"congregations" poems
a dark place,
dingy and cobwebbed:
the forlorn basement
below an unfinished house;
there is no hope
of an HGTV house-flip
or a makeover
or the sort of boring/heartwarming story
where some nice white family
—or conveniently diverse—
sets up shop,
smash-cuts through a renovation
and gets their dream home.
no,
the house will remain gloomy,
this basement filled with emptiness;
no one desires
to come through the door,
no one except the tweakers
and the vagabonds
and the runaways,
the ****** and the pimps,
the celebrities and psychiatrists,
the demons and the ghosts,
the preachers and their seething
congregations of judgmental ******
that live across the street,
and the ***** teenagers
hunting for a place to try out ***
no cleaning crew
or maid service
or organize-your-life guru
or even the most experienced
of all the world’s janitors
could enter this house and clean it
or beautify this basement
or disenfranchise the squatters within;
the neighbors just try
and demolish it
every chance they get,
to rid their sparkling, spotless community
of this disgusting eyesore.
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 10:15 AM UTC
The exact day... He took a ride in that hearse
Down King st. And First
I was hurt
I tried to inflict that pain elsewhere
...
It didn't work
It made things worse
Made me know that I was gonna get put in the past tense
Makes a little sense why I don't have sense
I been tense every since then
But the things I do; don't invoke as amends
So am I hurt, or am I jus selfish?
I'm just lost
I'm just helpless
So I only do what I know
What I was taught
What they showed
Who is they?
Should I repeat something I learned from them?
I try to consider what I learned from him
But the words he spoke is not audible, to a mind that can't think logical
A heart that is sorrow
And a life that doesn't care about tomorrow
Is that even a life?
Well I'm alive
But I'm not ripe
I love to do what have been done to me
I don't like how slow she sings, but I help keep the record on repeat
Contribute to the hostility of the streets, which make each corner so bleak
Keep families weeping
Throwing away possessions
Cleaning
Sweeping
Bringing congregations together,
Tearing mutual amities apart
Not valuing life
Maybe I will when the light shines on me
Until then my path is dark
...
He's dead , how do I follow my heart?
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 1:24 AM UTC
silence
sweet silence
like none other
despite the library door
slamming everytime
someone leaves or arrives
it seems to slam louder
when they leave
i am not perturbed
or distracted, nor am i
expecting not to be
here, alone, surrounded by books,
i just am
lamenting this place not being
as busy
as it should be
who’s fault is that?
celebrating this place not being
as busy
as it should be
guilty as charged
all these faces i see
it’s like a small town here
sometimes abandoned
sometimes inhabited
once again,
i don’t care
how can i?
my head, full of
Aurelius and Bukowski
doesn’t have space to
well, deep down,
i guess i do care
but not as much as
i suppose society begs i
should
how can i?
i’m too busy figuring out
who i truly am
and the books help, Bukowski
was correct, these philosophers are
like brothers to me and i speculate
my deep “connection” to them
to men whom i never met
yet felt more fatherly care from
than my own
maybe that’s the root
sometimes, all this reading begs the question
do i like books
more than people?
or people more
than books?
i think i know the answer,
eureka!
i love books, and individuals alike
i don’t like people
especially when they group up
in congregations and crowds,
strangers in a
can of sardines
with no space to possibly
ever care
only to survive and barely breathe
or to escape such a reality
how could i?
when they don’t
even care for themselves
it’s disheartening, really
to witness such potential
in one soul
and watch it *******
melt away
around his or her friends
around their families’
incessant influence and needs
abusing providers
consumed by their personal troubles and struggles
and vices, infected by the amplification of
a hang out
girls night
boys night
the clubs, the bars
the gossips of nonsense and ****
that simply isn’t their business
sewage
their obvious and yet
radiantly painful,
like a sunburn that isn’t on you
but hurts to look at on someone else,
avoidance of themselves
begging the following:
could these souls spend
an hour, alone, with a book
and paper and pencil?
how could they?
they’d like to, i’m sure,
but hate themselves just enough
to not be able to.
-melancholicreator
Feb 27, 2024
Feb 27, 2024 at 4:30 PM UTC
Done Aug. 8. 1653. Terzetti.
Why do the Gentiles tumult, and the Nations
Muse a vain thing, the Kings of th’earth upstand
With power, and Princes in their Congregations
Lay deep their plots together through each Land,
Against the Lord and his Messiah dear.
Let us break off; say they, by strength of hand
Their bonds, and cast from us, no more to wear,
Their twisted cords: he who in Heaven doth dwell
Shall laugh, the Lord shall scoff them, then severe
Speak to them in his wrath, and in his fell
And fierce ire trouble them; but I saith hee
Anointed have my King (though ye rebell)
On Sion my holi’ hill. A firm decree
I will declare; the Lord to me hath say’d
Thou art my Son I have begotten thee
This day, ask of me, and the grant is made;
As thy possession I on thee bestow
Th’Heathen, and as thy conquest to be sway’d
Earths utmost bounds: them shalt thou bring full low
With Iron Sceptir bruis’d, and them disperse
Like to a potters vessel shiver’d so.
And now be wise at length ye Kings averse
Be taught ye Judges of the earth; with fear
Jehovah serve and let your joy converse
With trembling; Kiss the Son least he appear
In anger and ye perish in the way
If once his wrath take fire like fuel sere.
Happy all those who have in him their stay.
1.8k
I sat down in these fields of vanilla orchids, waiting for the sun to set, turning them to a shade of yellow
Among the shadows of their leaves, I saw your face along the congregations
I saw the radiant beauty of your smile in the colors, the exuberant joy in the dancing of the wind
Your presence was among the serenity, a guardian joy grasping my hand, as I reached to touch the clouds with my fingertips
Your canvas was among the docility of these orchids, how gorgeous and wonderful you are truly
A magnificent creature painted among these fields of vanilla, how sweet and illumnating you are in my soul
When I laid my head to the evening earth, you warmth lay as a blanket around me
I held in reaction, knowing you are love in my bones, and joy in my eyes
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 5:27 PM UTC
Saturday night I'm staying silent for men who think they're clever. Congregations of children with nothing better to do.
Echoes of our Hallmark love is now in transit with this big hero almost ending. The door slams and puts brakes on our Big Finish while each coin is reprimanded.
For every hour of school you miss a pizza's abandoned. Breaking waves on my shoulders, I never imagined you'd be the one to expire in my California.
Charlie waits for us in the airplane, while Thomas and Callan still chat. You purse your lip and bite on your fingers, but you don't realize that I remind you of guilt.
Anguish and islands, stars on the inside's of your eyelids.
And blood in your underwear.
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 9:42 PM UTC
1 Iron-bodied, you stand giant;
a thousand feet into the air, rigid
metal swaying in the wind.
2 Neck-breaking,
3 Sears Tower -- world-reflecting, glass-paned --
eclipses you, yet pales in your shadow.
4 Your ironwork: murky, camouflage brown
in the daylight, beautiful only by the twinkling dusk.
5 Prostrated, the multitudes hope to ascend,
flashes melding with the hourly light show --
6 Capture the splendor across the city!
7 L'Arc de Triomphe, Champs-Elysee, Notre Dame, ...
8 Euros squandered in trite gift shops,
9 -- Attention les pickpockets! --
10 Key chains, pens, 4 by 6 postcards...
Miss you loads. Wish you were here.
11 I climbed you. And now? 12 I watch
from Trocadero; fountains alive, illusions in place
but observed from afar, removed; 13 Apart
from the greedy, flocking masses.
14 One day, you will fall, and with you
the congregations that kneel before you
to wait in the line of impatient,
shoving, babbling, 15 Hallelujah tourists.
16 And when your feral echoes
fade to rubble on the crucified pelouse,
17 We at the grand marble square
will blink and miss it and wonder:
18 Were you ever there at all?
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 12:04 PM UTC
*Her brown eyes crept up to me.
Delicate and wide.
I could see the love of her mother,
And pride of her father.
A universe stretched out farther then the eye could see,
Filled with shining stars,
And faceless scars.
Her stare had an ingenious beauty.
Like a meadowless daisy.
Her glare had an artless grace,
Like colorless vase.
This glow was naive from the broken lives,
Wondering on this fallen world.
This credulous light,
Waiting to be ripped by jealousy.
I almost wanted to hold her there,
Away from the horrors in life.
Far from Apollyon's hands,
Like a guardian in the night.
Her innocents daring to walk on this thin rope,
Called hope.
Then, I saw with my waking eyes.
A white aisle covered by heavens flowers,
Congregations starring at her beautiful smile.
Oh, what a lovely mile.
For, there I knew
Her life was a magnificent design-
That wasn't mine.
I let her go into the hands of the divine,
Where she waits for her Valentine.
Oh, Lord I know you will hold her tight,
As she waits for her fearless knight.*
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 1:49 PM UTC
The spine
The antenna for the divine
A straight line
Define and refine the signals to and from the mind
Find the vibe that makes you come alive
Light the fire, the livewire, that you transmit ’til you expire
From root to crown
From up to down
This flow of energy
A life force
A coursing current
Sometimes a torrent
A constant stream that means so much
And it manifests through the sense of touch
Vibrations, reverberations
Localizing in our nervous congregations
Stemming from the spinal cord
These chakras strike a chord
Soul patches
Energy clusters that muster so much energy
And when in flow, they all shine with light
But when in doubt, tangled up
These tentacles of energy can glow too bright
When the flow’s not right
When the foe’s in sight
Fight or flight
In the world or in our mind
When we leave the flow behind
We weave a tangled thread
Which may focus in our head
Or our heart
In the root, the sacrum, the solar plexus
The throat, the crown, the third eye nexus
These energy centers out of whack when we aren’t centered
How do we get back from the twisted stream we’ve entered?
Remember
It is all sensation
Machinations in the mind cannot unwind
The neural fibers of our spine
A focal point for energy
A chakra
Resistance is a trap that keeps us coming back
Stuck in a whirlpool
That wants to flow free
But resistance blocks the stream
When there’s a disturbance in the force
Turmoil or avoidance that distorts
That chakra glows too bright
Instead of flow you start to fight
Your chest gets tight
Butterflies in the stomach
Something stuck in your throat
Remember
You can just float
You need no boat or moat or antidote
It’s all sensation, vibrations
Traveling up and down your spine
Manifesting in your mind
And in that flow there is a freedom
Sit up straight and breathe in deeper
Energy flowing freely
Resistance yields persistence
So give up the fight
Dissolve into light
Stop floundering in the whirlpool
You have found the portal
Let it **** you in
You’ll find an ocean deep within
Your mind will open
You can breathe the water
It was water all along
No longer drowning
You can just be
Resting in the deep
At peace with seven pieces of your body
Portals to the deep
Or whirlpools that will keep you stuck
You decide your own luck
Make them a locus of control
Let focus be your goal
Seven pieces finally whole
Dec 22, 2020
Dec 22, 2020 at 4:20 PM UTC
What putrefaction oozes up from hell
To poison aquifers of decency
And common sense? The crops of
reason smell And do not nourish the constituency.
What polar vortex drops from unknown heights To freeze the congregations of the heart?
The steeples topple, enmity ignites
And malice rips tranquility apart.
The times devolve. Security and peace, Once real estate on which a home could rise,
Shrugs off its immigrants, revokes its lease
And shows indifference to human cries.
A Lucifer of arrogant display
Has come to sweep benevolence away.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 4:46 PM UTC
*Devout monks hear call
Silent ring of sweet bluebells
Hummingbirds gather*
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 2:30 PM UTC
I have a dream
A dream where we’re not vilified or crucified
For what we see in another eyes
Or whose eyes we see,
Where we’re not castigated
Nor berated
For being fated a little differently
Why can’t they see
That she and she
Are no worse than You and me
Or he and he
I have a dream
That the persecution ends
That society comes to its senses
That the relentless
Withering glares
And indignant stares
Erode to a bigoted few
There’s no reason why you and you
Can’t love each other
Why a man can’t love another
I have a dream
Where a mom’s lips curl
Into a smile while she talks about
Her daughter and that nice Jewish girl
With those pretty lips
Whisper nothings to each other
While fingertips dance across fingertips
When a father can beam with pride
Even though his son will never take a bride
I have a dream
Like a modern day Doctor King
Even though I’m not gay
I have a dream and the dream starts today
I have a dream that congregations won’t pray
Coming to their senses
Homosexuality isn’t a sin
What’s wrong with her with her
And him with him?
I have a dream that rainbow banners
And prideful marches won’t even matter
I have a dream that things will be
As they should be
That love is boundless
That love is enough
I have a dream
Mar 7, 2010
Mar 7, 2010 at 9:35 AM UTC
I dreamed last night that I spoke with the Earth
And it said in my time of dying and in my fever dream
There were cyber punk priests and their god complexes
And congregations of honest men itching for trigger time
The carnivores from my childhood came with molten teeth
And my fever dream swept clean around the earth
Then she said I felt as you did often
Like a magnifying glass when the red ants took revenge
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 4:51 PM UTC
Pay checks and movie stubs
amongst reciepts and wrappers
buried beneath fields of dust bunnies
and clouds of unused smoke
is that all there is?
Graded approvals and first take judgements
within statement making garments
dependant upon conditions and factors
and one can't forget limits
is that all there is?
Genuinely fake smiles and unpiercing sharp eyes
around the time of no boundaries
next to missed alarm clock rings
and ever so important transit missions
is that all there is?
Talk back and rumor mills
spin webs of classes missing caste systems
yet gaining entry into future endeavours
so clever these days of ours
is that all there is?
Awkward congregations and a sense of forced happiness
paired with seemingly healthy attractions
combine to create an enviroment in which only the parasites can dwell
is that all there is?
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 11:10 PM UTC
clothes are uncomfortable
but so is the cold
whispering against my neck
goosebump constellations
gather in congregations
along the salt skin of your arms
and your mouth opens
but no words are spoken
instead a rotten tongue falls out
and you soak into my skin
like a warm milk bath
and you settle in my bones
like the age of a million years pass
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 5:25 AM UTC
quite frankly you've put me to shame -
and not for the reasons you think.
my beloveds:
it's your hatred.
i sat in on one of your congregations.
i heard the words you put in my mouth and i smiled, sadly,
at your empty trying.
i heard about that man who performed what you call miracles,
and i heard the words you put in his mouth and i laughed, genuinely,
at how much store you put in a little age-old gossip.
but then i heard the whisperings:
and i have to ask you.
all this behaving as if you know me,
and dancing around with me in your hearts,
and you think i care,
you think i care about those two women
who love each other?
those two men with their beautiful children?
those millions of others?
you think i didn't make them that way -
special,
free,
and just the same as you?
you think you earn my favor,
accusing and oppressing your brothers, your sisters?
you think i smile on your closed minds?
you bring shame on yourselves.
my ad-libbed wrath, i can laugh at that,
and that man from galilee,
i can smile at your childish clinging.
but i didn't make you with hatred.
i didn't make you to see differences as anything
but a celebration.
if someone had told me this is what would take shape,
in my name,
i would have pointed at you hateful few,
and i would have said,
god forbid
(and i do)
that you spread this poison.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 5:07 PM UTC
The world without you
would seem so bare.
Your quiet musings,
Tiny congregations.
Unnoticed,
Always present.
Like a gentle heartbeat
A fragile throb of life.
To and fro —
Beyond our mortal realm.
Secrets and wonder
In plain sight.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 10:36 AM UTC
There’s a sort of hectic language
Life’s inner city airs
The indigent grime, swearing
They do declare
As heated as Vegas summers
All ‘round the block
On the Chinatown Strip
Spring mountain valley view
The homeless congregations
Rolling their luggage
Like albatross droppings
Migratory fixtures
**** white on black walls
Black in white veins
Rolling luggage
Keeping precious metals
Coin collecting, jewelry
The bling and fake gold rings
Anything a ***** can trade
For foil wrappings
Thick with high grade
Napping in the inferno
Silver state of epidemic
Many rolling “carryon luggage”
Goes without saying
That sort of summertime language
Inner city airs
That begs
Help. To differ.
They do
Declare
It should mean war…
But, come again
welcome to our fabulous city!
Sin ain’t fair.
Love is lost here.
And still in herds, in droves
Conventions packed disinventing us
Folk.
Jun 3, 2019
Jun 3, 2019 at 12:33 PM UTC
You are the him that made me feel whole, made me feel broken, made me taste pure bliss and the metallic taste of blood in my mouth all at once. Who knew that a love like this could cause more than just blatant emotional disdain? Who knew that just three words could create a heavenly happiness and then, when two unexpected words join these congregations of letters, a dagger could so easily falls straight into your chest.
At first ' I ' staggers towards you, unsure of its place: it is but the acronym of your lover and your lonely fate. However, in a heart beat, 'don't' then follows: as if it were the lifting of a dagger soon to seal it all. 'Love' then comes next, piercing your soul and 'you' continues, making sure to break your heart. And after this stabbing, this shattering of passion, happiness and content, the word 'anymore' is cocked and shot straight through your head.
Just three small words, giving the meaning to most lives, when in addition to two, has the ability to twist the knife. Love is hard, love is pain, love is beautiful when you're the one to gain. But from what I've been showed and what I have felt: love is but only a word to cover the insecurities of the world.
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 8:42 AM UTC
We all have a different story.
White male, sophomore says
His father told him all **** should be shot on site
So these words continue to constrict his neck like a noose
Making it impossible for him to breathe
Giving him no room to live
Like the conversion camp he was sent to over and over again
It leaves cuts that have yet to turn into scars.
We all have a different story.
White female, junior tells
How the emails kept popping up on her screen
Like unwanted blemishes that she could scrape off
One by one.
Church members chastising her
Because their favorite boy
Had just been accused of thrusting the life out of her
She is covered in "are you sure you weren't asking for it?"
She's sure.
Blood on her hands that spells out the word ****
And she lathers her body
Drowns herself in it
Until an unassuming girl is able to be her life preserver
But they still have to pretend to be
"Just friends"
We all have a different story.
Me?
So used to hearing
"You can't love both."
So used to hearing
"You can't even love yourself."
Now I live in a world
Where man, woman, no gender can love me
Because I make myself too prickly to touch
Whenever someone comes too close
I turn into a cactus
Because how could anyone possibly love someone
Who has been taken advantage so many times
That she cannot find it in her heart
To make love to someone
She has *** with them
But there is no love
But there is no passion at all.
We all have a different story.
Being queer in an evangelical community
Is like being raw meat
In a dog house.
They can smell you from a mile away
Ready for the ****
Do not stab your knife into me
In the kindest way you can think of
By telling me
"I'll pray for you."
Do not pour your poison into my body
By saying
"God loves the sinner but hates the sin."
My existence is no accident
My queerness is not my choice
You wonder why so many
Lesbian gay bisexual transgender questioning youth
Abandon the church?
It is not because of God
It is because these congregations keep playing God
*This is the same **** story.*
Do you know how hard it is the find an accepting church community?
It is a suicide mission
As I walk into the congregation
Arms open, eyes closed
Waiting to be embraced
Or shot on site.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 7:41 PM UTC