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Mark Lecuona  Mar 2012
Mark Lecuona Mar 2012
She covers for God
Not you
Are you worthy
Of her will to be true?
To the word
As it is written
Not of man
But begotten
Into the cradle
Of our existence
Heard by those
Who lower their resistance
To what is holy
Not on earth
But in heaven
Where a woman’s worth
Is measured
By the blessing
Of her womb
Life-giving and supporting
Each new creation
Equally touched
By the unseen
But untouched
By sin
Until the apple is offered
By the bare flesh
To our sons and daughters
Yes she suffers
Behind the cloak
Of piousness
Wearing its yoke
Until the strength
Of one man’s soul
Reveals itself
To make her whole
As it was intended
For man and woman
But not before
He has proven
His understanding
That a hijab
Is not weakness
But God’s robe
Which he dare part
To find paradise
In the strength
He saw in her eyes
Written for a Muslim friend of mine in Indonesia....
CH Gorrie Sep 2012
Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, “Lord, how many times shall
I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?”
Jesus answered, "I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times."
                    - Matthew the Apostle

Seventy-seven bottles of gin
lie in the guts of sensuous men;
seventy-seven *I forgive you
's dissolve
in a fanatical mind's resolve.

What offence occurred under Saint Constantine's priggish eye?
Was it specious as a Samian's thigh?
Or Sumerians receiving alien diplomats?
Maybe somewhere far under Moscow Putin's massing cloning vats...

Whatever discursive and belligerent milieu
church authority finds most tried and true
seems to be the most important decider
in the future of things like the Large Hadron Collider.
Perhaps, unfoundedly, they find it funny that Higgs
(though it seems much like calling the Liberal Party "Whigs")
is a name shared by a man and a theoretical particle
(though it be libelous in any journalist's article),
and thus label similar advancements as "blasphemous".
I guess that this is what it is: believing just because.

Who can know blasphemy from piousness?
Maybe all Luther did was obfuscate a prior mess.

Seventy-seven palm-branch-adorned, donkey-riding kings:
an automatic-ring-making-machine beleaguering proselyte rings.
Tsongming Mar 2015
Prejudice implications of a zealous mind
Hypocrisy, your piousness defined
Don't explain the visions you claim to see
Omnipotence, embracing the oblique obscurity

So Sick of your fundamental ways ; tried true hypocrite
Don't push your anachronistic views on me ;
I am so sick of it.

Your religious persuasion is just an exchange of confusion
Please keep your hands and thoughts to yourself
Reverent Lip Service, Fanatical Delusion
I am sorry that I gave you the impression that I cared.

Awake, awake  my dear when will you awake
Suffering delusions caused by 2000 years of crusades
This is from an original song that I wrote and recorded in 1993.
I was annoyed by phony former friend and the thieving preachers like Robert Tilton robbing grandmothers.

Not intending on offending anyone.
A L Davies Mar 2012
the hand that rubs my body down
is soft: softly veined &
of a powder-white translucence; transcribed
from dover chalks to run down my
chest, backs of my thighs.

the hand that rubs my body down
curves in sweet musics 'round my soul;
the shrill but beaut'ous rasp of skin
on skin
-- of fingertips tracing strange poetry
    along my spine.

the hand that rubs my body down
holds in its palm a sacred oil;
anointing me at midnight hour. muted
bewitchments; burns the candle
down to a nub.

the hand that rubs my body down
calls for christ in attics of sunday
afternoon ...          crosses its fingers in
spiteful fits
of piousness.

the hand that rubs my body down
takes the shape of golden scarab;
sets aflame my eyes of beaming azure &
finds in me a willing servant.

the hand that rubs my body down
wakes me at dawn, partnered  
with an extension of pinpointed
warmth: the touch of her breath upon my cheek.
product of reading dylan thomas overmuchly
to idolize a segregated love
against fear, that knows nothing of failure, hurt, destruction
to cage evil, to make evil, by making cages
and to venerate, righteously, some ideological and illogical heaven
to loose sight, of the dark
and be blinded, in sheer light
is to forget beauty,
real beauty
is lost in piousness
in gross
over simplifications
in staunch
and heartless,
some dreary
and to lose beauty,
is to lose life.

without death you are dead
and if there were only good there would be no good at all
and truth is true by falsifiability

never lose sight of the terror
that waxes at beauties heart
with trembling and real love,
shaking for the unshakeable,
and put demons in their place next to angels,
bring shadows to the light,
or you'll know nothing
of great dreams
of shifting colour and hue
and shade and shine
and here we are
and here
we are

I say
give me it all,
I'll refuse nothing,
grant me totality,
hand in hand with
my union-
I am for wholeness-
I am for
the world

I am a lover
feel, I need to feel
I am a lover
sense, I need to sense
I am an artist
see, I need to see


to hide nothing
to hide nothing

and see
An African sunset has once again,
not outlived darkness of its own sunset,
but the legacy of its poetry will soon
Set forth the new dawn in full brightness
Of the phenomenal African woman
Whose desire to sire human freedom
Irritatingly sings and will ever sing like
A bird in the cage of oppressor’s ploy
Singing the songs of freedom for all,
Invoking ears of the heart in mental realm
Of prejudice and bigoted self-exclusion
to see the self in the face of otherness.

I mourn Dr. Angelou Maya who passed on,
On the black Wednesday of may 2014,
A doomsday of dooms-month of dooms-year,
That extended the invisible tentacles of death
To curtail the breathes African daughter,
At the Wake Forest University, in land of the Yankees,
At her only ****** age of 8 and 6 compartments
Of twelve months swelling not even full in each case,
Leaving me to wonder in my African callousness,
At the magical reality in the sharp sounded words;
Of , O death!  O death! Why are you so untimely?
That echoed from whale rapacious jaws in the mandibles
Of capitalism that ruthlessly converts nature into ***** money
In the erstwhile onset of the dawn for new morning.

I mourn with grief, my dear sister; Dr. Angelou Maya,
She boldly stood up in the fullness of her melanin
Pronouncedly **** and elegant gap in her front teeth,
Blending to overwhelm the entire world with the beauty,
In the darkness of her African skin, provoking evil
Of the time, that let a white man to **** her
A Poor daughter of the an ex-slave in Americas,
And the ****** walked away scot-free at the helm of
Evil freedom in the apartheid civilization of the USA, as her humane
Heart forgave him, the white ******, seven times and seventy seven
occasions, a reflection of true piousness, true humanism,
Like a phoenix she still stood up, her head in fortitude like a tor,
as we the conquered and the enslaved  ones sat forlorn,
in the ******* of fierce slavery, at the nub of salve anguish
in the pangs of  nostalgia for  the banks of River Congo,
Yearning in equanimity for the life by the waters of the River Nile,
she had to rise indomitably  and sing for civil rights of the black souls,
Terrorized by the evils and wiles of Ku Klux ****, handmaiden
by the Jimmy Crow cultures in the days of Rosa Parks,
She sang tunes, lyrics and poor folks’ ballads together
with Luther King Jnr., Malcolm X and entire Negritude,
When we lived as slaves in the land of abundance,
Caged in the pigeonholes of black ghettoes
Mushrooming the entire Harlem in which
she were born, dear begotten daughter of Africa,
You rose and sang songs of liberty when the world
Was mum on the violations of gender,
Is when your thespic power in your magical
And surreal words, created the truth
In the phenomenon of phenomenal woman
That finds honour in un-bowing before the thrones
Of those who reign by perpetrating terror.
Felix Sladal Feb 2017
You're beautiful

Her heart leaked though sweat soaked pores hardening into
black fragmented biotite to hold her in the prison of her own piousness

Feldspar crystal kneecaps vine intertwining into the lost rock city
Rita was your lascivious sin worth stitching your soul with
Zizyphus Spina Christi to the barren waste lands of your repentance

He kissed you while standing in death's door with sickened veins
You grasped hold and pulled him back from the shadows of the valley
He loved you by the alter of your Father as you bled your tongue in silence

You vowed to lay with no other man than Him almighty
But your vow broke like straw in the sweet summer heat
Now your head remains bowed waiting for your soft breeze of forgiveness

As the ground shifts, as the wind blows
Your body shudders, slipping fragments of your nose, ears, arms, feet, *******, eyes, and fingers slide from you
As your lips crumble to rest upon your thigh
You cry out, vibrations leading to your demise.

Screaming for the ones who have forsaken, weeping for Him who has smited you by turning your soul to stone.

Though it all with in your eternal poignancy, and never ending rage

You're still magnificent.
I don't believe that shall come to pass.
Perpetually unfinished, 2014
PJ Poesy  Apr 2016
Holier Than
PJ Poesy Apr 2016
Eager man
to prove piousness
when he’d not one per cent.
Liking way
he sounded to himself
on and on he went.
Not meaning to
inconvenience oneself,
no interruption lent.
Held possession
of microphone from
assembly, church and tent.

Gifted as
he was it seemed
parishioners drifted off.
He lifted hands
as she day-dreamed
and held back her soft cough.
preacher’s wife did utter
as last one did run off.
“Amen to
less the said,” said one
as labor to impress bring scoff.
Jay  Apr 2019
Oh, so tired
Jay Apr 2019


but so naive;

They told me that they wanted the best for me,

they asked me to believe them,

so I did.

Seraphic voices

taught me I’d be nothing without them

only a blank page,

only a waste of space

So I swallowed my pride

and accepted what I was taught to believe

the voices in my head were relentless

Ambitious as ever,

I raised my voice

but they were quick to hush me

I was told to follow,

to step down from my pedestal;

No one likes raw, uncensored words,

So I did as I was taught.


Beatific at first

but now so warped,


blurry figures in my peripheral vision

threatening to leave when I needed them most;

My precious voices

I held on

oh, so dearly

the creator of my own catastrophe,

I built my own cage.

Blissful with them

Miserable without;

Despised for my piousness,

I set myself on fire

for their comic relief.

Struggling to breathe

I was told I could have the world

but not the truth,

never the truth;

There is no escape.
R  Sep 2020
R Sep 2020
Why did you let go?
Someone asked me
I told him i did it for the memories,
To keep the picture of him safe in my mind,
To safeguard those misty dreary eyes,
Which carried innocence he thought he had long lost,
For the piousness in his speech,
Which i had once heard.
I had let go for the memories,
And those turbulent emotions
Which i had once felt,
For those ear to ear smiles which i had witnessed,
And for those arguments which no one ever lost.

Maybe someday I’ll learn to talk to him effortlessly again,
But till then he is tucked safely in my memories..
Some sweet and some savory.
That’s what poets do i told him,
They let go for the memories,
Before the happiness they once felt is overpowered by regrets and misery.
Letting go for the memories is the one thing which i have learnt...stubbornness and want just brings more grief and disfigures all the happy memories and the person you know. When i was younger i use to think i could never let go of anything, i use to think if i love, like, appreciate or want anything or anybody they ought to be with me forever. Not saying that attachment is evil but attaching yourself to emotions and good times and safeguarding them is wiser than being at war with what is happening in your right now or caging yourself in want and stubbornness. you never know maybe things might turn around with it’s own organic course and even if they don’t try not to  **** the memories or images  that have been created.Let them be.

— The End —