"ecclesia" poems
Similiter et omnes revereantur Diaconos, ut
mandatum Jesu Christi; et Episcopum, ut Jesum
Christum, existentem filium Patris; Presbyteros
autem, ut concilium Dei et conjunctionem
Apostolorum. Sine his Ecclesia non vocatur; de
quibus suadeo vos sic habeo.
S. Ignatii Ad Trallianos.
And when this epistle is read among you, cause that
it be read also in the church of the Laodiceans.
The broad-backed hippopotamus
Rests on his belly in the mud;
Although he seems so firm to us
He is merely flesh and blood.
Flesh and blood is weak and frail,
Susceptible to nervous shock;
While the True Church can never fail
For it is based upon a rock.
The hippo’s feeble steps may err
In compassing material ends,
While the True Church need never stir
To gather in its dividends.
The ‘potamus can never reach
The mango on the mango-tree;
But fruits of pomegranate and peach
Refresh the Church from over sea.
At mating time the hippo’s voice
Betrays inflexions hoarse and odd,
But every week we hear rejoice
The Church, at being one with God.
The hippopotamus’s day
Is passed in sleep; at night he hunts;
God works in a mysterious way—
The Church can sleep and feed at once.
I saw the ‘potamus take wing
Ascending from the damp savannas,
And quiring angels round him sing
The praise of God, in loud hosannas.
Blood of the Lamb shall wash him clean
And him shall heavenly arms enfold,
Among the saints he shall be seen
Performing on a harp of gold.
He shall be washed as white as snow,
By all the martyr’d virgins kist,
While the True Church remains below
Wrapt in the old miasmal mist.
4.7k
Summer lies while river rats gnaw on posts
weathered from the reverence tides.
Hunching over limestone slate,
picture pissed-eyed states of the caricatures.
Loss of limbs in dissociative fugue.
St. Anthony's fire up along the coast.
Ergot Dreams: Such splendid things!
Waking up in a pool with callosum yarns
spinning words of concern.
And i've come so close
time and time
to find the pinhole tube light.
Words keep seeping out,
I hear my mother holding me here.
Frozen solid.
Stuck in a cot.
Letting the little ******* off his chain just to
hear him stream
How many lives to burn in the ecclesia pyre
while jesus sweeps the remainders
off to sea?
Maybe I have died again,
living in this ferrous skin.
Seeded fledgling after all.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
**** victim dies; she was gang *****
With an Indian flag, her body was draped.
She was a trainee doctor in Kolcutta, India.
At RG Kar Medical College, as per media
In a deep silence, everyone gaped.
Mouth was full of blood; she was scraped.
Her bleeding eyes were videotaped.
Protest is called by medical ecclesia.
**** victim dies
Gruesome **** she couldn't have escaped
Heinous acts like this should be scraped.
How many did this have no idea?
I condemn acts of ****** mania.
Culprits should be punished and wapped.
**** victim dies
Aug 17, 2024
Aug 17, 2024 at 9:49 AM UTC
She's a ballerina,
pirouetting 'round her finger.
He's a hyena,
hollering at the residential ecclesia.
Two magnets in a basket,
dragging their carcass
across the canvas.
It's madness.
It's balance.
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 8:09 AM UTC
Ubi Petrus
For Inky and Jason
“Ubi Petrus, ibi Ecclesia”
- St. Ambrose of Milan
Where Peter was, there also was the Tomb --
Blood-sodden dreams cold-rotting in old sin,
The Chalice left unwashed, the Upper Room
A three-days’ grave for hope-forsaken men.
Where Peter is, there also should we be,
Poor pilgrims, his, a-kneel before the Throne
Of Eosian Christendom, and none but he
Is called to lead the Church to eternal Dawn.
Where Peter then will be, there is the Faith,
Transubstantiation, whipped blood, ripped flesh
A solid reality, not a wraith
Of shop-soiled heresies labeled as fresh.
Where Peter is, O Lord, there let us pray,
Poor battered wanderers along Your way.
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 8:18 AM UTC
The sacred place that built me up
watched in silence as I disintegrated into pieces.
And in the end,
it closed its doors to a crumbling statue.
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 2:30 AM UTC