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Brent Kincaid Jul 2015
You quote from Leviticus
Call me an abomination
As you eat cheeseburgers
And claim a Christian nation.
You don’t ****** daughters
Who have had unmarried love
Yet, demonizing gay people
Fits you like an expensive glove.

You vilify your children daily
And quote the bible to boot,
While you work on the Sabbath
In your fine mixed-fabric suit.
You talk so glibly about us
Out of both sides of your mouth.
You are embarrassing examples
Of the sickness of the Old South.

You just ain’t right.
Your head’s on wrong.
Your hypocritical ravings
Are the cause of this song.
You’re a liar and a nut
And you’re halfway crazy.
We'd make laws against you
But we’re too **** lazy.

You wave your hands and pray
In public so you are well seen.
You copy your Christianity
From the latest People magazine.
Your idea of pious philosophy
Is way off the Christian track.
If I ever shake hands with you
I’ll count the fingers I get back.

You just ain’t right.
Your head’s on wrong.
Your hypocritical ravings
Are the cause of this song.
You’re a liar and a nut
And you’re halfway crazy.
We'd make laws against you
But we’re too **** lazy.
brooke Jul 2016
we're standing outside the grounds and
i notice how my forearms look remarkably
tan against the white bars, darker than the
loose wet sand out in the arena, a calf trots
by and darts off when a young boy flips a beer
cap at its head--

Ben looks out to the bleachers and goes so, I gotta ask
and I know what's comin' before it leaves his mouth,
know it's something about you, something that's probably
gonna sting a bit so I say, yeah? and I smile real nice like
I don't expect a bad thing--

and he peels a layer of skin from his knuckles and says that he went and asked Alan about me, about what kind of person I was--
that you up and told him I was real ****** churchy all full bore and what have you...so I go quiet and he looks over and gets this startled
expression, like I've gone pale. Which is funny, all things considered.
but he bumps my shoulder and says I won't bring it up again,
i just was curious


I shake my head because I know I'm good at hiding an
erratic heartbeat. I can see you leaned back somewhere with a
*** of copenhagen nestled into your front lip, real ****** churchy
comin' out of you sharp and smooth like a blade,
I imagine you might be hurt about it all,
what business have I got with a Rusher?
twice as crazy as you, probably.

I tell him I've got to go--gotta go because it's late,
because the rodeo is over, because pluto is 4.6 billion
miles from earth and I can feel its gravity--I gotta go.
While I'm driving home, I'm tapping out the syllables
and counting the letters, whisperin' real ******' churchy
to myself, incredulously, in agreement, partially because
I can't think of much else



I didn't expect that, really.
Not from you.
(c) Brooke Otto 2016



alrighty.
Dorothy A May 2016
They could practically be heard arguing throughout the whole diner, but they were oblivious to their small audience of onlookers in the heat of their conflict. Tori stood there with her hands on her hips as her husband, Hank, made himself clear that he was upset. He was sitting up at the counter on one of the barstools eating his chili. On the other side, Tori poured herself a much needed cup of coffee.

“You’re a waitress, not Mother Theresa! A mother with two hungry mouths!” he bellowed out to her. “That’s less money that goes into our pockets! What the hell were you thinking, Tor?”

“Was only helping a poor guy out!” she shot back. “He looked hungry and—big deal—so I bought him something to eat! So forget it, Hank, cuz I’m not sorry!” She remained defiant in her stance, unapologetic in her Good Samaritan role. Her boss never allowed her to give free food away, so the food was on her. It was a hot dog and fries, one time, some bacon and eggs, another.  She got the man bagels, donuts, toast, oatmeal—whatever she could supply with his usual cup of coffee he ordered. It was obvious from the word go that he had little in his pocket, and he could barely put a tip on the table—usually a nickel or a dime, sometimes a few pennies. He wore the same shabby tee shirt, flannel shirt and bummy jeans. And those pitiful shoes—with his dingy white socks poking through at the big toe of his right foot—that was pitiful.  So what if she had two young children? Nobody was going into the poor house because she bought a poor guy a few meals.

“Well, stop buying him food! No more!” Hank commanded. Tori gave him her best you’re not the boss of me look as he put his spoon down and walked over to the booth towhere the man with unkempt, silvery hair, and an untrimmed beard, sat.  That was his usual spot, and that was Tori’s booth to cover.  

The man just stared at him, not seemingly startled by the younger man who boldly confronted him. “Hey, look!” Hank said, lowly, yet sharply, “Straight up and no *******. Get a job. Get a life. Just quit taking advantage of my wife. Got it?”

It didn’t seem like the intimidation was working. The man just stared at Hank, his deep, soulful, brown eyes could penetrate right through him, and Hank wanted to shift his gaze away. He didn’t though, for that wouldn’t have given him the menacing upper hand. “Well!” he demanded, fidgety and frustrated, “What’s your problem?” The response was simply the same silent stare and Hank blurted out through clenched teeth, “Don’t take nothing no more from my wife!”

Unexpectedly, the man placed his hand upon Hank’s and said, “My son, don’t be angry. Sin no more. I give you my blessing, and go now in peace”. Hank quickly pulled his hand away, his face burning with embarrassment. A few guys at table nearby snickered at the sight of the pair.

“The guy’s nuts!” Hank got up and moved back to the counter. “What does he think? He’s Jesus or something?”

“Hank, quit stirring up drama or you gotta leave! You’re gonna drive out business!” Al chimed in. Al was in the kitchen helping the cooks in the back to get out orders. Now if anyone had a right to kick Hank out it was him. He owned the place.

Hank, still enraged, pointed his finger at Tory and promised, “We’ll talk later!” He quickly stormed out. Tory was not to be dictated to, feeling vindicated for her kind actions.

Well, everyone thought the man who tried to bless Hank was harmless, off kilter, maybe, but harmless. He didn’t seem to cause any trouble, and he minded his own business—only spoke until spoken to, and it was always with grace. Was there something special about him? It was only Tori and fellow waitress, Bonnie, who put more stock into this than anyone else would.

“And what if he is God?” Bonnie asked.

Al scoffed, trying to keep the conversation at a low minimum.  “You sound just as loony as he is”

“Well? And what if he was?” Tori backed up Bonnie. “Or maybe even an angel! You know they can come in many disguises! Maybe God is trying to test us to see if we really give a ****. Did you ever think of that?”

Al shook his head. He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. “Test us?” he asked back as if Tori had no sense at all. “You’ve watched too many TV shows!” He raised his hands up in a grand fashion of showmanship, knife in hand,” Or maybe I’m not the owner of Al’s Diner, but I’m really God myself”, he mocked.  “So, as God, my dear little children, I command you back to work! Come on, now! Chop, chop!” He started to shoo everyone away. “How you think we are going to feed the masses, huh? With loaves and fishes? Customers! Customers! Get those orders moving!”  

The smells and sizzling sound of hamburgers on the grill were enticing to the senses. Tori and Bonnie went back to busily retrieving orders, and Al went to chopping some tomatoes, but soon he was playfully tapped on the shoulder.  It was Amber, another waitress who never seemed privy to the conversation.  “You remember this song?” she asked him, singing the tune in an off-key way, “What if God was one of us, just a slob like one of us….”

“Just a stranger on a bus, trying to make his way home…” Tori sung along, cheerfully moving about, adding a pretty, more melodious tone to the song.  

“Exactly”, Bonnie exclaimed, enthusiastically. “Like God’s gone undercover!”

Al rolled his eyes, for he thought he made himself clear he was done with this talk. But he couldn’t help but get a kick out his quirky waitresses. “Sure I know that tune—a few decades back—blonde chick—what’s her name?” he asked, smirking.  

“Joan Osborne”, Bonnie proudly stated. “Cool song, too. Makes you think a bit…at least for me.”

“And so why not ask him who he is?” Joey asked. “He’s got a name.”

It was like everyone forgot Joey was in the room though he was busily busing tables and sweeping floors. Tory, Bonnie and Al stopped what they were doing and intently looked at the teen. He seemed to ask a sincere question.  Al burst out laughing. “Now someone’s talking sense, and chalk it up to the kid with good wits. Yeah, Joey, these ladies just want to exist in fantasy land. Go, Team Al!”

Joey shook his head and said, soberly, “Not taking anyone’s side. I just think he’s got a name and he’s got a story behind him…and it isn’t what you think, Tori…or even you, Al.”

Al waved his hand to dismiss the whole thing. “Yeah, his name is probably Ralph, or something. Even then, I bet Tory would believe he is the Almighty right there in the flesh!”

“I would!” Tory shot back. She looked at Joey and answered, “Maybe you do think I’m as bad as Al does, but you’re too polite to admit it…but…yeah…I did ask him his name.”

“And, so?” Al asked, pretending with wide eyes to be full wonder, like he was clinging to every word, anxiously. “What’s his name?”

He was simply finding humor at her expense, and Tori wished she never said a thing. She reluctantly replied, “I am what I am.”

What?” Bonnie asked. “What does that mean?”  

Al replied, “I am what I am! Well, that sure don’t mean Popeye, sweetie!” With a comical, gravelly voice, he did his best Popeye imitation, “I yam what I yam and that’s all I am!”, squinting up one of his eyes he teased Tori, “Got that Olive Oyl?”

Bonnie and Joey laughed along at the sight of him, and Al added, “Look! I may be practically an atheist, but I’m not ignorant to the bible. That’s just what God said to Moses when he asked the same question!”

Tory defended the poor man that she so proudly helped. “So what if he does think he is God? He’s not doing anyone any harm, is he?” Al completely ignored her, so Tory to turned to Joey, and asked again, “What harm is there in it?”

Joey slightly smiled at Tory, trying to remain respectful to her beliefs, and said, “Truth be told, I don’t know much about God. I’m not a churchy person. He pointed over at the poor man in the booth and said, “I just know if God existed, it’s not him.”
  
Tori was saddened by Joey’s words. It was not that because he didn’t believe her ideas were feasible—that maybe God was testing them—but that he didn’t even know if God existed. The youth nowadays—who did they have to look up to?  Who guided them? The internet? Their cell phones? So many people seemed to have walked away from their faith or had none at all. And Al reminded Tori so much of her own dad. She grew up in a home without religion. Her mom had a vague notion of God, but her dad was a huge skeptic that had the same mocking spirit that Al had. Neither her father or Al were bad guys, but there were no miracles in their worldview. There was nothing divine, and everything was so ordinary and practical.

But Tori always felt awestruck by the world, nature and the animals, a curious minded child. She was the one who had that childlike faith—even now as a grown woman—and she yearned to know God, personally, not just know about Him. She just had to believe that this world and the universe were not all just for nothing, not at all a happenstance, not a just a brief journey on this earth and then that was it. It was after searching and yearning that Tori went to her friend’s church, and soon became a Catholic. She might have been alone in her family in this endeavor, but it gave her life more meaning.

Tori would look at the figure of Jesus upon the crucifixion and oddly was comforted by the sight of him that might bring others revulsion or doubt—the nails piercing his hands and feet, the thorn of crowns, the blood, the tragic sight of his lifeless body so cruelly tacked up upon the cross.  She raised her own two children to know God, and Hank’s lukewarm feelings did not match hers. He wasn’t much help in that department at all. But she knew by looking through the bible that true life was about helping other people, that God loved the poor and the downcast. To find your life, you had to lose your life. To feel exalted, you had to humble yourself. To give your life, to save someone else’s—well, that was the greatest gift you could give. That means you gave it all.  She might not have been the smartest person in the world, but she didn’t need to be bible scholar to figure such things out.  

Well, it would be a while before Tori would see her special customer again. But one day she ran back into the kitchen and told Al, excitedly, “His name is Bill!”

Al shot her a strange look, and then he got the connection. “Oh, so that’s God name?” he said jokingly.

Tori pulled him by the arm and took him out front, summoning Bonnie and Joey over, too. Bill was sitting in the same booth he often did, but there at the counter stool sat a petite, sixty-something-year-old woman whom everyone was about to meet. “Al, Bonnie, Joey, this is Bill’s sister, Mary”, Tori introduced her. “She shared with me about Bill’s story, and I think you should know, too.”   She looked like Bill, but had black dyed hair and was better put together. There was a warm and gentle way about her that intrigued Tori. And she sat there to shield her brother by keeping him out of the conversation, for she didn't want to upset her brother by mentioning something that might cause him pain.

Actually, they all were intrigued by her story.  Mary had told them that Bill once had a family, a wife and two sons. He couldn’t keep a steady job, though, and he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and schizophrenia. His wife divorced him years ago and moved out of state with their two boys. His sons never tried to contact him, and he hasn’t seem ever since. For quite a while, Bill lived on his own, but he didn’t take good care of himself. He was living more poorly than ever—not eating right or caring for himself, erratically taking his medication, and so it wasn’t a surprise that he lived a deluded life. “He does strange stuff like that, think he is God”, Mary admitted to Tori. “He’s been made fun of a lot for acting that way, and it’s my job to watch over him and see that he is safe. So now I help take care of him, and he lives with me. Bill’s always been too proud to accept my help, but the doctor says being with me will help to give him a better life”. Mary was a widow, and she didn’t have much money herself, but she did what she could to protect her brother.  

Al looked embarrassed, knowing now the truth about Bill and realizing he was making fun when he should have known better. Mary gave Tori a huge hug. “And thank you”, she said to Tory, “for looking out for my brother, too.”  Everyone, even Al, was deeply touched by their embrace.  

“You know that Tori is a saint”, Bonnie bragged on her behalf to reiterate the same sentiment. “There should be more people like her.”

Tori remained humble and disagreed, “No, I’m just doing what we should all do in this world. If anything, it teaches me that we should all see God in every opportunity.”

Al whispered into Tori’s ear and told her, “You want to give him something to eat again, well now don't bother paying for it. It's on me”.  She smiled at him like was ready to give him a big hug, and he added, “Don’t think this makes me all buying all this God stuff—or anything”.

“And why not?” she asked.  

He replied with his own question, the ultimate question that people have been asking for ages. "Why would any god allow a man to suffer like that? Just look at him! How could that happen and you still think there is some guy in the sky that's all warm and fuzzy, like some invisible Teddy bear?"  

"Oh, you mean so how can God be loving, fair and merciful?", she snapped back, hurt that Al would make faith sound so childish and idiotic. Tori thought a moment, and simply replied, "I could ask the same question. Is life fair? Is it just wishful thinking? Actually, all my life I've wondered such things. The difference between us though is I don't know all the answer any better than you...but I still believe."

Al waved his hand away at her, "Whatever..."

"Wait!", Tori commanded him as he walked away. Al stopped and turned to face her like he was more than through with this conversation.  She said, "Maybe if us mere mortals did our job on earth of helping others, it would better a whole nother story. You'd probably have a different point of view, Al."

She didn't expect Al to have some bolt of enlightenment when it came to God, but before he went back to the kitchen he left her with words she wished he didn’t say. “All those people way back then…all those prophets and saints…supposing they were around today. You think they'd they stand up to today's world? I don't. Wouldn’t they on meds, too? I'd say we wouldn't see them any differently than we'd see Bill.”  Blindsided, she never did know how to follow up with all that. Al just knew how to rain on her nice parade.

Joey never said anything about that day, but when Bill came in again, Tori surely took special notice of them sitting together for a while. When she passed by the table, Joey was watching Bill walk around, and she quickly noticed the new black and green athletic shoes on his feet. Even on him, they looked sharp.

”They fit alright?”  Joey asked. Bill nodded, and shook the boy’s hand. He never said anything about it, but his silly, old grin—along with a few missing teeth—was priceless. He truly was happy to get those shoes. The old ones, with the hole in the toes, remained on the floor to be pitched out.  

Tori had to ask Joey, “You bought those for him? That’s so sweet of you!”

Joey smiled. “I just never could stand those beat up, old shoes”, he replied. “They are a good brand, but didn’t put me back that much. I’m not making a big deal about it, though. I’m not even going to tell anyone I did it. Only telling you, because you asked.”

“Makes you feel good, doesn’t it? Like it really makes a difference”.

“Yeah, it does. It’s like buying God a pair of shoes.”

Did he just say it was buying God a pair of shoes? How odd to hear that from Joey, but how that statement impacted her, and Tori would never forget that.  She gave Joey a peck on the cheek and a hug. He was like a little brother to him. She didn’t feel old enough to be a mother figure, but she felt some kind of sisterly feeling for him.

Joey went on to explain, “Yeah, I’ve been thinking a lot about Bill, lately. He lost his job, his family—he lost everything. No, he’s not God, but I was thinking…though I don’t know that much about religion or God, I thought that if you do
It may be Sunday out there,
but in here it's ninety seventy-four, in here behind the bedroom door where the lights burn bright like that disco ball that blew our minds last night.
it's a noughts and crosses kind of a day, we make our marks and gurgle away and marks is what we are, cosmic stains on the universe, washed by the winds of countless stars, strands upon strands where each moment stands alone, a space of our own in a place full of plenty, but it's 'seventy-four behind the bedroom door and I don't care because she's so much more than the wandering rings that sing to themselves, in the galaxy we are pixies and elves and someone else is stacking our shelves, we play party games and if we are cosmic stains, so what,
what we are is what we've got and that's 'seventy-four behind the bedroom door.

In time, if there is an in, we shall strip off the moonbeams that dance on our skin and begin, to gurgle again, to take one more spin, to ride some and more behind the door back in 'seventy-four.

It may be Sunday out there, churchy hats and churchy hair, but where the lights burn bright behind the bedroom door it will always be nineteen seventy-four.
Terry Collett Jun 2013
Benedict sat in a pew
of the old church
while Jane arranged flowers
up at the altar end
with an older woman.

The church smelt of flowers
and damp and age.
Sunlight poured through
the coloured glass windows.

He sat and watched Jane
sort the vase, her fingers nimble,
her body slim, reaching up
to the take down vases,
the sunlight catching
her movements.

Jane’s mother had told him
she was in the church
when he called
at the vicarage.
She won’t be long,
her mother had said.

He sniffed the air.
It had a churchy smell.
She arranged flowers with care,
her fingers patting into place,
her arms in constant motion.

The other woman
having completed her tasks
left the church.
Jane came and sat beside him.
Looks good doesn’t it, she said.
Yes it does, he said.

She smelt of fresh apples,
he thought of orchards,
sunlight, warm days.
She leaned in and kissed his cheek,
her lips moist, warm.
He put his hand on her thigh,
sensed the pulse of her.

Let’s go out in the daylight, she said.
They walked out of the church
and along the path to the lane
hand in hand.
I’ve just go to go home
for a minute for something,
she said and he followed her
to the vicarage
and waited outside.

After a few minutes she was out
and they walked along the lane.
The hedgerows were brimming with birds,
their songs and chatter filled the air.

It was never like this in London,
he said. Never this freshness,
never nature so near and alive.
I’ve only known this, she said,
this countryside, the small local town,
the cows and fields, the open sky.

Must seem odd to you the contrast.
He looked at her; her hair dark
and free from constraints,
her eyes dark, catching sunlight.

Yes, it is, he said, like escaping Hell
and finding paradise. She smiled.
With or without me? she said.
You’re the icing on the cake,
the angel that makes
it all seem worthwhile. She laughed.
You have such a way with words.

They passed the water tower;
cows mooed in a nearby field.
She put her arm around his waist
and kissed his neck. They stopped
in the lane. Momentarily it seemed
as if the birds had ceased to sing
or chatter; as if the sky had exploded
with colour. He kissed her and held her.

Their 13 year old lips met.
This was paradise, he thought,
nothing else could matter.
There were of course the bells
tuned to the key
of
G.
I heard but could not see the sound
all around me,
could not see  that which bit me,
just heard the chimes like words once read
reverberating
and my head
aches.
Terry Collett May 2015
The bikes were parked outside the small church by a hedge where cows were mooing on the other side black and white cows mooing loudly it was warm the sun was almost over head the church silent other than the mooing cows and the occasional birdsong from hedgerows surrounding the church and churchyard where there were gravestones some quite old some more recent with flowers in vases or pots inside the church sat Lizbeth her red hair let loose over her shoulders dressed in her favourite black dress which was too short-her mother said although Lizbeth liked it so- and white ankle socks and black shoes slightly duffed she sat gazing at the altar end where coloured glass windows let in narrow shards of sunlight that settled on the small altar and the flagstones on the floor next to her sat the boy Benedict who looked at the church roof thinking of the girl wondering if it had been wise to come here again with her after the last time when she had proposed they have *** on one of the pews which they didnt of course as he had rejected such a thing it being a church and all but he had come after she said she wouldnt suggest such a thing again not in the church anyway the roof looked old he thought but it didnt seem to leak and that was good being such a small church and it seemed people seldom came except on the odd Sundays when a parson could be found he sensed her beside him her elbow touched his her thigh pressed against his he knew she pressed it so because he felt her move closer to him in the pew knees touched also it felt as if she was pressing more he couldnt decide for sure but it seemed so if she was going to try it on again he would get up and leave but she seemed content just to sit there and gaze at the altar end at the sunlight coming through the coloured glass windows at the brass crucifix on the altar table where a Christ was welded to the brass cross he sniffed the air surreptitiously her perfume was there strong powerful-she must have bathed in it to get it so strong- the churchy smell dead flowers old stone he closed his eyes briefly wanting to strengthen his senses other than sight other than the visual the sounds hearing sounds birdsong from outside she shifting beside him on the seat of the pew her foot tapping gently on the wooden praying form her hands tapping on the top of the pew smelt her more strongly he decided it was too strong too seductive and that was unsettled him that smell that deliberate soaking herself in such perfume she watched the sunlight shards of it with dust and such floating in the light like small planets in a vast universe of light she knew he was unsettled beside her he seemed rather stiff uneasy as if he feared she was about to pounce upon him and have her wicked way with him undressed him and then both naked **** for all they were worth but she knew she wouldnt get as far as undoing his top button of the shirt he was wearing no more likely than unbutton his jeans and look for his ***** and pull it out with her fingers like a bird with a worm in its beak she sat and stared at the sunlight feeling him beside her his thigh next to hers warm feeling him there stirring her but she had to control the urge fight back the temptation to grab him and kiss him and no no she had to do as she promised and settle for just being there beside him she hoped he could smell the perfume she wore-her mothers half a bottle it seemed splashed over her naked body that morning in the bathroom-you stink to high heaven her mother had said that morning at breakfast and its my perfume youve soaked in no need for so much you smell like a brothel her mother said but whether that was a good thing or not Lizbeth didnt know not knowing what a brothel smelt like anyway or caring for that matter who are you seeing? Her mother asked a boy Lizbeth replied what boy? Lizbeth said just a boy and said no more much to her mothers dissatisfaction and annoyance making her mother more depressed and anxious than normal Benedict looked sideways at her taking in her hair red and loose her freckled skin her bright eyes she looked around at him leaving the altar and crucifix sight alone quiet here she said he nodded I wonder how many people come here on a Sunday she said wanting to hear his voice she didnt care a fig how many dull people came to the church but his voice just the sound of it not many I guess he said more people buried outside than in here she said smiling he liked her smile but it also unsettled him made him feel things he didnt want to feel guess so he said she eyed him he seemed unsure of her maybe he felt unsure of her and himself of what his body might act if it acted at all shed put the short black dress it showed more leg revealed her thighs and if she parted her thighs just so it gave the impression of darker places just about concealed nothing would come of today visit she knew no *** would result no big kissing session much as she wanted it shed be lucky if anything came of it but she needed to keep in touch with him have him not far from her despite the ****** Queen Jane warning her off in that gentle manner at school she sighed he looked at her his hands tucked in his lap her hands wanted to do something wanted to touch him to feel him and deep down some part of her wanted him all wanted him inside her she dreamed of such in her nightly sleep some nights it seemed so real that she leaked O God she thought-God just a word to her not a concept or a being as such- Ive written an essay on this church he said for R.E at school and got good marks for it he added she couldnt give a **** about that but she listened and smiled and said thats good and it must have been interesting she said sure she wouldnt want to read it even if she could he smiled his eyes hazel she thought settled  on her moved over her he settled back in the pew felt the wooden rail against his spine the seat was hard couldnt sit too long here he thought let alone have *** like she wanted that time before he couldnt imagine it in any way seemed too out on a limb and why did she want *** so much what was it about *** that caught her and drove her he wondered keeping his hands away from touching her in case she got the wrong impression she wanted to touch him place a hand on his squeeze his hand put his hand under her dress and let him feel her but no she darent yet not today she turned and faced the altar end again and knew she'd have to dream a dream of this day but have things differently him having her away away and away.
A BOY AND GIRL IN A CHURCH IN SUSSEX IN 1961
SELORM DEKU Jul 2015
She glories in how projected her butts are but forgets how minute her brain works.
The length of her fingers and nails gives her confidence but she doesn't see how short her life is.
She gallops from door to door wherever wealthy men dwell but never bothered to get the the key to the door leading to the life after here.
She pities the churchy lady for not catching fun, but deep down her, she has no joy herself.
The fragrance of her perfume still could not conceal the odour her character produces.
She is wise at getting all she can now but never thinks of securing the future after life here.
Her elegant physique and graceful skin is her choice asset.
Walking with straight neck and wobbling **** to lure her preys, she forgets the day she would need a walking stick.
She indeed is myopic in her thoughts.
She flouts the morals of her society just to please herself.
She constructs a world she can't sustain.
Like a missionary sepulchre, her outward beauty glows but within her are the wiles the wisest of men can't resist.
She trades her  beauty for pennies.
She's a *******!
SORRY FOR SOME OF THE WORDS USED HEREIN
Shadow Paradox Sep 2014
Ink wounds sketched on her wrist
Prophetess unfurled her diamond proboscis
Hungrily ******* the pollen muse from the lyrist flower
She bounces her piety on the edge of her eyelids

Her azoic eyes flashing
Like a chrome apochromatic
Phonetic voice spinning a tune
Stylus fingertips dancing on a spinel canvas
Outlined on her metal stomach

Though eccentric
She is sterilized with intelligence
Tilting diagonally on insanities thin line
She is straitlaced
Self absorbed
Cryogenic

With upside down crosses imprinted on her throat
While her proselytes unthread dreams
From her coliseum heart
Bowing down to the collage God
Sacrificing sacrifices

“Pull more, pull more!”
Proselytes cried
Sunbeams painting their ash faces
As they pulled more dreams
From between the Prophetess lashes

Her hips becoming a petal chakra
Her vertebrae evaporating into bone butterflies
Fragments of every churchy elements
Pinning themselves to her skin

Her leather wings flapping a nursery rhyme
She spins out of control
Her musical clavicles creating a glassy chemical

Which shimmer and shake
Tattooing her pearl bones
Infusing her thoughts

She grafts herself on the minds
Of her Proselytes

They worshipped her life
They worshipped her body
They fed on her lies

Until one day

Error religion snatched her out her skin
Turned her into sacral fiber
Planted her whispers deep in a field of shredded dreams
And stretched her moon soul
Across the sun stained sky

For all to see
Her star spangled faith
Misshapen into unbelief

She had become her own religion
Her own personal god
But without any meaning
Daisy C Jan 2016
I'm not a churchy girl.
I wish I could be.
Wake up every Sunday morning,
brush my hair get dressed,
and go to the house of god.
Maybe then he would be there
for me more.
But I believe,
worshipping god doesn't have to be
in a designated place at a designated time.
So no I won't be one of those preachers wife's.
But its fine by me,
because at the end of the day
god holds me in his arms
and walks me through the sand.
I am a child of God.
I believe he loves all and watches.
So mean what you say before you comment about
"Churchy people".
Chris Slade Mar 2021
Saying that final goodbye to a loved one,
it’s always been poignant and sad…
But recently it’s joined the online,
the surreal… the quite mad!
The scrolling photo’s on the crematorium wall
have always been more suited to the social media bag
than what, until the digital age,  had a more…
mediaeval...churchy, tag.
Cheers and farewell to Gran, Sis, Bro, Cuzz, Mum or Dad
can now be done without anything at all being said…
Or even, if you’re just a friend or a really distant relative,
long haul, away, abroad... or, just sitting up in bed!
Two funerals in a week... both online - initially bizarre - now assuming the norm!
Brother Jimmy Jan 2018
Avoiding magic,
Elf, and bowl...
Nothing’s tragic
If made whole

Avoidance carries
Heavy loads
The miracle tarries,
Mind implodes

But winged creatures
Want dire things
Say earnest preachers
Who pull off wings

Perhaps the church
Should be avoided
And left in a lurch
As Christ destroyed it

When he read
From the scroll
Turns of head
All eyes did roll

The spirit is upon me
I’ve been anointed
To set captives free
I’ve been appointed


And as he put the scroll away
He uttered aloud, almost in song:
“These words are fulfilled in me today”,
Infuriating the offended throng

Leaving chins
Upon the floor
Churchy grins
Appear no more

They move as one
To chase him off;
To Him, what fun,
The shout and scoff

He looked not proud
On the brow of the hill
Passed through crowd
All felt a chill

For this, perhaps
Is how He loved
The cards collapsed
And all were moved
ConnectHook Apr 2017
Career churchmen, paid to guide
lead new-found converts to abide
in dull consumeristic stupor,
promises of living water
vanishing like desert pools
and luring onwards thirsty fools
who glimpse oases, there to find
dry carcasses of humankind
evaporation, drought and death.
You think you found it? Save your breath.
The springs of life become a puddle
where theologies befuddle:
muddy, stagnant, barely damp
how different from St. Jacob’s camp
where heaven opened in a dream—
unlike this churchy marketing scheme.

Strike this cloud we labor under !
Let it pour. Let Luther thunder.
Where is Calvin’s sovereign grace
and where the omnipresent face
of Christ enthroned in holy splendor ?
When will our divine defender
clear the record, end confusion
bring to a final, just conclusion
Babel, His dismembered body—
(can I get a witness, anybody?)
NaPoWriMo #12

Spare me the free verse.
Try writing something rhythmic!
(Haiku overdose).
Alyssa Gregory Jan 2018
When she looks out on her life she crys about her choices...
What if she never gave a ******* to the player...
What if she never sent nudes to the good churchy boy...
What if she never watched **** ever?
What if she never was born?
She looks out into the night pondering her choices in life... She would never have thought her life would be so professional to not choose those ****** choices. She looks at her friends while they are innocent she knows she does not want to taint their souls or look out on life so she hides her pain and talks about her ****** up family and becomes more and more depressed...
this one is from the soul sometimes I think like this
Onoma Jul 24
leaning towards those in your elephantine ears,
fast with reerecting churchy whispers--have
monumental opinions of you.
while you're used at ease, in adjustably particular
ways--nodding with pathetic gratitude.
your sister's ***** slip that night, in regard to a
pinnable justice on your cold ***--goes around in
sisterly unsaid.
what you desecrated with the dead weight of
forward motion, isn't even aware of retrograde as
damnability.
a chartless pole leaves an elderly woman where
she lie, for good--as you sleepwalk away from her.
she's lonely because you probably won't make it there--
despite all the surrounding evidence.
Brother Jimmy Aug 2019
Avoiding magic,
Elf, and bowl...
Nothing’s tragic
If made whole

Avoidance carries
Heavy loads
Miracle tarries,
Mind implodes

But winged creatures
Want dire things
Say earnest preachers
Who pull off wings

Perhaps the church
Should be avoided
Left in a lurch
As Christ destroyed it

When he read
From the scroll
Turns of head
All eyes did roll

The spirit upon me
I’ve been anointed
To set captives free
I’ve been appointed


And as he put the scroll away
He uttered aloud, almost in song:
“These words are fulfilled in me today”,
Infuriating the offended throng

Leaving chins
Upon the floor
Churchy grins
Appear no more

They move as one
To chase him off;
To Him, what fun,
The shout and scoff

He looked not proud
On the brow of the hill
Passed through crowd
All felt a chill

For this, perhaps
Is how He loved
The cards collapsed
And all were moved
.



A repost of an earlier work
ConnectHook Apr 2022
Bark like a rooster, roar like a chicken
Fake those healings till we sicken;
Churchy frenzies, righteous quavers—
Charismaniacs and ravers.
Holy laughs from Howie Browne
Lame libations: drink it down
Until you sprawl on the temple floor
searching for God’s own unlocked door.

(Ntl. Poetry-writing Month 2022, prompt #2)
For some reason, HP will not let me post my NaPoWriMo prompt response #1, a prose-poem. I will try it here below:

The Ammo Asana

A twenty-something with a Well-behaved Women Rarely Make Herstory bumper sticker on her sky-blue Subaru guzzled a kombucha just before yoga class. The liquid still sloshing in her stomach, she assumed the Cow-cat asana fifteen minutes later. The red-bearded driver of a battered black Ford F-150 parked next to the yogini’s Subaru and headed toward the Freedom Guns and Ammo store, two doors down from the yoga studio. Upon turning off the Christian death-metal he had been listening to, he paused with his keys in his hand. From the cab of his truck he could hear her ginger-kelp kombucha sloshing. Beholding the alluring rear of her temple enclosed in paisley-printed spandex he was inspired to push open the door to the small studio and stick his head just inside the entrance. The effects of the two red cannabis oil chewies consumed the night before had yet to wear off. As the polished brass bells in the threshold tinkled, the sandalwood incense hit him. He fixed her in his bearded gaze from the army-green brim of his These Colors Don’t Run baseball cap.

"Baby, is that kombucha singing inside of you or am I asleep and having a *******?"

Looking up, she saw that he was rudely addressing herself and no one else among the five practitioners flexing on all fours. Her inner peace yielded to disgust as the prana ebbed.

"Excuse me but if you are talking to me, your patriarchal, misogynistic comment makes bigoted cisgender assumptions about my ****** identity", she replied.

"Hey honey, just tryin’ to be nice. Don’t blow a gasket now. I could hear you from my truck…"

Believe it or not, this is how my parents met.
They were married on Oahu seventeen years ago.
PROMPT 1:
Write your own prose poem that, whatever title you choose to give it, is a story about the body.
The poem should contain an encounter between two people, some spoken language, and at least one crisp visual image.
Grey Mar 2022
My grandmother died when I was 13, she was the only grandparent I knew the last one…
I remember at her funeral everyone was crying,
I hated myself for not being able to cry.
By then I was numb, I was a victim of child ****** abuse and I didn’t even know it but I felt every bit of that nothing if that makes sense.
I remember how my entire family looked at me like I was crazy for not crying, I was immediately judged as the official crazy one.
I remember while the churchy part of the service started I went outside to smoke a cigarette from the pack I stole from my uncle.
Any kid would’ve been terrified to be found with an actual lit cigarette at that age,
As I stated before I was numb I really didn’t care.
The following years until now, I am still numb.
Middle school was interesting,
I ended up enjoying ditching but I’d always ask my teacher for my homework anyway.
Even though I spent most of my time in the hills on the walking trails behind my school I still passed 8th grade with straight As and a 4.0 GPA.
I got bullied like any kid did, actually shoved in lockers, beat up in the bathroom by Mrs Gallegos’ history class.
Met some friends of course, by then I was good at playing happy.
High school was full of adventures,
I joined the JROTC & they recommended that I go to West Point,
I was athletic, captain of the raider team(that’s the JROTC physical fitness team) captain of the drill team and the color guard. I excelled there.
I was battalion commander by my sophomore year, in charge of the entire class for our Army Inspection where they came to see if we were in tip top shape,
That year we had the largest battalion in Bobcat history, and I was in charge.
My sophomore year ended and summer began,
That was the summer my mother wanted me to have a boyfriend so of course I wanted to gain her love & favor I dated one guy.
He ended up ****** me in the back of his best friends bronco at the county fair.
I turned 15 that cool summer…
15 & pregnant, I was terrified.
I never told anyone, I had to go back to school and I wanted to continue to be involved in JROTC.
So what did I do?
I punched myself in the stomach repeatedly , that wasn’t working so I ended picking a fight. (Yes I know what you’re thinking Why Didn’t You Just Get Help! At the time, I learned that I don’t get help because there’s nothing wrong with me at all or so my mother always told me. I had to figure it out on my own because of what people would think of me, yes definitely don’t ever do this because it was ******* stupid of me but I didn’t know any better)
I picked a fight and let myself get pulverized,
It worked.
I didn’t realize that the hell I would go through mentally physically emotionally after that miscarriage…
After that I was truly never the same.
Looking back now, that’s when it all really went downhill.
I shut down, everything didn’t matter.
But I had to play the part of being a happy kid so once again the mask.
Junior year I didn’t care for school so I never went, didn’t even care about JROTC anymore.
A girl came into my life, we dated.
We became the most popular couple in school, everyone knew who we were.
We ran smokers corner, bought a car and ditched with the money we made from selling cigarettes.
My mother found out I was dating a girl and dragged me out of the car slamming my head on the ground which led me to the hospital to get stitches for the **** on my head.
I moved in with my girlfriend at the time,
That was when the suicidal thoughts really started kicking in.
That was when I started pills, drinking & partying.
We broke up 2 weeks after I dropped out of high school because i found out she started cheating on me when I left.
I moved back with my parents and the physical violence never stopped because I was gay.
The suicide attempts, trips to the emergency room, rehab more suicide attempts and the glorious psych ward.
This was when I learned how to lie to get out of things.
I made even the therapists cops everyone believe the words I said.
Eventually I got away with a lot.
I just turned 17 when my dad slammed my head into the concrete floor of my house, my mother kicking me and my dad pinning me on the ground,
All because I came out of my room to get a water and apparently I rolled my eyes.
I remember tasting blood and looking out of my left eye was like looking out of a red window, I used all the strength I had left to get out of that pin.
I remember barricading my room with the dresser I had and calling the police.
My mother beat me to calling the police, she told them I was assaulting them,
But once Officer Largo arrived on the scene and saw no bruising or any sign of assault on them he asked me through the door, that was literally keeping me alive, come in my room if he could come in.
That’s when he took me into the bathroom,
I looked in the mirror and saw the reason why that look of horror was on his face.
My left eye was red, busted blood vessel, the blood running down from the left side of my head, busted lip that wouldn’t stop bleeding, broken nose. Bruised all over my arms.
He called for backup requesting a female cop,
Officer Benally saw the bruises on my back and and the scratches and bruises on my neck. The EMTS said I had 6 broken ribs, 3 of them never healed properly to this day.
I remember Officer Largo handcuffing my dad and my mom.
They were screaming in terror, truly acting like they didn’t do anything wrong.
I remember telling the cops over and over to let them go that I deserved this. It was my fault.
That was when I learned that I don’t have a say in my life.
I spent that week in the ICU.
No family came, my parents were in jail.
I didn’t have anyone, I sat in that cold room watching Reba on the tv eating my jello.
I snuck out of the hospital and ran,
It hurt like hell but I ran.
I hitchhiked home that was an hour drive away,
Broke into my own house found the keys to my car put clean clothes on.
Cleaned and waited.
They got home and acting like nothing happened only that they hated me.
I went to work like any other high school age kid
I was a little ****,
High or drunk all the time.
The rest is a blur until I got semi sober after getting my first DUI at the golden age of 17,
My mother continued hitting me throughout all this and I kept telling myself I deserved this.
I turned 18 and ran as many times as I could but always went back home.
The lesson I learned, I am nothing I am no one.
So **** it
jeffrey conyers Oct 2020
Radiating with joy.
Radiating with a smile.
Radiating with love that so many admire.
It's that Sunday feeling kicking within.

Thankful for your blessing.
Whether it grace or maybe just mercy.
Within this mood, you're willing to listen to someone being churchy.
It's that Sunday feeling kicking within creating this moment.

Although, you might have some regrets about this Monday's coming.
But for now, you simply enjoying this Sunday type feeling.

Enjoying love.
Enjoying peace.
Enjoying blessings.
Moments you'll forever cherish and treasure.
Ted Scheck Oct 16
World, emptied of
Love, Peace, Son, Sun;
I'm one of countless -
(Greek: MYRIAD)
Feet planted nearly infinitely
Deep in soil that was is
Has been Will be
Will have been
Polluted not by chemicals
But by the Enemy of Love:
INDIFFERENCE.

And, indifferently, so my time
Passed with God my own self,
God equals $$$
And I wasn't blessed with

God's Providence but, instead,
Thought "Lucky" and Lucky's
Twin, "Chance" or maybe
No sides of a non-existence
Idol masquerading as currency,
But is only a worthless, shiny
Coin
(Dream come true! I won the Lot-
[Lot, in this lot, turned and looked
At the return of ***** and
Gomorrah, and he is
ME.

One moment I'd flying high
With/Without Ozzy,
Sipping one of hundreds of
Very expensive and high
ABV beers in a rumpus room
That is only crap manufactured
To pretend NOT to be CRAP-

And some of my "more boring" and
"Churchy" and "Jesus Freaks" friends spouting
Nonsense about, without quotes the
Actual. End. Times.
Soon. Like, for real? Just around the...
And drunk as I am sipping something
Called "Snake Venom" and it could
Pass for the real thing, and, tongue
On fire and dazed, I see four of twenty
****** up by Light, becoming
Light and all the unmeasured
Joy of All Time is their
Expression, and, and...
Jesus is there, and the time
Wasted worshipping the
World has cost me my
World.

A Voice, calling to some, not
Every one - five words:
DO NOT TAKE THE MARK

— The End —