"celebrant" poems
They come and
Sale their wilderness
To the city!
They come and
Disseminate their chortle to city dwellers!
They come and
Teach business of honesty and humanity to the
People living in the jungle of concrete and sorrow!
They are prudent,
They are celebrant of
Compassion, peace and happiness!
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC
Can't see the forest for the trees
Blinded by specificity
Laser sight for **** I don't need
Lending from my sanity
On cranium spending sprees
For all things that should not be
Store them all so perfectly
Like they're treasured figurines
A preserved psyche crazy hard to free
Carbonite Han Solo in deep freeze
No Leia to barter for release
Huttese wont work, no trip to Tatooine
Vader breathing disturbs my sleep
Palpatine "do it" on repeat
My Empire Strikes Back with relative ease
To quash anything that provides relief
Cos I'm not okay, but I am
Film flam tryna find who I am
Hell in a disenchanted dance
All my chemicals romance
Distorting where I began
Never quit, my only plan
Exhausted but here I stand
Hoping soon I'll understand
Why I feel so ****** repeatedly
'Cause red is the new black speaks to me
A funeral for a friend harming me
Bring a celebrant for my old psyche
Now bend my arms to look like wings
So I can fly free from that part of me
'Cause I buried it deep so purposely
It can stay stuck there for eternity
Jul 4, 2023
Jul 4, 2023 at 5:05 AM UTC
to-day I attended
my cousin's funeral service
it was a casual
laid back kind of affair
no preacher going on for ages
with vacuous words
a celebrant spoke of my cousin's
love of the young and the elderly
her husband wrote a poem
of dedication to his beloved Tess
throughout the service her favorite songs were featured
the Bon Jovi tune "To Be My Baby" had family and friends
tapping their feet
on our departure from the crematorium
the strains of Tim McGraw's " Please Remember Me" played
the day was as Tess wanted
casual and no fuss
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 1:16 AM UTC
The hiker cannot dwell there long,
concealed on a high gull-lined cliff,
overlooking the grey of the Sound.
Framed in a solemn March day,
two curiously juxtaposed species hold her gaze.
Silent as a fawn she watches
a black wolf beneath her arboreal outpost,
hunched in the fashion of Asian street vendors,
observing the other creatures.
Great humpbacks frolic in icy waters ---
spouting volcano plumes of spray
that catch the freshened wind ---
riding white-capped waves,
till entropy dissolves their mist to atomized brine.
Whale-song, too distant for the hiker's gentle ears,
comes rolling in tsunami-like
to the aurally attuned wolf,
which ***** its head and nods
in musical agreement with the odes.
Then little lupine brother
rears back his head and howls,
so sorrowful a moan, as she has ever heard ---
answering his water-brethren,
hunters of krill upon the seas.
Giggling at the incongruity of this lone celebrant
singing pack-songs to leviathans,
she hurries on her way,
lone wolf herself returning to the pack.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 10:12 PM UTC
a rumination, a revelation
stuck or trapped
in body?
God’s mental workmanship
so shoddy?
born on
automatic mode
now manual
now unsewed
no sense
of future
without
a suture
too conscious of
consciousness
certainly too
autonomous
too aware of
being aware
I stare, I stare
overly aware
of own existence
no path of
least resistance
body seems irrelevant
no Eucharist, no celebrant
with all that it can bring
life is
a most uncomfortable thing
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 12:48 AM UTC
Known sorrows
Are not only human
Death; sorrows is
What causes the
Heart to bleed.
If elergy is to be
Sung on sorrows mat,
Then it need not
Be for human death
Alone.
On the day when
Ecstatic moan
Escapes the cracks
And hinges gaps
Of neighbours’ door,
Phone calls generate
Laughters on the faces
Of lovers,
Love lost its life
In the hearts of hosts.
Though not human
Bereaved,
But death is death
For it once lived.
Love immortality
Is human gullibility
For it dies
Even as the celebrant
Every February 14th.
Aug 19, 2011
Aug 19, 2011 at 6:02 AM UTC
My people!
A wind got into my ears,
I turned and discovered that it was a bird singing a morning song
The melody was beautiful but the lyrics literally were words of gossip
Paying closer attention out of curiosity I heard her say,
Years a ago today,
A maiden was sent down by Ɔbɔadeɛ (the creator) to this land;
The land of gold
Today,
She would be adorned in many colours of wishes from dawn;
A day of memory
On this,
I can not watch we the kinsmen and kinswomen miss
We must never be left out on this all important durbar,
The durbar of honour and merrymaking
So I say,
Join me in paying homage to the dark skinned maiden among the lots in our land
Let the few and the many words of love, sound on the fontomfrom to the lass
My self, I precede with the dancing steps of the lizard,
Nodding to the sounds produced by the drops of palmwine from the beards of the old men in the calash of theirs
Let men, women and children celebrate
Let's keep brightness on the cheeks of the celebrant
Bring out gifts let's present
Our fathers say,
The knee wears not the cap in the presence of the head
Till the sun goes back to rest,
Continuously we offer thanks to him who sits on high
The man who gave us this damsel full of value years ago today
To the maiden we say,
Enjoy your day
Let joy fill you full
In strength we pray to see you in yet another year
Aug 20, 2020
Aug 20, 2020 at 4:22 PM UTC
We were in the cemetery
Afternoon of June 29
It was his birthday
Another birthday without the celebrant
Mother placed yellow candles over him
And sunflowers over the grass
His favorite color
40 years of life
8 years gone
Or 8 years in another world
If you believe in that stuff
I walked around
And saw others' resting grounds
Some dead before I was even born
Others dead at the prime of childhood
Simple tombstones, mausoleums, caskets
A burial was taking place on the other street
Mourners dressed in dark shades
A priest, the only one in white
I was wearing white
My mother was wearing violet
After the niceties and the prayers
We had a little picnic
Chicken Adobo
Mom tries her best
But can't replicate the flavour of his
I reminisce of my days of innocence
In the green gate of the school
When he picks me up
The gray sand of Baler
Where he grew up
The brown hills of bohol
My first plane ride
I was now 8 years in disbelief
8 years in trouble
8 years in agony
The salt of the meal moves me to tears
Imperfect replicas of perfect memories
But I can't let myself cry
I remembered suddenly the night before
In a quick glance
I thought I saw his face in the mirror
But it was just my tired face
I was listening to "Bato sa Buhangin" by Cinderella
On the drive home
I listened to the same song
It was his favourite
He could play the melody with a guitar
Something I've been practicing for a while now
But fail to do
At home
On the bed before I sleep
It finally erupts
And I say to myself
"Father, why did you leave us!"
Oct 2, 2021
Oct 2, 2021 at 12:11 AM UTC
sweet love
come
gentle love
we’ll stand before the altar
of flowers that bloom on the arms of trees
and with the fish in the embracing lake;
and moss and soft grass on the ground
and clouds kissed by the benign sun
we’ll have our hands tied with vines together
dearest love
with flowers in your hair
and for humor, grapes balanced
on my head;
and while squirrels watch from up the branches
we’ll have little girls dressed as Flora
and boys as trees
and the choir will sing songs of nature
and the birds will float lazy
and we’ll wait till the moon rises
and the celebrant will sing at our marriage
and we’ll walk into the water
and hug and kiss underwater
and come out to be dressed with
the ceremony of the light, myrrh and wine
and stay the night in a tent
guarded by guests who drink and celebrate all night
and it will be such love and life
sweet love
the conventional world will say,
oh let’s do our marriage again –
a marriage updated in these times
a marriage held in nature’s arms
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 4:10 AM UTC
Dawn at the Waffle House
The official Waffle House “Good morning!”
This morning is a barely audible solo
An exhausted night-shift-ending yawn-out
From a waitress who has served eight hours of hope
The morning cops, all uniformed and young
Pop in to caffeinate; an old man owns
His corner booth, still searching for the truth
And a signal among the fluorescents
*The celebrant elevates the coffee ***
And now the sun will rise, the night will pass
And all will celebrate this morning mass
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 5:44 PM UTC
Is this the end?
I know now that have nothing more to give or send.
My will seems that it will no longer bend.
Is this rainstorm finally done?
I think this is finally my turn for fun under the sun.
My hopes and dreams now broken,
awaiting to be redone.
Is this a new chance?
I hope I can keep on going in this never ending dance.
My sturdy mind is finally breaking it's stance.
Is this how I will be?
I don't know if I will ever be able to fully see.
My future is amidst a violent thundering sea.
Is this a chance for a new love?
I doubt it because of these thoughts from above.
My scars on my wrist in consequence of.
Is this my life?
I say thinking this as I reach for the knife.
My mind slowly being driven by truths and lies.
Is this my only question?
I wonder as I'm fueled by my depression.
My want to finally make this confession.
Is this my only fate ?
I only believe that I can sit and just wait.
My life is in a worsening state.
Is this what I need to do?
I am uncertain if this is how to start anew.
My uncertainty is something I need to plow through.
Is this counseling really working?
I have wishes that this is certain.
My new ways seem so supporting.
Is this what I want?
I have to try to be more celebrant.
My joys must act more so an antidepressant.
Is this right?
I cover my sorrows at the sight.
My friends try to act as some sort of light.
Is this the end?
I hope you will be my friend.
My heart doesn't want to just pretend.
So please...
Please be my friend...
I don't want to be alone as I finally comprehend...
All these questions that I always suspend....
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 12:48 PM UTC
Here is a secret,
To those who are close
and think that
they know me.
they don't.
It is a shade that they see
partial reflection
distorted version of me.
I am more than
you realize
and less then
you know,
cause when you are certain
I am certain your wrong
and when I am right
you say the words
I share don't belong.
Academic
intellect
artist of
endless depths,
passionate
and
depressed
by all of your
callousness
and lack of
curiosity.
I am luminescence
in the form of excellence
self-celebrant,
brilliant,
creative,
compassionate
and a consummate
gentleman,
mostly,
constantly learning,
growing,
and changing
with the integration
of next generation
information.
That is my secret
those who are close
and think they know me
don't really.
Mar 1, 2019
Mar 1, 2019 at 11:10 AM UTC
His worth endured a date.
At the corner of the wooden low
Sat He, the decider of the day.
Himself, the Life and the Sacrament
At a wedding, an honour to give.
Adjudged a woodman’s breed
Came down to the celebrant’s call.
Acts unknown in tunics white,
He was amidst the local stones;
Health and wealth within His bones.
“O dear! The wine is finished
And the convener mustn’t hear.
His heart would lose the merry,
And the bride may bridge a breath”,
…So said His mum divine.
“My time above is kept,
Why pull a string so tight?
That angels are now on heels
To do my bidding so.
…O woman! Though my mum”.
“Tip the pots to the top,
Dip from the stream at the spot.
Taste the cup from some
And send to the chief at the top
To taste the drip from the crock”.
“Aha! The cheat is caught
That kept the best till late.
For we now drunk with waste
Have laced our thirst with liqs.
So sad our craves in kicks”.
Now, chief, with all the guests
Hails the bride in love with the groom:
Tell them dance for all is good!
But they knew not how it worked,
Save the Mum and Son divine.
May 20, 2021
May 20, 2021 at 8:40 AM UTC
Your being is the endless sea,
And I a lone sailor;
In the lapping waves, in the stillness
Of the silver waters under the moonlight,
I ride on the tides.
I sail across you endlessly.
Your life is a celebration,
And I an unknown celebrant;
In the music of your voice,
In the lights of your eyes,
In the sway of your hair,
I am the dancing leaves in the
Winds of life.
I leap like vapors into the clouds
And fall back as rain.
Your steps are the changing seasons of my living.
--Uneb
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 1:17 AM UTC
Healing
the world needs more of,
the celebrant
undying love.
St. Catherine of Sienna
knew
what God would
tell me and you.
The blood of Christ
she longed to share
and the death
that could not
hold him there.
God's grace
and peace she
spread to those
any and all with
open souls.
A gentle, fervent
passionate calm,
applying heaven's
perpetual balm.
Her words, actions
and empathy
helped
pave the way
to eternity.
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 6:52 AM UTC
Come mid -winter
they will wait
wait to hear
this lease of life,
call, frost-lipped
on the shortest watch...
To crystallize
the pent unmowed
with isolated vocals,
I draw breath...
address
the talling Solstice
as some celebrant
of picturesque...
I shape the names
of absent faces
warm against
December sky
Nov 14, 2020
Nov 14, 2020 at 5:22 PM UTC