#cast
Our intertwined sins,
The shame pins.
The cards are laid,
Faiths prepayed.
You crave the things you lack,
given can’t be taken back.
Only known for your past,
Covered in a hideous cast.
No mercy from the Son of Mary,
I’ve already given too many sins to carry.
Apr 12
Apr 12, 2026 at 2:01 PM UTC
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Mar 30
Mar 30, 2026 at 7:36 AM UTC
Sunday Service ends
At 12pm
Then the real work begins
As we spill again Back into the streets haggard exhausted refreshed and replete
With woes anew and friends to-be across
Quiet Avenues, down shaded alleys
Flowing out against the stream of sheep
The sleepy flock returning to the fold
to shelter in silence amongst those akin to them in deed and ethos,
in desperate need of a story to keep them Hopeful and meek
Predisposed of problematic predilections,
specifically those of intuition and indiscretion
preposterously posed as sins
Of the flesh and fuel for fires
Of hell and regret.
Fearfully they weep
into folded hands and
ask forgiveness for being
beings built upon wants and needs
Apologizing
to the empty space
they find above them every time
they search the skies for signs of life
To help them sleep
Then again, to the body immaculate
Interred inside their hearts and heads for
Abandoning the plan,
Hopelessly
And as they rise a song erupts
Resonant in joyful harmony
A eulogy
of sunny Sunday-Fundays past
Here, on this dark Monday night, we gather together to remember the light and the warmth it bestowed upon all of those
to whom its loving glow befell.
We celebrate it joyfully
In this our moment of reprieve faithfully awaiting its resurrection to peak across the horizon , Signaling the return
of the goodness,
We remember.
For this we gather here together
to stave the darkness off a moment
longer than we can
Alone
Awake
Await
The day Is breaching
And dawn arrives to singing trees
I’ve, several times,
chosen to find
myself, in quiet repose,
Penitent, seeking
The holyness I never came to
Truly know. It’s a Shame.
Really
It’s a beautiful thing
Yet escaping me.
Close enough to see
But quicker than I can catch
Wisping air just out of reach
Tempting me to touch
And darting in retreat.
Ghostly as it goes
Unfettered by us living things
Spectral faith does not a living god create
In temples
Intempled
in transparent scenes
aglow from without
within A sacred space
deified in name
And nature
Composited
from such
enigmatic dreams
As those that drive a man to drink
And those that teach the deaf to sing
Dreams that die without delight
Dreams the scream and cry and bring
To life the lost experiences left to fester
Undelivered, in the slip stream
Among the dashed potential
Rippled by inertia
And shimmering
Into oblivion
As it dissipates upon the surface of
The river styx
And laps against the shore before you
Mere inches from your feet.
Where are we
Hear I am!
Is this me?
or is this something else;
Unconnected to that poor disheveled corpse bedeviled by its missing link
Bedazzled in glittering emanations of reflected life-force self-scattering
Left slumped among the litter
Gathered for collection
In decaying heaps.
That poor thing surely can’t be me
Because, here, I am. And there, I ceased to be. And for better or worse, it’s better for me
To be here and NOT there,
that doesn’t look like anywhere
I would think to find someone like me.
Mar 24
Mar 24, 2026 at 3:07 AM UTC
What's your blood,
And what's mine,
We all are humans,
Ain't that right.
Should we fight,
On who is more red or white,
It's ain't right,
We're playing along the game just quite.
You know who wants it,
The one with power,
The one with desire,
To rule us all under his empire.
I ain't a slave,
To think we're free,
If we were,
We wouldn't be fighting on it.
Was who superior,
And inferior who was,
Those are the past,
We can't change or live cast.
We still think it's the truth,
Cause we think god said it so,
Did god actually made slave,
Or man made god do.
We ain't gonna fight for them,
To help them get wealth,
And power of all land,
Let it fall and modern republic rise.
Feb 2
Feb 2, 2026 at 4:00 AM UTC
I'm wonerding endlessly
Across a field of my past
My mind out of time and energy
Losing what was to last
Openly accepting my penalty
So here I was cast
To lose my every memory
Jul 4, 2025
Jul 4, 2025 at 11:25 PM UTC
Have found immediacy, empty
touching mantra enchanting
positioning paleo lingual
pings asking attention, empty
mind state, concentrating
mental energy outward,
externalities inward,
who first?
Browning - visiting
ancient Etruscan
Faesulae, conquered
by Romans.
In Roman antiquity,
the seat, we see
of a famous school
of augurs and, every year,
twelve young men
were sent there
from Rome
to study the art of divination.
"Who listened
to the Legate's talk last week,
"And just as much they used
to say
in France...
"At any rate 'tis easy, all of it!"
How familiar are the settings,
put forth in dramatic monologue,
easy
feels familiar,
least among giants, seeing,
believing all available science,
in the time
of Raphael 'n'em,
who can yet recall
“Andrea del Sarto” though,
Browning gave him space,
to firm aspirations,
to make good,
be good producers,
selling life's sizzle,
most all sales trainers
use one line, alone…
common extension
To succeed one must believe,
verbally grasping will to sell
b to b marketing,
on the Mammonic
entrancement, please try
to grasp the nature of worth…
to a poet in the space we use,
for free
for your examined life… you knew
“Andrea del Sarto”
by Robert Browning
rates one precept,
out
of the anxious mind percept
whence comes
this common
inspiration, say this mountain moves. Say it in the name of Jesu
- on Earth, as it is, just so
Amen, Browning was a master…
"Speak as they please, what does the mountain care?
"Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp,
Or what's a heaven for? "
Jan 19, 2025
Jan 19, 2025 at 7:44 PM UTC
The boy I met on the river bank
Told me a truth
Unasked, unruth -
How do you smile
without a fake?
As if,
To cast a fire
And burn on a lake.
Nov 27, 2024
Nov 27, 2024 at 10:39 PM UTC
No evil shall enter in sacred space
Powers move, one thread in chase
Hands of creation, electric flow
Held captivated with eternal glow
Luminescent band, another dimension
Binding words weave within
Secrets of past woven in pen
In the shadows, in the light,
Forever hidden in plain sight
RepeatedNap
Nov 1, 2024
Nov 1, 2024 at 10:24 PM UTC
I'd rather write a million poems
Than appease to what's unjust;
I'd rather die a million times,
Than in you to put my trust.
And if in the end I really must,
I reckon there's spells to cast;
And for those I'll be ****** for,
But at least I stayed,
True to my core.
Oct 22, 2024
Oct 22, 2024 at 5:01 AM UTC
I used to think that
there were these little bones in my heart, and
when they got broken, the doctors would put
a bright pink cast on my heart.
But it doesn't work like that.
You can't put a cast on your heart, and even if you could,
there isn't a cast big enough to hold every single piece
my heart has broken into.
There isn't a glue strong enough to put it back
together, and keep you from breaking
it, yet again.
I had an elderly lady look on me and say "one day you're going to be a little heart-breaker to a bunch of boys."
And I'm sure I was before now.
So next time you adorn yourself with such a label as,
"Heart-breaker," perhaps you should imagine
what it would be like when someone breaks your heart.
The most exquisite truth of all is this:
I may be broken.
I am not
d e s t r o y e d.
Feb 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021 at 12:01 AM UTC
You are nothing but a pretty face---
and for all the words birthed from your soft,
pouty,
supple,
unkissed sunkissed lips---
or the ones written down with your tiny,
\\\\ slanted / / / /
handwriting;
they are nothing but empty,
meaningless blatherskites.
Dec 4, 2020
Dec 4, 2020 at 6:43 PM UTC