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"disciples" poems
I saw the Maori Jesus Walking on Wellington Harbour. He wore blue dungarees, His beard and hair were long. His breath smelled of mussels and paraoa. When he smiled it looked like the dawn. When he broke wind the little fishes trembled. When he frowned the ground shook. When he laughed everybody got drunk. The Maori Jesus came on shore And picked out his twelve disciples. One cleaned toilets in the railway station; His hands were scrubbed red to get the **** out of the pores. One was a call-girl who turned it up for nothing. One was a housewife who had forgotten the Pill And stuck her TV set in the ******* can. One was a little office clerk Who'd tried to set fire to the Government Buldings. Yes, and there were several others; One was a sad old quean; One was an alcoholic priest Going slowly mad in a respectable parish. The Maori Jesus said, 'Man, From now on the sun will shine.' He did no miracles; He played the guitar sitting on the ground. The first day he was arrested For having no lawful means of support. The second day he was beaten up by the cops For telling a dee his house was not in order. The third day he was charged with being a Maori And given a month in Mt Crawford. The fourth day he was sent to Porirua For telling a ***** the sun would stop rising. The fifth day lasted seven years While he worked in the Asylum laundry Never out of the steam. The sixth day he told the head doctor, 'I am the Light in the Void; I am who I am.' The seventh day he was lobotomised; The brain of God was cut in half. On the eighth day the sun did not rise. It did not rise the day after. God was neither alive nor dead. The darkness of the Void, Mountainous, mile-deep, civilised darkness Sat on the earth from then till now.
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May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 7:53 AM UTC
The Maori Jesus - James K. Baxter
I saw the Maori Jesus Walking on Wellington Harbour. He wore blue dungarees, His beard and hair were long. His breath smelled of mussels and paraoa. When he smiled it looked like the dawn. When he broke wind the little fishes trembled. When he frowned the ground shook. When he laughed everybody got drunk. The Maori Jesus came on shore And picked out his twelve disciples. One cleaned toilets in the railway station; His hands were scrubbed red to get the **** out of the pores. One was a call-girl who turned it up for nothing. One was a housewife who had forgotten the Pill And stuck her TV set in the ******* can. One was a little office clerk Who'd tried to set fire to the Government Buldings. Yes, and there were several others; One was a sad old quean; One was an alcoholic priest Going slowly mad in a respectable parish. The Maori Jesus said, 'Man, From now on the sun will shine.' He did no miracles; He played the guitar sitting on the ground. The first day he was arrested For having no lawful means of support. The second day he was beaten up by the cops For telling a dee his house was not in order. The third day he was charged with being a Maori And given a month in Mt Crawford. The fourth day he was sent to Porirua For telling a ***** the sun would stop rising. The fifth day lasted seven years While he worked in the Asylum laundry Never out of the steam. The sixth day he told the head doctor, 'I am the Light in the Void; I am who I am.' The seventh day he was lobotomised; The brain of God was cut in half. On the eighth day the sun did not rise. It did not rise the day after. God was neither alive nor dead. The darkness of the Void, Mountainous, mile-deep, civilised darkness Sat on the earth from then till now.
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48
The King of Victory It was a Sunday not quite like any other. The time was near that Jesus would be handed over to the rulers of this world and be subject to them so that he might save many. On their way into the city of Jerusalem, Jesus sends two of his disciples ahead to bring him a donkey to ride in on and to say that the master has need of it. Jesus rides into the city on the back of a donkey and all around him celebrate and rejoice singing praise and giving glory. They lay their cloaks and palm branches which represent victory on the road ahead of Jesus for him to walk on. It truly is a joyous day in the city of David. No one there seems to have any idea that in one short week this parade of celebration would be no longer and many of these very same people would be parading him through these very same streets condemning him and calling for his death. Jesus your life came full circle. Before you came into this world you entered Bethlehem outside of Jerusalem riding on the back of a donkey in your mother’s womb. A week before your death you would humble yourself once more and come ride into Jerusalem on the back of a donkey. A humble beast of burden, an animal that carries a heavy load and serves. You bore the weight of the cross and the weight of all of our sins and you served us faithfully even when we were not faithful to you. We are so much like the crowds that gathered on Palm Sunday; rejoicing, singing your praise and giving you glory one moment and the next moment we are also the ones who are calling for your death, mocking you and jeering. Still, you look upon us with endless love and mercy. You forgive us, you redeem us, and you call us quietly to return to you once again. You would suffer and die so that on the third day, we might finally see that no power on earth or hell or anything above can separate us from your love, and showing us once and for all you are the King of Victory! AMEN!
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Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 9:07 AM UTC
The King of Victory Meditation
The King of Victory It was a Sunday not quite like any other. The time was near that Jesus would be handed over to the rulers of this world and be subject to them so that he might save many. On their way into the city of Jerusalem, Jesus sends two of his disciples ahead to bring him a donkey to ride in on and to say that the master has need of it. Jesus rides into the city on the back of a donkey and all around him celebrate and rejoice singing praise and giving glory. They lay their cloaks and palm branches which represent victory on the road ahead of Jesus for him to walk on. It truly is a joyous day in the city of David. No one there seems to have any idea that in one short week this parade of celebration would be no longer and many of these very same people would be parading him through these very same streets condemning him and calling for his death. Jesus your life came full circle. Before you came into this world you entered Bethlehem outside of Jerusalem riding on the back of a donkey in your mother’s womb. A week before your death you would humble yourself once more and come ride into Jerusalem on the back of a donkey. A humble beast of burden, an animal that carries a heavy load and serves. You bore the weight of the cross and the weight of all of our sins and you served us faithfully even when we were not faithful to you. We are so much like the crowds that gathered on Palm Sunday; rejoicing, singing your praise and giving you glory one moment and the next moment we are also the ones who are calling for your death, mocking you and jeering. Still, you look upon us with endless love and mercy. You forgive us, you redeem us, and you call us quietly to return to you once again. You would suffer and die so that on the third day, we might finally see that no power on earth or hell or anything above can separate us from your love, and showing us once and for all you are the King of Victory! AMEN!
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**†           †           †     A quorum of biblical scholars turned their doubts into thousands of dollars. Armed with Document Q they revealed nothing new but the dirt neath’ the white of their collars. A proud “health & wealth” Oklahoman was renowned as a gospel-tent showman. While the scriptures he twisted, their tithing assisted his rise from poor hick to rich Roman. A sexually diverse professor (assured he was not a transgressor) spoke only of openness glossing sin’s brokenness; rainbows and tolerance—yes sir. A Mormon, who lost his own ephod Realized he was running quite slipshod and invoked Joseph Smith. (Yes, it may be a myth— but it’s not like misplacing your I-pod…) A Christian whose faith was prophetic held to views that were truly pathetic. This crazed Pentecostal, not quite an apostle, had taken an End-Times emetic. A sober and staid Presbyterian was distrustful of thoughts millenarian. After smoking some bud, he awoke with a thud; in his sleep he’d become Rastafarian. A preacher who fleeced his disciples overdrew his own balance of scruples. He was finally captured (defrocked and un-raptured) and rent by his destitute pupils. A sister who waxed Pentecostal, mistook herself for an apostle. Speaking pure glossolalia she sure could regale ya’ with prophecy; crazy—but docile.
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Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 8:12 AM UTC
Christian Types in Limerick
"The Druids taught their disciples many things about nature and the perfections of God, and that, there was only one God, the Creator of heaven and earth. One name, under which they worshiped him, was Esus or Hesus (“He," in Celtic meaning, "Lord," ) or Harits which is their name for Horus..." ~Julius Caesar from [Signs and Symbols of Primordial Man, by Albert Churchward circa 1912] [Page 186] "He,"  -meaning, "Lord," and "Sus," being the most ancient Minoan form of, "Zeus," therefore, "Jesus," means in Celtic and Greek; "Lord Zeus." The word "Harits," being Sanskrit identical to, "Charits," and "Marits, Maruts," a mythical epithet for Aryas, or Aryans so the usage of it for his name means it represents him as being Aryan.   Jesus as an Aryan. *If You can prove it, prove it wrong, then do so here or do so in song. If you can also, do it in verse, then truly you'll deserve a purse. I do not believe there will ever be, on this point, ...a mortal man to challenge me!* Good Luck
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Dec 24, 2016
Dec 24, 2016 at 5:08 PM UTC
Caesar's Curious Quote;
Many are called to it- a craft, an art, a way of life, but very few are chosen by it. Should ye prove thyself worthy, it will take you into consideration: it's called a discipline for a reason. Get to know it. Suffer for it. Impress it. Loyal disciples tend to gain blessings.
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Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 3:57 AM UTC
Discipline
Religion is Recruiting for Customer Complaints. Where is my God, the disciples and all the absent saints? The time I have invested sitting in your church. This wasn't in your advert you've left me in the lurch. I'm asking for a refund, you've years to reimburse and then there is the funeral, the flowers and the hearse. I've sat on your pew, spent time praying to you and now that I'm dead, I'm unsure what to do. I should have known better, you never replied. Yet I kept the faith until the day that I died. Now I queue to complain, I must be fuckin' insane! because, well, you don't even exist! Poetry by Kaydee.
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Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 8:44 PM UTC
Religion is Recruiting for Customer Complaints
I need only to smirk and you’re mine Anytime If it’s god that you want I have dozens in mind Devilishly divine Bending time like a grandeur delusional Spine   In a mad hatter ectoplas-mystical slime A prismatic drug addict’s first nursery rhyme Of accursed hearse verses of graphic design Now to lay to rest intellect spectacles musing Of selves glorified more than those of my choosing To deify Destiny’s Deathly serenity Plentifully sending me vibrant surprises And penning my ending in violent demises Disguises surmised by the climate arises Girl always there riding my similar waves As I try to save face digging mechanized graves But the cloud tentacles To the depths Drag me down To demented ascension Black holes in the ground Where disciples of light And my huntress in white Vivify me by day Resurrect me at night To instruct and deduct Reasoning in a state Of a being supreme Contemplating its fate
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Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 4:52 PM UTC
The Sentience on Acid
From the moment I walked in, I felt the piercing eyes. Same eyes that nailed Jesus to the wooden cross. Jesus said, by this, all man will know you are my disciples, if you have love one to another. Pharisees, Pharisees, Pharisees. Oh, how the mighty have fallen into apostasy. Like the Nephilim which came & has yet to come again. Surely heading back to the beginning, the Days of Noah. The entire time I sat in those fold-up chairs, my heart couldn't stop racing. Perhaps it was the spirits aligning to seek whom they may devour. Heard many vain repetitions today, didn't Jesus say that's what heathens do? For they think that they will be heard for their many words. We all crucified the Lord Jesus Christ. We have all blasphemed. One perfect Godman died on our behalf, then rose 3 days later to break the curse. Sacrificial love. Let us not break bread & drink grape juice. Guess you never knew that's symbology for cannibalism. In which He never commanded us to do. Simply two commands were left. Love God with all your heart, with all your soul & with all your mind. Secondly, love your neighbor as you love yourself.
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Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 11:42 PM UTC
Dear Fellowship Bible Church,
Poets, the disciples of the modern world. Followers of the great Almighty Lord of alliteration and symbolism. Their eccentric natures make them the pariahs of this world. We cannot wrap our minds around the words they artfully speak, so we refuse to accept them. Their eyes burn like fire in their skulls as they stare you down from a podium. In their hands, they hold their own hearts which they have ripped out of their chests, holding them out as if asking for you to accept it from them, wanting you to understand what every beat means. Poets are misunderstood beings, tortured creatures, but they are far stronger than any others, because they have the gall to speak their minds unforgivingly, bare their most inner secrets and struggles to an audience of strangers. They are quick of tongue, speaking faster than one's ear can hear, but somehow they still manage to work themselves into your head with every word. They're parasites, infecting your mind and soul, tugging at you and driving themselves into your brain until their poems are all you think of. But they are not evil parasites. They hurt us and make us feel to save us.
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Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 11:49 PM UTC
Parasites
**IMMEDIATELY PLEASE REMOVE ALL OF MY INFORMATION FROM YOUR DATA BASE FORTHWITH.  ALSO, ADVISE ANY AND ALL CONTRACTORS, SUB-CONTRACTORS, AGENTS, SUB-AGENTS, AFFILIATES, PARTNERS, COLLEAGUES, ASSOCIATES, CLIENTS, WEBMASTERS, WEB BASED LINKS, WINKS, TWINKS, COLONEL CLINCKS, BOSSES, CO-WORKERS, EMPLOYEES, VENDORS, SUPPLIERS, SALESMEN, ASCCOUNT REPS/EXCS, ACCOUNTANTS, BROKERS, CO-BROKERS, HACKERS, SLACKERS, WHACKERS, JERKS, PIMPS, HOES, HOBOS, BUMS, DERELICTS, DEGENERATES, DOPERS, DEALERS, TWEEKERS, GAMBLERS, RAMBLERS, SOLICITORS, SIDEKICKS, COHORTS, WINGMEN, WHEELMEN, LOOKOUTS, OUTLAWS, IN-LAWS, RELATIVES, FIANCES, GIRLFRIENDS, BOYFRIENDS, FAMILY, FRIENDS, ENEMIES, EVIL NEMISIS', CANVASSERS, INQUIRERS, QUEERS, QUEENS, COWBOYS, KINGS, **** DRAGS, HAGS, HETEROS, HOMOS, TONY ROMOS, FEMALE IMPERSONATORS, (PRE OR POST) MALE IMPERSONATORS, ***** ***** VAN ***** **** VAN **** LESBIANS, LIARS, BUYERS, CRYERS, CIGAR SMOKERS, CARPET MUNCHERS, RUG RATS, TODDLERS, TEENAGERS, YOUNGSTERS, SENIORS, SUCKERS, TRUCKERS, MOTHER shut yer mouth, LAW MAKERS, LAWYERS, ATTORNEYS, JUDGES, POLITICIANS, PECKERWOODS, LEADERS, FOLLOWERS, DISCIPLES, PROPHETS, EVANGELISTS, SAVIORS, SINNERS, SAINTS, SOOTHSAYERS, MEDICINE MEN, GYPSYS, TRAMPS, AND THIEVES, WITCHES, WARLOCKS, VAMPIRES, LYCANS, ZOMBIES, WAR MONGERS, PROTESTERS, SOLIDERS, GENERALS, GOVERNORS, PRESIDENTS, PATRIOTS, PACKERS, LIONS, BEARS, BROWNS, BLACKHAWKS, REDWINGS, RIGHT WING, LIBERALS, OR LAW BIDING CITIZENS, THEY ARE NOT TO CONTACT ME AND LOOSE MY NUMBER. BUT IF YOU SEE MY MOM, TELL HER TO CALL ME. ........................................................................BA-ZING....................................................................**
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Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 9:47 AM UTC
SPAMMER SMACKDOWN
**IMMEDIATELY PLEASE REMOVE ALL OF MY INFORMATION FROM YOUR DATA BASE FORTHWITH.  ALSO, ADVISE ANY AND ALL CONTRACTORS, SUB-CONTRACTORS, AGENTS, SUB-AGENTS, AFFILIATES, PARTNERS, COLLEAGUES, ASSOCIATES, CLIENTS, WEBMASTERS, WEB BASED LINKS, WINKS, TWINKS, COLONEL CLINCKS, BOSSES, CO-WORKERS, EMPLOYEES, VENDORS, SUPPLIERS, SALESMEN, ASCCOUNT REPS/EXCS, ACCOUNTANTS, BROKERS, CO-BROKERS, HACKERS, SLACKERS, WHACKERS, JERKS, PIMPS, HOES, HOBOS, BUMS, DERELICTS, DEGENERATES, DOPERS, DEALERS, TWEEKERS, GAMBLERS, RAMBLERS, SOLICITORS, SIDEKICKS, COHORTS, WINGMEN, WHEELMEN, LOOKOUTS, OUTLAWS, IN-LAWS, RELATIVES, FIANCES, GIRLFRIENDS, BOYFRIENDS, FAMILY, FRIENDS, ENEMIES, EVIL NEMISIS', CANVASSERS, INQUIRERS, QUEERS, QUEENS, COWBOYS, KINGS, **** DRAGS, HAGS, HETEROS, HOMOS, TONY ROMOS, FEMALE IMPERSONATORS, (PRE OR POST) MALE IMPERSONATORS, ***** ***** VAN ***** **** VAN **** LESBIANS, LIARS, BUYERS, CRYERS, CIGAR SMOKERS, CARPET MUNCHERS, RUG RATS, TODDLERS, TEENAGERS, YOUNGSTERS, SENIORS, SUCKERS, TRUCKERS, MOTHER shut yer mouth, LAW MAKERS, LAWYERS, ATTORNEYS, JUDGES, POLITICIANS, PECKERWOODS, LEADERS, FOLLOWERS, DISCIPLES, PROPHETS, EVANGELISTS, SAVIORS, SINNERS, SAINTS, SOOTHSAYERS, MEDICINE MEN, GYPSYS, TRAMPS, AND THIEVES, WITCHES, WARLOCKS, VAMPIRES, LYCANS, ZOMBIES, WAR MONGERS, PROTESTERS, SOLIDERS, GENERALS, GOVERNORS, PRESIDENTS, PATRIOTS, PACKERS, LIONS, BEARS, BROWNS, BLACKHAWKS, REDWINGS, RIGHT WING, LIBERALS, OR LAW BIDING CITIZENS, THEY ARE NOT TO CONTACT ME AND LOOSE MY NUMBER. BUT IF YOU SEE MY MOM, TELL HER TO CALL ME. ........................................................................BA-ZING....................................................................**
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Oh Allah ! In this coming, spiritual month of Ramadan- I plead for forgiveness, I ask from you to cleanse our souls, Forgive us all, For we have sinned, We are frail by heart, We are liars and judgmental, Oh Allah ! My eyes shed tears for all of this human race, All those who have passed away, For people who are still here, And for those who have lost their strength, I pray for all these people, For their forgiveness, for their health, I ask for your help, Oh Allah ! To you we all shall return, We are your disciples Almighty Allah, And I ask from you to lead us to the right path, We are your creation, We have erred and ask for forgiveness, How guilty are we and how we've fallen in abyss, Please listen to our prayers and let us taste the essence of a heavenly afterlife.
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May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 10:21 AM UTC
Oh Allah !
**** men predatory *** hounds chasing skirts and tights aching **** idiots disciples of Eros Christs of fetish reconciling nothing veiling that principled demeanor of feminist culture "of don't objectify me".....translation sensual form is not natures ruse machine Eve must override override override well the id does not negotiate the superstructure of affected political tele-reality starring the liberal chattering class who speculate male motives to be some vainglorious power trip while corporatized media personalities feign out of control lust as a mental disorder and sit up like shuddering Pekingese yessing the lascivious as a fiction no ladies its not just power theories are not testosterone it is pure unadulterated relentless irreducible urge to merge like the beluga **** channel sea world as you've never seen it before where male dolphins batter and gang bang the weaker *** in search of feral harmony in an overbuilt society yet to become a civilization are we scissored between a wild ****** id of the damed and the Victorian sacred of the damed oh you silky damsels makin men moody and humid pure **** heroine a poison ivy of *** like a rash givin men folk the itch cant stop the twitch rubber ******* in a rubbing frenzy from your soaking heat and odor we are  a rumbling of muttering torments for the forbidden taste of you oooow oooow we are pan in a mad dance for glistening shanks and buttery kisses we are the early bird looking for the worm hunters decreed by the liturgy of heaven and hell a constellation of infatuation and lechery mad with adoration love slaves in a raging furnace of desire *** addicts that just say yes turgid dogs hole sniffers voluptuous monsters all johnny apple seed and sometimes your salvation as you are ours knowing that sometimes real eroticism eclipses morality and yes my darlings* NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
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Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 12:55 PM UTC
THE TERROR OF WOMEN
**** men predatory *** hounds chasing skirts and tights aching **** idiots disciples of Eros Christs of fetish reconciling nothing veiling that principled demeanor of feminist culture "of don't objectify me".....translation sensual form is not natures ruse machine Eve must override override override well the id does not negotiate the superstructure of affected political tele-reality starring the liberal chattering class who speculate male motives to be some vainglorious power trip while corporatized media personalities feign out of control lust as a mental disorder and sit up like shuddering Pekingese yessing the lascivious as a fiction no ladies its not just power theories are not testosterone it is pure unadulterated relentless irreducible urge to merge like the beluga **** channel sea world as you've never seen it before where male dolphins batter and gang bang the weaker *** in search of feral harmony in an overbuilt society yet to become a civilization are we scissored between a wild ****** id of the damed and the Victorian sacred of the damed oh you silky damsels makin men moody and humid pure **** heroine a poison ivy of *** like a rash givin men folk the itch cant stop the twitch rubber ******* in a rubbing frenzy from your soaking heat and odor we are  a rumbling of muttering torments for the forbidden taste of you oooow oooow we are pan in a mad dance for glistening shanks and buttery kisses we are the early bird looking for the worm hunters decreed by the liturgy of heaven and hell a constellation of infatuation and lechery mad with adoration love slaves in a raging furnace of desire *** addicts that just say yes turgid dogs hole sniffers voluptuous monsters all johnny apple seed and sometimes your salvation as you are ours knowing that sometimes real eroticism eclipses morality and yes my darlings* NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
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102
The First Sorrowful Mystery: The Agony in the Garden Shortly before his death, Jesus goes to the garden to pray for grace and strength. He tells his disciples "Watch and Pray" Jesus enters into prayer so deeply that his sweat is as drops of blood mixing on the ground with his tears. Even in the great darknss and desolation, he finds strength to say: "Let this cup pass before me. But not my will, but as you will it Father." Jesus tells us as he told his disciples "Watch and Pray". It sounds like a pretty simple task, but it's hard. In the midst of the darkness and despair, Jesus found strength and grace in prayer to his Father. In our darkest times, we can also call on our Father in heaven to sustain us. Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane was as the Garden of Eden after the sin of Adam and Eve. Blood was used to cover sin and wash it away. The blood, sweat and tears in the garden are a reminder of our fallen state as well as an example of the Eucharist with blood and water. We Pray: Jesus, help us to remember that whatever we go through in life, even and especially in our darkest times, remind us of the strength and grace we receive from our Heavenly Father. Help us also remember of your great love for us in your suffering and agony. Even when we fail, when we sin, when we turn away, you are with us. You love us, you forgive us, you run out to us and take us back. You counted up the cost and we are worth it. It cost everything and you paid the price so we wouldn't have to. Nothing we could ever do could amount to what you gave The best I can do is offer my life for you and my neighbor and try to die to myself daily. I am truly and eternally grateful, for by your amazing grace, I have the opportunity to be with you for all eternity. Thank you Jesus!
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Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 3:40 PM UTC
Reflections on the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Most Holy Rosary
The First Sorrowful Mystery: The Agony in the Garden Shortly before his death, Jesus goes to the garden to pray for grace and strength. He tells his disciples "Watch and Pray" Jesus enters into prayer so deeply that his sweat is as drops of blood mixing on the ground with his tears. Even in the great darknss and desolation, he finds strength to say: "Let this cup pass before me. But not my will, but as you will it Father." Jesus tells us as he told his disciples "Watch and Pray". It sounds like a pretty simple task, but it's hard. In the midst of the darkness and despair, Jesus found strength and grace in prayer to his Father. In our darkest times, we can also call on our Father in heaven to sustain us. Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane was as the Garden of Eden after the sin of Adam and Eve. Blood was used to cover sin and wash it away. The blood, sweat and tears in the garden are a reminder of our fallen state as well as an example of the Eucharist with blood and water. We Pray: Jesus, help us to remember that whatever we go through in life, even and especially in our darkest times, remind us of the strength and grace we receive from our Heavenly Father. Help us also remember of your great love for us in your suffering and agony. Even when we fail, when we sin, when we turn away, you are with us. You love us, you forgive us, you run out to us and take us back. You counted up the cost and we are worth it. It cost everything and you paid the price so we wouldn't have to. Nothing we could ever do could amount to what you gave The best I can do is offer my life for you and my neighbor and try to die to myself daily. I am truly and eternally grateful, for by your amazing grace, I have the opportunity to be with you for all eternity. Thank you Jesus!
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at 9, my father took me to confess. i crossed myself and stepped into the closet-like space. "bless me, father, for I have sinned." at 10, my mother took me to church. baptist. southern. the pastor spit venom from his pulpit. they taught me to fear god and live my life through christ. at 15, my friend took me to her synagogue. i sat with her family as her sister recited text from the torah. we celebrated her bat mitzvah. held her high on a chair. at 17, my best friend took me to mosque. we washed our feet and dressed in tunics and prayed towards mecca and recited words from the koran. we were placed behind the men. the same pattern was played, over and over again. swear to whatever god owned that shrine that you would give your life for him. and make no mistake, because by divine reason, it is a him. and always, always, always, get down on your knees. and pray. i remember thinking every ********* time that prostitutes and disciples seemed awfully alike. and then i thought, "they're probably right about god being male."
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Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 6:58 PM UTC
prostitutes and disciples and pastors giving apples
Christ was/is a holy and kind Son But not all his so called disciples or followers It is true of all religions
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Jan 15, 2011
Jan 15, 2011 at 5:08 PM UTC
JESUS HAIKU
Prayer For Called and Gifted Jesus you are the savior of the world author of salvation and creator of the universe and all good things. We are so small and frail and yet in your goodness you saw it fit to give us so much and to raise us up to more than we can be. You bestowed on your people different, beautiful gifts and call us to use them for others and for you. You have called us each by name and given us unique gifts, each with an integral part to play. You have given us a purpose and a reason. You have given us a passion for life. We are called to be beacons of hope, bearers of light. As wheat only produces fruit once it dies, may we also die to the things that hold us back from experiencing the fullness of your love for us. Help us Lord to be good stewards of the gifts you give so abundantly and so freely that we would be diligent, responsible, and humble as we try to live your love out in the world. You said to your apostles: "Go forth and make disciples of all nations; proclaiming the gospel by your lives and baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit". Lord, bless the people in this room; send your Holy Spirit and let it come to rest in our souls. Guide and lead and teach us along the journey of life to use our gifts that you gave us "for the greater glory of God". Just as we pray for ourselves Lord, we also pray for all those in the church and throughout the world that you would help them realize and utilize what they have been given to make this world a little better and to further your kingdom right here and now. May we all be a "blessing for life and a blessing for Christ"! We ask this and all things in your most beautiful and precious name. AMEN.
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Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 3:56 PM UTC
Prayer for Called and Gifted
Prayer For Called and Gifted Jesus you are the savior of the world author of salvation and creator of the universe and all good things. We are so small and frail and yet in your goodness you saw it fit to give us so much and to raise us up to more than we can be. You bestowed on your people different, beautiful gifts and call us to use them for others and for you. You have called us each by name and given us unique gifts, each with an integral part to play. You have given us a purpose and a reason. You have given us a passion for life. We are called to be beacons of hope, bearers of light. As wheat only produces fruit once it dies, may we also die to the things that hold us back from experiencing the fullness of your love for us. Help us Lord to be good stewards of the gifts you give so abundantly and so freely that we would be diligent, responsible, and humble as we try to live your love out in the world. You said to your apostles: "Go forth and make disciples of all nations; proclaiming the gospel by your lives and baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit". Lord, bless the people in this room; send your Holy Spirit and let it come to rest in our souls. Guide and lead and teach us along the journey of life to use our gifts that you gave us "for the greater glory of God". Just as we pray for ourselves Lord, we also pray for all those in the church and throughout the world that you would help them realize and utilize what they have been given to make this world a little better and to further your kingdom right here and now. May we all be a "blessing for life and a blessing for Christ"! We ask this and all things in your most beautiful and precious name. AMEN.
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तत् त्वम् असि *for sitar, mridangam, vina, musical spoons, washboard, Jew’s harp and banjo* (*the names Swami and Guru-ji can be replaced by any other mystic names the reader wishes to substitute*) Swami and Guru-ji went to the river to wash their souls in the ***** water filled brass pots while they were at it, singing: “These are Gods – worship them, worship them, these are Gods – won’t you worship them please” Guru and Swami-ji flexed contortions twisted minds and limbs in knots sold each other secret mantras to erase akashic records when the body rots Swami and Guru-ji taught disciples how to fast and hum and chant; bound their ***** with priestly garments, saying “These are Gods – worship them, worship them, these are Gods – won’t you worship them please” Guru and Swami-ji swallowed prana purged their guts, then farted light launched their chakras into oneness in the ida and pingala of their third-eye sight Swami and Guru-ji built a temple around a monstrous calf of gold bowed before the six-armed idols chanting “These are Gods – worship them, worship them, these are Gods – won’t you worship them please” Guru and Swami-ji studied parchments by the dim light of a feeble ray railed and wailed at the sinful heathen in the filthy Kali-yuga of the dying day Swami and Guru-ji made ablutions offered incense and holy foods ate their share and smoked the profit, humming “These are Gods – worship them, worship them, these are Gods – won’t you worship them please” Guru and Swami’s blissed devotions entwined their members with the temple belles; stuck their yonis up their lingams in the twenty-seventh circle of the seven hells. Swami and Guru-ji offered puja wrote it all off as a karmic debt – forced a shudra to bear the burden, screaming “These are Gods – worship them, worship them, these are Gods – won’t you worship them please” Guru and Swami-ji meditated: pure omniscience in eternal now – drank fresh ***** from a heifer’s bladder for they knew that it was soma from a holy cow. Swami and the Guru merged with Brahman – then went home to the wife and kids. Told the servants to polish statues, saying “These are Gods – worship them, worship them, these are Gods – won’t you worship them please” THE MORAL: (slower solemn rhythm, no banjo or Jew’s harp) Aaron’s calf is ground to powder, cast upon the Ganges’ tide. Every tribe shall taste its poison. “This is God –worship Him, worship Him – this is God – let us worship Him now…”
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Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 8:33 AM UTC
Hindoo Folk Song
तत् त्वम् असि *for sitar, mridangam, vina, musical spoons, washboard, Jew’s harp and banjo* (*the names Swami and Guru-ji can be replaced by any other mystic names the reader wishes to substitute*) Swami and Guru-ji went to the river to wash their souls in the ***** water filled brass pots while they were at it, singing: “These are Gods – worship them, worship them, these are Gods – won’t you worship them please” Guru and Swami-ji flexed contortions twisted minds and limbs in knots sold each other secret mantras to erase akashic records when the body rots Swami and Guru-ji taught disciples how to fast and hum and chant; bound their ***** with priestly garments, saying “These are Gods – worship them, worship them, these are Gods – won’t you worship them please” Guru and Swami-ji swallowed prana purged their guts, then farted light launched their chakras into oneness in the ida and pingala of their third-eye sight Swami and Guru-ji built a temple around a monstrous calf of gold bowed before the six-armed idols chanting “These are Gods – worship them, worship them, these are Gods – won’t you worship them please” Guru and Swami-ji studied parchments by the dim light of a feeble ray railed and wailed at the sinful heathen in the filthy Kali-yuga of the dying day Swami and Guru-ji made ablutions offered incense and holy foods ate their share and smoked the profit, humming “These are Gods – worship them, worship them, these are Gods – won’t you worship them please” Guru and Swami’s blissed devotions entwined their members with the temple belles; stuck their yonis up their lingams in the twenty-seventh circle of the seven hells. Swami and Guru-ji offered puja wrote it all off as a karmic debt – forced a shudra to bear the burden, screaming “These are Gods – worship them, worship them, these are Gods – won’t you worship them please” Guru and Swami-ji meditated: pure omniscience in eternal now – drank fresh ***** from a heifer’s bladder for they knew that it was soma from a holy cow. Swami and the Guru merged with Brahman – then went home to the wife and kids. Told the servants to polish statues, saying “These are Gods – worship them, worship them, these are Gods – won’t you worship them please” THE MORAL: (slower solemn rhythm, no banjo or Jew’s harp) Aaron’s calf is ground to powder, cast upon the Ganges’ tide. Every tribe shall taste its poison. “This is God –worship Him, worship Him – this is God – let us worship Him now…”
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I am an altar boy inside the Church of Continuous Wasted Opportunities. Smell that pungent incense? It is most definitely all that it seems to be. This God’s gift to mankind is what the three wise men were really trafficking—bringing forth a dank Exodus unto the Savior’s parents. They didn’t inhale the serpent’s lure, of course. Rejoice, one and all, across the land! Hallelujah, all ye indigo children of the desert! Now, a reading from the Book of Wardo, verse four, passage twenty: “And it was told that the ancient Aryana region would offer up such magical wonderment, derived from the sacred Kush bush, assisting the holiest disciples who prefer a mystically passive respite—for these blessed aficionados represent the completely frazzled and yet cautiously chosen few.”
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Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
Four-Twenty Is My Three-Sixteen
Jesus he's my savior He lived near Galilee I know about his ministry And of his great love for me He sought out his disciples They followed him blindly He loved the poor and healed the sickly And he helped the blind to see I know that he's my savior He died to set me free Each day I love him more, his disciple I will be As I walk the path of righteousness and spirituality
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Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 5:08 PM UTC
I know Jesus (Righteous Bros' @ SJN Version)
I wake up to let the dog out And am greeted by your collective clutter--this family!-- ***** cups and plates, cushions on the floor, old socks tucked into the couch, cracked pistachio shells intermingling with dried berry blood, ear plugs! I wade into the bog of filth to begin my daily duties. I can hear your voice say, "No one ever helps me around here!" Truly I am a modern Cinderella--I think-- beaten and worn down by those who don't appreciate me. So Christlike! It smacks me in the face. The realization that Christ was crucified last night  and is dead and buried and won't rise until tomorrow, And the disciples have no idea that he will indeed rise! I am no Cinderella. I am a murderer going about her business without any remorse for her crime. What a grim day Saturday can be.
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Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 9:47 AM UTC
Saturday Morning Before Easter
STOP CREEPING (Road signs in Australia thus remind us to keep to the speed limit) Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing. William Shakespeare: MacBeth, Act 5 Scene 5. Creeping, seeping, peeping, sleeping, What’s the common factor through these ‘eep’ words deeming? Shakespeare calls them dusty and aligns them up with death. Our world calls it shadow but it chokes you out of breath. Churches cannot see them so they flout invisible. Jesus calls them idols yet they sound so plausible. Christians follow teachers in a roundabout way. Teachers crave disciples which determines what they say. But these are all poor players on a poorly structured stage. Their stage gives way. They tumble. They rise up in a rage. “Life has not been fair,” they say, and “Where is God in that?” Did they ask Him in the first place? Did they call God up to chat? The churches have no answers. Now where do I go from here? Go right back to the Bible, Friend. The truth is written there. Check it yourself. It’s relevant to eras far and near. Like natural laws it cannot change with fashion year to year. So do not mix the fashion in philosophies of life With Truth that stands forever among raging seas of strife. Counselling in modern terms can get you sympathy, But will it give you backbone for the next antipathy? Feminism needed to support the weaker staff, But now of our humanity it rejects one whole half! And money is too much an issue when it must be said That what is not of love is valueless to Christ our Head. Of all the thousands who are found in church each seventh day, How many can indeed discern the right and faithful way? How many put their lives on hold for truth and nothing less? How many first set out their plan and build their faith round this? Is there not one who will apply to God for his blueprint So s/he can play the part of power for treasure in Heaven’s mint? The Spirit of Truth cannot be found where ideas pull such weight. He’s somewhere else you don’t suspect. Chase Him, and don’t be late!
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May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 10:38 PM UTC
STOP CREEPING
STOP CREEPING (Road signs in Australia thus remind us to keep to the speed limit) Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing. William Shakespeare: MacBeth, Act 5 Scene 5. Creeping, seeping, peeping, sleeping, What’s the common factor through these ‘eep’ words deeming? Shakespeare calls them dusty and aligns them up with death. Our world calls it shadow but it chokes you out of breath. Churches cannot see them so they flout invisible. Jesus calls them idols yet they sound so plausible. Christians follow teachers in a roundabout way. Teachers crave disciples which determines what they say. But these are all poor players on a poorly structured stage. Their stage gives way. They tumble. They rise up in a rage. “Life has not been fair,” they say, and “Where is God in that?” Did they ask Him in the first place? Did they call God up to chat? The churches have no answers. Now where do I go from here? Go right back to the Bible, Friend. The truth is written there. Check it yourself. It’s relevant to eras far and near. Like natural laws it cannot change with fashion year to year. So do not mix the fashion in philosophies of life With Truth that stands forever among raging seas of strife. Counselling in modern terms can get you sympathy, But will it give you backbone for the next antipathy? Feminism needed to support the weaker staff, But now of our humanity it rejects one whole half! And money is too much an issue when it must be said That what is not of love is valueless to Christ our Head. Of all the thousands who are found in church each seventh day, How many can indeed discern the right and faithful way? How many put their lives on hold for truth and nothing less? How many first set out their plan and build their faith round this? Is there not one who will apply to God for his blueprint So s/he can play the part of power for treasure in Heaven’s mint? The Spirit of Truth cannot be found where ideas pull such weight. He’s somewhere else you don’t suspect. Chase Him, and don’t be late!
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I know I've been there, I've given into death and altered the fabric of reality Every day we waste away transfixed by flattened images Of the limitlessness of death Coupled with elusive, Luciferian harm which will befall us all Who subsist on the manipulated reality of the hyperspace information field But one day, enlivened by the festivities of Shakori Hills And the fungal spirits who awoke beside us I walked the irreversible pathway through oblivion Facing cruel destruction and terror For a horrifying passage across Styx into eternity And emerged within a crowd of mollusks dancing to the waves of a musical sea All time suspended in the impossibly drawn-out ****** of the Archetypal wizardry of rhythm, The swirling clumps of faces in Unshakable ecstasy And seemingly responding to the wild currents of my conscious thought; A longing for human touch drew the others closer and closer around me Till they began brushing against me Bumping into me, The flow of the crowd saw its axis at my psychic emanation As once more the last song of all time began with thunderous energy and applause. I escaped the arresting confines of the crowd By willing them aside, wearing, as I suddenly became aware, the shoes of Moses And seeing my muddy feet upon the sands of Egypt But I yet had no understanding Of the nature of the garden of earthly delights Into which I had fallen, And fear began to envelop me, Producing law enforcement officials hawklike swooping in to limit my power. I had but to let go of my acceptance of their power over me to transcend them But fear tethered me to reality, Even as I saw about me a Dharmic mandala Of my past present and future, Generating inexplicable archetypes around me in a manner profoundly defiant Of rational logic. Synchronicity compounded upon me As the Christos within me Brought rain down upon us Forcing us together and leaving me in dumbfounded reverie Of all that had transpired to bring this moment forth What had seemed to be the end of history was in fact The awakening of a new rebirth The first moment of coming to be The union of past, present and future As the reassuring smiles of my trustworthy disciples gently allowed me passage back into a rational existence I beamed in utter gratitude for the eternal life which Christ afforded us. Chaos had subsided back into normalcy But still winked at me In telepathic coincidence. My soul has begun to realize that it resides in all things Soon they are to be reintegrated
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Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 10:16 PM UTC
Shakori Hills
I know I've been there, I've given into death and altered the fabric of reality Every day we waste away transfixed by flattened images Of the limitlessness of death Coupled with elusive, Luciferian harm which will befall us all Who subsist on the manipulated reality of the hyperspace information field But one day, enlivened by the festivities of Shakori Hills And the fungal spirits who awoke beside us I walked the irreversible pathway through oblivion Facing cruel destruction and terror For a horrifying passage across Styx into eternity And emerged within a crowd of mollusks dancing to the waves of a musical sea All time suspended in the impossibly drawn-out ****** of the Archetypal wizardry of rhythm, The swirling clumps of faces in Unshakable ecstasy And seemingly responding to the wild currents of my conscious thought; A longing for human touch drew the others closer and closer around me Till they began brushing against me Bumping into me, The flow of the crowd saw its axis at my psychic emanation As once more the last song of all time began with thunderous energy and applause. I escaped the arresting confines of the crowd By willing them aside, wearing, as I suddenly became aware, the shoes of Moses And seeing my muddy feet upon the sands of Egypt But I yet had no understanding Of the nature of the garden of earthly delights Into which I had fallen, And fear began to envelop me, Producing law enforcement officials hawklike swooping in to limit my power. I had but to let go of my acceptance of their power over me to transcend them But fear tethered me to reality, Even as I saw about me a Dharmic mandala Of my past present and future, Generating inexplicable archetypes around me in a manner profoundly defiant Of rational logic. Synchronicity compounded upon me As the Christos within me Brought rain down upon us Forcing us together and leaving me in dumbfounded reverie Of all that had transpired to bring this moment forth What had seemed to be the end of history was in fact The awakening of a new rebirth The first moment of coming to be The union of past, present and future As the reassuring smiles of my trustworthy disciples gently allowed me passage back into a rational existence I beamed in utter gratitude for the eternal life which Christ afforded us. Chaos had subsided back into normalcy But still winked at me In telepathic coincidence. My soul has begun to realize that it resides in all things Soon they are to be reintegrated
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*Feelin’ like a new model keepin’ thoughts in a safe Nothin’ but new beginnings while maintainin’ the faith Of better days ahead, walkin’ away instead The world on my shoulders while walkin’ on eggshells Difficult steps lead to redemption, no need for attention Dowsin’ my sorrows in drinks with a fear of reinvention Weakened souls lackin’ ambition – ones that we attend to Distracted by the means to makin’ profit Pharaohs and kings reach Ozymandias Castle of the manliest reduced to rubble Inspiration's a privilege, the uninitiated struggle Lookin’ to the stars closer to Mercury Celebrating longer than a single anniversary Build the padlocked building blocks of the brain, preventin’ burglary Intellect protection needs remedial advancement Followin' the lessons and morals of real testaments Crimson waters divided by Moses, halving the sea Aidin’ people across, the shepherd leadin’ the sheep Heated cycle of violence by disciples De-escalated by the sacred teachings of the bible Able to color-code their understandin’ with a cipher Gifted in nature, minus robotics turnin’ sentient* WE MARCH! *Hand-in-hand in unison! A unit full of sin But we protect the world from Judases, Our doubts are in the wind A state of peace we feel the crew is in The rest will follow soon, Our inner voice of hate is ludicrous It sings a hollow tune. Leavin' this place without askin' just where the exit is, Keep a steady pace as we're headin' right into exodus. Lessons are taught to help you rise from the fall, Nirvana awaitin' – you better answer the call.*
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May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 9:53 AM UTC
Exodus
*Feelin’ like a new model keepin’ thoughts in a safe Nothin’ but new beginnings while maintainin’ the faith Of better days ahead, walkin’ away instead The world on my shoulders while walkin’ on eggshells Difficult steps lead to redemption, no need for attention Dowsin’ my sorrows in drinks with a fear of reinvention Weakened souls lackin’ ambition – ones that we attend to Distracted by the means to makin’ profit Pharaohs and kings reach Ozymandias Castle of the manliest reduced to rubble Inspiration's a privilege, the uninitiated struggle Lookin’ to the stars closer to Mercury Celebrating longer than a single anniversary Build the padlocked building blocks of the brain, preventin’ burglary Intellect protection needs remedial advancement Followin' the lessons and morals of real testaments Crimson waters divided by Moses, halving the sea Aidin’ people across, the shepherd leadin’ the sheep Heated cycle of violence by disciples De-escalated by the sacred teachings of the bible Able to color-code their understandin’ with a cipher Gifted in nature, minus robotics turnin’ sentient* WE MARCH! *Hand-in-hand in unison! A unit full of sin But we protect the world from Judases, Our doubts are in the wind A state of peace we feel the crew is in The rest will follow soon, Our inner voice of hate is ludicrous It sings a hollow tune. Leavin' this place without askin' just where the exit is, Keep a steady pace as we're headin' right into exodus. Lessons are taught to help you rise from the fall, Nirvana awaitin' – you better answer the call.*
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Homecoming body: A grey cardigan strips down, bonding skin to night’s air, penetrating Chevrolet safe havens drowned in lover’s spit. My Mind thanks Google, enabling electronic bibles to leave disciples stifled with religious quotas, an excuse to quote us — “Trouble at the Border, read the former court room reporter working for the, sensationalized, through remnants of blood stains in our eyes.” Midway through Chapter 1 — reeks not only of of *** in the backseat — but of Venezuela’s shorelines. Of her high school hallways. Of the intrigue of the unexplored Mexican neighbor, her freedom amidst constraint, where Visas lease us advertising campaigns for maquiladora made lampshades. Despite their protest, common sense lent comparisons, a consequence of stories told in reverse. They hover over Venezuela’s familiar curves, her long black hair straddling my shoulders.
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Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 8:00 PM UTC
Playground Love
One ever hangs where shelled roads part. In this war He too lost a limb, But His disciples hide apart; And now the Soldiers bear with Him. Near Golgotha strolls many a priest, And in their faces there is pride That they were flesh-marked by the Beast By whom the gentle Christ's denied The scribes on all the people shove And bawl allegiance to the state, But they who love the greater love Lay down their life; they do not hate
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At a Calvary Near the Ancre