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 Apr 2018 Seeker
ConnectHook
Children drugged with truthless tales . . .
Unwise men embrace their treasure;
Algorithms urge the sales
In malls devoid of merry measure.

Plastic sparkles in the air;
Automotive ads turn festive . . .
Forced good nature everywhere
Makes the shopping crowds grow restive.

Corporate greed spins altruistic
Hyping goods, suppressing Christ.
Our Yuletide is their big statistic
Oversold and underpriced.

Secular beribboned fluff:
Peace, Goodwill . . .  but don't say God !
And heaven knows you've had enough;
Just download the app—acquire the mod.

Coca-Colaed, Disneyfied
You're wrapping paper for their fire;
Eggnogged, Santa-ed, thrown aside
While Babel's flames roar ever higher.

The godlessness shines right on through
Where Christmas lyrics die, unheard.
The Yule-log and the sparks that flew
Expire in embers long unstirred.

The old usurper carting toys
And Chinese knock-offs in his sled
Sets off a lot of empty noise:
Insanity in green and red.

The lurker leers and hauls his bag
(jolly antichrist distraction)
While flying Bishop Nicholas' flag:
A winter psy-ops covert action.

Only message left: go drink!
And may your cup o'erflow with cheer
Before you risk to start to think
Yourself and God right out of here.

Hallmark haloes, bygone kitsch
enwreaths the memory of the years,
Kindling maudlin sadness which
wells up in melancholy tears

For Christian culture (rest in peace)
Long-corrupted by dollar signs;
For fa la la and fattened geese
And holly midst the ivy vines;

For Dickens' gospel of the season
Anglican angelic ghosts
Pushing us beyond unreason
Toward the future's spectral hosts;

For folklore now reduced to ash
Commercial blow-outs, ***** snow;
For Saturnalian urge to smash
the store-front windows where they show;

For useless manger figurines
Passed down from some more faithful time;
For hallowed and nostalgic scenes
No longer worth a Roman dime.
I still love Christmas but its ongoing commercial secularization by corporate globalists makes me retch (into my mulled wine).

Nonetheless, like Scrooge, I intend to keep Christmas well.
By the way, that's Merry CHRISTmas.
(No Christ, NO CHRISTMAS)

https://connecthook.wordpress.com/2017/12/19/christ-massed/
 Apr 2018 Seeker
ConnectHook
Rise from your grave. It's Easter Sunday
two-thousand eighteen years A.D.
Spread the word with hashtag/twit-feed;
make it cute.   No urgency . . .

Fluffy pinks, chick-yellow duckies
Nestléd eggs and pastel notes
just might charm those raging hordes
who long to slit some Christian throats.

Virtue-signal while you're shopping
Watch the game and charge your phone.
Allah's bunnies won't stop hopping
Till they make your land their own.

Sweeten up your springtime idols'
pastel poison. Drain the dregs:
Antichrist is here to offer
jellybeans and chocolate eggs;

Sweet untruths with trinkets given
lying in the plastic grass.
Easter morning, market-driven—
Christ is risen . . .   kiss my ***.
http://shroud.com/index.htm
 Mar 2018 Seeker
spysgrandson
the third day of spring, pear blossoms fall like snowflakes
then disappear in the new grass

this blanket coming green after a russet winter
during which the old man took shovel to earth
to bury her last Retriever

the runt of the litter, yet it grew strong
and outlived her by only a fortnight, after sniffing her dormant beds, lying at the foot of her lawn chair

as if the canine divined where he last saw her:

lounging in the yard, reading Dickinson under early March light,
sipping a mint tea, scratching the pet's ears;

she passed there, under the same trees, winter's survivors
not yet in bloom

though full of budding promise, unrealized, unseen, but there even as they lay her in the ground
 Dec 2017 Seeker
Albatross
Thoughts
 Dec 2017 Seeker
Albatross
The miracle that has come to dominate the life will once again prevail...

And maybe, just maybe, it will...
On this Thanksgiving, it's not about the delicious dishes
For me, it's all about those tender little-kid kisses
 Nov 2017 Seeker
harlon rivers

in the quiet of stillness
I can hear a snowflake
gently land
upon my cheek
a flurry of gossamer
frozen lace lilts ~
peacefully
transforming
the ennui
of chilling silence
into a wilderness symphony



thank you to all
for stopping by to read
"The sound of a snowflake"

written by:  h.a. rivers ... 11/13/2017
 Nov 2017 Seeker
ConnectHook
LO! Death has reared himself a throne

In a strange city lying alone

Far down within the dim West,

Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best

Have gone to their eternal rest.

There shrines and palaces and towers

(Time-eaten towers that tremble not!)

Resemble nothing that is ours.

Around, by lifting winds forgot,

Resignedly beneath the sky

The melancholy waters lie.

No rays from the holy heaven come down

On the long night-time of that town;

But light from out the lurid sea

Streams up the turrets silently —

Gleams up the pinnacles far and free —

Up domes — up spires — up kingly halls —

Up fanes — up Babylon-like walls —

Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers

Of scultured ivy and stone flowers —

Up many and many a marvellous shrine

Whose wreathed friezes intertwine

The viol, the violet, and the vine.

Resignedly beneath the sky

The melancholy waters lie.

So blend the turrets and shadows there

That all seem pendulous in air,

While from a proud tower in the town

Death looks gigantically down.

There open fanes and gaping graves

Yawn level with the luminous waves;

But not the riches there that lie

In each idol’s diamond eye —

Not the gaily-jewelled dead

Tempt the waters from their bed;

For no ripples curl, alas!

Along that wilderness of glass —

No swellings tell that winds may be

Upon some far-off happier sea —

No heavings hint that winds have been

On seas less hideously serene.

But lo, a stir is in the air!

The wave — there is a movement there!

As if the towers had thrown aside,

In slightly sinking, the dull tide —

As if their tops had feebly given

A void within the filmy Heaven.

The waves have now a redder glow —

The hours are breathing faint and low —

And when, amid no earthly moans,

Down, down that town shall settle hence.

Hell, rising from a thousand thrones,

Shall do it reverence.
The Dim West . . .
(more like Dhimmis, ha ha ha )

written by Edgar Allan Poe
 Nov 2017 Seeker
Emily Elliott
i want to live
that's a lie
i want to die
it doesn't matter
the pain i feel
has become too real
the brightness in my life
has quickly gone away
the darkness
overcame me
the love in my life
slipped through my fingers
the sadness
took over
the light
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