"acolytes" poems
here is something that
mother told me
about god complexes:
“everyone believes themselves
to be gods among men:
even that hideous monster from your
half-remembered Hellenistic dreams
will retreat back to
his craggy hideaway and continue
with his hedonistic ways.
the poor creature:
he will don a halo,
iconize himself in caricatures
pretending that if for a moment
his veins flow ichorous that
Icarus may have envied when his wings
beat in tandem with the footfalls of
the sun chariots’ horses.
“the sun shines upon
hallowed ground, though Polyphemus
will avoid Helios’s scornful gaze.
he herds sheep––his only acolytes––
an unabashed king in his realm,
like a god plays war, or as a child
would play house,
humming hallelujah,
veins running gold-blooded.
when moon rises,
he will hang his weary
shadow at his door and retreat
to his fire-pit. perhaps this will be
the closest he will be to the gods,
basking in the heat of Hestia’s
humble hearth.
“in the end,” mother said,
“Nobody will end up deified.
Icarus may have rained down wax and
feathers in godlike fury
before tilting his head to Helios once more;
Polyphemus waded into the sea,
eyes clouded in godlike fury
before resigning himself to fate, head bowed.”
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 12:24 PM UTC
talk talk talk
from the drug and not the person
how long must I endure
to get my poison
roses are red
violets are blue
god made us beautiful
what happened to you
monochrome monochrome
all I see is monochrome
this must be the place
a carpark near the cemetery
how much how good
is there more to come
roses are red
violets are black
you’d look better
with as knife in your back
monochrome monochrome
all I see is monochrome
roses are red
violets are white
take your medicine to sleep at night
the priest departs
the acolytes give praise
worship your god for his gift of golden haze
monochrome monochrome
all I see is monochrome
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 6:45 PM UTC
I love my black cat,
for all his brokenness, his brain
damage, his tendency to
drool and
to fall off
things.
I love him dearly,
in spite or perhaps because of
these various defects,
and he loves me back
with a fierce and simple purity
like only idiots can.
Still, I
sometimes wish
we could time travel together,
he and I,
and I could take him to Ancient Egypt
and show the Pharoah, the priests, the acolytes and the slavedrivers.
I'd show them my wonderful cat
with his wobbly eyes, his
flailing windmill limbs and
his perfect idiot love,
and I'd tell them all:
'This is your God.
Reevaluate.'
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 8:03 AM UTC
The Acolytes come marching in and out and in, out again
Minds befuddles, rationalities amissing, fully indoctrinated
Pathetic Dogs of Attrition dressed all in white, all in pain
Compulsive obsessives, neurotics primed and oxygenated
Scrappers at the bottom of the barrel wants unlawful gain
By hook or crook is their recourse, to that they are mandated
From rhetorics long gone and ideologies forged in days of rain
Our intrepid Confused and Acolytes are soundly medicated
Just march to left, left, left, left and we will ease all your pain
Recognize that the enemies are those that think and are educated
They all claim domain at the top, with kudos, status and fame
While you languish in closed barrels, your poor lives truncated
Those Bosses are all there because they are all Masonic inclined
Doctors, lawyers and Professionals paid cash for Degrees granted
They did no work or study, rich Daddies just paid so they claim
All those Entrepreneurs are Robbers who bankraid unarrested
Because the Police are all masonic and help/share in all the gain
The Royals are Top Mafiosas, with International links atested
So Dumb Acolytes Know the truths and fall with the wise in line
We must regain Power and march left, left so we're not left in vain
The republic shall live because it's 21 Century and we wake in time
We take all from the Secret Society and cut off all our iron chains
Begin by taunting, tormenting and harassing that ****** Wayne
The ****** Prince is the African Mafia Chief and Exploiter kingpin
Sing with me everybody
Viva la Revolution, viva la Revolution
We are clever, all in our White uniforms
We march to the left left left with our two left feet
We know our brains have left us but we go left left
Viva la Revolution, Viva la Revolution, Viva la Jinbba.
Hey! jinbba, jinbaba, hey! jinbba jinbaba, hey! jinbba jinbba
Sing.........
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 5:09 AM UTC
He sat there, same table, most Sundays
If he came alone, he did not stay that way long
His corner table would fill, with nodders and smilers
People with pint glass recognition of all he'd done
His special tankard 'World's Strongest Man'; no year, for that would be cruel
I watched him as I grew, from colouring book infant to
The girl who stood a round for her father
Each year he shrunk a little, those
muscles softening to fat
And still they came and asked him to bend their metal pipes
And carry a man on each shoulder
One handed him a rope for his teeth, and
Asked if he would tow away his junker, they
Laughed and bought him another round, mate, another pint
For the World's Strongest Man
He told me once, when I was 10 and curious,
The stories of his ink marks, the places
He had been and all the strange and wonderful things
He had lifted and bent and pulled and
Training with the Sumo, ice hole bathing with Inuit,
wrestling hobbled Russian bears, the lion that left 'see, this mark here'
A yawn when he'd placed his big, shaggy head
In the beast's mouth because
He too was a king
I asked him once, when I had grew
If he should have been
More like bamboo
Thin and reedy, bending in the wind
No substance to speak off, yet
With a strength belieing it's slender form
He told me, as the acolytes trudged past
In heavy boots and rough winter coats
'All I ever wanted was for someone else to take the weight, even for a moment, but now it's too late'
I smiled sadly, because I understood
Tested strength and how it withstood
And yet I felt his heart-deep sorrow
At looking back, not to tomorrow
I did not buy him another pint, I walked with him instead
Through the door he'd left a thousand times
To his taxi, usual driver, 'home, mate?'
Lean on me for now, I said. I'm stronger than I look.
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 12:57 PM UTC
We can weep, oh America
the name of our country
over and over
our democracy looted
while the new President
is congratulated
and his acolytes kiss ***
like a ruby on the King's ring
the Secretary of Education
can't read and the Secretary
of Energy with his poor memory
drinks from a glass of big oil
while the Secretary of Interior
says there can be no more bees
no butterflies, no more gardens
for us inferiors, there will be
no more dreaming, no poets
or anti-discrimination policies
against anything, no brooms
for sweeping, just last straws
and executive actions handed
down from the white mansion.
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 8:42 PM UTC
It’s finally Friday night
there’s not a professor in sight.
If you think I’m happy - you’re right!
My homework assignment is light,
I just have an essay to write.
We and our sister suite will unite,
dragging a couch over, so the seating is right.
We’ll binge on Ozark most of the night,
‘cause we’re all Justin Bateman acolytes.
Pizza and ice cream will be a highlight,
in an evening of lazy delights.
I wish you could join us on-site,
but a quarantine prevents the invite.
Feb 4, 2022
Feb 4, 2022 at 7:53 AM UTC
You dissolute deputation
Of disparate dipsomaniacs
Disparately determined
To drive me, distance me
Definitely, diametrically
Dizzily daft, daily.
Ditzy, I determined to
Deftly divide them;
I defy them, deny them,
Don't deify them
But deride them
Stand beside them
And guide them
To wander away
Until some other day
Some other fool
Who, as a rule
Digs abuse and misuse.
It's not a truce
But an absolute demand
For their total surrender
So they remember
From December to December
I am not a lifetime member
Of the “Beat Me” club.
Aye, there's the rub
You thought I liked it
So you could spike it
Like a basketball.
But, my soul is not at all
Into anything you could call
Masochism or submission.
So, if your mission is
To collect acolytes and slaves
You'd just better save that
For someone sicker than I
And bid me a fond goodbye.
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 5:53 PM UTC
Rebellion – for too long the status quo,
is, in our day, a predictable show.
Antichrist irony, absurdity
shockingly daring incongruity
no longer shock the bourgeois, you know…
Alone in the temple of glass with a rock,
you’re out of traditional symbols to mock.
Surrealists did it much better than you –
and it meant a lot more in ’32.
You chew your cud on the cattle-wagon
overused shock-tactics (moo ! ) now draggin’
(or herding) aboard the iconoclast train
(b)lowing through boxcars your bovine refrain:
“to, um – make people think…” Oh Lord, how uncouth.
Nihilist narcissus – tell me, what’s Truth?
Must creative always be subversive?
I discern, in your frenzied discursive,
a dull and predictable lack of life.
While you brandish that plastic butter knife
I seem to note, in your constant ******
dearth of artistic ability. Must
bohemian acolytes (some yawning)
ever be deer in the headlights, fawning
before the ironic gesture? It’s sad;
the bitter is sweet but the art is bad…
They circle hors d’oeuvres on opening night
like moths around white wine in candlelight,
cerebrating in a modernist void:
contemporary aesthetes, overjoyed
to know once more that life has no meaning;
the planet is doomed; that kings are queening;
that chic just arrived, escorting philosophy
(Forgive us, Duchamp, for all this monstrosity).
I long for Hudson River School sunsets
Old Dutch Masters, religious art, portraits,
Red, green, or black propaganda-art? NO !
The view does not merit the price of the show.
I’m dada-ed to death, beyond the surreal.
Conceptual gimmicks have failed to conceal
your want of ability, values, and faith
In the book you despise it is written: “thus saith
the fool in his heart: that there is no God…”
You: Postmodern Art – to the firing squad!
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:57 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Beyond the Eisenhower context
We still have to guard against
The military industrial complex
Which requires in every respect
That our government be checked
As we’re forced to question, what is this?
It’s reminiscent of Guerin’s book
Fascism and Big Business
We can clearly see a certain confluence
So we must guard against
The acquisition of unwarranted influence
When surrounded by generals and billionaires
It can directly impact how the populous fares
Because these are un-chartered waters
And didn’t the Nazis claim to be
Just following orders
In Germany, then a democratic state
Neumann said that the Nazi’s sole ambition
Was to uproot what existed there
Until they could come into position
And we need not forget
As we look at the current cabinet
History frequently repeats itself
So we are to blame and no one else
When the great leader
is surrounded by acolytes
Who defend his positions
Whether wrong or right
It gives us many sleepless nights
And the media gets, a thousand sound bites
Comprised from their various talking points
Out of the mouths of those he anoints
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017. All rights reserved.
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 5:41 PM UTC
Terminator X
A cloud burst into life and rained down acid rain;
The skin peeled from the bodies of those who couldn’t be saved.
The future termination just waiting to send us to our graves,
Means our destiny is already written and we cannot be saved.
So call on Arnie to save or ruin the day,
Here he comes in a rush to redeem or bring rage.
Is he good, is he bad? Let’s write another sequel,
Because we can’t get enough of this cyborg killing people.
Terminator 1, Sarah Connor is forced to face death head on.
This Terminator X is going to rip somebody’s face off
And Terminator 2 saw Arnie as a Hero,
For John Connor likes Guns ‘n’ Roses, look out here comes a truck.
Terminator 3 the machines are on the rise again,
The future is shown to us; it looks like humans live in pain.
We are obsolete; the robots now rule the entire world.
So let’s rebel and give ‘em Hell, one of Johns acolytes is a hot girl.
So stab your blade shaped arm through a chest
And hope you find the right Sarah Connor.
Dead bodies litter the doorsteps of random nests;
You know he won’t stop until he finds her.
Get Arnie some new clothes to cover his nakedness,
Use nitrogen oxide to put an end to this X-file government,
Conspiracy of robots, they are here to end our lives;
So crush their body and throw this terminator into the fire.
(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 8:28 AM UTC
Aristotle’s arrhythmic articulations
Appeared too apologetic for Aphrodite's amusements
Aroused by antisocial media’s alacritous abundance
Amidst arteriosclerosis and amphibiously obeisant Ophiuchus
Asclepius' ascendance was almost an abortion
Arrested by Apollo’s amorous attempts at aphrodisia
Ambidextrous Artemis’ androgynous appointments
Awakened ancient antipathies accentuating allopathic artifacts
Altercations arose among ambitious acolytes and Athena’s anorexic acidoses
Awkward Adonis actively agonized by alarming aneurysms
Allowed Antigone’s ambivalent armistice an aperture of acceptance
Appointing an ambiguously appealing additive to the Argonauts
An anaerobic Acropolis arose amidst ********** asphyxiations
As Amazonian armpit hair advocates approved artificial insemination
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 8:33 PM UTC
I was sold to pain
in a slave market
that didn't look like one,
auctioned by a civilized crowd
of people just like you and me
in everyday life,
posing as my comrades, acolytes or lovers.
I stood firm on my ground
unrelenting even in pain's intimidation
and said, what Valmiki
the first poet found,
"Grief gushes out in verse"
and I sing
alone.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 5:29 AM UTC
the silver goddess presses
gentle kisses to your brow,
a silent benediction;
i alone bear witness
to this private sacrament
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 7:48 AM UTC
From the womb of Creation,
when time was born,I manifest
myself in the dark void.
With unending force I expand,
I expand defying boundaries,
I expand to adorn the void
with a celestial garland,
and I expand to reach beyond
the Infinite.
From dawn to dusk,
I paint the heavens with
acute passion.Countless
distorted images with an
intoxicating shade of orange
greet the mortals during
sunset.With the birth of night,
I reveal another secret, for light
steals the glory of darkness through
the moon,stars and the fireflies.
My faithful acolytes brave the dark
and triumph like a victorious warrior,
proclaiming that they are not just
things of beauty.
Finally a new day awakes with the
soft roar of the waves. I direct the
winds to kiss the flowers and make
them blossom with a vibrant hue.
The moon and the stars bid goodbye
to the young sun and calmly waits
for the coming of another night.
I am that blank canvas,upon which
I paint endlessly,whether it is the clouds
in manifold forms,or the stars that
dot the heavens, it is I who give them
life and it is I who take it away from
them,that is my pain,that is my beauty.
For I am eternal and so are my creations,
I was never born,nor will I die, I gave
birth to life, and unto me will everything
return.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 11:46 AM UTC
On this cold November night
Salman Rushdie shook my hand.
An irate Ayatollah had
pronounced a fatwa on the
man
He seemed at peace, this hirsute fellow.
in his bespoke suit from Savile Row.
He signed some copies of his book
then his security man said he must go..
The lecture hall had been half full.
Perhaps some had been scared away.
I had come to hear him speak.
Freedom of speech must rule the day.
Outside Colden in the dark
an amphitheater is tucked away
A stage sunk in a bowl of grass
where Greek tragedies might be played.
Which tradition shall prevail?
I wondered to myself that day.
Will acolytes of a murderous cult
Sweep Euripides away?
A Moslem horde poured through the gates
when Rome fell for the second time.
The Divine Wisdom was defiled
and Constantine Palaeologus died.
I turn my collar against the damp
illumined by sodium vapor light
I think on Arnold's loss of faith
and ignorant armies that struggle in the
night
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 5:05 PM UTC
Now that you're here
We'ld like you to stay
In the church of wicked
Surrender, as you may
You can't feel the bliss
If you haven't had it in grey
Can't be a content worshiper
If you haven't ever disobeyed
Offering blood and words
Blaming it all on 'fate'
We gather here every night
In our own realm, outside Heaven's gate
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 11:11 AM UTC
The lot of us strangers trying too hard to stay aloof in a narrow corridor plagued by awful trendy folk music blaring out of unseen speakers and I shrouded in silence wore it a pseudo-epidermal layer taut force field writing this poem so to be a little more pretentious than most by opting not to check social media and the selfie I posted this morning not sure how many likes it's gotten since an hour ago but I'm not going to check yet Everyone here looks so miserable and it's barely 8 AM the Kate Gosselins and Ben Afflecks grab their coffee like a servant grabs the King's goblet to test for poison there's this mumble of a thank you seeping out of frozen lips and half opened eyelids harnessing dull hazy eyes and they drudge back to their hybrid cars with their five dollar savior and amble down the gaping highway that consumes their soul and all the while shoulders never touch and eyes never meet and we stand idly in the waiting room watching the alchemists conjure up our poison thinking about our selfies and how much we hate ourselves and our lives but honestly I just wanted my first pumpkin spice latte of the season celebrating the first cool day of the year in my denim jacket I resurrected with glee out of the elated closet in the middle of September so I say Beware you miserable cretins you obligatory acolytes of the virulent elixir one day you'll wake up and no amount of coffee will purify this cesspool you've lain yourself into like a regretful baptism you didn't believe in.
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 2:09 AM UTC
You’re a smack down
Kick-around, clueless clown
That tells unfunny jokes
And runs with the blokes
That put up with your antics
And your busted semantics
Because they think someday
Things might swing your way
And they can profit by association
With a human abomination
That enjoys investing atrocities
With scarifying velocity
On the halt and the lame;
Running opportunistic games
On those who cannot defend;
World without end, amen.
But heaven forfend
That you might have a friend
Who seems a holy prophet
But does not seek for profit
And acolytes to their cause;
A bogus Santa Claus
Who leeches from the people
In his church without a steeple,
Just microwave towers
Sprouting like ugly flowers
To spread out the message
So we can read every passage
That boil down to a sermon
To send money to this vermin
Your bund proclaims a messiah
When he is really a pariah
Nobody has yet recognized
He’s so well disguised.
But, be aware, polecat
Some know what your at
And what you are doing
I nothing more than accruing
That which you can bank.
You have nobody to thank
For the outcome you inherit
From the outcome you assume
When your calumnies bloom
Into the realities that appear
When the truth draws near
And tars and feathers you
And when your victims do
What they should have done along
Was reject your ways gone wrong
And found a rail lying around
To ride your **** out of town.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 1:34 AM UTC
I'm getting old and I am falling to bits
think I'll give up the ghost
and just call it quits.
It's alright for you,
You're all so young
and so very vibrant
but I am reliant on doctors and pills
and every day I go on just brings me more ills.
The Priest Calls...
..and tells me,
'that life is but a distraction
and afterwards the real action begins
Repent of your sins'
Oh Christ
I don't want to hear that no more
I show him the door.
I try to shuffle around
but I admit it at last I am almost bedbound.
The Lady Calls...
..I let her in
another repentable sin?
but she just looks and she laughs
and says,
'the only thing you'll get in that bed is bedbaths'
I don't need to show her the door
she's there before
I even know it.
Yes,
getting old is the pits
are you also thinking of calling it quits?
Life is a fight
nature fights for the light
we are all blind in the night
and none more than me.
I can see I'll go on 'til the day's finally gone
but nothing tastes good any more
I wonder who let my taste buds out the door.
The Devil Knocks..
..and that shocks me awake
but I never really sleep
got to keep my eye on the green line.
Beep.Beep.Beep
the monitor doesn't allow me to sleep
but 'Old Nick makes me sick
he's even older than me
why would I want to be one of his acolytes?
they're just little shites.
I show him the door
and he roars into flames
feckin showoff.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
Acolytes of yon ole Stanstead
Told him he's been mislead
Well tough, ya old curmudgeon
See ya never, has-been's has-been
Jul 18, 2019
Jul 18, 2019 at 8:40 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Here’s something
I thought you ought to know
He’s polling at
A really all time low
But I guess that
Only goes to show
If you stopped to asked
I would have told you so
Think about it
And it makes perfect sense
That he’s an idiot
Who lacks experience
So you can make a note
It’s in the present tense
That we hold our breaths
While the world is in suspense
See you can’t believe
A word that man has said
And he tends to tweet
Whatever’s in his head
Thoughts he might have had
Before he went to bed
Suddenly becomes
What the world is fed
When he smiles
You see his pearly whites
You’d smile too
If you knew his acolytes
Who line up everyday
To kiss his ring
And to arrange his praises
That they sing
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017. All rights reserved.
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 1:57 AM UTC
Terminate with Prejudice,
The word came from on high,
Synchronise the satellite
Above her in the sky.
Instruct the drone manoeuvres
To glide 10,000 feet
And fire the micro missile
Through the roof, but be discreet!
*A haze of gas like perfume,
A sneezing fit or two
And every living thing within
The building dies on cue.
No symptoms are detected,
No evidence is found,
The toxic gas is oxidised
Before the hour comes round.*
She lies in all her beauty,
Clear alabaster skin,
Green eyes stare to infinity
No heart, that beats, within.
Her searching words offended
The holders of the grail,
Who reached across the globe
To wield their deadly flail.
**This Brave, New, evil World
With technology to do
The bidding of the acolytes
Who transgress borders through,
Of every creed and every man,
Across the planet vast
To violate, at will,
All human values of the past.**
Marshalg
Revelations in a Scorching Sauna
26/11/2011
Jun 26, 2011
Jun 26, 2011 at 5:21 PM UTC
Your vision is dying
before your eyes sweet prince
The corpses piled so high
the lime can't mask the stench
In twenty years time
you'll be the only one left
All your acolytes are liars
who serve only death
A pathetic crew
Now without its fool
The joke is on you
The fool was your best
But I'm sure
this warning will be ignored
Just like all the rest
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC