The spire rises on high
To humbly hug heavens holy white sky
And from the sacred gothic cathedral
Bells ring with symphonic sanctimony-
The sweet angelic instrumental harmony  
And you feel the presence of descent God from your homes
You smell the inviolate incenses of the Saints from your louvers  
The frankincense fragrances of the Blessed from your windows beckon
And you aspire your children to serve in the church as your neighbours
Good examples they will always be to the civilized society

Time to time alone you send her and him to them
To selflessly serve Mother Church to earn endless blessings
And obediently ****** leaves as per commandments
“Obey your Parents for your days on earth to be multiplied;
Serve the Lord your God unreservedly-with all your all!”
In church the child spends her entire free time
In church ****** serves innocently-restlessly
In church the child does his-her all to avoid any blame or blemish
In church ****** endears all to avoid any bad reputation  
After all what ill can befall you if in the House of the Lord-the Psalm says:
‘Surely, goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life!’

Dear innocent child, with a heart harmlessly clean
Does it know the monster is the wolf in sheep’s skin?
The perpetrator, is the priest-the sheep’s sheer shepherd
It is he who feeds on the fattened flocks of his Master’s fields
Unsuspecting, unknowingly he gets closer with him,
The priest, the sacred of peoples modest mediator
It is an old age adage in faithful ways of thinking:
‘Whoever gets closer to a pastor earns firsthand priority
To touch and share in his consecrated ointments!’

O my child, to darker places he is-she is sent
To collect vestments, ointments and sacraments
And quickly without resistance or hesitance
****** splints, timely and servitude is an altar’s teaching
Behind, swift too, the sinister minister-monster fast follows
And in darkness shush! He touches him-he touches her holy places
In return he/she is hushed with gifts of craved church’s wines and wafers

Confused-is this pastor N… really, or am I dreaming
Before long the child goes into silent phobia and depression
To who does he tell of the dark tales behind altars, vestry and sacristy
The man behind the Eucharist, the revered man of the church!
The blessed bass behind the mic, deeply unleashing
The Holy Ghost: “Bwana asifiwe, pokea Roho!”
To the convinced convicts-faithful brethrens is a satan, a monster
Is he who really touched and touches her in the wrong places?
It is he who forced into his baby’s brittle red bottoms
It is him who stole, vilely robbed his-her virginity and virtues

Who will listen to his/her sad story?
And it is the mothers-parents blame-consumerism connive
They are liars to tarnish the church’s good name
And when he says and cries and refuses to attend the Sundays services
The mother scolds him with felines’ violence
‘I am not raising pagans in my house,
It is either you go or go to serve the church!
Am I clearly heard and understood?’
O poor child, silent suffers this sacred soul!

With rigid society ready to absolve the ****** priest
With the parish ready to excommunicate the fighting family
With the church-Christ’s body-willing to go any extra mile
To save its priest and salvage its worldly rotting name
The state eager to close one eye and let the church rule
After all it is they that say-‘the church will outlast everything!’
The church is always innocent it can never wrong its attendants and congregants

Quickly the ******* priest is shuffled and reshuffled in all earth’s parishes
And the innocence stolen child is left alone to find its answers-
To sad solve and resolve its mysteries-objections, rejections and excommunications:
‘Who is God-who really is He and who are His consecrated men
And where was He while we were being ***** and molested
By the saints we thought sacredly serves in his vast fields!?”  
O *****! O sodomized! Sacred sufferings!

© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/asia/catholic-priest-****-15-year-old-girl-kerala-india-mathew-vadakka­cheril-consumerism-temptations-***-a7613406.html?cmpid=facebook-p­ost

The louvers of the
windows to my heart are shut
to the storm of love.

All are invited to taste-test a French meal, free-of-charge, at the
Table of near west side Chef Louis.  The first course will be a
Salade Niçoise, prepared the usual way – vegetables, salad greens
From the Periwinkle family, des oeufs durs et des olives ‒ Flavored with a pinch of myrtle.  Those so inclined may have escargots instead.  Louis will pop the cork on a vintage vin rouge.

The main course:  canard à l’orange, spécialité de la maison.  
Known far and wide as the best duck in town, it has a secret sauce
Including the bird’s bone marrow, and is a favorite of Paul Soglin;
Hizzoner has been showing up brandishing a “ditch Walker” sign.

While the cuisine is incomparable, the dinner music, too, is
Délicieuse.  In town for only a week is the diva, Renée Fleming,
Accompanied by the virtuoso cellist, Yo-Yo Ma.  To forestall the
Entry of hordes of fans, Louis will have the louvers closed.

The wait staff will be in the wings with the dessert du jour, Crêpes
Suzette – using the best Orange Curaçao ‒ before a small frigate
Is unmoored for return to the Lesser Antilles to pick up a new
Stash.  Louis is a total service restauranteur, and he has vowed to
Let all his guests take a selfie, with him, Yo-Yo and Renée, in the
Private chef’s booth, in just a glimmer of the day’s remaining light.

Though he’s unbearded, Louis uses Brilliantine regularly to help
Him attract the most voluptuous of available dates.  Mais, prenez
Garde, mes demoiselles, Louis est français, après tout….  


© Lewis Bosworth, 7-2017

Kentucky alarmed
defoliates.
Flash botanicals revolt
all over paradise.
Thrumming
paulist chancer
never regretted
          ******,
offers no chair,
no please be seated.
Zinc covered louvers
are pulled back.
         That one child
save Rio azul.
What is known but lips,
          birds, words,
wheels of silver,
a stone world
    that collapsed
then was rebuilt.
Tzintzantzun.

-

               a suspension in the sky with refined silver cords
                 bearing tiny droplets full of crystal reflections
                     in a slow rotation which disintegrates the
                      periphery into gently unfolding louvers
                         that carefully define feathered edges.

                               i wish for it's pull chain over
                                    my own midnight sky—

i have but
small candles...




"cloud chandelier"
© 2020 by Seranaea Jones
all rights reserved

The sun has just went down. I turn on my little light by my chair that throws a soft glare across my room
,its caused by my light Pointing at the reflective louvers of my blinds.
I have my window open a crack. Cool  fresh air is being pulled into the room by my little fan that is always set on quiet mode. The room has the perfect climate, cool dark cozy.
Funny how its normally just me. I guess not everyone likes cool. I just heard a school of geese fly over my house. It sounds like an airborne argument.
It also sounds amazing, especially  growing  up where I did hearing nothing but huge planes over head. With this perfect setting, there is still something missing, companionship.  I need a dog.