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Ken Pepiton Oct 2022
Enlisting minds tuned to noise,
one good spell,
post participation in the everlasting war;
a peaceful valley, where waiting is only waiting.

Settled, true rest, compressed and shaken down
watching warnings evolve,
in human super bloom.

Eight billion minds
of the main kind,
collective conscience,
under ever afterward solemn
compulsion
to tell the truth. Whole,
no reason to bring to confession,
I must test, to prove to you,
if I
I did hear the knock, as it were, a bell, ting,
ding, I opened the door and made no invitation,
as when a farmer lets out water, whoosh
this leaky old cistern was full to overflow,
and
the rat that hid in the old dry well, drown'd.

Resulting in silence,
due to the truth in any story being authorized,
authority approved.
triple A.

Sowing as the legendary Johnny Appleseed,
with cautionary
pioneer role,
we can take the land, that was the story told…
none of this is learned in secret.
- done did done, done did done, done
do you
know the way to San Jose?
Did you know, in 1968?
----------------

The pilgrimage to all the drops, each 50 league step,

madding memory of yapping pups herding first bought sheep
over the cliff,
into the sea,
thinking that will be the end
of me, as a shepherd…

No, I never cried wolf.
I never took up the hunt for wolves,
I knew it was my own fault
as a shepherd innocent, novice with only books,
who bought a friendly dog, with too much to learn,
and no safe place to train,
brain to worth,
what is good
to know, what is good to go, chase into the sea,
like the spirits from the Gadarene,

and what evil comes when knowing
of good grows too slow
to catch a gnat with no effort.

Watchman! What of the night?
Who is asking, comes a reply,
why do you know nothing
at this hour,
it is dark and quiet, but for living noises,
courting crickets and owlish judgements

bat beeps and squeals, but those, we feel I think, more than hear.
Excerpt from The Od Evangelist, an unpublished novelish poem.
Every Tom, ****, Harry, and Eric
Should listen to the prince of peace named Derek,
A type after the Prince of Peace
Himself, and an increase
Of grace in him who hears
Him with open ears.
A historian who retells humanity's triumphs and downfalls, only to their journal every night.

A preacher set on converting the masses, barracading the doors of the chapel from the inside.

A marine biologist on a mountaintop, speaking of the things of the ocean to the sky.

Passion and desire meeting the fruitless nature of distance and doing nothing to close it.

So too is your heart, searching for affection and adoration yet hidden from even your own eyes.
Don't reach for me from the other side of the canyon.
Glenn Currier Jun 2020
Some people are writers
some are speakers or preachers.

Some try to do both
but one side of them always presses forward
as if to say,
This is who I really am
This is my natural gift.
Bhill Jul 2019
Who out there has beans in their ears
The beans could be brains, they don't make it clear

Where did they come from, I want to know
Will they come out, I really hope so

Are the beans put there by your very own Teacher
I don't think so, maybe it was the Preacher

Are they put there for any kind of cause
Who knows for sure, it makes one take pause

I know I was told not to put them there
That's all I remember, I thought I would share....!

Brian Hill - 2019 # 179
This song is real people...
Who remembers?
Who remembers this ****?
Andrew Rueter May 2019
Preacher sees in black and white
So preacher sees he’s right
Justified by God’s light
To judge on sight

Preacher says secular music is evil
Not meant for holy people
He’s not even talking about Slayer
Or Jay-Z rapping about being a player
He uses Led Zeppelin as an example
When more relevant options are ample
My musical taste is trampled
Like some shameful scandal

He tells me not to listen to Crazy Train
So I think he has a lazy brain
That didn’t listen to what Ozzy was saying
That song wasn’t about foxy ladies
Or boxing babies
Or buying a Mercedes
Just diagnosing the rabies
Of a species in training

If I don’t listen
How can I help?
It sounds like a mission
To focus on myself
Instead of pain that is felt
By those who have welts
That kind of life seems reductive and boring
When outside it’s storming
And everyone ignores me
The music is God performing
Just for me

Preacher wants to delete
The musical elite
Until only gospel plays on repeat
At that point I’ll take a seat
Saying that’s neat
But I’m looking for more
Like opinions on war
And the dominion formed
Through judgmental scorns
That leaves our culture torn

The church is a microcosm of society
With the preacher dictating propriety
Saying ignore the secular entirely
To not live so direly

I found the divide between the secular and religious
When both take their culture to an extent prodigious
They start acting vicious
Once they’re comfortable in their niches
I cannot find any masterpiece
How then do I plan?
There are no shoulders on which to stand
Shoulders of any giant of great stance
How then do I view the remaining journey?
How do I understand?
Tell me, is there still hope for me?

The one I love does not love me in return
All along, I was waiting for a train at the bus stop
I was played — taken for fun
Can the heart still beat after it has been torn?
When will I stop hearing the 'pii pii pii' or 'puun puun puun' ?
When will I ever hear the train horn?
Tell me, is there still hope for me?

I walked with my greatest companion — my thought
Much was I shown
Even beyond what I seek, in gracious colours
Only to reach the journey end to be betrayed by my own thoughts;
What I seek, never sought me
Tell me, of what difference am I from a soldier who trained forever, only to meet his end in just a day, at the battle front?
Tell me, is there still hope for me?

Should I think less of my so called friends
or should I say much of them?
They only show up whenever I find a gem
They deliver panegyric when things are right
And they come by day to leave at night

Shouldn't I sink in thoughts of my home sweet home?
Shouldn't I say less of my very own?
Whom I danced to his great plans — plans for me alone
Great plans for the tomorrow that is never known
Only to find he never had a plan, not even of his own
Tell me, is there still hope for me?

Who should I run to?
Where do I go from here?
Please teach me how to stop thinking
So I may conquer my fear
For I've sought far and near
I've written to many eyes and sang to many ears
I've cried out my heart, but no one seems to care
Tell me, is there still hope for me?

Which leader would you refer me to?
Is it the one who preaches only what the people want to hear
Or the one who looks at evil and pretend not to see due to fear?
Is it the one who says what the heart cannot bear
Or the one who preaches, but does not want to be dared?
Tell me, is there still hope for me?

I am here
all alone
You may not understand me
that, I know
You are not under this tree
How then will you know the nature of its shade?

—JIBRIL ABDULMALIK
I'm left here, all alone, with nothing left. Is there still hope for me?
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
The preacher, the politician both the same
Nothing but swindlers spewing specious sermons
Noisome talk from their mouths came
Rapacious hands, oh what vermin!

I, as if compunctious for my fault
Left feeling only surfeited  
Fulsome factitious assault
I am left as the convicted
Benji James Mar 2018
Back on my high horse
Preaching, teaching
information, education
How to be a better creation
Of your own making
If I fall off my pedestal
I'll surely die
because I'm up so high
Stop trying to knock my know-nothings
Filling the air with empty words
They only fall on deaf ears
Inspirational quotes
Shared on virtual screens
You get lost somewhere in between

©2018 Written By Benji James
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