"excelsis" poems
~
*scarlet wind sails
upon an ultrasounding wave,
postcards from tiny islands;
nebulous, indefinable, floating,
fresh as a field
of crackerjacks;
nodding happily
from minute one,
celebrating the mountains
and valleys of being alive
in excelsis; irresistible and impish
in its understated insinuations.*
~
Dec 12, 2022
Dec 12, 2022 at 12:08 PM UTC
The cold festive wind blew;
Laughters, hollers of "Merry Christmas!"
Came along with the breeze.
Children, with their little toy drums
Bang, bang, banging away;
Choruses of "Gloria In Excelsis Deo";
Pine trees, Snow flakes, deformed Snowmen;
Houses are lined with
Blink, blink, blinking
Colorful lights and wreaths;
Somwhere among them,
in some living room,
"All I Want For Christmas" is on loop;
Cookies are laid for Santa Claus;
Presents are stacked
Under the Christmas tree--
With garlands and *****
And--
The Christmas lights
In a room in the middle of a second storey house,
Were shining as brightly as they could,
Being wrapped around the neck
Of a teenager misunderstood,
Hanging lifeless on the ceiling
With a note pinned that read,
"Happy Christmas from the dead."
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 7:29 AM UTC
Dear dead Victoria
Rotted cosily;
In excelsis gloria,
And R. I. P.
And her shroud was buttoned neat,
And her bones were clean and round,
And her soul was at her feet
Like a bishop's marble hound.
Albert lay a-drying,
Lavishly arrayed,
With his soul out flying
Where his heart had stayed.
And there's some could tell you what land
His spirit walks serene
(But I've heard them say in Scotland
It's never been seen).
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When Love's scalpel comes
towards my beautiful Gloria--
she leans in to it
What is it that makes this one
believe
at such a tremendous cost
to to herself
and yet, so many others
turn and run..
turn and hide?
I was built-- from the ground, up
to help hold ones
such as yourself, up
as the bright healing light
of loves ache
dismantles the intricacies of our
once-necessary, life-built
war machines..
yes, my beauty--
down to the very core
of your foundation,
where you can finally
have the chance
to become rebuilt:
from the ground's true bedrock,
up
#
Mar 20, 2021
Mar 20, 2021 at 10:09 PM UTC
It is half winter, half spring,
and Barbara and I are standing
confronting the ocean.
Its mouth is open very wide,
and it has dug up its green,
throwing it, throwing it at the shore.
You say it is angry.
I say it is like a kicked Madonna.
Its womb collapses, drunk with its fever.
We breathe in its fury.
I, the inlander,
am here with you for just a small space.
I am almost afraid,
so long gone from the sea.
I have seen her smooth as a cheek.
I have seen her easy,
doing her business,
lapping in.
I have seen her rolling her hoops of blue.
I have seen her tear the land off.
I have seen her drown me twice,
and yet not take me.
You tell me that as the green drains backward
it covers Britain,
but have you never stood on that shore
and seen it cover you?
We have come to worship,
the tongues of the surf are prayers,
and we vow,
the unspeakable vow.
Both silently.
Both differently.
I wish to enter her like a dream,
leaving my roots here on the beach
like a pan of knives.
And my past to unravel, with its knots and snarls,
and walk into ocean,
letting it explode over me
and outward, where I would drink the moon
and my clothes would slip away,
and I would sink into the great mother arms
I never had,
except here where the abyss
throws itself on the sand
blow by blow,
over and over,
and we stand on the shore
loving its pulse
as it swallows the stars,
and has since it all began
and will continue into oblivion,
past our knowing
and the wild toppling green that enters us today,
for a small time
in half winter, half spring.
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Blood red tears streamed…
Coloring her face
Blue
Then yellow.
Looking forward she saw primates
Behind her screaming
“Excelsis!”
to no one in particular.
Listening carefully
she felt the chill
of a raging fire,
crunching,
down the gravel path.
Out of nowhere
Blinding light
Covered her in darkness.
Tossing her wildly against
a thousand razor quills,
soft against her skin.
Grasping the cacophony
the sweet smell of anger
glowed green upon her tongue.
Would radishes grow here?
Disoriented by the pedestrian world
swirling about
She consumed mind-altering substances.
And returned to the unreal events
of
everyday life.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 10:00 PM UTC
Heavens,
Star Shining,
Angels singing Hallelujah !
The Saviour has come!
Merry Christmas
To all!
RLB
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 4:02 AM UTC
In life she sowed God's Word with grace,
She sang, she taught, she cared, with smiling face;
Expressed with gifted hands her soul's great love,
As from her heart she shared a music born above.
In death she reaps a harvest gold,
And plays and sings a song of triumph, bold.
Then we note with hearts that pine and long,
Her name was praise, her life a song!
We face the night; she rises with the day,
We sing and play and send her on her way;
Secure and safe with the knowledge of Christ's hope,
She goes to God - Gloria In Excelsis Deo!
A tribute
to
Gloria Wilson Westmoreland
September 3, 1927 - March 7, 2003
©2003 Michael S. Davis
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 11:58 AM UTC
philosophia est scio nihil, continuum timor et taedium ego: actus automaton: in excelsis hospes.
in england the ad hominem principle
is easily brushed aside,
someone might have something
interesting to say, even though
all would agree to an abhorrence
in terms of moral relativism
which is an abhorrence-in-itself,
why make anything apart from
space & time relative? people change,
get with the grooves and your
free will and your freedom to commit
mistakes...
in england the ad hominem principle
is a farce... it doesn't exist...
that's why the english can't philosophise,
they can sing, but they can't philosophise,
because instead of ad hominem
we have the principle ad populo,
yeah, i'm an apologist of heidegger,
it took me 2 years and several other
books in between to finish his being and time,
because i believed he was onto something,
and the argument against him
on the principles of ad hominem is deflected
toward argumentation ad zeitgeist,
yet in england engaging with controversy
of the times is curbed and censored
by the principle ad populo, i.e.:
to the people.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 9:53 AM UTC
Shepherds in haste are hurrying to Bethlehem
Their sandals on, their staffs in hand, their flocks alone
Shepherds what have you heard from the plains?
In the distant meadow fields-you haste to Jerusalem
Glo-ri-a, in Excelsis Deo! Glory be to God on High!
We have seen a bright star heading east
We are hurrying to where we saw the bright star
From mountains and moorlands far
We have heard whole heaven sing all this silent night:
Glo-ri-a, in Excelsis Deo! Glory be to God on High!
Shepherds what have you found in the east?
Now that you return to your fields jubilant
We have seen and adored the Holy Child
Now we return jubilant to our wild
Glo-ri-a, in Excelsis Deo! Glory be to God on High!
Magi, Wise men what have you seen?
You hurry east carrying gifts
Gold-Frankincense-Myrrh-Kingly have been
What a choice of symbolic gifts!
Glo-ri-a, in Excelsis Deo! Glory be to God on High!
We have heard the King of the Universe is born
One foretold longtime ago by your Prophets
We hurry to Bethlehem with our gifts
To worship and adore him, this Holy Newborn
Glo-ri-a, in Excelsis Deo! Glory be to God on High!
Herod, what have you heard you look vicious?
Herod, what have you heard you look jealous?
The Magi are seen hurrying east carrying kingly gift
The Shepherd have passed here in haste to praise Christ
They say He is the said to come-King of the Universe
Glo-ri-a, in Excelsis Deo! Glory be to God on High!
Joseph what have you heard in a dream?
What has the angel said while in slumber you stream?
‘Rise, take the Holy Child and the ****** Mother
And to the Land of Egypt, there take refuge
Until such a time dies, he who seek him to damage
Glo-ri-a, in Excelsis Deo! Glory be to God on High!
© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 2:17 AM UTC
Oh dear Aida ! Ma soprano lyrique
Je te mordille le lobule de l 'auricule
Je grignote l'hélix et je fouine dans l 'anthélix
Je visite ton auricule.
Ce soir je suis chaton de lynx
Ténor lyrique
Je te danse ma marche triomphale
Je suis Général cinq étoiles
Radamès l'Egyptien
Et je m'entortille la trompette dans le labyrinthe de tes cheveux
Comme dans une pelote de laine
Et je miaule et je ronronne :
"Aïda, mon éthiopienne,
Fille d'Amonasro,
Ci-devant esclave d'Amnéris, ta rivale,
Je suis ton esclave patenté
Ensevelis-moi vivant
Quand le moment viendra
et pends un de mes osselets à tes boucles d'oreille
Pour chanter ma mémoire "
Et joignant l'acte à la parole
Je t'administre un gentil piercing de mes griffes.
Et pendant que je te fais mon piercing
Toi tu joues aux osselets avec mon marteau,
Mon enclume et mon étrier.
Tu me dévores le vestige de mon oreille
Et tu me dis : "tu m'aimes maintenant !"
Je n'entends plus que le bruit de l'eau
Qui se mélange aux violons et aux cymbales
De l'orchestre philharmonique
Qui m'envahit comme le déluge
Et je te livre tous mes secrets
Et je m'accroche à tes cheveux
Soudain bleus avec des reflets verts
Comme tes ongles d'ailleurs
Tous verts sauf les pouces qui sont bleus
Pour combiner avec mes oreilles noyées.
N'est pas chaton de lynx qui veut
N'est pas maîtresse de chaton de lynx qui veut
Il faut accepter d'être lacérée de coups de griffes
Certes le félin se retient
Mais il a beau retenir ses griffes
Il est encore gamin
Il ne sait pas qu'il blesse
Il ignore que tu saignes
Il est innocent, le petiot,
Il a tout juste un mois bientôt
Et aux innocents les griffes pleines.
Et tu es maternelle
Tu lui prépares son lait
Et quand il pleure la nuit
Tu l'accueilles volontiers dans ta couche
Heureux les chatons de lynx
Gloria in excelsis deo
Car c'est enterrés vivants avec leur muse
Qu'ils connaîtront le paradis.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 6:38 AM UTC
How would you look at her in her eyes
And tell her she's not happy?
How does one make her realize,
That her life is a pity party?
Though she'd say she's okay,
That she eventually had a reason,
Will she recognize such a priori?
Or sink in an afterlife of beacon?
God bless her and no one else,
May the angels, "In Excelsis Deo" eternally.
She could've had different shells,
Instead, she'd chosen her voice's echo.
How does one look into someone's life
And show her that she could be,
If only she knot a different tie,
A different world she could've seen.
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC