"franciscan" poems
A bird in an aurulent billed mud-face,Living as a four foot two inch dragon in a San Franciscan cave,
Lifts off from a hot breathed murmur of Gideon.
Even in night the whole grandeur of movement
Soaking in red beeping heart-pangs
Fasten to the thrusts of his arms.
This post of vainglory was the opening of the year.
In July's open pores,
On a spatial plateau of Dodonian oak.
The Penguin
Unveils his weakened voice.
Flattening into a wide arrow
Draped from Carina he
Sails Westward. Barefooted through the Anavros
Molting under deep helplessness and melancholia.
With his inlaid eyes faced askance
The penguin broods
Among the day's songs
Cast into the poetry of the lyre,
Stretched upwards from Paradise Bay to Colchis,
Where his ebony wings
Soak into the palms of Peleus
Suffering only where the arrows have flung.
Downside up, with children in a pocket of blood,
Among supergigantic siren songs and muse poems
Sewing teeth into a spot of Earth
Races towards a column of toppling strakes.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:48 AM UTC
you
in perfect transparent
translations
6 dimensional shapes
rolling, falling, flying
away.
i have no idea who or what
you are.
remember that chinese place
off old 66?
i had no idea who i was then
but i would do it a million times over
again and again.
schizophrenic eyes
telephone conversations
alternate zodiacs, tigers and sheep.
piscean planning
and piscean demise.
dolores haze,
her very essence left
trampled on the page.
she was such a beauty in those days.
do you remember those
san franciscan lies?
they say it never rains
but i see that it does
all the time.
i’m still staying there
for all my life.
sweet, sick little complexities
there’s never a cycle you break.
you were in a room rull of people
who would meet your same fate.
three before thirty
you had no clue you’d lead the way.
socially starved, you say?
i guess i can’t deny it,
but i’ll fight it.
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 4:31 AM UTC
He was
either a
Captain or
Tory to
lead river
by Alamo
where want
toiled much
and delay
soiled so
much together
unfortunately his
somber face
many that
Hasici died
and San
Antonio implored
diocese while
Serra's Chapel
also became
an acorn
for fruit
and burial
for Franciscan
outward envy
of mission
for peace.
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 1:22 PM UTC
Like a 1969 poetic hippy on haight-ashbury street,
Mine pen is another san-franciscan song
Making another poetic beat....
Bump
Bop bop
Bump
Bop pa tee bop
Bump
Bop bop
Bump
Bop pa tee bop....
Playing that spiritual poetic sound........
Wearing flower's in mine hair
Is something the normals
Couldst not understand!
About a free spirited poetic as me...
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 5:51 PM UTC
Purgatory
I forgot about Purgatory, the bus
stop of Catholic needs must have.
The clamor of prayers, the knee
in genuflection.
Tomorrow I will go to mass. I will
arbitrate with the voice in
confession. To die in mortal sin
is my childhood's torment. The
black robes of St. Patrick's priests.
Early mornings
with my Dad
The brown robes of the Franciscan
who stole my sins in high school.
I wasn't done with them. I wore
pants and that angered him. I was
not unholy just skirting the borders
of adolescence my own way.
But I digress. Purgatory with all
those flapping carers preparing
my way to God Finally and
Absolutely. My prayers tabulated,
my envelope is unsealed.
I am old now and return the
Purgatorial wicker plate to the
transept under which lay
the dust of the unforgiven
travelers.
Strangers in a strange land..
The curtains whisper.,
I say penance.
Ten times.
Oh My God I am heartily… .
Amen.
Caroline Shank
10.17 2022
Italics Robert Heinlein
Oct 17, 2022
Oct 17, 2022 at 11:15 PM UTC
We wanna thank David P Carroll for his touching prayer and praying for the sick and suffering every day in life and we will be lighting a candle for you and the Carroll family god bless you David.
Oct 20, 2021
Oct 20, 2021 at 10:39 AM UTC