"kneelers" poems
I've been at hundreds of funerals
Standing beside Fathers
Soon to be posted to Peru
Or to missions for black African babies.
They'd sprinkle caskets like Spring rains,
Burn incense to smudge the dead
With rising smoke signals.
Sounding the advance.
I witnessed pain in the front pews,
The kneelers with thin cushioning.
I prayed fervently for a whosh of wind
To sweep behind me,
Billow my soutane,
And lift the lid;
Prayed for the candle flame to flare,
For the body to rise
As Rathgar did.
He was a faker.
Not like what I saw.
Up close.
On Friday mornings.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 10:42 AM UTC
The Elder Supremes are staggering
Under the Pillar of Superposition—
They who stream emotionless minds, streaming
Scripture as alcohol to tea-head Kneelers, praying
The elixir of Olympus isn’t turpentine; tarnishing
The great, drear light of child-minds like onions in the Sun
Molding through its layers; the taste extinguished—No poetry Survives!
They who crackle doom over whitened rooms
Filled with the white coats of Nature’s secret Heroes—
The best minds, sagging like iced-over limbs—
Made dim by a false Heavenly connection.
Oh! They deprived the gears of Grandfather Night,
And deemed Him wicked in his flickering sight.
They who are Hollow, yet still colossal; these spinning Hellions,
This Machinery of Older Skeletons;
That steams and heats and comes to life for an innocent
Bottom, with the name that lies in Sin of Archaic Text,
Vexed, hexed and expressed in all Prisons and War—
Prisons and War reverberate like bad music in the name of a doG;
A name the Sun once owned and cast below to a dimmer Star,
It billowed and screamed: Keep it in the ******* Church!
Now it comes to Damning the Beast:
“Get thee behind me Savior, for the Microscope is over Prayer.”
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 2:37 PM UTC
Teacher preacher while I have your attention can you please take a seat
Teacher preacher I need an explanation
I'm not allowed to think and I feel like a patient
Teacher preacher how do you expect me to sit and listen
When earlier this morning mom and dad were arguing in the kitchen
Teacher preacher I haven't learned anything new since the fourth grade
All this time, I swear it seems like my consciousness is starting to fade
The **** you teach us doesn't even matter
Long as we graduate, go to college, climb the ladder
But without your full attention our entire future will shatter
Teacher preacher you're supposed to be here to shape my mind
Teacher preacher it's time to take a step back and let me shine
Teacher preacher I've had a rough day
But you yell at me when I try to hide in my hats shade
Teacher preacher these are the last words on the page
Teacher preacher I'm your puppet and this is your stage
No wait back up ...
I need to clean my act up
Come Sunday in walking at graduation
When last Sunday I was selling good Haitian
But a gun to the head will **** with you respiration
You don't need the money just quit that desperation.
Capitalism
Take take take
**** with the come up
They find you in that lake lake lake
But excuse my attitude
What would you do when your role models was drug dealers
And Hug stealers
And plug kneelers
And wig splinters
And
As the time passes I'm tired of making momma cry
As the time passes I'm tired of being that guy
But hate to see my family struggle
In twenty years probably look back on this and force a chuckle
But once and for all for all the people that doubted me
**** YOU
come Sunday it's my stage
And all my success is written on that page
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 2:03 PM UTC
I've laid the shovel down
And light a candle,
Though I hardly remember why.
I've grieved for the niches
Of para-pschology,
And a general spirituality.
The out-of-body vacations,
The near death revelations.
I pine for the oaken smell
Of pews in a row;
The creak of ancient kneelers,
A red bright sanctuary light.
I am pagan,
Meditating in a copse.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 6:14 PM UTC