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parker Nov 25
On perfect nights,
my room is bathed in incandescent hues.

It reminds me of white-vaulted ceilings
and
soft worship music

The air tastes stale,
Your incense clouds my brain,
While white noise fades away.

The hills and valleys of your body are my altar
and I fall to my knees to pray

I can't tell the difference between
your mumbled sweet nothings,

and

Hail Marys
tumbling from a sinner's lips.
parker Nov 25
Press my ear to your chest,
listen to my favorite song.

In this space we can be,
While knowing this tender act is unholy.

I'll kneel at the altar tomorrow.
Scrub the remnant of your touch from my skin once I leave.

You're a blight on my soul that I can't purge.

God.

My God.
Why hath you forsaken me?
On a church, Mother Mary gazes up high
with her saving babe on her stone arm.
On her alabaster face: a cryptic smile
that has its own fine chiseled charm.

While I stand in the old town’s cobblestone street,
my mind sees me in a far distant place.
The visions I see speak of defeat,
a void that devours all grace.

I see myself floating in a brittle wood boat
with sails torn to shreds by the storms.
Frantically I toil to stay afloat,
tossed by black waves which ebb and reform.

Her disk halo of gold shines out in the dark,
glinting to those who sail by.
I ask her: tell me what can give me a spark
to let me soar up into the sky.

She offers no answer in so many words
and just smiles on, stonily serene.
In her silence is where her answer is heard,
a quiet reply — I know just what she means.

The rock of her tells me what I must hear:
No need to soar nor fly nor flee.
Let black tides flow past me ‘til they clear.
Like this old pale statue, just simply be.
Inspired by a statue of Madonna and child on St. Augustine’s Church, Mainz.
Agèd lady sits,
holding her silver and gold —
Anne, Mary, the Son

Anne’s daughter’s the moon,
sits on the throne of wisdom —
crowned in golden stars

Moon begets the Son
who’s fathered by breath of flame —
Both pierced by a spear

Two women, one son —
A motherly trinity
that shines in splendor
Four haikus inspired by a gilded wooden carving of the «Anna Selbdritt», a medieval portrayal of St. Anne (****** and Child with Saint Anne), mother of Mary, together with her grandson, Jesus; both Mary and Jesus are shown as children.
In the ancient Gothic church
Mother Mary whispers here;
Her stony face looks out at me,
blank eyes that shed a granite tear:
There beneath her warming cloak
a mass of children huddle there,
seeking shelter and maternal love —
their fears and pains that she will bear
are lit by a sea of candlelight
that lifts cares hence, way up high,
borne aloft away from here,
to dissipate in distant skies
Inspired by a statue of the ****** Mary with votive candles seen in St. Stephen’s Church, Mainz, Germany
Lawrence Hall Dec 2021
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                     And Whose Fault is That?

          Then said Jesus unto the twelve, “Will you also go away?”

          Then Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom shall we
          go?  You have the words of eternal life.”

Catholics are much disapproved of these days
And whose fault is that?
Catholics even disapprove of each other
And whose fault is that?

Lawsuits and lockouts and altars abandoned
And whose fault is that?
The ‘net all clogged with angry Catholic sites
And whose fault is that?

Well, yeah, mine too

We are perfectly free to go away
But we won’t – because He asks us to stay
A poem is itself.
Francie Lynch Mar 2021
If you're an agricultural enthusiast,
Or gifted tower dwelling urbanite,
I know a priest who’ll bless your cockerel, favorite cow,
pig, sheep (with a predilection for lambs), tractor and
two-seater outhouse,
(I once saw a priest bless Farmer Paul’s load of manure).
He’ll lift a hand over
dog, cat, gerbil, cockatoo,
Foster children, adoptees, naturals and the unnatural.

They will bless people in love;
they will bless their love;
But not the union born from their love.

All love, he will say,
Is Divine.

God does not bless sin, said Papa.

Tsk, tsk... it's only a blessing, for Christ's sake.
Shame on the RC Church.
Christian C Jun 2020
Heaven mend my heart
for it longs even when he is near,
painful to merely glance upon his learned silhouette
knowing it will soon disappear

For this feels like a pressing punishment
for an ineluctable sin so divine
as to adore another so selflessly
sustaining only by the privilege to christen him mine

Heaven mend my heart!
for it anguishes even when he is far,
Lord, I love him
please do not make us part
Amen.
Chris Apr 2020
A foolish people
Has forgotten my ways
They have chosen politics and kissing the Pope's ring
They have cast liberty to the wind
They are not worthy of it.
This is a comment on man's way as opposed to God's.
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