"ecumenical" poems
I truly fail to understand
Why it’s gotten out of hand.
It seems so very odd
There are so many God
Is supposed to have ordained
Some aren’t even trained.
There is an absolute dearth
Of an actual true rebirth
In the revivifying blood of Jesus.
It’s almost like allergic sneezes.
Pastures full of pastors.
Priests and beasts.
Defectors and rectors.
Pickers and vicars.
Bleachers full of preachers.
Clerics and hysterics.
Papal delegates and celibates.
Televangelists and Adventists
And hostile Pentecostals.
We are becoming overrun
With an ecumenical kind of fun
In which before we can holler
Another puts on a backward collar
And starts tell us what to do.
When the rebirthing is through
They are on their park soapbox
And ******** about our Xbox;
Telling us what we should watch
And the coffee in our coffee klatch
Is unGodly because Jesus never drank it.
Makes me want to grab and spank it
Before it multiplies. Jerks, those guys.
Pastures full of pastors.
Priests and beasts.
Defectors and rectors.
Pickers and vicars.
Bleachers full of preachers.
Clerics and hysterics.
Papal delegates and celibates.
Televangelists and Adventists
And hostile Pentecostals.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 12:34 AM UTC
Non-plagiarized
success, Catholic
is! ecumenical
unity writhe:
eternal rock
beneath, my
Love is
“LOVE”
Wuthering heights,
Jane Eyre,
Charlotte Bronte,
Connotation, religion
Connotation?
motions of humane spirit guile not, vile not. Agile is
Catholic acumen unity acumen? Salvation of human
hearts heights
and hearth.
“Love one
another” An
angel begat
the scepter
of Lords.
Heavens Love!
Love…behold
acumen! Catholics,
the Holy Lord
is our shepherd.
Muhumuza Kenneth Ezra (Inspired by Stephern Tweheyo)
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 3:44 AM UTC
twenteesventh.
you write of dismembered leaves,
enhaloed lust(wtf)
pains too sweet because they’re youthfully incomplete,
using incontrovertible idiocies like
dry rain droplets shining like sunlight,
edible goodbye cheerios,
edible didactics, teaching “frosted flakys”
poetic methadone methodology,
poems hats with rhyming lyrics
that taste like that burnt eyelids colored
a blood stained mustard yellow, (yum),
beyond burger veggie based satyrs,
the happy gladness of sadness,
reversible rivers flowing heavenwards,
***** ******* you want an
infernal cataclysm...
really?
dechambered hearts, ventricular mysteries,
brains wearing wooly sport jacket helmets
and other Olsonian beauties,
like I write with succinct passion,
me, who gets eaten alive by buggers saying
“too long,” “too long,” “needed a mid-poem napt”
non-lexical non-commonsensical ecumenical hysterical
chemical verbal reactionaries
and then you wonder why
PEOPLE ******* HATE POETRY?
jes kiddin’ a leetle
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 3:48 PM UTC
(Warning: this poem is not for the religiously inclined.)
For centuries, entrepreneurs
Have been selling slivers
Of the True Cross of Jesus
Promising how much it delivers.
Of course, if they were any part
Of the real True Cross at all
The weight of all that wood means
The cross was thirty feet tall.
Still, it is only meant to be
A symbol of The Son Of God
Who got murdered and transformed
Into a deity, but that's odd.
It’s like all the Romans making
A ****** dagger their sign
Of the purity of Julius Caesar;
Revered if not quite divine.
Or maybe worshipping the bullet
That killed Kennedy or King.
Are we sure that kind of devotion
Is the right way to the right thing?
But fonts full of holy water did
The trick for many centuries.
So, maybe the faithful don’t care
About ecumenical vagaries.
Yet I don’t hold much hope out
For businesses of spirituality
Who put up golden castles
In zones of the most abject poverty.
Anyone who thinks a god
Needs to look down on glitz
Promises not much more
Than a dogma from the pits.
We need to celebrate what we have
And not so much what is lost.
What has all the jewels and gold
And superstition added to the cost?
I prefer to keep my integrity and
Check out who’s the real boss.
Knowing that it might upset those
Who get weepy about a cross.
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 10:52 PM UTC
Yea im frustrated my minded jaded
Faded
From this atmosphere here me clear
They dont care about us
Even wont shed a tear
The lords presence is here
Along with Satan killing around the world
Are blatant
All hail here we go again innocent see the jail cell 0 well
We try to unite as a people
But its too many sheeps
Followin' a ecumenical cathedral
Lies spread through the congregation
Segregation puts us in elimination
Of the system listen
Lets break the spell before its toolate
Im tryna hit yo pate til ya retaliate
For Gods sake
We loosin' rich mans war
N the only people who suffer are the poor
Closed caskets of soldiers tisket a tasket
Lifes drastic
I once see me in a plastic
Wish i could free yo pain
All ya have to do isopen yo brain!!!!!
Now that collected war metals
I still keep my hands of the metal pistol
Quick to bust
Cant put any trust
In anyone son so ill be reigning
Til the break of dawn
Son of a lost assassins
Prophecy was led to be a phony
N the new century
Its a true conspiracy
But peeps despiseme say im crazy
Its dismissive
Buts once the trigger gos
It another dead person in the studio
Or news show
6 o clock early news or late news
People dying every second every hour
Im seeing growing power
The worlds going sour
As a stale chip check the government clip
Ammunition from.the commission
Police state yea the demons are in celebration its a evil coliation
But i move pass the madness
Through meditation no medication
For my mind cant corrupt my soul
Every day im growing old bold
Whites hair appearing on my beard
Wisdom is near prudent eyes
Look in the skies open my mind
To sunshine and rain
Feedin' knowledge to my brain
Soul food nigguh!!!
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 9:17 AM UTC
When poetry describes the historical,
One refrains from becoming hysterical.
However by use of the judicial rhetorical
A Poet makes full use of the allegorical!
So when writing poetry I remain stoical,
That though some may think me radical,
Employing words they considered lyrical,
I try never to appear, irrational or critical.
To write about the mystical and cryptical,
Using strict rhythm? Can be diabolical!
As for themes regarded purely mythical,
I shy from words too pictorial or technical.
My approach to topics humourously comical,
Is to compose lines thoughtfully satirical.
In turn this allows me to remain sceptical,
Whilst appearing not too fanatical or cynical!
So, if with words I am reckoned economical?
I hope my rational thoughts are not illogical,
But in using descriptive words, is it ethical
To ensure Poems not be too whimsical?
Now, without appearing to be pontifical,
Though I'm always careful to be veridical,
I'm allowed at times, to wax philosophical,
As I attempt to depict matters paradoxical.
Doubtless some will find my words inimical:
Fanatically methodical and chronological?
But in attempting the facetious or ironical,
I'll avoid the pitfalls of being too graphical.
Should poetry be left to the technological?
One might find it becomes too puritanical.
And suggest the Poet was unduly practical!
Such is the way of the biased hypocritical!
If my poetic lines appear to be egotistical?
Then readers must understand, that's logical.
But please I beg of you, never be heretical,
When lines concern the canonical or political.
Will a Poet's thoughts be considered farcical,
If a reader is left bemused and quizzical?
Or should he stick to the unequivocally canonical?
Personally, I'm happy if my poems are grammatical!
So I'll conclude thinking poetry may be symbolical,
And my many rhymes, in quantities numerical,
May not satisfy the purist nor the global ecumenical,
But they deal with topics that are never hypothetical!
Rhymer. July 10th, 2018.
(Your turn Jim!)
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 4:40 PM UTC
Pretty
baubles that dangle,
a Babyliss
that untangles the
knots in your hair
not a bible anywhere
(unless they're sold under the counter)
and the packaging they wrap things in
if they wrap things up at all
tied up in another knot with
string from a giant ball.
I've seen a sight or two or three and
Woolworth's won't be seeing me
sad to say
it had its day
and has gone to that
great mall
in the sky
so I'll head ecumenical
being cynical
but practical
and shop at
the
nearest Temple.
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 4:32 AM UTC
I once had a ship in a bottle
I had on my Sunday best
When I discovered glass tasted like blood
And became bed ridden
They all came to pay tribute
And play crazy eights, each wore a poker face
Then left me to my own device
I had nothing to show for it
I held up the Eucharist and broke it in four pieces
Hold your tongue, stick it out and swallow it
Prepare yourself
For the ecumenical trip
The gaining of foresight
That you wouldn't ordinarily have
Receiving transmissions from far off dimensions
Chock full of unprecedented revelations
Share the message but do it justice
Count the follicles and the rings
Disregard the Standards and Practices
Thwart their attempts
To misconstrue the context
"There's a knife fight at the gun show"
"He's Hell bound but Heaven sent"
"Look into his glass onion"
"We know you're on the fence"
"Just write it three times each"
'Shave that mono brow!"
"We've never met someone of his caliber"
No, they can't understand
They won't
They refuse to
They think in dividends
And personal quotients
I'll go back to completing my ship in a bottle, it is far less difficult
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
Shrouded encountering everyday alchemy
Wandering there where the mosses may talk to me
Under and over the ivy’s low canopy
Making my way in pursuit of some sanity
Sunlight is thwarted on slopes leading north as I
Silently savor the shadows that multiply
Junipers stretch between neighbors deciduous
Pine trees lie prostrate with limbs discontiguous
Here in the graveyard where logs become mortified
All forms of fungus will work up their appetite
Turning cadavers of trees into sustenance
Learning that death is a new source of succulence
Labyrinths circle and twist like a tentacle
Cloister-like pacing, profound-ecumenical
Joyfully chirping like children on helium
Life everlasting, give thanks to mycelium
Apr 8, 2025
Apr 8, 2025 at 5:03 PM UTC
I'm ecumenical
in dreams
where they
made things
ring their
atolls so
habitual souls
made self-government
clean their
lavish results
on electorate
and made
things iron
clad their
best choice
sequence again
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 10:47 AM UTC
*Tying the stray dog in my psyche
In view of wind racked palm trees , boats out to sea ,
an introvert with his ecumenical tools , watching for dolphins in his
cutoff jeans , with Pecan Sandies and hot green tea , his silver thermos
and his Sandburg poetry , sandals and tie dyed tee* ..
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 4:08 PM UTC
A boy may clement
uniquely this role
with unequivocal height
he only instill insight
and achieve with a hardship
his resolve short of abandonment
while remiss with quiver
to shake, shiver and quake
always trim the alabaster
with an ecumenical salve.
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 8:34 AM UTC
Another day for the cattle to sway
Sway into there endless lives
Stuck in inevitable change
Thinking that a ballot will ease the pangs
Not even close none bats a woe
What will you do when martial
Law knocks at your door
For today is the day
Where the evil will stay
Another lie entering in office
Only to gain riches off the poors profit
When we wake up as a nation
And form our own syndication?
But we have too many arrogant
To the fact that we have the
Strength in numbers
Let's end this nightmare slumber
Behind paint smiles
Lies a an evil style
A style to which is visible even with the naked eye
But we refused and pray to the sky
For answers why?
God given rights are really humans giving rights
There whole agenda is to spread propaganda
Give you a paper to cast into a box
Only to add inches to uncle Sam's ****
As he properly positions himself
To **** you a little deeper
Only this time he enters slow
But the pain is still there
Eternally bleeding from the *******
From red white and blue poll
Wake up folks wake up
Its a game it's all rigged
There plan to push us into a one world ecumenical government
So they can control human existence
And tag us with chips
And people subconsciously give in
Accepting nonsense wake up everybody
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 5:11 AM UTC
The finger upon whose weight
Depends the pluck of the string,
Does pull back the folds of a drape
Of sunwashed loneliness in afternoon.
Windows drift through you, without home,
Without glass, or any warmth from looking through.
Life in its squared sequence does amass, ecumenical,
Until death its finger does pass in its final pluck
As the touch of the thundering universe.
Jul 12, 2020
Jul 12, 2020 at 7:29 PM UTC
What Is Faith, Really?
The Pope is coming here today, ‘here’ being Sweden.
Sweden has around a hundred fifty thousand Catholics;
Loyal bricks
In a religion with its world mystique;
Jesus the pivot, One-theistic.
Kind of him. Kind and broad-minded.
Plans to meet with not just Catholic,
But Jew, Muslim, Buddhist, Lutheran -
A sojourn
Ecumenical.
So what is faith?
It’s expectation, trust, conviction, hopefulness and confidence
In something that can only just be sensed,
For instance,
If you’ve faith in money, you can touch the money,
But the green can never guarantee the thing,
The happiness that it will bring,
And for how long.
Imperceptible, invisible, an energy
With wish inbuilt;
A wish and hope.
I understand the atheist.
To him the whole unjust-ifiable and –fied;
Unwarranted:
He can’t believe in God.
But what he doesn’t understand
Is that he too has faith –
Perhaps in love, his father, mother, one
Or other institution:
Faith in something -
All of it a veiled mostly unnoticed hint;
A blended tint linking the man to one thing
Or another.*
*of course when I say man, I mean both, all and every gender.
What Is Faith, Really? 10.31.2016
Our Times, Our Culture II; To The Child Mystic II; God Book II;
Arlene Corwin
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 1:09 PM UTC
you write of dismembered leaves,
pains too sweet,
using incontrovertible idiocies like
quiet rain, droplets shining like sunlight,
edible goodbye cheerios,
tastes that burn eyelids colored in
blood stained mustard yellow,
the gladness of sadness,
reversible rivers flowing heavenwards,
really?
dechambered hearts, ventricular mysteries,
brains wearing wooly sport jacket helmets
and others, more weirder too,
wonderfully inexplicable,
other jimmy olsonian beauties,
non-lexical non-commonsensical
ecumenical hysterical
chemical verbal reactionaries,
and then you wonder why,
PEOPLE ******* HATE POETRY?
Jun 13, 2020
Jun 13, 2020 at 9:46 AM UTC