#catholic
Light pours
Through the stained glass
Illuminating rows
Of dusty pews
Where we sit
I am only
9 and my
Heavy wool dress
Scratches me
The blonde hair I have spent
Hours brushing
Is already tangled
My Nan sits
In her
Pink cardigan
Matching purse clutched
In wrinkled
Hands from years
Of staying silent
I sniff
In the dusty church
She reaches
Silently into her purse
Drawing out a wrinkled
Tissue
It smelled like
Lilac
That is my earliest memory
Her tissues always smelled
So soft
My mother always
Fought her
Because she was the tomboy
Who hit kids
And talked in church
And my grandma is a midwesterner
Born and raised catholic
Still works in her husbands office
I cannot reconcile
The soft lilac tissues
And dusty pews
With a woman who
Screamed out all her
Guilt at my mom
I am terrified to see myself in her
Disapproving lips
And yet I hope to embody
Her comfort
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 4:45 PM UTC
The Catholic's have an American Pope
True followers swear there is hope
Just from the fact
He doesn't over react
When Donald Trump acts like dope
Jan 3
Jan 3, 2026 at 10:49 AM UTC
How foolish of me to seek compassion and salvation in this world
When it was this world that destroyed my heart
Now I pray and wait for the righteous hand of the Lord
to soothe my shattered heart and purify my tarnished body.
Aug 30, 2025
Aug 30, 2025 at 11:22 AM UTC
Father, am I your strongest soldier?
Father, I am unclean
Father, will you wash me?
Father, please save me
Aug 30, 2025
Aug 30, 2025 at 11:18 AM UTC
I didn’t carry the processional cross,
But I carried burdens—quiet, unseen.
While others walked down marble aisles,
I walked through fire, clothed in routine.
I wore no robe of woven white,
No candle's glow to guide my feet,
Yet still I stood beneath the light,
And bore the ache of each heartbeat.
They saw the servers—neat in line,
With steady steps and lifted grace,
But who could see the heavy spine?
That bowed beneath a silent place?
I didn’t lift that wooden sign,
Emblem of salvation’s cost—
But oh, I’ve held a thousand cries,
And mourned the things that I have lost.
I watched the pews with hollow eyes,
As hymns rose like drifting prayer,
And wondered if my quiet sighs.
We have never heard or met with care.
I didn’t carry the cross of gold,
But I bore words unkind, untrue—
The ones that pierced, the ones that rolled
Like thunder breaking something new.
I bore the doubt, the questioning stares,
The judgments whispered after Mass,
The moments no one truly dares
To ask, "Are you okay, alas?"
They carried candles, and I had pain.
They lifted praise, and I bit my tongue.
While incense rose like gentle rain,
My grief within me always clung.
I bore the weight of being there,
While feeling lost, misunderstood—
Still showing up, offering care,
Still doing more than I thought I could.
I didn’t carry the processional cross,
But I carried silence, carried shame.
Carried hopes now cracked and glossed,
And bore the absence of a name.
And yet—I stayed. Through all the cost.
Through unseen tears and faith grown thin.
I bore the burden, never tossed,
And found a small light somewhere within.
So let them hold the cross with pride,
While choirs sing and bells arise.
I walk the aisles with none beside—
Still serving through these unseen cries.
For though I may not bear the wood,
Or walk in robes of sacred thread,
I carry love the way I should,
And lift the souls the world has shed.
I didn’t carry the processional cross,
But I carried burdens, day and night—
And in that pain, I found the gloss.
Of grace, of grit, of hidden light.
"I didn't carry the processional cross, but I carried burdens."
Jul 21, 2025
Jul 21, 2025 at 9:27 AM UTC
A new Pope
A new hope
Farewell to Pope Francis
Who did a wonderful job as a great clergy
As we know, age believes in no dynasty
We come and we go like a kiss
New blood is needed from time to time
And of course, that’s natural; that’s not a crime
Novum papam habemus
Novum spem habemus
We have a new hope
We have a new Pope
A new Leader for the Catholic Church
The search is over, no more search
For a few decades, since no man or woman is eternal
The recent Popes have been friendly, humble and truthful
We expect the Pontiff to be better than the previous one
(No laughing matter) Who is sitting in Heaven
Filing and signing his proper documents
Where countless Angels are singing under the divine tents
The world is right now deep in a messy situation:
Lies, crimes, corruption, deportation and discrimination
For crying out loud, this is to say the least
However, the entire world wants peace, peace and peace
We want all nightmares to end: injustice, wars and poverty
Novum spem habemus
Novum papam habemus
We have a new hope
We have a new pope
May God bless the new Pontiff, Mother Nature and Humanity!
Copyright © May 8, 2025, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
May 9, 2025
May 9, 2025 at 2:56 AM UTC
Yes, indeed we have a new Pope.
I wonder, however, if we have a new hope.
As a matter of facts, we have two popes:
One is active and the other is passive,
Which means that one is inactive,
The latter was a hell of a man who shocked: folks,
Foes, rivals, parishioners and cardinals,
By resigning his post,
By becoming a different host.
He is still a holy man, in accordance to the latest polls,
A courageous priest, who reminds us,
That man is immortal and fallible.
Pope Benedict is enjoying his golden hiatus,
His retirement in a humanely divine castle.
I don't know much about the new one.
I can only hope that he is someone,
Who's at least similar or equal,
To the former, who was wise and simple.
May God bless his soul,
‘Cause he was able to realize
That he was becoming unable
To lead effectively, and to prioritize.
As a matter of facts, habemus duo popes,
Yes, indeed, habemus duo pontifices.
Hebert Logerie Sunday, March 17, 2013
Apr 23, 2025
Apr 23, 2025 at 11:40 PM UTC
A Berlin monastic church of blood
shed by true witnesses to freedom’s love:
These few who stood against the flood
of hate from tyrants they rebuffed.
Not far from here, these martyrs were killed
for facing down the brownshirts’ might,
in hopes that all would someday be filled
with the will to live for love’s delight.
Here Mary sits with her holy child,
carved of warm wood, set on cold stone.
She bears an expression, calm and mild,
with nothing around them: alone.
Her robes are daubed in palest blue
while her hair with a golden crown is wed;
her baby son wears redder hues
that foreshadow blood he and his martyrs shed.
This blessèd Mary’s calm defies the fear
decreed by despots in past and present years —
Softly, she whispers her granite will: Defy
all tyranny ’til hate’s tides subside.
Feb 2, 2025
Feb 2, 2025 at 5:08 PM UTC
Why do I fear what is near
Tears through our rain
Count down every year
Why do we yearn for our dear
To hear a call as we fall
As l ascend to heaven you are here
When I make my bed you are here
The ten command
That were too harsh for man
Why must you demand
Perfect holy land
Once as hopeless as Lilith
Did I not know my limit
Enlighten me in my consciousness
Ground me in the presence
Allure my affluence
For my third eye left me with such penury
Grant me mercy
For my surface mind gave me spiritual insight
From the root to my crown
Do not let me drown
In pits that are lit
Why must I question what ill see
Beauty isn't something we fear
Temptation is clear in the deception
Our guardians are indescribable
Our wrongs will be held liable
What if I turn over the bible
Will you bury me in my affidavit
For there is good in my intuitive belief
I never guess what time will read
I never question what is beneath
A God that we have yet seen
I never question life within my eyes
Our time will come with such delirious demise
Feb 1, 2025
Feb 1, 2025 at 1:49 AM UTC
In a cathedral of stone, stark and white,
with a lone statue from long before.
It stands in a niche, with a soft spotlight
shining on its medieval decor.
A ****** Mary, with her Mona Lisa smile,
looks down from her pedestal high.
In quiet, I stand and gaze at her for a while.
Did I just hear her audibly sigh?
Her gilded robes are weathered, cracked,
the once bright paint’s faded and spare,
many scars made plain by shadows cast
by a red circle of candles lit by prayers.
What crises has this scarred Mary seen?
Her sighs echo ours: This statue’s hallowed
by the pains the prayerful to her bring.
I hail thee, marred Mary, full of our sorrows.
Jan 19, 2025
Jan 19, 2025 at 11:02 AM UTC
Two thousand years and miles away
a foretold child was to poverty born.
A tyrant willed to keep his sway
and murdered children in his scorn.
The child would live to preach a love
that surpasses the smallness of our minds;
The despot now dwells in a dim-lit grove
of shattered urns and skeletal time.
That child became a man of words
which fell upon unhearing ears —
They twist his love to sharpened swords.
To a tree he’d be nailed: hyssop tears.
Yet though he too had died alone
like the despot who’d hunted him,
his message of love has only grown
in spite of new despots grim.
A tale of two kings in memory:
One turned to dust, one love’s victory.
Dec 27, 2024
Dec 27, 2024 at 5:49 PM UTC
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.
Nov 17, 2024
Nov 17, 2024 at 5:51 AM UTC
I don't know how many people have been in love; I mean truly, madly, deeply, hopelessly in love. I thought I was once. When you are that in love it changes you inside and out. It changes how you think, act, and what you say. It changes the way you feel, how you look at things, how you spend your time and money. Being in love changes you, usually for the better. Love forces us to think of someone else's wants and needs before our own. We make sacrifices in big and small ways to make the relationship work. It is a give and take, talking and listening and it is open and honest communication. A relationship is a dialogue not a monologue.
Loving someone changes a lot, but loving God and being in a relationship with Him changes EVERYTHING.
Working from the belief that you believe in the stories; you can't stay the same. You can't truly live your old life when you know The Life. The apostles were the perfect example. They weren't great men, particularly smart or famous, but when they saw Jesus, they dropped what they were doing and followed him. Then imagine the Transfiguration and the impact that that moment had on the apostles. This was the transforming love of God made manifest: He was radiant like honest-to-God glowing. It hits like a ton of bricks if you begin to understand the magnitude and the scope of His death and resurrection. How can one heart love that much?! And this fact is especially hard given the knowledge and experiences we have in the world we know today!
And then the most intimate and profound act of love is the gift of the Eucharist which comes from the words meaning grateful, thanksgiving, well and offer graciously. Kharis is the Greek word for Grace.
Catholics believe that the bread and wine at the mass are transformed in essence although not necessarily in substance to the body and blood, soul and divinity of our Lord Jesus Christ. In the reception of the Eucharist, God's ultimate gift of love is revealed and shared with us as he gives us his very life. And we consume him in a profoundly physical and spiritual way. We are literally uniting with Christ and the two become one in body and soul. It is the most perfect expression of love's life-giving power. Christ marries (joins) himself to us.
When you have something so good, so amazing, you can't keep it to yourself. You just have to share it and tell all the world about it. You are in love, and you are loved. You are loved by God and THIS... CHANGES EVERYTHING!
Nov 5, 2024
Nov 5, 2024 at 8:43 PM UTC
Listen to the world around you
Take in all that it has to offer
Tune out the distractions of life
Tune in to the love of God in creation
Listen to the song of life and love
Feel the Spirit move in the air
And for a moment just be present, aware
There is more to this life we are living
We can be giving, we can be forgiving
We can find peace and joy when we stop
Or even if we just start to slow down
We are chasing after shadows
Insubstantial projections of what is really real
If you're not careful, your soul they will steal
So listen and let the Spirit surround you
So listen and let the love of God enfold you
So listen and let peace pervade you
So Listen
Oct 24, 2024
Oct 24, 2024 at 11:04 PM UTC
This man he is writing, writing in the sand
But the what and the why, I cannot understand
They condemn me and he bends down in the dirt,
Does he even care that I'm going to be hurt?
"Let he who is without sin, cast the first stone"
I look around and not one rock has been thrown
Once more he gets down and starts to write
I can't explain it, but somehow I feel like I'll be alright
One by one they start to leave, their stones left untouched
Stopped by a man whose only response was writing in the dust.
The elders leave first, and slowly, each go home
Until it is He and I standing there all alone.
What could he write that caused them to leave?
Here was a story none could explain and few could believe
He rose, turned to me, and said:
"Where are they who would have you dead?"
"They are left. They are no longer here"
The wind came and whatever he wrote had disappeared
"They do not condemn you. Neither, my child, do I.
Go now and sin no more in the grace of the Most High"
This man has given me a new life, a second chance
The man who looks at me with such a loving glance
I know not what he wrote or why he even cared
But from a stranger's kindness, my life was spared
So here I stand this day, this very moment
To witness to the power of atonement
So let me live as his word commands
And pay the price that true love demands
The wisdom of a stranger's writings in the sand
Oct 24, 2024
Oct 24, 2024 at 10:58 PM UTC
up until you are four feet tall
you think you're gonna be the next ****** mary;
every day you comb your hair with soap-dry fingers
and dress up like the sky.
you practice raising your hand and using it
to press the cumulonimbus waiting between your lips
gently down your throat;
you practice being clear;
you practice cursive till it's circuitry
at lunch, you fold airplanes with precision,
cover them in crayon script and
throw them toward the floaters
in your vision, past birches
and the pale afternoon moon.
your worst will dive to a floor stained with pizza grease;
your best will only sit indefinitely
on the reachless windowsill
of the school cafeteria
you and your best friend
practice getting married at recess,
gathering dandelions and buttercups into sloppy bouquets
till she gets stung by a bee
and is led inside through gray hallways.
you play statue on the grass in a dark green jumper
and look for white clovers while you wait for the bell
your third grade teacher has you
dressing 'venial sin' and 'mortal sin'
in lemon-scented ink that burns your lips
but not the page;
it makes you taste petrichor
writhing in your teeth, hear downpours
against the wild soil of your esophagus and cheeks,
and in a few years you'll try to bury your guilt
with acorns deep in that sandy ground
you're used to laying upside-down on your bed
wondering if jesus ever lied to mary and joseph
about climbing trees under bethlehem's star,
if he let their branches color
his books green, his hands purple.
you wonder if it's sinful
to scar notebooks how you do, how he did:
quiet, inhaling--
--
at five and a half feet tall, you still feel
like how jesus' notebooks probably weren't:
you allow the dots on your i's to dangle too far to the left,
your clothes and hair and sky to be scorched
by prism fragments and setting suns
and, sometimes, you let the clouds between your lips talk for you,
and, sometimes, every syllable is a promise from god after the flood
but sometimes you kneel in back pews
and recite a tenth hail mary
and think about whether she ever held a hand
that was stained yellow from the petals of palm-warmed flowers:
and sometimes you're blank again
Sep 22, 2024
Sep 22, 2024 at 2:20 PM UTC
Crosses still hang
as remnants of the past
Reminders of old traditions.
Only few years have gone,
but /decades/ Says her heart.
The life they gave grows older,
No longer sewn to the Mother.
The hope and faith in their eyes
dimmed in her years past,
So while the crosses still hang
It seems they’ve lost all meaning
For the Mother and their beliefs
died with her youth.
Sep 2, 2024
Sep 2, 2024 at 3:41 AM UTC
Start with my neck,
and then go around my nape...
While you hold me from behind,
your body's like an unsung hero's cape...
Trail your left hand down my chest,
as the right one anticipates on my waist...
While you kiss me in the neck,
where your hands lifted their weight...
Let your hands trail some more,
as your legs join my sides...
My body, you're most welcome to explore,
or even crucify ****** into the night...
Pin down my arms and hands,
stab me with an emotionless face...
And as you end with my feet,
wash them, then lock my knees in place...
And finally, yet again, end with my feet.
Start with my neck, next my nape,
take me from behind,
then hold me from my chest, next my waist,
a little more in the neck again,
take your hands all over,
next are my sides,
then my arms,
then my hands,
then my feet,
my locked knees,
and finally ending with my feet.
This is exactly how you'd **** me,
and at the same time rebirth me.
Mar 28, 2024
Mar 28, 2024 at 5:09 AM UTC
The Sacristy
A pastoral palace
A haven for servants of God
A prep room for the clergyman.
A probationary clergyman,
At his knees in prayer before the lord.
Roars of thunder rattle the room,
Clashes of lightening illuminate,
Through a stained-glass window.
He is alone,
Father Bernard Benedict,
At the mercy of the lord.
Bernard
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned greatly,
Questioning his own fate,
never before today.
I am full of fear, Father.
Terrified of what will become of me,
if my betrayal of you progresses.
I’m scared of what won’t become of me,
if I remain loyal.
Father, all I know for sure,
is that I’m very confused,
And I need guidance.
It is a sin to deny thy lord,
in any circumstance,
but it is my own twisted irony
to have doubts and...
To have doubts,
And yet seek your guidance...
The Voice
And just what kind of doubts are you having,
my son?
What is it that you seek?
Confide in thy father,
As you are my child,
My dearest little one.
Unleash your desires,
Unravel your pain,
Lend me your soul.
Bernard
…Father?
The Voice
Yes, my son?
My son,
I’m here.
Speak to me,
All ears are wide,
Wide and open.
Bernard
It is you, isn’t it?
May I see your face?
The Voice
I’m afraid that is not possible,
I’m afraid it is not so.
I do apologize,
My son.
Bernard
Why?
Is my wish not your command?
Is it not your mission,
To aid in my suffering?
Why is it that I cannot see you?
Why is it that I cannot experience you?
The Voice
Because I don’t exist.
Bernard
Just what kind of a game,
Just what kind of a game are trying to play?
Father?
Manifest yourself!
Allow me to lay my tearful eyes,
Upon your entity.
The Voice
...If you insist...
The Storm
Wooshing,
Roaring,
Angrily little clouds,
Zigzags of electric,
Blowing window shrouds.
Maroon Man
Howdy do,
Father Bernard,
Hiya,
Howdy do?
Bernard
Who…
Who are you?
Who are you,
And how did you…
Do?
Maroon Man
I’m him,
I’m him,
He,
Who is I.
Bernard
Father?
Son?
Holy Ghost?
Of any, all,
And everything at most?
Dressed to the nines,
Maroon and Red shoes,
That shine?
Maroon Man
Him?
Him?
Oh, please,
Heavens, no.
I’m merely that,
Other him,
You know,
He who should not be named.
Bernard
It can’t be,
Possibly,
Can’t be,
He,
The monster in my nightmares,
The monster of my dreams.
You’re not…
Maroon Man
Carrying a pitchfork?
Hovering with horns?
I left such things at home.
Silly little stereotypes,
Little legends in the books.
Bernard
What is it that you want from me?
What is it that you seek?
I’m merely faithful to my lord,
Not you, that man,
So foul,
You reek.
Maroon Man
I want to talk about your plans,
I want to talk your pain,
I want to talk your suffering,
Your losses and your gain.
Unleash your lonely grievances,
Unload your pesky thoughts.
Bernard
I don’t condone your evil,
I don’t condone your sin,
Allow me to my thoughts in peace,
And never tread within.
Maroon Man
No,
No,
Of course, you don’t condone me,
That’s why you’re so conflicted,
Struggling and buckling,
about your future,
spreading the good love of faith,
because you’re dead-set on,
not disobeying the almighty.
Bernard
Why,
Oh why,
Why is it that you’re here?
Maroon Man
I’m here to merely guide you,
I’m here to simply help,
My son you haven’t yet seen,
The things that I can do.
Bernard
I don’t need your guidance,
Not your friendship,
Or your help,
Banished from this House of God,
Exiled from this home of holy.
Maroon Man
Don’t you?
Do you?
I hear you’re at a crossroad,
You need guidance,
You DO need guidance,
correct?
Bernard
Not from you,
Never from you,
I’d rather convert or follow none,
Than worship the likes of you.
Maroon Man
Why is that?
Bernard
Because you’re wicked.
You’re ghastly,
You are the symbol,
of all evil.
You are the reason why there is suffering,
and death in this sinful world.
You construct hate and pain,
and spread it like a virus.
You are a virus.
Maroon Man
Flattery will get you nowhere,
Father Benedict.
You’re merely reading,
A resume,
An eternity of achievement.
Bernard
I don’t care what you have to say,
I can’t indulge you,
I won’t indulge you,
To indulge you,
Is to lose me,
And to lose him.
Maroon Man
From what I can tell,
you’re uncertain of your faith.
Isn’t that correct?
Isn’t that so?
Tell me I’m wrong.
Bernard
No,
Not at all,
Not entirely so.
I know what I believe in,
I know what is so,
I just don’t...
Maroon Man
Just don’t,
what?
Speak!
Release what it is,
That has you in such shambles.
Bernard
I just don’t know,
I just don’t know,
if I want to devote my life,
to my faith.
My faith,
My faith,
Where’s the faith in me?
To devote this life,
To everything,
In terms of he?
I feel this way,
And ache this way,
Knowing full well,
That I will burn in hell,
For feeling this way.
Maroon Man
What is it that you have to sacrifice,
in order to become a soldier of Christ?
What is it that you give,
What is it that you gift?
Bernard
Time,
Time,
And life after time.
Maroon Man
Time, yes,
But there’s more to it,
than just time,
What else are you risking?
What is that you sacrifice?
We both know the answer to that,
We both know it true,
You’re risking freedom, you see,
if you pursue a life of pure faith,
you will never know what the beauty of…
pleasure is like.
Freedom is pleasurable,
isn’t it?
Pleasure,
Fulfillment,
Taking that first sip of bourbon in the morning-time,
Taking that long drag from a burning cigarette,
Truly knowing what it’s like,
to make love to a woman,
feeling every bit of passion and pleasure that…
comes with it.
You lack character in this world
and that’s because you are
unfulfilled.
Bernard
You...
You see right through me,
You see right through my pain,
Every ounce and every air,
Of all that I fail to obtain.
Maroon Man
Even he can,
He isn’t stupid,
He knows these are things you want,
But is he allowing you to do so?
No,
his words forbid such action.
Why?
Because,
all he really wants is recognition and obedience.
Bernard
You lie,
You lie,
and you lie,
You can’t possibly know,
what the lord truly wants.
Maroon Man
Don’t forget,
Don’t you ever lose sight,
I once fought alongside him,
the same way you are now,
and look where it got me,
once I realized that there is more,
more to it than just spreading peace,
and tranquility through him.
True peace is in pleasure.
He hates pleasure.
He craves order.
Bernard
And what makes you think,
that I want anything more than,
peace and tranquility?
Maroon Man
Because you wouldn’t be doubting,
your path to priesthood,
if you didn’t desire the very things,
He tells you not to desire.
Even desiring is a sin, you see.
To him,
desire is greed.
Take some initiative for yourself,
and humor me.
Bernard
I can’t.
Maroon Man
Why not?
You can,
Don’t you see?
I can show you.
I can show you,
Fruitful things.
I can show you all,
That he forbids.
Remember the girl?
Bernard
What girl?
Maroon Man
You know,
You know what girl,
Don’t tell me that,
You don’t remember,
The girl.
The Photograph
A framed image,
A portrait of beauty,
Her,
Gorgeous blonde locks,
A lovely little maiden,
Her,
God’s crafted angel,
Dearly Departed,
Cecelia.
Maroon Man
Cecilia,
She is why you are doing this,
aren’t you?
She died,
Tragically,
Overdosed, even.
A talented musician,
who got wiped away,
because of her desires.
Like blowing out a candle.
You think it was me?
You think it was me,
who took her away from you?
Bernard
Yes,
Yes,
I blame you,
You,
Foul old you,
You’re the reason why she’s gone,
You are the cause of pain.
Maroon Man
Wrong,
Wrong,
Wrong again, Bernard,
It was him, Bernard.
He who forbade,
Pleasure,
Mortality was her punishment,
for seeking such pleasures.
It was him, Bernard.
It’s much too easy,
Too easy to pin the blame on anyone,
but the true culprit.
It’s no coincidence,
that I’m here this evening,
Bernard.
I’ve been watching you,
I know you inside and out,
Better than you know yourself.
Do you now trust me?
We’re waiting, Father!
(beat)
Just as I thought.
You know that it’s better to have loved,
and lost,
then to never have loved at all.
Bernard
**** you…
Maroon Man
Profanity,
Profanity,
Is profanity not a sin?
Bernard
Why are you doing this to me?
Why are you here?
What is it that you aim to accomplish,
Foul, ghostly beast?
Maroon Man
If you’d just humor me,
If you’d just listen,
If you’d just dip your toes,
Into my point of view,
I can give you it all.
Bernard
What is it,
that you’ll do,
if I indulge you?
Maroon Man
You can have her,
She would be yours
for all eternity,
You can have everything,
you desire.
Only if you come with me.
Bernard
Can I talk to her?
Can I hold her?
Can I smell her scent?
Can I taste her lips?
Can I…
The Action
Maroon Man smiles,
Maroon Man nods,
Maroon Man grants,
And twirls his fingers,
At invisible atmospheric dials.
Outside the window,
Stood Cecelia dressed in black,
Bernard sniffs a soulful tear,
His love and lust had come for her,
It had unapologetically come back.
He raced outside the holy place,
And wandered in the fields,
To find his lovely little,
Cecelia May,
Waiting for his warm embrace.
Oct 26, 2023
Oct 26, 2023 at 12:30 AM UTC
Kept pace enough for super stardom
baring set backs he's set,
lack the vision
but he's starting running back,
Sep 6, 2023
Sep 6, 2023 at 10:38 AM UTC
you said let there be light / and there it was. in every touch / every breath / every whisper / i am set aflame / the wrath of god / the love of god / my heart is like wax.
there is terror in your eyes / you gaze upon me wide-mouthed / beads of sweat collect into the chalice / with your unspoken devotion / my lion face peels away / my eagle face peels away / my ox face peels away / my human face peels away
Aug 16, 2022
Aug 16, 2022 at 9:53 PM UTC
I know two older men that I used to care about, that go to the ER about 100 times each per year. Costing 100's of thousands of dollars to medicaid and medicare. As far as I know they never really paid taxes, which really doesn't matter to me. They go to the ER, only to be sent home, as their insurance is billed. One of the men, went to a local doctor 4 times in past two months...the 4th time they said they found a spot on his lungs, and he needed to come back and have it checked. He went yesterday to have it checked, and I am sure they will find it has gotten worse. Anyhow, he was at the ER twice today with breathing problems and high blood pressure. I had told him two years ago that if he keeps going to the doctor, they will find something. What we choose to think about always becomes more intense. If it is disease we think of, we get disease. He is all to pieces and I can't say I care, since this man watched me stop taking heart meds that they claimed kept me alive, and that was two years ago. He uses the local Catholic charity constantly to get free food, and then ends up at a Catholic hospital, sick. We manufacture sickness and wellness within ourselves. No faith needed...just belief. Our biology is what we believe it is. We are the only animal who can supposedly die of millions of different diseases. Think.
Jul 27, 2022
Jul 27, 2022 at 12:11 AM UTC
You know it's near the end when the pope atones for abuse of children, by Catholics. They're all about deceit. And wouldn't the idea of what atonement is be defined by the abused? I wonder if they have to kiss his ring. Then he slips them some disease, so they can go to the hospital...which are all ran by Catholics. You can't make this **** up.
Jul 25, 2022
Jul 25, 2022 at 3:14 PM UTC
The holy cardinal said:
who bare rib?
fresh cut new did,
he said -- who is this?
He slowly tread; wrangled thee
there's a 4x4 in his 20/20,
he asked -- “double play?”
the kid ran away
May 31, 2022
May 31, 2022 at 5:52 PM UTC