"deo" poems
The cold festive wind blew;
Laughters, hollers of "Merry Christmas!"
Came along with the breeze.
Children, with their little toy drums
Bang, bang, banging away;
Choruses of "Gloria In Excelsis Deo";
Pine trees, Snow flakes, deformed Snowmen;
Houses are lined with
Blink, blink, blinking
Colorful lights and wreaths;
Somwhere among them,
in some living room,
"All I Want For Christmas" is on loop;
Cookies are laid for Santa Claus;
Presents are stacked
Under the Christmas tree--
With garlands and *****
And--
The Christmas lights
In a room in the middle of a second storey house,
Were shining as brightly as they could,
Being wrapped around the neck
Of a teenager misunderstood,
Hanging lifeless on the ceiling
With a note pinned that read,
"Happy Christmas from the dead."
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 7:29 AM UTC
I stand before the sea
and it rolls and rolls in its green blood
saying, "Do not give up one god
for I have a handful."
The trade winds blew
in their twelve-fingered reversal
and I simply stood on the beach
while the ocean made a cross of salt
and hung up its drowned
and they cried Deo Deo.
The ocean offered them up in the vein of its might.
I wanted to share this
but I stood alone like a pink scarecrow.
The ocean steamed in and out,
the ocean gasped upon the shore
but I could not define her,
I could not name her mood, her locked-up faces.
Far off she rolled and rolled
like a woman in labor
and I thought of those who had crossed her,
in antiquity, in nautical trade, in slavery, in war.
I wondered how she had borne those bulwarks.
She should be entered skin to skin,
and put on like one's first or last cloth,
envered like kneeling your way into church,
descending into that ascension,
though she be slick as olive oil,
as she climbs each wave like an embezzler of white.
The big deep knows the law as it wears its gray hat,
though the ocean comes in its destiny,
with its one hundred lips,
and in moonlight she comes in her ******
flashing ******* made of milk-water,
flashing buttocks made of unkillable lust,
and at night when you enter her
you shine like a neon soprano.
I am that clumsy human
on the shore
loving you, coming, coming,
going,
and wish to put my thumb on you
like The Song of Solomon.
2k
Many a flower hath perfume for its dower,
And many a bird a song,
And harmless lambs milkwhite beside their dams
Frolic along,--
Perfume and song and whiteness offering praise
In humble, peaceful ways.
Man's high degree hath will and memory,
Affection and desire;
By loftier ways he mounts of prayer and praise,
Fire unto fire,
Deep unto deep responsive, height to height,
Until he walk in white.
1.6k
*Beethoven once said of the cantor of Leipzig
“Not a stream but an ocean.”*
Sebastian Bach wove sonic tapestries
and scoffed at notions of genius
“Anyone who pays the price can do it.”
Whether for Sunday’s choir or *****
or for a palace fete of state,
The fountains of his bounteous spring
embellished every age and station.
Yet he could crack a joke or two
in a cantata to coffee’s pleasures -
sipping from a sturdy cup
of nature's matchless brew.
Flutists, fiddlers, singers, organists,
children and masters alike,
have netted hearty sustenance
from the seas of his boundless vision.
But modesty forbade him boast
the importance of his station -
affixing to his noblest works,
a trio of humblest words,
“Soli Deo Gloria.”
December, 2007
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 3:40 PM UTC
Depression, concussion, vague delusions.
Visions, combustion, surreal illusions.
Confusion, confinement, clear conclusions.
Depression, demoralization, epitome of exclusion.
Twirls and Whirls, Headaches and Heartaches.
(in between) B a l a n c e and D i s o r i en tat i o n ;
Insomnia, phantasmagoria, and distinct pseudomania.
Sought and fought, dear “Soli Deo Gloria”.
Salvation, Submission, concrete Sanctification.
Then Forsaken, but now Forgiven.
Religion, Redemption and now: Relation.
To testify, evangelize and to show His glorification.
May 7, 2012
May 7, 2012 at 3:03 PM UTC
I live for two hours, five hours, bite to bleed.
A cryogenic coma until we begin.
Arguing in vain with the town around me,
over nothing able to be justified, and he and I don't care;
reveling in the confusion of the tri-city area—
drowning our egos and taking our time
until we truce with razor smiles; shift
to removing tongues with pliers in our words.
(living amputation and too much diet coke)
Shouted disclaimers spread to the rest of the state,
in case they never wondered how it feels
to watch a living heart exposed.
He gleamed gold with self-confidence as he cracked his knuckles.
"I'd like someone to hit me, y'know?"
Next to him, Tallahassee rolls her eyes, Tampa looks away.
(I catch his stare. Deo gratias. Deo gratias. Father, Son, and Violent Thoughts.)
Thank God, I whisper, and I am yelling.
He is split from throat to hip and I drain his open truth.
Speaker static shifts the room,
podium to floor.
This isn't over, he says, and we laugh
because nothing we ever say can be proven,
and we intend to prove it all.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 8:37 PM UTC
"Grieve while you can"
"Why."
Don't speak in silhouettes
"Why him and not me?"
Vermouth signature in september
"I don't understand what that means."
Moon asleep while on fire
"That still doesn't make any sense."
Sometimes the beautiful things don't have to
"And what beautiful thing did he do to you?"
Kissed the silver right out of me
"How..."
**a little like all at once
all over the world**
*"Tell me how I ****** up"*
"How could you?"
You mean how could my poetry
"How could you ******* hurt me this way?"
Art is a twisted, underestimated thing
"And love?"
Like a child's coin toss
"You can't compare love to that."
Love is a two faced child that feeds people to the war
"What war?"
Our own
"Dismantle me because you're chasing something you can't have"
"What's heads stand for?"
Carpe diem, Carpe noctem
"And tails?"
Soli deo gloria
"I'm so confused..."
And now you understand
"Understand what, your confusing definition of love?"
Felix culpa
Ask god how this could happen
"I watched you distance yourself from me."
Distance gives birth to gardens
"You've created a ******* forest at this point"
Housing the tree of knowledge
"What are you saying?"
Snake in god's flower crown
"..."
Sin of fruit and temptation
"So this is about Adam and Eve?"
Not quite
"Then what?"
Eden grew between us
"Hate him so it makes it easier"
"He'll be the one that defiles you."
The shattering of soft water
"But you are the moon."
Precisely
"Then who are you shattering?"
The snake
"What snake?"
I will not eat fruit that is ripe of jealousy
"I wanted you."
And I wanted more.
...
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 6:48 PM UTC
her tongue rattles a smoky gauze
wet lipped licks a velvet *****
holding her slavering heart
tin tin deo
while she finger painted her inside
thighs honey glazed red
hot as a fever
her mouth pours out of itself
a flagellating tongue fluent
*** blizzard
tin tin deo
dumb founded happy cross-eyed
her head like a carved moon
swaying asylums of shrieking beds
curved slick as a honeymoon ****
tin tin deo
a storm of purple
blowing wind of violets
from her warm kiln belly
zodiac ancient **********
ravishing flame
ruler of ever dreams
tin tin deo
Jul 7, 2019
Jul 7, 2019 at 1:59 PM UTC
a thousand eyes follow you from newly waxed floors
and trail after me with form-filled labels, white on gold
take as needed; do not operate machinery; relax.
the shadows follow our steps, ***** and blood next to God’s poster love.
pin it to the bathroom wall: peccavi, peccavi
two years, fifteen minutes, miles of scars.
we sleep through the days, and whisper
of nights before the hurricane
("what happened to those two?")
("Deus misereatur, the storm took them.")
I daydream of sinking my teeth into the flesh of redemption,
to rip muscle from immaculate bone.
can we not move on?
copper denial drips from our jaws.
and Deo gratias, they say, you survived.
limbless and naked on tiled floors.
Deo gratias et Deus mortuus est.
survival is in our veins.
I watch you waiting in LCD purgatory
as you see my fingers bleed into the vinyl shielded couches of the 12am ER
perception through observation — I let you reveal who I am.
what am I feeling? how do I act?
breathing through each other with liquor in our lungs.
I know how the bile tastes in your throat,
and you know the burn of the whiskey on my tongue
why do we still reach for walls
where cicada-shell notices cling with scotch tape?
take a number and restore the riches;
leave the room and tear them down.
who but God can build over the ruins of fallen cities, fallen worlds?
and ora pro nobis, He is yet unwelcome here.
we are holy, in our own names we pray, and Hallelujah, we are saved
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 6:18 PM UTC
How can I
furnish trust when
your name is Apathy.
How can I
furnish love when
your name is Solitude.
How can I
furnish peace when
your name is Hunger.
How can I
furnish wisdom when
your name is Chaos.
Indeed, my prayers were answered.
Nov 13, 2011
Nov 13, 2011 at 3:59 AM UTC
El no
el no inóvulo
el no nonato
el noo
el no poslodocosmos de impuros ceros noes que noan noan noan
y nooan
y plurimono noan al morbo amorfo noo
no démono
no deo
sin son sin **** ni órbita
el yerto inóseo noo en unisolo amódulo
sin poros ya sin nódulo
ni yo ni fosa ni hoyo
el macro no ni polvo
el no más nada todo
el puro no
sin no
998
Heavens,
Star Shining,
Angels singing Hallelujah !
The Saviour has come!
Merry Christmas
To all!
RLB
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 4:02 AM UTC
*the alphabet is incorrect when nouns come to use,
why necessitate the ordeal of a, b c... x, y, z -
the first sequence an order of literacy,
the second sequence an order arithmetic -
the correct lineage of letters from henry ii
to richard the i, to king john was written
in the minor carta of (bytes): tetra-, petra-, exa-,
zetta-, and crucially yotta-; everywhere transgressions
of the original standard arrangement of
the first memory placebo you learn at school,
placebo memories out of schooling,
ineffective memorisation swayed by the self,
and soon that lost too; memories that shall please
the doctrines, where once we were coalminers
of our selves looking for that nugget of cold,
by being schooled to restrictions, we found only
many nuggets of coal, and as they say: the cold
grey en masse realism of being suited and booted
with the sole reward: procrastination and procreation.*
indeed quantify in the realm
of ∞ (infinity),
but then express a quality
of 1 (the union disregarding
obstructions of centimetre,
millimetre and nanometre,
or the excess of gigabytes)
avoiding the kantian symbolism
of 0 - negation - of any
number to your liking given
power over the base:
with the squared acidic or otherwise,
mitigating ∞ of the unfathomable,
to search for deo sapiens
is to search for yourself
when others defined you in
the narrated enclosure of **** sapiens
and the 20th century's failures:
it's the pedantry of unlearning
praying to something and simply
thinking about it: secular ****
and you the wriggling anaemic tadpole.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 8:15 AM UTC
In life she sowed God's Word with grace,
She sang, she taught, she cared, with smiling face;
Expressed with gifted hands her soul's great love,
As from her heart she shared a music born above.
In death she reaps a harvest gold,
And plays and sings a song of triumph, bold.
Then we note with hearts that pine and long,
Her name was praise, her life a song!
We face the night; she rises with the day,
We sing and play and send her on her way;
Secure and safe with the knowledge of Christ's hope,
She goes to God - Gloria In Excelsis Deo!
A tribute
to
Gloria Wilson Westmoreland
September 3, 1927 - March 7, 2003
©2003 Michael S. Davis
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 11:58 AM UTC
currents of light
in a sea of dark
distant light
near enough to touch
murmuring black night
lit by unnumbered candles
this nocturnal promenade
a symphony of crickets
the cry of the loon
accompany
this celestial ballet
onward spinning
drawing eyes heavenward
since spoken
into being
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 1:18 PM UTC
Forty white birds ask us to be over forty,
Thirty-three wide, 40 long...
More space to see the sky from the earth...
Live time we are alive hearing pass the time.
Forty spread God's word behind us,
And 33 distributed to our entire main front...
Forty long by 33 wide...
It is the crypt of our dreams waiting Reborn.
Tracks 40 and 33 also,
We are told flies through the world and exclaims before the creation
Your experiences,
However it is measurable only those who drag us,
In our range of life 40 x 33 ... we remain trapped and limited...
Jesus has its coordinated laptop,
We walk exponentially multiplying our life within the limits,
And their word will continue to walk with his Gospel, larger crypt which deserves a mortal on earth.
Jesumani and not Getsemani,
Crimping Christian temples...
Via Crucis Vialucis and No Viacrucis...
Generosity and no Privacy,
All the world's forests exceeding your shoulders,
It will be waiting for your return, you release your body breathe
And consecrate the spirit of all over 40 long and 33 wide.
Jesumani is more to think about to be reborn...
Is coming with handfuls of experience back the changes gives us eternity...
Life is eternal,
Eternal is dreaming,
Eternal is glistening,
Eternal is eternal,
Eternal life is hyper,
Hyper dream,
Hyper heal,
Hyper revive,
Hyper resurrect...
Hyper the gentle voice of a child,
Hyper the voice of one or more,
Hyper oxidant and execration Dream,
Forty enough the magnitude of our crypt in Heaven,
So as being take a path,
So I'll get my hands icy missing 33 to gather the meditations I dare tell me, something lost in life not knowing what else I have to live and let me do it.
Thunderclap and thunders and lightning sound come,
Big thing altogether deafening even today not having ears...
As I said, every Easter to come hear me the white birds and I sing psalms growth of my crypt, my great all inclusive resort for all to visit me in my large crypt, in my renovated say ...
Declaim to stand without getting tired, just hearing 40 and 33.
Easter, World Holy, Holy Word ...holy Eternity...
Jose Luis, Easter 2018.
Majoris Hebdomadae Mundus Deo
Apr 3, 2018
Apr 3, 2018 at 12:53 PM UTC
March 2008
I found my legs shaking
trembling before my schoolmates
somewhere
I hid it under the table, under the first
bottle of Generoso, yes, so local you puke with hate
There with me is the formidable lesbian
I fell so badly in love with back then
at first I knew coming along was a bad idea
but let me tell you, first times are as fickle
as those ******* your **** got used to
and yeah, the first drink of the grape
straightened my frightened legs
gave me courage
but no, it’s not what you think it is
I snubbed her all the way
that is right
after she got a little bit tipsy in the middle
and told me how she’s gonna tell her
big brother that she’s gonna get herself
a boy friend
and more fellow schoolmates came
most of them look up to irrelevant
people like Tupac, Snoop and whoever
it is that can speak fast on drugs.
we reached the denouement
of the unplanned gathering
I wasn’t able to handle myself
for I was ******* everyone off.
three of them even tried to gang up on me
but the tides sided with me
as Deo who almost died last year
sent me home.
my father was so ******* furious
when he first saw, smelled and heard
his son drunk
it was a replica in progress.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 11:40 AM UTC
I am literally just skin and bones, and maybe just enough hope to get me home.
It’s like I bounce back and forth at every chance that I get,
between a brand new face of hope, mistake and regret.
But I’ll bet you’ll meet me somewhere in the middle. And I’ll hope it’s just enough to win me over.
And I’ll pray for peace in the night, knowing you’ll be here when this is all over.
I feel you in my bones when they’ve all drip dried,
and I see you glaring through my vision when the discouragement won’t seem to subside.
And I know you are watching every night that I cry; singing me to sleep in the midst of the night.
In the midst of all the lions, you rescue me out.
In the midst of all my worries, you scorn all the doubt.
In the midst of my failures, you blot them all out.
And the midst of all the thieves, you still called me out.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 10:18 AM UTC
konj
Konj!
Tako crn.
Kao nebo.
Miriše po malo funky.
Večna inspiracija
Za pesnika i bildera.
Konj.
Običan, ciganski ili
Plemenit
Kao Aleksandrov Bukefald
Kao Markov Šarac
Kao Veljkov Kušlja i
Tomov Jolly.
Obeležio veliki deo
Istorije ljudske,
Kao heroj ili kobasica, svejedno.
Vuk’o je topove
Vuk’o je plugove
Nalickane dame u kočijama
Mrcvaren bio po cirkusima.
Konj.
Jednom je čoveku odgrizao
Sve prste sem palca
I ovaj ga vezao
Uštrojio
I terao ga da gleda
Kako mu prži i jede
Muda.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC
*the cat
quite elegant with
tuxedo no tail
home alone..!
Dan went traveling
across the divide..
I served as
treat bearer with
anticipated arrival..
After dining on
flesh of the tuna
Deo in lengthy
hair care coiffure..
Interrupted only by
neighborhood noises
of night..
Imagining those
memories of fright
in this feline's
youthful stray life..
Eyes fearsome wide
Ears shifting alert..
But no harm
returning to now..
Tongue's last stroke
bath and bed
Monday is over...*
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 6:02 PM UTC
I am a woman
I am a woman
who loves women
who loves men
I hate that I get confused
I hate that I act differently
depending on whom I’m with.
My name is Mayara Deo
I have a shaved head
I wear man jeans
I spread when I sit
And I rather prefer to be called masculine
than feminine
Still
I love my female body
I feel **** in bikinis
I feel **** in boxers
But I feel observed
preyed on
& harassed in bikinis.
I am a woman
I do have a ******
Still
I hate being told that I am not a man.
I hate that I still confuse
my identity
my sexuality
my being
for the sake of society’s expectations of
of whom I should be.
I crush on guys
I crush on girls
I have loved a man
I have loved a woman
And if one day
I love a person
I hope to marry them.
I hate labels
**** stereotypes
And
I ******* hate that they’re ingrained.
I hate not being considered
stable
sure
a manly-woman
a womanly-man.
My name is Mayara Deo
I am a person
And I want a person
to fall in love with my mind.
I don’t care to bear children
I do want kids
I want to always have a career
I want to care for my home.
I want to be seen as an equal
I want to feel comfortable
wearing a suit on date
with a man.
I want to feel comfortable holding my girlfriend’s hand
For I want to feel valued
as myself.
**** all men
**** all women
who choose to not understand
why I feel so confused:
It’s because of you.
May 4, 2020
May 4, 2020 at 7:17 AM UTC
And the silence
of the abbey church
overwhelmed me
and that solitary monk
sitting in the choir stalls
alone in semi-dark praying,
Dei silentium coram Deo,
that time in the latrines
in the abbey
late evening
looking out a window
towards the harbour
with lights of ships
and houses and cafes
and me there solitary
looking homewards,
luminaria in mundo,
and Hugh talking about
someone walking past
his door noisily
in morning time
thinking it me
but I went
another way
and told him,
nella preghiera
tocchiamo Dio
the Italian monk
said to me
as we stood
in the cloister
before Vespers,
Dom Leo by the bell ropes
in the cloister
outside the refectory
saying farewell
then off to Rome
and shook hands,
and that French monk said
jamais perdu dans
l'amour de Dieu
and he was tall
and seemed in another world,
I felt the rough brickwork
as I walked past
the statue of the Madonna
my fingers sensed it
at the tips,
she had undressed
and said have me
before my husband comes
so I did,
możesz mieć mnie tutaj
that Polish girl said
*** she meant
but it was an old guy's
bedroom so I declined,
be ready to do battle
under the biddings
of holy obedience
Benedict said
(the saint),
a philosopher
who takes no part
in discussions
is like a boxer
who never goes
into the ring
said Gareth
quoting Wittgenstein,
in silentio et lumen
Dom Joe(dear Bunny) said
God is found
and we walked down
the path from
the shore to the cloister
beneath trees
and that silent
from the shore breeze.
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 1:53 AM UTC
Shepherds in haste are hurrying to Bethlehem
Their sandals on, their staffs in hand, their flocks alone
Shepherds what have you heard from the plains?
In the distant meadow fields-you haste to Jerusalem
Glo-ri-a, in Excelsis Deo! Glory be to God on High!
We have seen a bright star heading east
We are hurrying to where we saw the bright star
From mountains and moorlands far
We have heard whole heaven sing all this silent night:
Glo-ri-a, in Excelsis Deo! Glory be to God on High!
Shepherds what have you found in the east?
Now that you return to your fields jubilant
We have seen and adored the Holy Child
Now we return jubilant to our wild
Glo-ri-a, in Excelsis Deo! Glory be to God on High!
Magi, Wise men what have you seen?
You hurry east carrying gifts
Gold-Frankincense-Myrrh-Kingly have been
What a choice of symbolic gifts!
Glo-ri-a, in Excelsis Deo! Glory be to God on High!
We have heard the King of the Universe is born
One foretold longtime ago by your Prophets
We hurry to Bethlehem with our gifts
To worship and adore him, this Holy Newborn
Glo-ri-a, in Excelsis Deo! Glory be to God on High!
Herod, what have you heard you look vicious?
Herod, what have you heard you look jealous?
The Magi are seen hurrying east carrying kingly gift
The Shepherd have passed here in haste to praise Christ
They say He is the said to come-King of the Universe
Glo-ri-a, in Excelsis Deo! Glory be to God on High!
Joseph what have you heard in a dream?
What has the angel said while in slumber you stream?
‘Rise, take the Holy Child and the ****** Mother
And to the Land of Egypt, there take refuge
Until such a time dies, he who seek him to damage
Glo-ri-a, in Excelsis Deo! Glory be to God on High!
© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 2:17 AM UTC