sizes too small

But whatever the reason
his shorts or his *****
He hated the Hos
both the tall and the small

'When the clocks strike eleven
I know just what they’ll do
They will take off their clothes
and commence a ** *****'

'And they’ll ***** and they’ll *****
till their screwers are sore
Then they’ll all take a break
and start ******* some more'

And the more the Priest thought
of the Hos and their *******
the more the priest thought
'they must stop what they're doing'

'I could call the police
Have them taken to jail'
But the Hos knew good lawyers
and would quickly make bail

'Then they’d all wander home
and resume the ** *******
They’d resume the ** hand jobs
They’d resume the ** *******'

Then he threw up his hands
and said 'Oh what the ****!
If I fancied ***** I’d be
******* as well'

So the Priest left the Hos
to their ****** ploys
and he climbed into bed
with two altar boys.
Beyond the safety of the border
between reason and disorder
lies a world that ever beckons
to the darkness in my soul

A land of everlasting laughter
that was once and will be after
all the things we thought
we fathomed turn to dust
in granite holes

Take me far beyond the steeple
to a land of unscathed people
where no single rule or concept
dooms us all to God’s abyss

Show me love without condition
without heaven or perdition
where no act of false contrition
guarantees eternal bliss
A bowl

Just a bowl

Empty but for a rotting pear
and the core of a once green
apple

The shadows pass over this table
as the setting sun drifts into
the abyss of an Autumn sky

Darkness now

The bowl all but vanishing
in the solitude of a moonless
transgression

The bottle

Oh yes, the bottle

I can see it's outline
in the forgotten drag
of the day's last cigarette

Amber solace to sooth
a tortured mind and numb
a jaded soul

Until morning...
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