"apostasy" poems
From the moment I walked in,
I felt the piercing eyes.
Same eyes that nailed Jesus to the wooden cross.
Jesus said, by this,
all man will know you are my disciples,
if you have love one to another.
Pharisees, Pharisees, Pharisees.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen into apostasy.
Like the Nephilim which came & has yet to come again.
Surely heading back to the beginning, the Days of Noah.
The entire time I sat in those fold-up chairs,
my heart couldn't stop racing.
Perhaps it was the spirits aligning to seek whom they may devour.
Heard many vain repetitions today,
didn't Jesus say that's what heathens do?
For they think that they will be heard for their many words.
We all crucified the Lord Jesus Christ.
We have all blasphemed.
One perfect Godman died on our behalf,
then rose 3 days later to break the curse.
Sacrificial love.
Let us not break bread & drink grape juice.
Guess you never knew that's symbology for cannibalism.
In which He never commanded us to do.
Simply two commands were left.
Love God with all your heart,
with all your soul & with all your mind.
Secondly, love your neighbor as you love yourself.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 11:42 PM UTC
sure, first we had the schism
of the church & state...
"oddly" enough...
we now live in the 2nd tier
of schism -
the segregation of
state & media...
no?
really?
we're not?!
i'm kind of enjoying
this ongoing schismatics -
the segregation of church
from state, at least left us with
the Vatican (i.e. the church-state) -
but this, current...
segregation of state from
the media?
**** me cram my testicles
into a monkey-wrench
and subsequently watch me laugh...
and there i was thinking,
that psychiatrists,
were the new priests of
the secular age...
prescribing the alt. to
the metaphor of cannibalism
in the form of big pharmacological
pills, to replace the wafer for
bread,
or the watered down wine /
grape juice of the...
so how does that party trick goes?
is that the wine turned into blood?
symbolically:
turned water into wine:
flag-wise...
white,
cardinal...
and then burgundy of
cardinal red teasing the bishopric
coloring of purple?
i'm not here to undermine
the faith...
i'm here for the self-deprecating
humo(u)r...
you don't even require
atheism to get a laugh
out of the conundrum -
you, simply need...
the deviation from the catholic
rites...
an apostasy -
but sure as **** it's there...
secularism has allowed
journalism a monastic status...
first came the schism of
church from state -
which remained intact in
the church-state of the Vatican...
so... FAIL...
secondly had to come
the schism of the state from
the media...
i'm watching a schism
take place...
apparently...
the comparative concern
of church's divorce from
the state was easy,
having imploded into the Vatican...
but the divorce of
the media from the state?
apparently... not so easy...
the media is already locking-down
on obstructing the schism -
arguing from an entertainment
perspective...
a century or so later,
and still, the persistent,
media symbolism -
of crafting caricatures of
a state...
as the state embodied in
nothing more than subordination
to its will...
media is the new church...
and if the separation of the state
from the church took so long...
how much time, do you "think",
it will it take, for the state
to segregate itself, from the media
baronage?
i suspect - as much time as it
took to segregate itself from
the church's cardinal-lineage.
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 11:34 PM UTC
“I am a jealous God,” said the Hebrews’ deity.
Ain’t got patience for a jealous God, for I’m a spirit free.
I have many idols, on this terrestrial sphere.
And if I didn’t worship them, I’d surely not be here.
For they are Icons, real, of what I have struggled to attain,
my ideals and aspirations, or of persistence through the pain.
I worship them with love, despite their fallibility.
They guide me and inspire me,
with their strength and creativity.
For example-- modern martyrs, who’ve sacrificed for others;
I'm sure that Jesus would think of them as sisters and as brothers.
And rock and roll; it’s my religion; I know the Promised Land
cannot be much like heaven, without my favorite band.
What I seek but never find is Plato’s ideal vision--
the unseen perfect version of our seen world. My submission
is to something that we know by feeling, and I think it must be said
that the traveling to find it cannot start by being dead.
Surely Poetry and Art are to be followed, as a creed;
they can be read and seen, and then, perhaps, believed.
Music is transcendent, call it the Flesh made Word--
not reserved for us in heaven, but here, on earth, is heard.
Nature is a Goddess; her work is the creation;
we strive to understand it, through rational “divination,”
using math and science, objective experimentation.
I have so many idols; I can’t limit adoration
to just one jealous God and his righteous indignation.
The Bible is a document that’s full of truth, I know;
but it was written a long, long time ago.
I’m keeping all my idols, for they soothe me and inspire me.
I’ll continue in my “lifestyle” of spiritual polyamory.
You may say I’m going to “Hell” for my sinful apostasy,
but I’m not afraid of the future grave,
for I’ll have lived with ecstasy.
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 10:00 PM UTC
1526
His oriental heresies
Exhilarate the Bee,
And filling all the Earth and Air
With gay apostasy
Fatigued at last, a Clover plain
Allures his jaded eye
That lowly Breast where Butterflies
Have felt it meet to die—
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When thou, poor excommunicate
From all the joys of love, shalt see
The full reward and glorious fate
Which my strong faith shall purchase me,
Then curse thine own inconstancy.
A fairer hand than thine shall cure
That heart which thy false oaths did wound;
And to my soul a soul more pure
Than thine shall by Love’s hand be bound,
And both with equal glory crowned.
Then shalt thou weep, entreat, complain
To Love, as I did once to thee;
When all thy tears shall be as vain
As mine were then, for thou shalt be
Damned for thy false apostasy.
2.2k
They either say "We'll spend some time"
Or they say "Well, never mind"
Is it the apostrophe
That makes us we?
Or is it a mentality
That sets us free
To changes
And ranges
Of open thoughts and feelings
That bring us together
Until negativity starts stealing
And our connections we sever
We'll feel well
After escaping the hell
That is the difference between well and we'll
But they will not be the hands that heal
When they act like adding the apostrophe
Is tantamount to apostasy
So they wield sabres
Of different flavors
Like the shallow gravers
And the glow stick ravers
That look good on paper
Until they are erased
When I need their embrace
I'm left hanging
Like an apostrophe
Putting me down
Into a comma coma
Leaving holes in me
Like a drama stoma
Constricting
Like a mama boa
You're your apostrophe
When you take away being
And turn something into a possession
You channeled my overt obsession
Then punctuated with aggression
The end of our sentence
I can't survive this period of my life
When savages cause serious strife
By adding small marks to me
Until it becomes too dark to see
In the shadow of their apostrophe
Dec 17, 2017
Dec 17, 2017 at 5:06 AM UTC
a carnival of hords in withering grass
the high priestess tongues the beast
wet mandible
on a dragging
death gowned doll
like a cyclone coils paradise
trans mutative
prismatic unfurling's
passed bones of confusion
passed scorched refuse
of radiating spiraled phantoms
the more gods, the more demons
battle angel symmetries
in Taoist jaws
galactic lurking's
into parametric infinities
escalating war like cloud light
rush glittering arms of affliction
exhalations like upleaping sail fish
drizzle sooty rain
shellacking tinsel rhinos
on hieroglyphs of the barbarous
a transfixed guttural prana;
apostasy
between advances and retreats
in chimeras earth quake palace
death: a new begining.
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 7:51 AM UTC
you're probably the reason i wake up unable to breathe thinking there are snakes slithering around in my bed, because you did the exact same. i'll never find the words to tell you just the way you shattered my stained glass, i went to dozens of cathedrals to try and beg you to fix my mosaics and give me forgiveness, but not even the hierarchy could help me now. I went from Nortre Dame all the way to St. Paul's trying to find peace but no glass will ever be the same as mine maybe a pastiche but I will never feel as if I am as beautiful as the Troyes, so I walk around with ****** palms grasping to the remaining pieces I have from that night. I'm gasping for air now, in hysteria I'm flipping through the pages of a poor mans good book trying to find the terms for repentance or contrition or whatever it could be named, I'm not sure because I've never pleaded like this before and I'll scream to the all the gods that might listen, I'll be ****** if Im going to go down like this. I found another chapel he's got mosaics like no other has ever seen, I'm looking into angelic hues of browns and blues and greens. I'm running through the backrooms trying to find an exit, I'm in a rut to get to a comforting haven. don't waste your time on me I scream. Ive been cast out of heaven for my sins and I'm paying for my crimes -my rosary has fallen to the ground. it's just us two now; I want to run, the apocalypse inside of me is tearing me apart. I've had a martyr in my bed and I remember the taste of his lips, now I recall how your mouth resembled that of a serpent and how it tasted -of venom. you lied while your head was between my thighs, oh the stigmata of a dismal life. I've found a new savior and I am more than what you've dictated to everyone else. I've undergone apostasy and devouted myself to a new God, I might even wear white with him.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 11:04 AM UTC
What is the body of a woman?
She is stardust,
Wanderlust,
Passion and desire.
She is paradise,
Eurydice,
Cosmic and enthralling.
She is poetry,
Idolatry,
Sapphire and ruby.
What is the body of a woman?
She is hidden,
Forbidden,
Sinful and perverted.
She is apostasy,
Ecstasy,
***** and Gomorrah.
She is shameful,
Painful,
Torturous and gleaming.
What is the body of a woman?
She is secret,
Kismet,
Philia and Eros.
She is repression,
Obsession,
Exquisite and divine.
She is carnal,
Eternal,
My burden and my joy.
Apr 13, 2018
Apr 13, 2018 at 2:37 PM UTC
Although thy hand and faith, and good works too,
Have sealed thy love which nothing should undo,
Yea though thou fall back, that apostasy
Confirm thy love; yet much, much I fear thee.
Women are like the Arts, forced unto to none,
Open to all searchers, unprized if unknown.
If I have caught a bird, and let him fly,
Another fowler using these means, as I,
May catch the same bird; and, as these things be,
Women are made for men, not him, nor me.
Foxes and goats, all beasts, change when they please,
Shall women, more hot, wily, wild than these,
Be bound to one man, and did Nature then
Idly make tham apter t’ endure than men?
They’re our clogs, not their own; if a man be
Chained to a galley, yet the galley’s free;
Who hath a plough-land casts all his seedcorn there,
And yet allows his ground more corn should bear;
Though Danuby into the sea must flow,
The sea receives the Rhine, Volga, and Po.
By Nature, which gave it, this liberty
Thou lov’st, but Oh! canst thou love it and me?
Likeness glues love: and if that thou so do,
To make us like and love, must I change too?
More than thy hate, I hate’t; rather let me
Allow her change than change as oft as she,
And so not teach, but force my opinion
To love not any one, nor every one.
To live in one land is captivity,
To run all countries, a wild roguery;
Waters stink soon if in one place they bide,
And in the vast sea are more purified:
But when they kiss one bank, and leaving this
Never look back, but the next bank do kiss,
Then are they purest. Change is the nursery
Of music, joy, life, and eternity.
1.6k
Imagine there's no evil
It's easy if you try
No sin between us
Above us more then sky
Imagine all the people
Living to obey...
Imagine there's no Muslims
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to **** or die for
And no apostasy too
Imagine all the people
Living for the Lord...
You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join Jesus
And the world will be as one
Imagine no transgressions
I wonder if you can
No sight of greed or ******
The salvation of man
Imagine all the people
Living in the word...
You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join Jesus
And the world will live as one
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 9:24 PM UTC
“Graceless Ravens Envy You,” by Eric Robert Nolan
Revel in apostasy.
You are the black dove, hovering
High in an inklike arc.
Blacker, even, than
coal-colored wolves in onyx lines seeking
quarry at starless midnight.
More ebon, even, than
narrow sable blacksnakes staying
cravenly in shade at noon.
Darker, even, than
murders of crows, newly legion at Autumn, amassing
among saw-wing martins at dusk.
You’re blacker, even, then the rooks.
Graceless ravens envy you.
Remember your rebirth?
The sun rose,
Your birdsong changed and then
the questions flew from your beak
faster even than the wrens?
Faster than you could fly?
For a moment, they rendered
all the world obsidian.
Remember your feathers burning?
Sunlight striking your wings and then
all the slow alabaster there
singing, quickening into
aerodynamic black?
Remember the flock’s suspicion?
Remember your siblings, the nest?
Remember when
all their pearl heads turned
their backlit crowns in morning sun
ringed so thinly in shining ivory?
Their song was interrupted,
Yours was made a query —
empiricism’s aria.
Flustered, they fluttered
at all the low notes.
There were all immaculate;
you were the color of night.
Now you arc alone —
soar and sin and sing,
unrepentant one.
Somewhere an ordinary dog,
awakening from shadow,
howls at the sun.
(c) Eric Robert Nolan 2015
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 11:42 PM UTC
They tell us of places and theories
speak of the radicalness of our flesh
say that we must take responsibility of ourselves
as they sit behind their hard earned desks
they speak of their authority
and empowerment through words to the point that I wish to acquire such audacity
isn't that what our liberation is all about?
Recreating patterns of oppression
reach elitist capacities
sound … well structured and become one of the prodigies they can throw in their collection of so called advancement
I no longer seek validation of my processes through your bureaucratic systems
my knowledge does not emanate from intellectually justified sources but from las historias passed down to me by my fore-mothers
keep your favors, sympathy and unreasonable accommodations
yes, I will move on
but con un nuevo entendimiento:
de que ustedes no dictan las bases del feminismo
ni la capacidad de mi criterio
resisto sus juicios
y no acepto sus terminos
no firmo
por que mi educacion
no tiene fecha de expiracion
ni es un producto o contrato
al mejor postor.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 3:32 AM UTC
The brimstone quorum of
Salvationism a dying paragon :
Jettison of the Holy Cities
Amiable concordance in
Harness of attic faith salving
Creations apostasy,
Sealing Hells predestine fate,
Witnessing Sins forfeitable
Baptismal omni-shambles
Clandestine of punic Earths
Calvalcade beliefs; moving
Adamantine Heaven Godwards
And humanity froward
Evolutionarily bona-fide
Of credo.
ELEETE J MUIR
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 12:24 AM UTC
Coiled fingers grasping around through
a series of grates alternating through spatial relation
Each subsequent orientation,
Rotated at arbitrary command,
Ham-fisted reverie, like the acceptance of Jesus as our personal savior
Colors their every artifice
As if the void that consented to multitudes
Were mutilated upon reentry
Like the volkswagon beetle
Made to upgrade on demands
Or the chemical makeup of fleas
That have buried themselves in the festering skin
On the half opened light bulb of
Apostasy. Hardships
won and their articles
signed, comprehension reversed
With demands to the populace
Each stating unthinkable wishes
Since they've steadily become
Eager in the belief that
Their souls were unstuck
As puppets left to decay on the rain drenched fair grounds
The things I'm avoiding when I stray from the river
Confiscated boss on your vaunted sky
Bring to us your design
Sing to us the reminders we know that will
Teach us to drive our demands to time
And influence the outcomes ourselves
Give us the power to carry them forward
And sharpen the strength of our mind
It's us that you're looking for now
[the manuscript was unreadable from this point on]
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 1:58 PM UTC
All of your relations
Acquaintances, Lovers, Ancestors,
Stand buried in the rock
Which you left for the stars.
All of your dreams
To be anything but
A passenger of exploration
Hurdling towards the stars.
All of your advancement
From fire to fission
Brought you to the edge
To the unknown light of the stars.
All of your history
From nomadic to communist conquest,
Dwindles to bygone feuds of nothing
Specked with glimmers of the stars.
All of your prayer
Inquisitions and moral apostasy,
Matters not to the mirrors of Fate
Refracting illumination, reflecting life
Parsecs of attainable depth, here we are.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 12:38 PM UTC
In the past
People used my past to control me
But I’m past that so I smack back
What they told me.
Try to hold me back
But you can’t tack a label
On a fable, I’m a legend
Even if you say I’m unstable.
If in competition, they done lost to me
Take a shot at me, you intelligence apostasy.
Mockingly, they call me an oddity
Probably a product of my comedy
Step back, laugh, then step on me,
See, free entertainment for the public glee!
“Gee, why the negativity?” they say to me
But I am not listening, glistening
In my eyes, but it ain’t tears
Fears, I forgot ‘em, buried ‘em last year.
Oct 3, 2023
Oct 3, 2023 at 4:28 PM UTC
You cry the name of your god in vain;
Holy blasphemy from the depths of sin.
Praising my *** with his sacred name.
Turn now.
Turn and worship at my altar.
I am the goddess, enthroned on your lust.
I am the image, graven on your chest.
I am the calf, forged from your gold.
What have I done to you,
Oh man of God!
Lead him not into temptation, but deliver him from evil.
Deliver him from me.
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 7:23 PM UTC
What wondrous love is this?
You didn't resist
The pain, the blood, the shame
...You stayed.
While other wanderers strayed
When I was on the edge of full apostasy
You recovered me
Guided me
Through shadows and streams of light
Through darkness terrors strife and fight
Your rod and staff
That kept me on the path
Have taken me here at last
Sep 3, 2025
Sep 3, 2025 at 6:49 PM UTC
what is it that i am looking for
what is that convulses my mind so
i don’t know, I just don’t know
yet I keep on searching for something
something i know not what
it is in the words, i know it is in the words
it demands a recognition,
perhaps it is an illusion of complex
temporal simultaneity that plays
upon my reason but what is it
that delivers a thousand shivers
and colors from everywhere and nowhere
is it the blank spot that enters my consciousness
bringing temporarily bright blackness
the blindness one receives if
engaged in an over prolonged look at the sun
is it the inner workings of my mind
trying to free some irritant that
has intended to punctuate my thinking
without permission
an attempt to perplex
this new apostasy
that incubates within
yet a confusion hangs suspended
Of this blank spot, this nothingness,
this void of inarticulate reality that
exaggerates its intentions to consummate
a separation but never succeeds in its completion
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 6:42 PM UTC
Don’t bring your Bible
To convince me of your choice.
Pick another atheist.
Because this one came with a voice.
This one came with something
That I choose to call a mind.
I don’t like walking around
Intellectually deaf and blind.
Don’t bother telling me what a
Four thousand year old man said.
He either never really existed
Or he is many millennia dead.
I dig that you are reaching for
Some answers as to how and why
And you prefer the old tales
About a big dude in the sky.
But the second round of magic
About walking on water and things
Is far less exciting than tales of
Dragons trolls and magic rings
Since all of those wild yarns
Don’t claim to be true stories
And don’t ask us to blindly believe
And hope for only heavenly glory.
Many decades ago I stopped
Believing in superstitious twaddle.
In stead of some tasteless wafers
I much prefer a decent waffle.
If the contradictory book you sell
Is any clue as to lifelong serenity,
Half of what the preachers say
Is nothing but pure duplicity.
Don’t bother telling me what a
Four thousand year old man said.
He either never really existed
Or he is many millennia dead.
I dig that you are reaching for
Some answers as to how and why
And you prefer the old tales
About a big dude in the sky.
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 1:45 AM UTC
someone's misplaced a pear.
a sandy green one
there - between the turnips and onions.
the man in the striped red shirt
he's slapping price marks on braeburns...
your lips were hallowed ground
in aisle seven at the supermarket.
underground sundays in your arms
watching t.v. all day.
like a fog that drowns
first intentions
wandering burrs
clipping from sleeve to sleeve,
my fool flesh tried to get somewhere
our kissing touch migrated as
if we'd never even heard of the ground -
watching warped window streaks
of scattered april rainfall,
a streetlight shadow symphony
on your bedroom wall;
my rumpled exhortations constantly
shocking the angel in you.
i didn't want to stay if you left
i'd be nothing to you,
a gone face, fallen like embers
voyaged away like the waning pitch
of a siren in the nighttime,
like i never existed at all
can you tell me that i don't
have a hole in my heart...
the world is home to billions of streetlights;
it has more to do with windows
than with the pleasures of flesh.
just to look, (is often enough).
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
Manipulating reality,
the moment concealed
Manipulating reality,
what’s virtual ‘real’
Manipulating reality,
the keys push and drain
Manipulating reality,
technology reigns
Manipulating reality,
fantasy schools
Manipulating reality,
apostasy rules
Manipulating reality
all cursors and screens
Manipulating reality,
lost memory undreamed
Manipulating reality,
electrons control
Manipulating reality
a hard driven soul
Manipulating reality,
love crashes and burns
Manipulating reality
—truth cyber unlearned
(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2018)
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 4:12 PM UTC