"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.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 7:53 AM UTC
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!
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 9:07 AM UTC
**† † †
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.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 8:12 AM UTC
"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
Dec 24, 2016
Dec 24, 2016 at 5:08 PM UTC
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.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 3:57 AM UTC
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.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 8:44 PM UTC
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
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 4:52 PM UTC
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.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 11:42 PM UTC
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.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 11:49 PM UTC
**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....................................................................**
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 9:47 AM UTC
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.
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 10:21 AM UTC
**** 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
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 12:55 PM UTC
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!
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 3:40 PM UTC
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."
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 6:58 PM UTC
Christ was/is a holy and kind Son
But not all his so called disciples or followers
It is true of all religions
Jan 15, 2011
Jan 15, 2011 at 5:08 PM UTC
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.
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 3:56 PM UTC
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…”
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 8:33 AM UTC
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.”
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
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
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 5:08 PM UTC
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.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 9:47 AM UTC
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!
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 10:38 PM UTC
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
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 10:16 PM UTC
*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.*
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 9:53 AM UTC
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.
Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 8:00 PM UTC
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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