"homilies" poems
In the burning right hand of the bald city,
denizens frame calories and count instagram blessings
while beacons of hope refund inspiration in USADA *** cups.
Abyssinian maids wail over yesterday lovers
who wore Ginsberg’s skirt with less pizzazz
and watched bedbugs **** blood off knee caps
wondering, what if Jesus Christ drove a Nissan?
As bullets of paragraphs fall Vietnamese pesticides on my head,
The dusts off my breath sing homilies
With letters of broken leather whiskey,
For even in the most dishonest jest,
clandestine toothbrushes are overrated
and every first false lie is the only truth.
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 8:02 PM UTC
a quote of Bernard-Henri Lévy
~~~
the divers’ recovery, diverse,
shipwrecked salvage from different locations,
auctioned to the highest bidder,
tho the excised excerpts are exceptional,
none come to do the bidding,
for the provenance of words
belongs to all, and to none
~~
“so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction”
“the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few,
like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am,
evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings,
how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty
to love the crafted content of our human essence to better
comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared
words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages...and every molecule,
becomes a human tuning fork in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit”
“murmur me, with soft downy charms,
these words discovered
recoursed and intended well to
pointedly offset and contradict
their very own tumultuous discovery uncovering,
tear tongue me
with calming, lapping word wages,
hymns harmonious and fine homilies,
a call, a request,
a bequest
to sedate my shrill life
“some cells, microscopic, preserved digitally,
aged to imperfection, thrash my eyes,
making me speak in tongues I do not recognize,
but fluently possess, no wonder there,
the memory place fairly empty,
room aplenty for passerby's and the imagery
of the vaguest of dearly departed
skin is not the only mot shed,
sloughing of woeful words”
“speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor these words at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them”
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 4:55 AM UTC
All those homilies are works of comedy;
the only sounds you'll need to hear are my moans and plea, praying for you to take me.
I would need no altar to make you kneel,
the sight of my bare back alone would send those sinful lips of yours into overkill.
And, please, put that bible away,
we'll have the best erotica written by the time this night is over anyway,
or perhaps until the sun becomes astray from the unforgiving light and day.
So come on now, your able hands
would make the saints envious
with all the unkind things you'll do to my equally unkind body,
Bring it on, your cunning tongue
could make even a skeptic curious
even the angels would be stripped off
their grace and glory.
Forget about your god when all he ever do
is make you bleed, cry and beg,
you know the only place you'll ever find eternal salvation is between my legs.
Your hot breath and hands against my neck,
amen.
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 11:44 PM UTC
did you know your hair was golden in the sun?
you were the boy king, gentle as the summer air
you found me frail and useless, when i was nothing
yet you, in all your glory, made me something.
your name echoed through all the kingdoms of Greece,
you threatened yet were admired by the greatest of warriors
you roused lustful dreams in the most tender and innocent of nymphs
you were the mighty sentinel of the common stranger
yet you were mine to hold in the dark of night.
i still think about the way your leg dangled as your lyre lulled on,
your languid trails of kisses and starlit whispers
still haunt me the same way your unavoidable fate
crept upon you through your noble triumphs.
i have listened to your speeches like homilies of the faithful
i have memorized the creases on your face of fierceness
i have kissed your war wounds and cried for your pain
and i have read the greatest of legends in the lines of your body.
i could have sworn your battle cries
were as melodious as your lyre songs
and so beautiful they were
that i still hear you sing in the tides of the Aegean seas
you were destined for fame and wondrous glory
to be a story to be told for all time
to have people cheer your name and fall on their knees for you
loss was a feeling foreign to you,
yet the only thing you lost yourself to, in your pride, was love
who knew love could be such a terror?
golden haired triumphant prince
running swift and beautiful with the ocean breeze
nobody could ever catch up:
i had always thought you and i would live forever.
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 1:01 PM UTC
"Oh, murmur, murmur me again to peace!"
(from the libretto of Handel's Semele -
opera.stanford.edu/iu/libretti/semele.htm)
think of your ears as an
ever alert, high pitched,
sensory tuning fork,
an aural radar, searching for that
acute, oblique,
perforating and poking phrase,
that lost airplane of solace
buried and too well hid
in the vastness of
empty, characterless searchable seas
that rarely yield up their
comforting finery
when discovered, tripped upon,
instant recognition pleads
"write me down,
write me up,
delve me,
determine me,
make me more!"
t'is a thrumming vibrato
interfering with mind,
that phrase, that phrase, that phrase
"Oh, murmur, murmur me again to peace!"
content coursing through the eyes,
piercing veils of hum drum dumbing down,
a life spying drone eliciting excitedly
a high value target,
an unexpected mission,
camouflaged amidst the
chit chat droning of the
choking ordinary and commonplace
*murmur me, with soft downy charms,
these words discovered
recoursed and intended well to
pointedly offset and contradict
their very own
tumultuous discovery uncovering,
tear tongue me
with calming, lapping word wages,
hymns harmonious and fine homilies,
a call, a request,
a bequest
to sedate my shrill life,
You
murmur me again to peace*
even the words
be prepared to sacrifice, surrender,
but promise me that
the Justice of
-just-
thy tone,
thy inflections,
will gentle
the infecting turbulence
of being a plain, tried and trialed human
let me not
catalogue the onerous,
the burdening barbell weights,
we carry for no purpose
Give us
our daily bread of a singular
phrase~prayer~poem,
our verbal bond, modest sequest,
honey oatmeal, cut up strawberried
jewel,
give it, me this day,
my daily soothing
"Oh, murmur, murmur me again to peace!"
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 8:24 AM UTC
*Have faith just!
in what pray,you
might ask well,
not in long lines
of devotion fervent
neither crowded pilgrims
beseeching bending
breast beating timely
for gods uncaring.
never in sermons,
long boring homilies
of fiery brimstone's
heavens and hells
and rituals tantric
of stones and planets.
have faith just
in you and me
life creative, making
flowers bloom and
rivers flow, trees breathe
and winds blow,
earths grow and skies
embrace,alright then
we should be.*
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 8:56 AM UTC
Notice how the whisper dies
When strangers near a gathered few,
How laughter dwindles in the air
Where yesterday, free breezes blew.
Our public forums disappear
Like dominoes, they fall in turn
And each in turn consumes a truth,
Like ******* in a flame they burn.
And everyone’s opinion fades
As nervous glances flit the room,
A menace in the silence felt
As whispers hush, suspicion looms.
The banks call in the mortgages,
The Cops demanding hard
The language of the press subdued
And every one’s on guard.
And the failing economies
Across the whole globe,
And contrived **** happening
With oil price hikes disrobed.
Grinning cartel monopolies
Who manipulate fare
To cause catastrophic collapse
In the market elsewhere.
Government’s tone has altered
From homilies of home,
(God bless our land & honour the flag)
To harsh Corporate drone.
Big Money’s in the mix you see,
Pharmaceuticals and Big Oil
And the Military have the casting vote
In cashing up the spoils.
How has it all come to this ?
Where have our freedoms fled ?
If they ever really did exist
Were they... only in my head ?
Restricted private ownership
With travelling curtailed,
And the information black out
Shows the freedom press have failed.
But the repetitious broadcasts
Which they want us all to hear,
And the droll propaganda
Which confuses the ear,
Those brainwashing dogma’s
Which stifle the mind,
Oppressing the rational
To keep we souls aligned.
Why, my friend,
On this bright summer’s day
Should my heart be bleeding
It’s freedoms away ?
Who sanctioned oppression,
Who opened the gate,
To admit the dark forces
Who thrive on the hate ?
Marshalg
Feeling the vibe of what is beginning out there...EVERYWHERE!
AUCKLAND
20 February 2011
Feb 18, 2011
Feb 18, 2011 at 4:54 PM UTC
V1:
Love makes the world go round,
More than money or TV,
Love makes the world go round,
It matters like gravity,
Chorus:
All hands in unison,
Steeped in prayer,
Devoting homilies filled,
With perfect care.
Middle Eighth:
Only in deepest dreams is it possible,
To see what life can truly be,
Only in deepest dreams is it possible,
To be one together and to be free.
V2:
Love makes the heart beat,
More than lust or wealth,
Love makes the heart beat,
Puts us in good health,
Chorus:
All hands in unison,
Steeped in prayer,
Devoting homilies filled,
With perfect care.
Middle Eighth:
Only in deepest dreams is it possible,
To see what life can truly be,
Only in deepest dreams is it possible,
To be one together and to be free.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 8:37 AM UTC
"Oh!" my wretched soul aloud sighed
In lamentation over its solitude,
For in vain its happiness hangs
Thus cannot rest more on earthly bliss.
And countless of homilies have I heard
More oft than dialy bread
From different parsons, pastors, and persons sent,
Yet melting merriment merry meet.
But just too well too late
The Holy Spirit to me spake
That the choice is merely mine
To seek true hope from Jesus's pouch,
That whether in him believe and happiness have
By walking faithfully on paradise course
Or reject him and eternal regrets get
By charging on with lunacy on perdition's
Path. Please, let me alone with godly choice
To know what joy salvation really brings
Through what Christ alone in Calvary did
By giving what verily matters to the world!
And to this new unquenchable truth aligned myself
Not to misplace again priorities first; instead
Gracefully and obediently walk toward that home,
Where my mansion be a stately stead.
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 5:59 AM UTC
A turtle dove beau as exquisite art
Beats with enchanted, compassionate heart
Inspiring with her call of peace
In her the march of love apace
A truth that strikes like magic dart
All hands in unison, steeped in prayer
Devoting homilies filled with perfect care
The luscious light of love appear
In hearts, to vanquish fear, despair
For unity we strive and dare
Imbued with cosmic passion rare
The flame of love be ours to stoke
The light resplendent and bespoke
Which doth our spirits stoke
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 5:05 AM UTC
Greeting Card Verse
There is nothing wrong with greeting card verse:
Noses are red, some types of whales are blue
Two woods diverged in a yellow road, so what
Is any of that to me or to you?
A man must find a verse that fits his needs -
Archly obscure thick homilies preening
To poly spec for the cause of the day
Couched in cool cant neither pretty nor true
Are but ISBN numbers on file
And
Sometimes ya want to smile, crocodile!
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 7:14 PM UTC
The world in unison
The world as one
Hearts sink at sight
Of the setting sun
The world in unison
The world as friends
As if one constituency
To each other we tend
All hearts in unison
In grief and sorrow
Knowing that some
Are bereft of Life's tomorrow
All hands in unison
To steep in prayer
Devoting homilies
Filled with perfect care
All life in harmony
Will find it's way
This song is for Albion
And the warrior spirits there
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 8:49 AM UTC
Making excuses
With hundreds of uses
All kinds of ruses
To cover up abuses
By venal national leaders
Upscale liars and cheaters
And well-armed bush-beaters
Feeding the meat-eaters.
The uptight Right
With its narrow eyesight
Calls daytime night
And loves a grudge fight
So, they create enemies
With deceitful homilies
And live up to the parodies
That leave us on our knees.
They ignore the Constitution
And make new resolutions
To offer no real solutions.
To our national destitution.
All that matters is monetary
So, they bribe the constabulary;
Call civil rights revolutionary
And laugh at those they bury.
The point is, make no mistake
These reprobates always take
They never take a break.
They cut nobody a break.
They steal and call it rights
And love it when the poor fight.
And while we sleep at night
They steal even the street lights.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 6:05 PM UTC
Mothers come gently to our rooms, the sunset kiss on the forehead,
Woven homilies from their baskets of forgiveness and spools of yarn.
But for the grave, this heart its coiled sunset unspools, so long entwined
In woods and seas that redden now into the soul of all sunsets combined.
May 22, 2020
May 22, 2020 at 10:27 PM UTC
If you want freedom to fail
You’re the one should be in jail.
Wave the flag and bang the drum
Let’s make changes to support freedom.
If you hate because of skin
You’re the one preaching sin.
Set your course upon the Constitution.
Make your mind up to show your resolution.
If you think rights are about race
You’re the one we should replace.
Play the fife and set the marshal rhythm.
The time has come to march right over them.
If you look down upon the poor
You’re a disease we need to cure.
Search your heart and let’s agree,
We must enact the rules of propriety.
If you sneer because you’re rich
You’re the caste we need to pitch.
We’ve seen it throughout our history
What comes of those who practice infamy.
If you think you’re superior
That’s solid proof you’re the inferior.
No matter how the bigots drone,
By their actions they will be known.
If you feel you must beat your child
Then you are still and animal in the wild.
If you use your fists to teach.
Your righteousness is out of reach
If you feel you must beat your spouse
You are truly not a man, you are a mouse.
Truth before and still this year.
Beat me and you've nothing I wish to hear.
An argument isn’t fairly won
If they have to reach for a gun.
Some may say might makes right
But that can’t stand up to the light.
Government and church must be
Totally separate now and for eternity.
Two words that deserve derision
Are these two words: state religion.
Our human rights simply have to be
The undisputed rule of law universally.
We know it’s true, we all saw
Billy clubs and fire hoses, used by law.
If you think equality is wrong
You’re the reason for this song.
And we sing it loud, hear, hear!
And we will sing that song as a jeer.
If you hate because of skin
You’re the one preaching sin.
Somebody surely must have lied
When enemies claim god's on their side.
If you think rights are about race
You’re the one we should replace.
You think racism is heaven-kissed
You can move away. You won’t be missed.
Progress is a gift from the wise.
It cannot happen if we worship lies.
Our home will fail to stand
If we build the foundation on sand.
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 3:31 PM UTC
For a man who held fire in his homilies
and set the souls aflame with hell
he was gentle at the apse, smiling, smiling
warm hands and crisp cuffs and collars
no burns or bruises
nothing to give away his belief
in kingdoms buried in the clouds
of scriptures that he could quote
adding references to each little parable
like he himself, managed the manuscripts.
Come Easter, and the darkness would settle
on his purple robes and sceptre
as he walked down the aisle resplendent
and roman as Pontius Pilate
with a cleaner soul.
Christmas was different, he patted children's heads
blessed the old nanas who dropped off those chocolate
cakes and port wine, fortified with ***
and brandy biscuits. He was always thankful for the spirit.
But the day he looked at me long and hard
the spark of hell ignited my guilt
at not going to Mass for a whole summer of sun
and without a twitch of his bushy eyebrows he said:
"Been busy getting a suntan? Hell will make you black!"
but he grinned that extra-sip of wine grin
and I entered the church to repent
for all the sins I did not commit!
Bless me Father.... blah blah blah....
Author Notes
I know him well. He once called me an 'outstanding Catholic' because I stood outside most of the time!
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
i remember you whispering in my ear in mass when we were meant to be reciting our hail marys.
and daydreaming during the homilies of how dangerously strong our love may be if it was let known,
reverberating over holy lands,
overpowering the sounds of church bells.
but only the walls can hear our words over the loudly sung psalms
and only a god can see in the dark.
your love was architectural.
your love built me cathedrals,
your love built me empires.
the soft vibrations of your sweet love words bounced off the stain-glassed windows and silently drew an echo over the room,
through the pews, up to the sacred altar, presented as a gift to all.
a poet you are, my love,
a goddess, even more so,
with your words, you have the power to create
and with your love, you have the will to sanctify.
for churches are divine, and gods are ancient,
but you are you, forevermore, every century.
©L.F.
Jul 17, 2020
Jul 17, 2020 at 6:51 PM UTC
We came from all over the land
To show our hand and our signs
And resign from the silent crowd
That allowed this filth to control
And dig a hole in our Constitution;
To point out the fools that choose
To use our schools to abuse us
With their taking of bribes and
Payoffs for scribes in the media.
It was an amazing time to climb
Off our sofas and it was thrilling
Even with the wind chilling us.
But these kids, friends and families
Had grown tired of homilies by crooks
Justifying what they took from us
And throwing us all under the bus
In the name of patriotism and then
Giving back in nepotism to their
Friend's foreign bank accounts,
As well as a hefty kickback account,
Which amounts to the same thing.
The nation admired the children
They had sired should move to fight
For what is right when leaders
Turned out to be followers of wrong.
They lifted voice in songs and chants
And shocked the pants off mediocrity
By standing in all solemnity to face
The worst of our race who ruled
That murdering children ranked less
Than the mess our country has begun
By protecting horrible guns more
And giving children in school
A much lower overall score.
Not often enough, we wake up
As a country, and stand up
To picket, protest and crowd
Around the symbols we have found
That mean we are being swindled
And the innocent are being starved
And carved up and killed daily
So our leaders can go gaily on
With business as usual; a kind of
Tone-deaf musical for the twisted.
But we stopped liking the lyrics
And cynics doing the singing
With bad voices too loudly,
So, we proudly declare a mistrial
That has gone on too long a while
And needs to quit. Those in power
Need to sit down at home
And leave the real people alone
And we at home need to step in
And begin this freedom and equality
Promise and fulfillment for real
And apply it to the common weal.
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 4:10 PM UTC
You didn’t notice
Because
You didn’t know us.
You were above us
Because
You didn’t love us.
You found us boring
So you were ignoring
As we suffered neglect
But yet
You demanded respect.
That we couldn’t detect
The love you didn’t reflect
Because
To you we were pains
All the proof that remained
When no profit was gained
Yet you moan about paying
Because
We're all still staying
Here around the family
Where there are no homilies
That save you from indignities
From being constantly haunted
By children you never wanted.
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 5:05 PM UTC
All the pilgrims gather
for their weak *** Sunday blather
as stained glass saints bear witness
to prayers recited by rote
by the zombie congregation
awash in traditional hypocrisies
Sinners seeking to con their way
into happily ever after eternity
As if salvation can be bought
by slipping some coin
into the collection plate
You best take those homilies
and hymns you sing off key
a tad more seriously
Absorb those ancient words to heart
and begin to walk
the righteous walk
Amen
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC
With troubled gait I, forlorn, went
To forests to hear message from spirits sent
Their music near imperceptible
My sullied spirit irascible
For its sad and slow descent
I had the vision of my self
Saw it in bad and woeful health
A death was creeping up in stealth
To send me to place of Love's dearth
The books have less wisdom than the earth
Which nurtures us the breadth of its girth
The homilies of hell have no worth
I gestate my soul awaiting rebirth
To arise from spiritual death
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 12:22 AM UTC
You don’t speak for all,
President Butterball
Fallacies, fantasies,
Homespun homilies
Disingenuous dissidence
Worse than any immigrant
Look at the unsaid
Fears inside our heads
We ride a crash course;
An apocalypse horse
Stop this farce
Disembark
Feb 6, 2019
Feb 6, 2019 at 9:19 PM UTC
Life is in the here and now, the present,
Death is in the past and future; regret and needs to be met.
But talking about dying, pain, angst, the last breath brings life;
Mysterious peace settles, an absence of strife.
We may think we’re alone in death,
But we all go through it, crossing that precipice.
Something we all have in common,
Not just for one but for everyone.
Sharing stories becomes living memories,
Remembered in death, then as homilies.
Celebrating life: a life well lived,
Then, death is seen as not taken but given.
Apr 11, 2024
Apr 11, 2024 at 7:07 PM UTC