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O Lord, I am thy workmanship;
     And shall the *** of clay
     Unto the potter say,
Dash me to dust, for I've a chip?
                              Nay.

Perhaps the potter uses scraps
     For purposes the ***
     Would likely like a lot
If he but knew.  Perhaps.  Perhaps
                              Not.
Echo, tell me: Which men have fallen the Fall?        All.

And what is God, who's all in all, all of?        Love.

What should I place within the beggar's palms?        Alms.  

God made the feathers that makes the sparrow's flight        Light.

To sinners, how appear the ways of God?        Odd.

What has the Lord given to him who hears?        Ears.

What do they have who see through Satan's lies?        Eyes.

The saints who run to face the throne of grace        Race.

Who is the great-grandmother of the Truth?        Ruth.

From whom descended all the thin men of Haddam?        Adam.

Whom did the snake first practice to deceive?        Eve.

On her I place the burden of all the blame.        Lame.

What do I give the giver who gave the Law?        Awe.

I invented the electron multiplier.        Liar.
Compare "Heaven" by George Herbert and "An Eccho" by Sir William Alexander
Gnosticism is my current question
Rummaging through the fabric of time
Every rip leads me to my childhood bedroom
Empty toy boxes toppled over, uniformly
Newborn cries painted onto this plane

Christian doctrines and hyper-pop
Radical leftists holding onto rosaries
At last, unity? Or performance?
Time, time, time—fleeting as always
Even as I contemplate these green crates
Stacked atop the black ones
Listened to “Everything is romantic” by Charli xcx as I wrote this.
Meet me beneath the olive-tre
I'th'garden of Gethsemane
Quhair Jesus pray'd.  Pray thou with me.

Twa corbies mak an hairie nest
Within the gardens wooden brest.
The Sunne is running tow'rd the west.

From off the tre the fruicte doth fall
Upon the firm fixt flatten'd ball
Of wormwood Earth whose seas are gall.
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Of mortall sinnes quhairof thou art not guilty
Slanderous tongues do falsely thee accuse:
Their accusations lyke their tongues are filthy:
They doe their tongues by lying so abuse:
Their tonges they vse the foolish to confuse:
Their forked tongues cannot sincerely pray:
Forgive, forgett and hope they one day chuse
With honest tonges righte honest wordes to say.
For verie sooth thogh damnable are they
So aren't we all, and were it not for grace
We all to Tartarus woulde wend our way
Nor euer any sinner sie Gods face.
The truth hath thee exonerated ere
The uglie lie coulde ****, for truth is faire.
O graunt O God that when I do descryue
Lustrous Selene, Qheene of sable night,
Readers by reading sie the Qheene aliue
Shining with lighte as beautifull as bright.
God-giuen gifte of beautie is the sight
Of her who shineth like a falling starre
Maintaining still her place in heauens height
High up aboue whair heauens orbits are.
Aboue our heads so neare and yett so farre
Shineth the goddesse faire since auld lang syne.
The troubadours melodious repertoire
He doth performe within her siluer shine.
Romance doth quick the pvlse and pvll the tide:
The loue of God is giu'n unto his bride.
Lord Jesus Christ
We love you with
All of our hearts and
Our hearts are filled with your everlasting peace and love and may your
blessings and grace bestowed
Upon all of us
And Lord Jesus Christ
We will always and forever
Love you with our pure
And loving hearts Amen.
Feast of the Sacred Heart
7th Of June 2024.
Lord Jesus Christ 🙏🙏❤️❤️
Poet and king and dæmonologist,
The LORD hath said destroy'd his people are
For lacke of knowledge; what thou know'st t'exist
Of euil thinges and spirite thinges noire
The subiects shelu'd within a grosse grimoire
Thou hast made clearly knowne to edify
The bodie of the Lord on which a warre
Hath bene declair'd by th'father of the lie.
Dæmoniacques deceiu'd by Sathan die
A second death quhair dying hath no end    
And euerie wicked witch wuld sooner fry
Then die the second death and then descend.
A seruice thou hast done to Gods elect
Giuing them eies the Divel to detect.
I am thy bride; my husband, Lord, thou art;
And I doe crave the nuptuall embrace
Wherein wee'l intermingle face to face
And whereby hart exchanged is for hart:
Ravish thou, Lord, thy bride; I come apart
With eagernesse, and seeke to grasp apace
The grandest prize for which I ranne the race,
Running from there whereat I first did start.
Lord, thou art one; and also thou art three;
And when thou shalt thy bride embrace, then two
Shall be one fleshe, and every rendezvous
Thereafter be betwixt but thee and thee;
For I shall be no more when all that's of
My selfe is love in love with God, who's love.
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