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Kurt Carman Jun 2016
Memaw & Pepaw ..Mason Dixon Saturday night,
Just sippin' muscadine wine by the Tennessee moonlight
Rockin' chairs...Zenith Black and White
Roy, Buck, Minnie Pearl a Hee Haw delight.

Crickets a chirpin' and a Frogs a croakin'
Toe tapin' rhythm's got em all in motion.
Corn fields swaying like a metronome
Watching those two dance to cotton eye Joe!

Sunday mornings best at the Church of Christ,
Me, I'm Thinkin' bout Memaws country gravy, my fav-o-rite!
Fried Chicken, taters, eggs sunny side right,
These are the memories I like to recite.
I sure do miss you both. Hoeing okra and and mustered greens on Sunday afternoon. That **** rooster Ichabod having his way with those Rhode Island Red hens as Cecil and I laughed our ***** off. Making a sign for your hen house that read "Martins Chicken Hilton" and the day you died doing what you loved. I know your out there Cecil and Drewetta. I'll see you someday soon!
Here I am, sitting in a box,
confessing my sins to a man
who has committed more sins than me....
SøułSurvivør May 2016
[10W]

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|    MAN CANNOT SPEAK TRUTH     |
|WITH A LABEL OVER HIS MOUTH|
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I wrote a poem earlier today entitled
"The Maker of the Hill"

In this poem I described life is a toboggan ride. I also rode in the footnotes that my family was having trouble financially and despairing of having food for the rest of the month. Well I just want to let you all know that my church found out about our plight and is donating money so that we can buy food. Christians are not all money-grabbing. They are also very giving people. That is often forgotten when one sees the televangelists Etc. And my church is certainly putting their money where their mouth is! Hallelujah!!!
Stanley Wilkin May 2016
My mother sowed seeds from dawn until dusk
My father kept sheep-
My brother tended pigs in his backyard-
They all attended church every Sunday.
My sister was a *****.

All had busted backs when they were fifty,
My sister had a big house in New York.
All had religion,
But my sister had the money.
At ninety, with everyone else long dead,
She lives in glorious luxury
Smiling gently at all those hard-working people
Who believe in god
Her ageless insouciance worn like a pearl.
Caroline Lee May 2016
the church pew thrasher
I'm stuck somewhere between what they say and what they do
communion cups and inner church affairs
painted faces and sanctified stairs
and though I once was blind I now can never unsee
this place has been a heaven for the rivers of hell that abides in in me
and I crossed all of my fingers
knocked my white knuckles on those pews of holy wood
but I found all was lost that kept me young, kind, and good
I learned quick that things never turn out just like they should
and still I cling to hands raised and a few honest bars
the musing of the man on the microphone and my quiet life on mars
If there were any walls they met my fists
if there were any rough edges they all met my wrists
drunk on the blood of my saviors fallen from grace
unable to understand but still a need to see the savior's face
there is no other explanation
there is no other reason

and you,
you couldn't practice what you preach
you,
you couldn't seek what you couldn't reach
you told me to wait while you went on a head
you didn't die to yourself because you were already dead
I should have known
I should have known I should have known
but still I press on in spite of the hell I was shown
still I reach out for the hem of the throne
still
still.

and I'll never understand how much death I lived through
in a place that boasted life for the pure, holy and true
milk and honey met blood and abomination
innocent eyes and tiny hands lead to the greatest devastation
the betrayal of trust
the bread and the cup tarnished with rust
I'll never understand
but still I reach for the Hand

If there were any walls they met my fists
if there were any rough edges they all met my wrists
drunk on the blood of my saviors fallen from grace
unable to understand but still a want to see the savior's face
there is no other explanation
there is no other reason

and you,
you couldn't practice what you preach
you,
you couldn't seek what you couldn't reach
you told me to wait while you went on a head
you didn't die to yourself because you were already dead
I should have known
I should have known I should have known
but still I press on in spite of the hell I was shown
still I reach out for the hem of the throne
still
still.

So I sing to the kid in me that never grew up
the once who's still tripping under the weight of that cup
be still
be still
be still
it was never his will
be still
be still
be still
it isn't your fault, it isn't your crime
don't let it consume you
don't let it poison your mind
just
be still

and you,
you couldn't practice what you preach
you,
you couldn't seek what you couldn't reach
you told me to wait while you went on a head
you didn't die to yourself because you were already dead
I should have known
I should have known I should have known
but still I press on in spite of the hell I was shown
still I reach out for the hem of the throne
still
still.
Rough draft of a song I wrote this morning. I feel like it's taken a life time to work up the courage to let myself write about this but I finally am. If you're heart was broken by role models in places that were supposed to be good and true, you are not alone. It isn't your fault for trusting. It isn't your fault for wanting something to be good.
Brady D Friedkin May 2016
A storm strikes the peaceful world in which I dwell
Shaking the very foundations of my soul
Somehow I forget who I am
My peaceful world shaken, my ignorant bliss erased
And I am left an unknown sojourner, lost in a dark world

So I venture into the forest searching for my home
Greeted by wild animals and wild people
I find trees and habitats, brothers and sisters, but not my home
I find a wonderful place to be yes, but my home it is not
No matter how fond and wonderful a place the forest, still it is not my home

So I take to the countryside in search of my home
Greeted by green fields and countless cattle
I find crops and vegetation, but not my home
I find a place with many brothers and sisters, but my home it is not
No matter how fond and wonderful a place the countryside, still it is not my home

So I set out out for the city in search of my home
Greeted by people more than can be counted
I find even some of my brothers and sisters, but not my home
I find a place bustling with energy and people, but my home it is not
No matter how fond and wonderful a place this city, still it is not my home

So I depart the city for a quaint village, in search of my home
Greeted by wonderful people, many brothers and sisters
I find a many good things and homely people, but my home it is not
I find, to my great pain, that this too is not my home
No matter all the wonderful and fond things, I know I have no home

I fall on the ground and look to the heavens
I clench my fist and shake it crying hateful words
And then my eyes see the glory of the Lord
A cross atop the highest tower of the village
For it all comes back to my pounding head

I return back to the fold of God from which I had wandered
Returning to the home from which I departed
And upon remembering my mother, I am reminded of my Father
Then I am reunited with my many brothers and sisters whom I had met along the way
Truly then, seeing the a glory of the Lord

For I was like the prophet who searched for the Lord
Seeing the great wind; but the Lord was not in the wind
Then the great earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake
Seeing the great fire; but the Lord was not in the fire
Then he heard the Lord come in a low and gentle whisper

I looked for my home in the forest; but it was not in the forest
I looked for my home in the countryside; but it was not in the countryside
I looked for my home in the city; but it was not in the city
And I looked for my home in the village; but it was not in the village
For I found my home, my very self, in the Body of Christ

He reminded me of my baptism
Reminding me of whose mark is upon me
Reminding me of who I am
In a low and gentle whisper
Calling out to me the name I had long forgotten; 'My Beloved'
This is a poem about coming to the Church, the Body of Christ
Andrew T May 2016
Certain people see things
differently.
Now why do we do that?
Is it a lack of closeness?
Maybe communication?

I have questions
for the pastor/Pete Campbell clone
at Immanuel Bible Church.
Like,
why does your sermon feel derivative?

How often are songs played in-between the sermons?
Are these songs a necessary transition?
A slideshow?
A distraction?
I still don’t know how to sing,

or keep tempo with claps.
Pavlov’s dog is hated,
by you.
Do you hate the dog?
Or do you hate the results of the experiment?

Is science,
a deceitful ex-girlfriend to you?
Someone you don’t trust?
If so I can understand you.
But I don’t understand you.

Because you have your truth.
And I have my truth.
Peter said to me truth is an abstraction.
I’m telling you your truth is yours.
But,
cup your hand and press it against the wall of my truth,
listen and you will hear a man and a man talking to each other.

Their naked bodies are sealed by an anchor that you have never seen.
The first man leans forward
and
kisses the second man on the nape of his neck.
Then, the second man kisses the first man on the left part of his chest.

Should I stop?
Am I scaring you?
Do you want to watch a blonde girl stick her tongue down another blonde girl’s throat,
Until her breath cannot escape and float and trail off her lips.
Like the dove white spaceships that launch into the expanding horizon of darkness.

Am I making sense?
I want you to follow my words.
I want you to respect me.
The first man is talking. The second man has his arms folded behind his back like a
Korean man, and he’s looking out the window, gazing at the dove white spaceship
Propelling into the incredible shadow, the one that is swallowing up everything we love.

Pete Campbell is the shadow.
Do you care about POV?
Are you bothered when another person is talking about a person in the third person?
I consider your opinion,

Even when you don’t consider mine.
Does that make me weak?
“Television turn off the mind,”
that is a quote that shot out of your mouth,
like an arrow from the Green Arrow dressed in Cupid’s apparel.

Or is that the flesh?
Carnal.
I digress.
Tangents happen.
I was rude. I am sorry,

And I know sorry is a word,
And you do not value words.
But I am a poet.
Words are my salmon and red wine
Rewind the cassette.
My head was pounding
My body ached
I was a stumbling, mumbling wreck
I needed help
And badly
And decided, what the heck

I ventured to St. Peter's
to get warm from the snows
You see, I'm not really religious
and the truth, the church was close

I sat there in ****** silence
My head just throbbing silently
I didn't even notice the woman
Who slid in next to me

She nodded, and knelt down a bit
You could hear her when she rose
Her body racked with aches and pain
Like me, from head to toe

She smiled, started praying
I sat dead still, but listened in
It's not because I am religious
I wanted to hear her sin

She finished, rose and smiled
Lit a candle on her way
I smiled back through cloudiness
I didn't have that much to say

I figured I could try it,
I'm one for anything new
I mean, talking out to no one
What harm could my talk do

"Dear father, forgive me for my sin
Our father"... I tried to start
"Just say what's in your insides son
That's the best way for a start"

Behind me, sat the woman
I didn't hear her come on back
"He's listening for all you ask
He'll get you back on track"

I told her, I just came in
To get dry and get warm
She smiled, said "so, while you're here"
"tell your tale, wait out the storm"

I said it would be worthless
I was past the point of no return
I would not go up to heaven
I was going where you burn

She said "Everyone is worth redemption"
"Even though they do not think"
"They are still a child of Jesus"
"He'll return you from the brink"

I sat and talked for hours
Told her all about my woes
She got up twice, lit more candles
I told her of my highs and lows

She said "regardless of your preference"
"God, won't ask your name"
"You do not need a reference"
"And you'll be really glad you came"

She told me how to start a prayer
To share my story with the Lord
I knelt, followed directions
I was really quite absorbed

I finished, rose and turned to her
There was now a man where she had sat
I asked him if he saw her
In her black scarf and blue hat

He said "The seat was empty"
"I saw no lady there"
I said "a little lady"
"with black and silver hair"

He smiled, said "come this way"
He took me out into the hall
And there I saw her picture
In a frame upon the wall

"She died so many years ago"
"She died of well, a broken heart"
"Her son's died in the Great War"
"It tore her soul apart"

"But I saw her, she was talking"
"She taught me how to pray"
"She was as close to me as I to you"
"She taught me what to say"

He said "son, she's no longer here"
"she's the one who comes the most"
"she finds souls who need redemption"
"She's our church's holy ghost"

I thanked him, head still reeling
I would have to think on this a while
But, as I left, I took one more look
And I'm sure I saw her smile.
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