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Nat Lipstadt Jul 2014
A Roman Catholic concept rooted in a Jewish tradition where, if you cannot attend Sunday mass, you can go to the Saturday mass, the evening prior...

http://t.answers.com/answers/#!/entry/anticipated-mass-definition-in-the-roman-catholic-church,4ffcc10b­7af68a84dcfcad8b

not a religious man,
another "ain't behaving Jew,"
been long time passing,
since I went to a synagogue
of my own free will

(that,
free will,
a subject,
I won't discuss,
a free will choice,
unlike this poem
which writes itself,
me, just the telephone company
common carrier transmitting)


the holy days and
the holidays
come cycling through,
recycled sung sing tunes from
genes that once trained,
once disturbed and reawakened,
pass it on down
willingly or unwanted,
the calendar and
human marker thereupon,
in your face, undeniable,
you are, or start,
being what
they want you to be

been to midnight mass
on a Christmas past,
with a friend who happened
to be a Jesuit priest,
yeah, I'm an electric eclectic
ecclesiastical poetic natty vibe,
with many a
neutral nomenclature,
happens to live with an atheist,
so, tonight, we watch together
at her suggestion,
Fiddler On The Roof

boy oh boy
there I am,
Tevye the Poet,
writing poems on the roof
up on the wide screen,
talking to god
every where I go,
whatever I am doing,
even cursing the
Cossack ***** of the traffic hell on the
Long Island Expressway,
*******, you see

{but you grow weary
waiting for a writ called
Anticipated Mass,
and not a sermon
of a nonreligious miscreant,
who just happened to be
created, born on
the Jewish Festival of Booths,
in an R.C. hospital
on Fifth Avenue,
right next to his coreligionists edifice,
Mt. Sinai
(go figger, all part of the plan,
says my fellow new yorker, Allah}


if you are busy Sunday,
NFL football perhaps,
or a summer FIFA World Cup match,
Wimbledon working,
while on your deck surfing,
(Go Federer)
or a working stiff,
serving man for tips,
waitressing, taxi driving,
in order
not to starve,
for a living
must be made on
the day of rest,
so you go to
Anticipated Mass,
the eve of the day before
the prom dance

now that is something I like,
a flexibility that
inflexible dictums and regs
don't often offer,
like birth control being ok,
every other day

but anticipating my prayers,
just a bit too
OCD compulsive organized,
no matter
9:00am or midnight,
or even 6:00pm
the night before,
I can't anticipate
when the need to
go verse
with The Lord above,
arises

so I like to inform you,
when anticipating
the wine and the wafer,
the sabbath candle lighting,
the prayer rug time,
don't have to wait,
for a mass, a mullah's call,
or a minyan,
do a Tevye!

speak to him
with this Rx prescription,
"as needed"

let your own mass
be lightened, lighted, leviathaned,
relieved, celebrated,
the freedom from
anticipation and feel free
to listen to what god has to say,
cause he loves those
individual requests,
custom crafted,
even noises simple
grunted with good intent,
for those who posses not
the gift of
god gab

an informal sort,
a busy deity,
who appreciates brevity,
which is why
he gives my
long poems short shrift,
but sometimes attends
to my low whispered
observations for the needy,
for the masses,
whose body,
in his image,
I human share
and so often,
pray for...
Dark n Beautiful Nov 2017
ACROSTIC POEM

F acebook is not the place for religious people
A ngelic fanatics, lashing on to the nonreligious folks words
C ritic dealers from across the globe: scandalous
E yeballing and ID’ in, every aspect of our lives
B roadcasting activities not fit or proper
O f men and women from the bones yard
O bjectionable political speeches of 2017 trends
K angaroos court for the Internet wireless hillbillies
Derby  Sep 2016
1970
Derby Sep 2016
Every day, even the nonreligious boys knelt and bowed, so as to pray,
“Oh dear God,” they’d say, “Let me be the predator and not the prey!”
April came, and for months we sang
A sweet song about running away
Not ‘cause we were afraid,
We just didn’t want to stay
We wanted to escape--
To take the A-train to the planes at Da Nang
And go home.

So we heeded the word
And we ran through the jungle.

Who could have ever guessed that a hamburger could be so unappetizing?
Here’s the truth: that ain’t ketchup, and this ain’t child’s play.
No Red-Riders or Daisies
These toys are real and so is this pain.

If you’re lucky, you can be saved
If you’re lucky, it might just rain
If you’re lucky, they’ll cancel the game
If you’re lucky, you’ve got today.

And what we imagined when we were tots
About the war our fathers fought
Was all fun ‘til we were caught
In the A Shau Valley with jungle rot
Starving half to death for a C-ration box,
Brothers dying left and right—even if we could, we wouldn’t watch
We had our sights lined up to fire shots
Leaving behind us all our guts
No time for stomachs ******* in knots
No tears, no fear, we’re here to give ‘em hell
And that’s our job
So that’s what we’ll do.

Search.
Destroy.

No sleep for days, a **** sure bet
That sick feeling you’ll need to use your bayonet
‘cause some poor *******’s so unfortunate
To stumble upon you and take what he gets
Surprise, surprise: no peace this year for beloved Tet
“Happy New Year!” are they ready? Are they set?
For two years, their leader’s dead
And the VC’s still such a threat
Both sides take turns mowing down men they’ve never met
They want and we want each other to quit,
That’s what we all expect
But it still hasn’t happened yet.

It’s been five-plus years and we’re still here
Taking baby-faced rookies hardly old enough to drink a beer
Turning them into hardened men through blood, sweat, and tears
Black or white, straight or queer
We’re all equal on the battlefields
We don’t come cheap, but we come at a steal
Valuable and worthless at the same time
It all depends who you ask, the folks at home or the men on the lines
And everyone in between has a different answer too
Olive-Drab boys filling combat boots
A couple thousand bucks for already-dying shoes
To ****** the roots of a foreign land where none of us belong.

Why can’t we leave ‘em alone?
No time to ask questions, just follow your orders:
**** and survive,
Do your damnedest not to die,
Then you can get on the plane and fly.

Fly on home, under one condition:
Survive the brimstone and ******,
weather the storm and see the calm.

Been here 3 years myself, and I heard stories--
Got letters from buddies who made it safe to Uncle Sam
“They hate us back here. Why?”
I ain’t quite sure, man!
Life sure gets different real fast when you’re face-to-face with an enemy
And in a split second, without a thought, you snap his arm and stab his throat
Then lie him down, walk away, and that very same day, go write your girl back home a love-note.

Sure, it’s gotta be nuts to them folks back home, staring into the deep and empty eyes of men who killed and died
Out in those jungles where their country’s pride learned to hide like a silhouette when you **** the light.

It’s gotta be nuts trying to adjust to waking up in a comfy bed without seein’ someone dyin’—
The paranoia of stepping outside to grab the morning paper, which could **** well be a landmine.

Oh, the things they must hear!

Deafening silence.

Deafening silence, through which, if you listen close enough, you’ll hear the shells burst and the bullets fire all day and all night.
And you’re just plain crazy.
Is the mailman a friendly?
Is the neighbor’s kid deadly?
It’s sure gotta be terror.
Pure terror.

I’d say I’m coming home, but I wouldn’t want anyone to feel the sorrow
Or the pain or the guilt or any disappointment when I die tomorrow.
The truth, though, is that I’ve been dead for three years and change now.
Nobody lives. Nobody makes it here,
We just
Drone along, and
Run through the hell we’ve come to know as Vietnam.

Any man who says he’s “fine”?
Well, that’s a **** filthy lie,
For we’ve all come to run through the jungle
Not to live,
But to die.
Written intended to be almost like a letter back home from the perspective of a battle-worn veteran of the U.S. Military in Vietnam.

The narrator is, in my perspective, a 21-year-old soldier who no longer dreads death, nor does he really care or put much thought into whether or not he will live or die; he has lost plenty of friends, as well as any purpose to make new friends in Vietnam. He initially wrote this "letter" to send to someone--anyone--back home, but he never wrote a name or address on the envelope in which he keeps the letter. He kept it in his footlocker, left at his base after writing it. Every now and then, when he got back to the base, he would read it over again and see, because it is the only thing that could make him weep--the only source of any true emotion or feeling he could muster up. He never sent it back home, and, as an epilogue, he survives the war, and returns home the next year, as his deployment had finally expired. He returns to civilian life, suffering the failures of social and romantic relationships, years of heavy post traumatic stress, and unreasonable disdain from his countrymen, until 1975, when there comes some sort of relief: the war is finally over. He goes on to live a fairly ordinary life, though he still suffers from the effects that war can have on a person--often suffering in secret. Decades later, while looking through some storage, he recovers the letter he wrote to nobody but himself. He weeps again, as he had in Vietnam, for all the memories come flowing back. However, re-examining the letter makes him feel much better, much clearer, and much less stoic and stagnant.

Heavily-laden with Vietnam War and period references.
Sydney Rose Oct 2019
it’s not a *******. & her. & her. & all the other girls you decided to spend the night with instead of a sober one with me. it’s just simply a *******. because when i was the one to hold it down for you it couldn’t be reciprocated with your nonreligious morals that call you to be an average teenage boy portrayed in society.

you will never see the worth of a female. until one treats you the same way you did to me.

the lust inside of your body rages of addiction. forcing the potential love your mother raised you to show to the world to be rotten deep inside of your wasted body.

so this is my finger & i point it out to you.
Signified birth of our second bundle of joy
whereby linkedin chromosomes betwixt
the missus and I intimately expressed ourselves  
and me would alloy
courtesy meiosis the miracle
of human reproduction would deploy
distribution of genetic material.

Full term newborn occured
Suburban Mercy Hospital birthplace
(2701 Dekalb Pike, Norristown, PA 19401)
nine months after spermatozoon gave chase
to ovulating ova
(cue all around the mulberry bush...
pop goes the weasel),
the former latter did embrace,
where sonogram revealed inchoate face

courtesy yours truly burst into
singing amazing grace
adoring newborn exquisite
as finely wrought lace
a biological daughter frisson
snap, pop, and crackling within myspace
automatically, immediately, and ultimately
ingratiating special place
within mine heart of darkness.

No greater purposefulness
exists than to behold thee alive
bearing witness regarding thee
exiting thru birth canal ye did dip and dive.

Tethered to umbilical cord
analogous to astronaut
linkedin to mother ship
bobbing and weaving
once forced out the womb

thru metaphorical fjord
inconsolable offspring crying,
no matter papa implored
though nonreligious, nevertheless
ofttimes paradoxically invoking lord.

How quickly orbitz around the sun sped away
crawling and climbing in no time
atop highest ledge utmost goal without delay,
which might help explain
mine premature hairs of gray
and your dare devilish more frightening
than being hunted down courtesy janissary
(or so I imagine) above exaggeration, I may

beg poetic license and pray
ye anonymous reader enjoy
reading about our precocious Shay
(Hebrew for beautiful)
progeny, who though developmentally challenged
frequently ordinarily calm, cool and collected dada
uttering stronger epithet than oy vey.

Now, one score plus two years
astride planet earth ye attest
to mine wide eyed opened amazement
buzzfeeding, snapchatting and livingsocial
(shutterflying a pinteresting life)

more so than me at twenty two,
no matter I did detest
living under same roof as parents,
cuz yours truly felt like
most unwanted guest!
Jay M  May 2019
They're Watching
Jay M May 2019
Words
Trying to escape my lips
Hands moving at the speed of sound
Can't keep still
With all that I long to say
Yet keep bottled
Toss it to the sea
Leave it
Floating
For someone to find

I want to smile
To say
I'm truly happy
But
I don't know
I just don't know

What are the plans?
When?
Where?
How?
An answer would be nice

I know she said yes
But did she say anything else?
Soon, later
Big, small
Holy, nonreligious
How will you do this?

Where am I in all this?

Throwing the petals
Carrying the veil
'Cause I don't know
If I'll be able to breath
So scared that I'll ruin it all
On your special day
Redone for her

Once more
I ask;
Where am I in all this?

Will I be forgotten
Or be smothered in love?
Will I be what you want me to be?
Please
What is my role in the end?

The reminder of your failed 1st attempt?
The failure you dress up
To be your pretty little princess?
Well, I'm not that type of child

This storm is rising inside of me
And I don't know what to do

Not tell you
Hell no
But what then?
Take that rage
Confusion
Everything
Put it on the page
Send it away

The look on your face
Looking at the crowd
What do you see now?
I'll be seeing you now
Taking her by the hand
Dressed in white
Dancing to your song
Trying to make me
That picture perfect girl

But I'm not perfect
I'm not something to be paraded around
The truth is;
I'm not a good girl
I'm not your trophy
You weren't the victor
Of the last marriage
Because there is none
So stop acting like I'm your trophy
Your gold medal
For making it out alive

I'm your daily wake up call
You messed up
And now I'm here

But I'm still here
So what now?
Dress me up
Show me to the crowd
Saying,
"This is my girl,"
"from my 1st wife"?

Whatever you say
Whatever you do
Just remember
They're watching you

Watching us
The family
Oh, and remember
Don't get me started
On the girl of your girl.

- Jay M
May 7th, 2019
Just putting my thoughts on the page...
Ah haint goot
     no trade secret, boot verily
     attest adventitious, bounteous, and
     capacious divine intervention
     (analogous to invisible
     Charge of the Light Brigade)

     timely saving grace amaze
zing lee engorges,    
engirdles, and engenders mine
     body, mind and spirit,
     which psychic triage
     accruing, germinating,

     and manifesting forth
     coming, and appearing
     at the most opportune
     pluperfect kindling jawboning, and
     instagramming optimal instant – sparing
     irreparable cerebral damage,

     yet inflicting temporary
     temporal lobe trauma
     not surprising giving
     brain big bang, sans
     tickly totally tubular raise
zing trumpeting – analogous

     to Portuguese man-of-war
     sea render tyranny
     over fifty plus shades sways
undulating gray matter
     doth lightly secretely
     with naturally excreted

     unguent liberal mindedly braise,
which explanation might meet
     with skepticism, but craze
zee as such
     "FAKE" holy transcendent
     heavenly extra corporeal

     modus operandi may seem,
     an inexplicable force
     powerfully Herculean sensation
     grips me noggin leavening
     mental scratch pad in a daze
of blinding poetic inspiration doth
    
     like quaffing goblet
     of gin n tonic faze
this phenomena plays
a particularly puzzling role
     on account difficult to phrase
in light of my being an atheist,

which non deistic, theistic,
     nor Vedic precept stays
metaphorically locked, linkedin, and
     leveraged in place,
     despite nonreligious confession
     augmentation, attribution,

     and association
     showers inspiration, where
     eyes fixedly glaze
as literary creativity attaining
     high psychological grades
     dramatically engages fantastically

     with cosmic force appearing
     as nebulous haze
seems antithetical to premise
     couched, fixated, and interleaved
     anchor rightly, viz
     secular humanism inlays

     votary visa versa entrees
shutterfly, snapchat twitter
     comport comfortably seated
     as upon royal chaise
lounge steeped within
     monastic hermetically ascetic ways.
Qualyxian Quest Dec 2022
My nonreligious friends
Don't understand theological thinking
They associate religion with ignorance
Consign it to the past

I read Moby ****
Think about exoplanets
Experience coincidence
Wish to Overthrow

It's best not to hunt the Whale
Wait to see her spout
What is she about?
Golden doubloon nailed to the mast

My wife had a friend from Lima
I read a little Borges
The Old Patagonia Express
Si, yo espero

                 Santa Rosa
Colm  Feb 2020
...Faith
Colm Feb 2020
There is a warming hope
within the soul
above the heart
behind the mindful eyes of late
Foundational as it is warm
And kind as it is great
Nonreligious as I mean true
And simple as a childs love
You know that I'm referring to?
It's...
There's a higher place to go, beyond belief.

— The End —