"iscariot" poems
Captain Marryat's chariot
Was hijacked by Judas Iscariot
But with the aid of a lariat
He got it back.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 3:08 PM UTC
Why, Judas why?
Your kissed became the treachery symbol
Sold your faith but hanged yourself and die
After you returned that thirty pieces of silver
Why, Judas why?
Might you have a big crisis for money?
A sick parent or child, perhaps
To cure their pain, but ‘twas cut in the story
You returned the dazzling silver
Might they’ve never fulfilled their promise
To never hurt your master
That’s why you weep unto your best
Why, Judas why
If the tree and the rope could talk, they’ll never lie
Might you’ve kissed the image of your master in the wind
Before you bid the world goodbye
10-26-2015
Mysterious Aries
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 7:34 PM UTC
Like Oedipus I am losing my sight.
LIke Judas I have done my wrong.
Their punishment is over;
the shame and disgrace of it
are all used up.
But as for me,
look into my face
and you will know that crimes dropped upon me
as from a high building
and although I cannot speak of them
or explain the degrading details
I have remembered much
about Judas -
about Judas, the old and the famous -
that you overlooked.
The story of his life
is the story of mine.
I have one glass eye.
My nerves push against its painted surface
but the other one
waiting for judgement
continues to see . . .
Of course
the New Testament is very small.
Its mouth opens four times -
as out-of-date as a prehistoric monster,
yet somehow man-made
held together by pullies
like the stone jaw of a back-hoe.
It gouges out the Judaic ground,
taking its own backyard
like a ****** daughter.
And furthermore how did Judas come into it -
that Judas Iscariot,
belonging to the tribe of Reuben?
He should have tried to lift him up there!
His neck like an iron pole,
hard as Newcastle,
his heart as stiff as beeswax,
his legs swollen and unmarked,
his other limbs still growing.
All of it heavy!
That dead weight that would have been his fault
. He should have known!
In the first place who builds up such ugliness?
I think of this man saying . . .
Look! Here's the price to do it
plus the cost of the raw materials
and if it took him three or four days
to do it, then, they'd understand.
They figured it weighed enough
to support a man. They said,
fifteen stone is the approximate weight
of a thief.
Its ugliness is a matter of custom.
If there was a mistake made
then the Crucifix was constructed wrong . . .
not from the quality of the pine,
not from hanging a mirror,
not from dropping the studding or the drill
but from having an inspriation.
But Judas was not a genius
or under the auspices of an inspiration.
I don't know whether it was gold or silver.
I don't know why he betrayed him
other than his motives,
other than the avaricious and dishonest man.
And then there were the forbidden crimes,
those that were expressly foretold,
and then overlooked
and then forgotten
except by me . . .
Judas had a mother
just as I had a mother.
Oh! Honor and relish the facts!
Do not think of the intense sensation
I have as I tell you this
but think only . . .
Judas had a mother.
His mother had a dream.
Because of this dream
he was altogether managed by fate
and thus he ***** her.
As a crime we hear little of this.
Also he sold his God.
2.6k
Why are you acting as rabbit
when you could howl like a wolf?
You’re always hiding. Always regressing.
Never really going anywhere.
You channel these thoughts, yes. You manifest them. On a page.
On a stage. Like a smiling circus clown,
like a trapeze artist, flying, stumbling
through the realm of obscurity. A forgotten juggle. A lost tape.
It does not matter.
Why?
Why do you do these things?
Why are you so scared?
They are not grand thoughts. They are not ideas
meant to change.
They are private insights. Jittery. A look into the eyes of some scared soul.
Your poems are minutiae, insignificant details. They are
the trembling lip. They are the shaking hand. The confused daze.
They do not know who they are,
but they know that they are small.
You want to be a monolith, but you refuse to build,
you refuse to haul the black stones. You do not have the power.
You are a caricature. You are as scared as Paris,
as two-faced as Iscariot- you could kiss with passion.
You could rule with love. But you bow out. You take
responsibilities with you, and slink into the dirt you
arose from. You are clay. You are dust.
Why are you dust? You don’t have to be.
Why aren’t you angry- you should be roaring!
Why are you quiet- you should be singing, singing
with the cicadas- chirping with the birds,
howling with the wolves; you should join the tumult,
the uproar;
but you sit. You play with your toys like a petulant child
and scream when they break. That’s the only noise you ever make.
You could be a wolf. You don’t have to be the prey.
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 11:11 AM UTC
“Get ‘em up, Teacher.”
I felt the gun at my back and had no choice but to raise fingers, and said, “Got the drop on me, eh, Judas? Why don’t you pull the trigger?”
“Forget it. We’re going to Jerusalem where I’m going to turn you over to Herod. Pilate’s holding my gang and God knows what he’s doing to make them talk—only they don’t know anything, so they can’t talk. He’s torturing them for nothing but everybody knows the only thing he wants is to get his hands on you.
I’m going to see that he does. That will get him to cut loose my boys and take the heat off me too, see? It’ll be all over the papers when they crucify you.”
“And what will the papers say about you? You don’t know what you’re doing, Judas. Do you think the Romans will let your outfit run the territory?”
“Sure they will.”
“You’ll run it all right—run it right into the ground. You’re not ready for the big dominion, Judas. You’d be getting in over your head.”
“Quiet.”
“You know Herod gets his marching orders from Pilate and Pilate takes his orders from Caesar. Where do you fit in? You’re high and mighty now but those boys will wipe their boots on you and keep right on going. I didn’t come back to get served up on a silver platter. I came to dish it out. Nobody’s going to step on me and get away with it.”
“Quiet, I said. Now move,” he prodded with his pistol.
I walked a little but stayed close to the walls and he shoved me from behind to make me go faster, but he didn’t want me going too fast because that would attract attention.
He called out to the shadows, “Simon!”
There was no answer and he got nervous. “Simon,” he repeated, not wanting to yell out loud. He looked back and forth, taking his eyes off me for a second. I dropped, and swiping a foot beneath his legs toppled him to the ground. The pistol went off and ricocheted off the wall and I kicked the gun from his hand. Simon appeared with his hands held high, the Baptist behind him pushing him along with the business end of his rod.
“What do you want to do with them, Teacher?”
I felt sorry for the saps. They weren’t any better off than when they’d started.
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 11:42 PM UTC
Corpse dangles from tree by snapped-twig neck,
innards spilled out from stomach like rotten raspberries,
nothing but stick-figure hang man.
Simon Iscariot's tears fall beside blood and water
that pours from your abdomen,
similar to the emulsion
from the spear-wound in Jesus. Christ
gave you the highest honor:
that of making all
ancient parchment
statements true.
They were then hidden away for centuries in dry clay pots
in musty caves of sheep-herders.
Father lowers you down
the greatest of care
to the arms of
Pieta' Mother.
May 22, 2011
May 22, 2011 at 8:06 AM UTC
The internal battle..eternal....(one from the vault)
Lucifer and Jehovah dancing some mad bossa nova
While angels on horse backs fought devils with black jacks
The white dove of peace had surrendered his lease
So God ripped off his wings.. he no longer sings
Then the Devil ripped out his heart so it could end at the start.
Wagner and Chopin got frightened..
..and off they ran.
But Beethoven and Bach were sat in the park
Composing arias to fight Hells hot fires.
While Chekhov and Handel burned coramandel
But the smoke from that pyre stank like a byre.
Socrates was sat dispensing the ethics
Hippocrates swore while dishing out medics
The Muses were musing one or two were enthusing
Oooh look.. the good against sinner
Let's go down the bookies and have a bet on the winner.
Cometh the day cometh the morn
Cometh the hour cometh the dawn.
Here is Joshua blowing his horn
And here comes Gabriel but all that he meets
Are the countless dead lining up on the streets
And the wounded and deathbound far far below
I feel sorry for Gabriel I wish he could go.
But Picasso arrives and cries
My God it's my Guernica I'll do a pastiche
Oh F*ck it he says and has a pastis (or two)
Then Pollack turns up totally ******
Picks up a paint and says what I have missed?
What a fantastic sight.. angels flashing demons crashing
The hounds of Hell with teeth a gnashing
Then Neptune arrives astride his watery chariot
Scything through Demons and sat beside Judas Iscariot
Mermen and mermaids mercilessly slayed
By Beelzebubs prototypes
Those that live in the black nights.
But as the dawn breaks God knows what it takes
So he sends for his legions calls out to all regions
Take arms and do battle
Till we hears Satans death rattle.
And the heavens rip asunder to the sound of the thunder.
Satan rings on Hells bell.. tells them all is not well
Then disappears from our sight as if he's turned off the light.
Then I awake with a start knowing that I've been a part
Of something vast something grand
A spiritual war being fought in this land
I am alive and I shall survive.
PRAISE BE.
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 9:08 AM UTC
I pulled the sword from the stone
I struck you down and road you to the Earth
With a bow and a kiss I wiped the blood from your lips
And even you had to admit it was grandeur
And all the walls you built and empires you buried in the dust
They were meaningless once you found a derelict bannaret
And they flew the bright banners all over town for the wedding
Of the dragonslayer and the basilisk
We bought a house close to town
Right across from Judas Iscariot
We always bicker 'bout the branches of the oak trees
He said "They said time would heal all my wounds but yet
Mine keep splitting open like I'm the dragon against Saint George"
Advance our standards! Set upon our fears with old bitter hearts!
But I ended up hanging off of her every word until
All the life that I had in my lungs choked out
The flower girl is lying
Eastern Lilys through the halls of the morgue
Nero's drunk off wine and waving his bow like a sword
These days I can't remember much about Heaven
'Cept the smell of dead astronauts and gnashing fangs of fury
And a deeper understanding of honest ambivalence
Is there a God in this machine? Has he got his eye on me?
I've got some questions and I expect answers!
Mama, I just killed the only thing I've ever loved
"But each man kills the thing he loves"
I'm a killer with a kiss! I'm a coward with a sword!
Oh what reds does Hell hold for me!
Jul 10, 2012
Jul 10, 2012 at 2:58 AM UTC
When Brasidas took Amphipolis,
one surrendering citizen etched out
visions of the future,
the reoccurring melody,
on clay in some veranda –
*That throb from the fold to the ripple’s edge;
the flowered bank’s erosion.
The circulating noose and knife;
themes where fools wander.
A mound of nails;
where Iscariot’s shekels
buried thirteen withered stools.*
Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 7:53 AM UTC
Thrice-Strung Judges, Thirty Pieces you Shout
Be that Iscariot or Ally you relay
How the Once-Loved Prince now the Blubbered Pout
Has sent me to Interest another Fey
So it seems a Pillow for the Sullen
Whom by Lines saw no End to this Debate -
Which Petal weans; Or scratches Tears fallen
Least charge one's Sanity before its too Late
The Wheel was Right. Through Change Strength will confer
And sign assurance Monopoly disown
For Saner Men; And Women leaves Fresher
Let each bare Happiness bid for Reknown.
How Wonderous be, this Marble whirls for Love,
Then Season the Troll; Then Sever the Dove.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 7:56 AM UTC
They say everyone has a chance
for eternal life if they accept Him.
They say "the blood of Christ will
make hearts white and cleanse them."
What about the girl whose heart beats
for another girl under her sheets?
Or the boy who was born in sin
lusting over and loving men?
Who makes those sinners well?
If love condemns me to Hell
then I want no part in this holy land
because I only feel heaven when I'm holding her hand.
And if that's wrong
then I don't want to be right
because her blood will cleanse me
and make my heart light.
So call me Judas Iscariot
or nail me to a cross
But love is a battle I've fought and fought
And I won't take this loss.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 3:01 PM UTC
I saw a chariot
with the mare in it
making a man carry it
I saw Marie Antoinette
and Judas Iscariot
abdicate an abortion
because they weren't married yet
I saw aunt Harriet
barreled over bones in a casket
gasping
begging them not to bury it
I saw words on a page
that made no sense
I saw leopard prints
I saw tents with tenants
unable to pay their rents
Aug 1, 2011
Aug 1, 2011 at 8:34 PM UTC
With thirty pieces at your feet
Isaiah's prophecy: made complete.
Your infamy sealed with a kiss
May be more compelling
Than your place on Satan's list.
Though history be untelling,
Through you His will be done
To ensure your friend
Go down as His forgiving son.
You both knew before
The bread was dipped,
The soldiers: he wanted tipped.
Apostles fell from twelve to eleven.
You secured your spot in heaven.
Mar 29, 2011
Mar 29, 2011 at 6:39 AM UTC
Thirty pieces of Judas, seller of sons. Why do you run betrayer? Silver trust severed and scatter to marble steps, for a slaves wage to be paid! Unafraid for your friends as they slept, betrayed, as you left. Soon to die, rope to tree tied, you then ponder how a peaceful man becomes the original monster.
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 9:19 AM UTC
My beloved sold me out with a kiss
The camel passed through the needle
Iscariot in his chariot, and me in a box
He keeps spare containers of light
For when he roams with dinosaurs
In crypts lacking oxygen
His roots go deep
And I'm the monkey chained in his tree
Trying to reach down and pull them out
The devil resides in the cleanest box
Keeping tabs on us
My beloved sold me out with a kiss
The camel passed through the needle
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 6:06 PM UTC
I can’t remember the first time I did it-
Flashing silver in the place of blood-true red inside my mouth.
To me, that was the worst. There was
no moment I could drag myself to,
screaming crying cowardly, and make it better.
No rhyme nor reason for the
twist inside of me.
At night I prayed for some forgiveness,
but I stopped going to Mass before my Confirmation and even I knew there could be no
True deliverance without repentance—
53 Hail Marys cannot do what crystal lemon AWESOME does to the pistons of my father’s pickup truck, not
when the engine is
Clutching to its grime
Clinging for synthetic, automated life to the decades worth of caked-on dirt and sludge that
Are what it knows.
Unwilling to be clean.
And so I do not step one foot in church,
Yet I cannot keep my eyes from my mother’s wooden carving of the Last Supper,
Wishing he would turn his eyes to me, as well,
Knowing that he won’t.
Gripping the tablecloth at family dinner,
Seeing my own hand as his, clutching his bag,
Iscariot, my brother, whom I know as though another self.
All sins are the same.
In my own way, I too betray the salt.
Mar 4, 2021
Mar 4, 2021 at 9:03 AM UTC
Let's pray to the stars
you aren't a snake
in the grass my friend
because I can guarantee
I'm not remotely afraid
to make that mistake again
but this time
I'll remove your ******* head
and put this **** to an end
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
If your eyes--
they were a chariot,
Would they
swing down under
and chose me
as their favorite?
Or
would I burst asunder,
headlong like Judas Iscariot?
If your face--
it was a mirror,
through no glass
could I see clearer;
Would you stare back at me
and begin to understand
Or
laugh at me
and brush me off with
your dainty right hand?
If your lips--
they were a tourniquet,
I would wrap them
tight around me;
Would you choke out
my loneliness,
with spiritual nourishment
could you douse me?
Or
is that not what
this is all about?
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 11:35 AM UTC
Measuring my strength,
against the sounds
escaping from closed windows.
O heaven!
you saw me
escaping
from your garden.
Pale
as the mist.
I walked
along paved pathways
and found myself
behind
blood-stained doors.
You reacted.
I spat in your face.
You gave me the kiss of Judas Iscariot
O Janus, my god,
show me your
two faces tonight.
You hid them from me, for so long.
I will leave you.
Don't you touch me.
Put on me a mask of plaster
And then be gone...
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 7:18 AM UTC
Not all kisses are kisses true.
That I do and from the Bible know
How Judas Iscariot did Jesus show
By a kiss and betrayed Him thru'.
Gall, many do hide neath the nectar
By giving venom for honey.
Many a love professed be phoney
That leaves the heart with some scar.
Oct 26, 2011
Oct 26, 2011 at 1:01 AM UTC
let’s live our lives
barefoot
let’s live our lives like
small children,
children so precious that their simple presence
evokes tears in the eyes of the most
stoic father,
so precious that the image of them
snoring softly in their Thomas the Tank Engine bed
causes the stressed mother to smile a mile,
so precious that when one of them
pushes back the blonde, wispy hair of the other
the photographer can’t help but laughing as she
captures the moment
let’s live our lives like
children who are not afraid of nails and rocks
in the backyard, but who are
obsessed with finding that elusive
white grasshopper that their uncle
promised was there,
like children who endure countless foot baths every day
in the heat of summer but the pads still blister
and their feet still turn brown
but they don’t care,
like children who have just smelled a flower
for the first time, who have experienced the
sharp pain of a first bee sting,
like children who are in awe as a deer
peeks quizzically at them from above the bush,
tail twitching, eyes twinkling
let’s live our lives like
children who make up odd games that
they remember years later, a complicated one that involves
Patty Cake, jump rope, tag, and somehow
hop scotch and charades as well,
like children who wander away from their house
for many hours, exploring like Columbus,
drawing detailed maps of their small neighborhood,
beautiful crayon stick figures dotting the horizon,
like children who capture and dote on an assortment of
toads, grasshoppers, frogs, moths, and butterflies,
like a child who thinks the worst sin is to
**** an animal that the Lord has made
let’s live our lives like children, with a
loving and unwavering faith in the Savior,
with eyes unaltered by the
whips and thorns of life,
with minds unchanged by the
Judas Iscariot’s of this Earth
let’s live our lives like
small children
let’s live our lives
barefoot
Apr 7, 2020
Apr 7, 2020 at 8:13 PM UTC
why do I within many of my dreams seem to lock doors
that refuse to remain shut?
why must one follower always wither in a dream
why must old friends appear as Judas Iscariot
as tear drops falling down from their faces as rain
I once thought that I understood beauty
yet I could never comprehend it fully
the beauty in this world is only a shadow of things
that I have never seen
when I look into your face
all I can see is beauty my old friend
but as i close my eyes and daydream
all I can see is one follower
withered to an unappealing
dust in my cold brown hands
this triggers me to relax
in the end
a fall breeze will blow it all way
i once looked into blue eyes
i once stared into the atmosphere of fall
yet reflections of my life
will bring me back to old times
Aug 3, 2021
Aug 3, 2021 at 6:52 AM UTC
My beloved sold me out with a kiss
The camel passed through the needle
Iscariot in his chariot, and me in a box
He keeps spare containers of light
For when he roams with dinosaurs
In crypts lacking oxygen
His roots go deep
And I'm the monkey chained in his tree
Trying to reach down and pull them out
The devil resides in the cleanest box
Keeping tabs on us
My beloved sold me out with a kiss
The camel passed through the needle
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 6:05 PM UTC
Stealing is not corruption,
Judas Iscariot is not a criminal,
Love is mere emotion,
And death is not final.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 7:24 AM UTC
I used to be that girl
Had a roof over my head,
but not sheltered
Prison was my abode
Tied down by a ring on my finger And a piece of paper
Signed away my liberty
Sealed it with a kiss
I guess not everyone
Who kisses you loves you Remember Judas Iscariot?
His kiss marked the fountain-head Of Jesus' tribulation
As your kiss marked mine
My smile was beatific
When all around me was pulverizing to dust
I counterfeited contentment Comforted myself with false hope
That things would change
Yet getting worse and worse by the day
Reposing with the adversary Night after night
Fights, arguments and misunderstandings
Were a daily norm
Time is yet to heal
What immeasurable, intense Torture has done to my heart
A tattered and marred spirit
How can time mend
Feelings of loneliness and betrayal, battered and molested
Is there an end
To this barbaric nature
Hard indeed it is to accept
When the one who's supposed to love
Becomes your greatest nightmare I was there
Walked in these shoes
Shed the same tears
Learnt the hard way,
That I have to stand and fight Fight for my freedom
And the independence of my children
I found the victor in me
And not the victim I refused to be another
Statistic of domestic violence
I drew strength from within
And walked away.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 6:44 AM UTC