"lepers" poems
sway with me, everything sad --
madmen in stone houses
without doors,
lepers steaming love and song
frogs trying to figure
the sky;
sway with me, sad things --
fingers split on a forge
old age like breakfast shell
used books, used people
used flowers, used love
I need you
I need you
I need you:
it has run away
like a horse or a dog,
dead or lost
or unforgiving.
15.5k
Father could reprogram all six billion of us
if He felt the need, anytime
In fact that's exactly what He did
at Babel when our dodgy one-accord
threatened to bring the end nearer
than the six millenniums of earthtime
He'd allocated for us to seek His truth
He even re-wired Balak for a minute
to hear his donkey speak
and think of the Assyrians that fled
when He caused four lepers to sound
like a mighty mercenary army
coming to rescue Jerusalem
YHWH is omnipotent, like it not
The reason He's not 'interfering' right now
is simply because His plan is dead on time
He intends to blow the chaff from His wheat
The true wheat, His remnant that stays faithful
(through Revelations and the mark)
will form a new constitution when Yeshua returns
for a thousand years of peace on earth
You may think "Oh I'll wait and see
if it's true, like, if the two witnesses
really die and then rise again in three days"
Problem with that approach is simple
You could be brainwashed before then
The neurophone is widely used today
Think of 911, why Bush isn't impeached
and read surveillanceissues.com
Those of us who really care
will continue to bug you and **** your spirit
Hopefully you'll make the right choice
and refuse the mark of the beast
Consider these things while there's time
'After me the storm' won't cut it
There are less than three short years to go
* Gen 6:3 And Jehovah said, My spirit shall not always strive with man, in his erring; he is flesh. Yet his days shall be a hundred and twenty years.
The 120 years referred to here in fact represent 120 jubilees, or 6000 years (2000 from Adam to the flood, 2000 from the flood to Yeshua and 2000 from Yeshua till 2017)
Jun 3, 2010
Jun 3, 2010 at 2:37 AM UTC
walk into the room
With your pencil in your hand
You see somebody naked
And you say, who is that man?
You try so hard
But you dont understand
Just what youll say
When you get home
Because something is happening here
But you dont know what it is
Do you, mister jones?
You raise up your head
And you ask, is this where it is?
And somebody points to you and says
Its his
And you say, whats mine?
And somebody else says, where what is?
And you say, oh my god
Am I here all alone?
Because something is happening here
But you dont know what it is
Do you, mister jones?
You hand in your ticket
And you go watch the geek
Who immediately walks up to you
When he hears you speak
And says, how does it feel
To be such a freak?
And you say, impossible
As he hands you a bone
Because something is happening here
But you dont know what it is
Do you, mister jones?
You have many contacts
Among the lumberjacks
To get you facts
When someone attacks your imagination
But nobody has any respect
Anyway they already expect you
To just give a check
To tax-deductible charity organizations
Youve been with the professors
And theyve all liked your looks
With great lawyers you have
Discussed lepers and crooks
Youve been through all of
F. scott fitzgeralds books
Youre very well read
Its well known
Because something is happening here
But you dont know what it is
Do you, mister jones?
Well, the sword swallower, he comes up to you
And then he kneels
He crosses himself
And then he clicks his high heels
And without further notice
He asks you how it feels
And he says, here is your throat back
Thanks for the loan
Because something is happening here
But you dont know what it is
Do you, mister jones?
Now you see this one-eyed ******
Shouting the word now
And you say, for what reason?
And he says, how?
And you say, what does this mean?
And he screams back, youre a cow
Give me some milk
Or else go home
Because something is happening here
But you dont know what it is
Do you, mister jones?
Well, you walk into the room
Like a camel and then you frown
You put your eyes in your pocket
And your nose on the ground
There ought to be a law
Against you comin around
You should be made
To wear earphones
Because something is happening here
But you dont know what it is
Do you, mister jones?
7.4k
A Letter To My Aunt Discussing The Correct Approach To Modern Poetry
To you, my aunt, who would explore
The literary Chankley Bore,
The paths are hard, for you are not
A literary Hottentot
But just a kind and cultured dame
Who knows not Eliot (to her shame).
Fie on you, aunt, that you should see
No genius in David G.,
No elemental form and sound
In T.S.E. and Ezra Pound.
Fie on you, aunt! I'll show you how
To elevate your middle brow,
And how to scale and see the sights
From modernist Parnassian heights.
First buy a hat, no Paris model
But one the Swiss wear when they yodel,
A bowler thing with one or two
Feathers to conceal the view;
And then in sandals walk the street
(All modern painters use their feet
For painting, on their canvas strips,
Their wives or mothers, minus hips).
Perhaps it would be best if you
Created something very new,
A ***** novel done in Erse
Or written backwards in Welsh verse,
Or paintings on the backs of vests,
Or Sanskrit psalms on lepers' chests.
But if this proved imposs-i-ble
Perhaps it would be just as well,
For you could then write what you please,
And modern verse is done with ease.
Do not forget that 'limpet' rhymes
With 'strumpet' in these troubled times,
And commas are the worst of crimes;
Few understand the works of Cummings,
And few James Joyce's mental slummings,
And few young Auden's coded chatter;
But then it is the few that matter.
Never be lucid, never state,
If you would be regarded great,
The simplest thought or sentiment,
(For thought, we know, is decadent);
Never omit such vital words
As belly, genitals and -----,
For these are things that play a part
(And what a part) in all good art.
Remember this: each rose is wormy,
And every lovely woman's germy;
Remember this: that love depends
On how the Gallic letter bends;
Remember, too, that life is hell
And even heaven has a smell
Of putrefying angels who
Make deadly whoopee in the blue.
These things remembered, what can stop
A poet going to the top?
A final word: before you start
The convulsions of your art,
Remove your brains, take out your heart;
Minus these curses, you can be
A genius like David G.
Take courage, aunt, and send your stuff
To Geoffrey Grigson with my luff,
And may I yet live to admire
How well your poems light the fire.
6.5k
Worm eats through to penetrate.
Trespasses, what ***** deeds?
What ichor is this to venerate?
How dare eat, how dare have needs?
Godly viral load unbeatable,
no t-cell left to count.
Wriggling in puddle inconceivable,
**** upon this crucified mount.
Lazarus, risen from the dead,
no dog now licks your wounds.
Lepers now banshees are instead
social workers which we swoon.
And the Roman laws and judges
continue blame, hand down sentence,
as degenerative generation smudges
out from existence, *** penance.
Dissected and pinned against wall,
this writhing experiment oozes.
Whilst priests and politicians naw,
compassion and AIDS funding loses.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 1:20 PM UTC
You walk into the room with your pencil in your hand
You see somebody naked and you say, "Who is that man?"
You try so hard but you don't understand
Just what you will say when you get home
Because something is happening here but you don't know what it is
Do you, Mr. Jones?
You raise up your head and you ask, "Is this where it is?"
And somebody points to you and says, "It's his"
And you say, "What's mine?" and somebody else says, "Well, what is?"
And you say, "Oh my God, am I here all alone?"
But something is happening and you don't know what it is
Do you, Mr. Jones?
You hand in your ticket and you go watch the geek
Who immediately walks up to you when he hears you speak
And says, "How does it feel to be such a freak?"
And you say, "Impossible!" as he hands you a bone
And something is happening here but you don't know what it is
Do you, Mr. Jones?
You have many contacts among the lumberjacks
To get you facts when someone attacks your imagination
But nobody has any respect, anyway they already expect you to all give a check
To tax-deductible charity organizations
Ah, you've been with the professors and they've all liked your looks
With great lawyers you have discussed lepers and crooks
You've been through all of F. Scott Fitzgerald's books
You're very well-read, it's well-known
But something is happening here and you don't know what it is
Do you, Mr. Jones?
Well, the sword swallower, he comes up to you and then he kneels
He crosses himself and then he clicks his high heels
And without further notice, he asks you how it feels
And he says, "Here is your throat back, thanks for the loan"
And you know something is happening but you don't know what it is
Do you, Mr. Jones?
Now, you see this one-eyed ****** shouting the word "Now"
And you say, "For what reason?" and he says, "How"
And you say, "What does this mean?" and he screams back, "You're a cow!
Give me some milk or else go home"
And you know something's happening but you don't know what it is
Do you, Mr. Jones?
Well, you walk into the room like a camel, and then you frown
You put your eyes in your pocket and your nose on the ground
There ought to be a law against you comin' around
You should be made to wear earphones
'Cause something is happening and you don't know what it is
Do you, Mr. Jones?
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 12:54 PM UTC
My sympathy depleted
My friendships deleted
I have been defeated
By truths that hit so hard
I was decleated
By intense hatred deep-seeded
My history was repeated
I guess a three-armed mutant
Has no need for a right hand man
Until his leprosy riddled hands rot off
When he needs them the most
But his ***** limbs had been pretty useless for a while
Since he had lost feeling in them
He had to do a biopsy on his life
After the inaccurate results of the smear test
He took antibiotics to rid himself of the bacteria
But that didn't heal the nerve damage
He yearned for the rhetoric to be less inflammatory
So he took steroids
Transforming the ***** into an ogre
With no semblance of humanity
...Except for the people he devours
Their patience is delicious
He eats that first
Their pity is a delicacy
A rare treat
Their disgust tastes sour
But it's a feast
His cannibalism may seem callous
But the non-mutant lepers take Thalidomide
And get pregnant
Their kids come out defected
With an intense, deep-seeded hatred for three-armed mutants
And lepers and ogres look exactly the same
To those of another species
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 5:51 PM UTC
She dresses in gossamer veils of scarlet and lures men to her noose
As they carelessly pour Fortune's gold into her nimble, covetous hands
And they hang themselves among the other piteous lepers before them.
As cruel as the Inferno, she drags them under as an enchantress would her dupes;
As beauteous as the beloved Aphrodite with eyes of white marble
She adds these dim men to her vast collection of trifles.
Then she disappears and I know she won't return.
For she is the Gypsy's Best.
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 8:38 AM UTC
Mother Teresa - love immortal
In frail human frame;
Angel of peace and compassion,
Knew no bounds of caste or creed:
With arms outstretched,
Waded through slums forsaken
To help the poor in their humble homes:
Orphans discarded, dying destitutes,
Deserted cripples and lepers deformed,
Found in her a ministering angel
Whose gentle touch revived hope;
Brought solace and joy.
Unmindful of praise or blame,
To serve the poor was her only aim,
And never did she crave for wealth or fame.
Like St.Francis of Assisi, she prayed -
" Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace,
" Where there is hatred, let me sow love,
" Where there is injury, pardon,
" Where there is doubt, faith,
" Where there is despair, hope......."
Life inspiring, a splendid saga
Of selfless service and sacrifice.
For ever she lives in the loving hearts
Of those who strive to rid the world
Of sorrow, misery and distress.
****** M.G.Narasimha Murthy
Hyderabad, India. mgnmurthy4@gmail
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 11:56 AM UTC
I have a friend who is a surgeon a career of his decision.
Performing tonsillectomy and frequent circumcision.
Another friend who only meets with lepers lives by prostitution.
Both taking paths in life to live by their chosen best solution.
Both very different careers by choice and so many passing ships
Both surviving and living well and both taking lots of tips.
Mar 15, 2019
Mar 15, 2019 at 12:13 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
There are more and more misfortunes in the world
Known to you dear people in your diverse conditions,
But my life and experience has taught me unique lessons
Of kindred to befit me Elizabeth, a daughter of Zinjathropus
Hailing in the savannah desert, Turkana County of Kenya,
I have graduated in to a single lady without test of marriage,
As desert men look at me in their irritating impotence,
**** clothes wrapped around their slender waists passing on me
Like a dog passing on American dollars; cursed be desert men,
I thought my beauty of dark African complexions will give them a ****** tease
But to my chagrin; desert men have a fear of beautiful ladies
My conscience tells me that my beauty is an eye sore to them,
I thought my bulging hips will entice them as is a promise of fertility
Leave alone not to mention my concupiscent ****** warmth, uhmmm!
Desert men have dared not to see and appreciate my **** bossom,
They often pass on me driving their donkeys and emaciated carmels,
I thought my ***** sharp pointed ******* assign of virginity
Will call them to me into a treat of love, affiliative love,
But sadly enough; these dudes are erotically blind,
They they nonchalantly pass on my **** *****
Wielding a begging bowl in their ***** long hands
Running like drunkard chimpanzees going to Oxfam stores to beg for food,
Cursed be Oxfam an imperialist agent, it has crashed flat
The testicles of our desert brothers into ****** insensitivity,
Oxfam has made African desert men to beg like Hebrew lepers
Other than standing up on their feet to feed their women,
Normally as men would do from the sweat of their brow,
I thought my education will attract them to me,
To love me with those romantic University kisses,
But desert men have crude cultures and slavish religion
They rebuke girl child education as if it is a devil,
Oh my dear God of the forsaken desert ladies
Of the forsaken African daughters,
Take me out of this ****** desert
Take me out of the city desert of Lodwar,
Take me to the equator line and give me a husband,
My eggs are pretty ready to conceive and sire children
Sons and daughters for your own glory O almighty God,
Take me out of this ****** desert,
Where no man treats a modern woman,
Take me out of here and give me a fresh man of my dream.
Because I have known from today;
It is accurse to be a woman in Africa
It is a curse to be a beautiful lady in African deserts
It is a curse to be a woman graduate in the African desert
It is a curse to have ***** ******* in the African desert,
O! Help me God.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 9:58 AM UTC
*THIS IS THE LEPROSY TANGO
Imagine a lepers' hospital somewhere in the jungle;
it's St Valentines Day and everyone is looking for love.
Let the music begin...*
Leprosy!
I think I've got leprosy;
At least my doctor
Assures me it's so.
Oh! Oh! Oh!
Leprosy!
I'm pleased I've got leprosy;
At least for the moment,
Till my privy parts go.
One by one my bits
And pieces, they drop off
And I must be so careful
Whenever I cough.
Yes! Yes! Yes!
Leprosy!
Oh yes, I have leprosy
And I'm so happy
Cos it's a great way to go.
OLE!
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 11:50 AM UTC
I am descended of Lilith,
I am a child of eve,
I am cast out, i am trod on.
I am likeness of Kali,
re-incarnation of Aphrodite.
In my arms nations
have been built
and destroyed.
My kiss has charmed
and killed.
My hips have
cradled kings and emperors,
borne beggars and lepers.
I am all this WOMAN.
Woman
not of hips and *******
and womb.
Woman
not of servitude, meekness
and petty deceit.
I am Woman.
Woman
of pain and love
and hate.
Woman
of blood rivers and
barren deserts.
I am Woman.
So heed me
Heed my pain,
watch my deeds,
for my meekness,
my servitude,
Are mere cloaks worn
to shield, to imprison
to impede...
And as the soul sheds the body
So do I now shed
this lie, this deceit
You create for all to believe
And become just
WOMAN
Jul 22, 2012
Jul 22, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
The world's greased, watch your step or you might slip and fall off of it,
Serpent in the garden where you're walking, show cautiousness
And nothing really grows there in the shadow of the Pyramid,
Of our plutonomy,
But honestly,
from the top the image probably isn't that vivid
That we're rats in the labyrinth scolded for eating cheese,
That we're lepers on our island rebuked for our disease
Once a pigeon ascends with doves, all in the name of peace,
The thin air is too comfortable, to return him to the streets
Hypnotized by a box framed with Rose-Colored glass
While The Owl burns bright and The Baphomet laughs
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
The fragile keep secrets gathered in pockets
and they'll sell them for nothing; a cheap watch or locket
That kind of gold washes off.
And the sad act like lepers; they stick to the shadows
and long to ring bells of warning to tell of their coming
so that the pure can shut their doors.
And the angry are animals, senseless and savage.
They act without order in logical lapses.
They stain their mouths with blood.
So take my hand; this barren land is alive tonight.
The corn has grown stalks that form a wall too high,
but the wind carries sounds that I can't hear from beyond that line.
Then the stalks begin to sway.
Oh stay with me Arienette, until the wolves are away.
Well the wicked are vultures and they bake in the canyons.
They circle in sunlight and wait for their victims
to collapse and call to them.
And the desperate are water; they will run down forever
as they soak into silence, mend up together
in a dark and distant, dark and distant place,
So don't leave me here with only mirrors watching me.
This house it holds nothing but the memories.
And the moon, it leaves silver but never sleep
and then the silver turns to gray.
Oh stay with me Arienette until the wolves are away.
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 2:02 AM UTC
You ask me to enter to the tilt of your head towards the computer screen
and see, in two words my definition -
bipolar disorder.
You do not look at me, just talk at me
medication? last relapse? severity of episodes?
You count failings, the moments in which I have lost my mind
and you reproach me for them.
You, as you two-finger-type a cold clinical echo of me,
I, on command, recite the past transgressions of my sanity
and you have me – three inches tall on my knees,
in a disease that thrice almost cost me my life
and in your Jobsworth view you tell me I will get ill,
as if this weren't a fact I fight and fear daily.
You with your tunic, blue, cold as your indifference,
announce this, as if calling time -
self-important, unfeeling, with one eye on your watch.
And I smile at you apologetically,
honestly offering up my faith, prayer, medication compliance,
self awareness, begrudged reliance on those I love to wave the red flag
if the waters I get into are too deep.
You are curt with your nod - as if all this is folly between now and the inevitable.
My recovery, my striding, my passion and profession -
All folly.
You are doing the last offices on quick time
because your time is precious and short
and not to be wasted on crazy dreamers with barely a shot in hell
But even with every mental regression, psychotic expression
manic obsession and abyss of depression -
still, still, the world needs more of mes and much less of yous.
So make your disclaimer and write your reports
I'll chant, share the truth in the streets and courts
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 1:26 PM UTC
“What a wonderful world”, so the song says
yet its ruled so unjustly by mankind’s selfish ways.
Men in boats across our wide oceans sail
for the profit of killing just another Whale
and corporations with such a money lust
turning mighty rain forests into deserts and dust.
Tigers, Rhino and Elephants roam a land filled with sun
but there numbers diminished by a man with a gun.
Gorilla’s on mountains that border Zaire
populations so low that they soon won’t be there.
People on horseback follow dogs on a trail,
the prize of this ride is a dead foxes tail.
With pollution we destroy the layer of ozone
forgetting that this world is our only home.
“What a wonderful world”, so the song goes
but for the poor and deprived full of misery and woes.
Company’s lie in wait for an oil strike to reveal
whilst many young lie in graves for the lack of a meal.
Poverty, greed, ****** and hate
another dictator lying in state.
Honoured for his military might
of keeping a nation locked up in fright.
And for the young soldier who killed twenty-four
he’s made a national hero with medals galore.
The righteous who try to speak out of this wrong
are killed or rotting in prison cells for so long
and the holy who care for the lepers and plagued
they receive little thanks for the lives they have saved.
“What a wonderful world” so the song said.
Yet into our own destruction we seem to be led.
The priority of “our leaders” is to **** and destroy
treating our world as their unbreakable toy.
Billions of pounds spent on weapons to ****
whilst so many people lie dying or ill.
Governments globally tell us all lies
as an innocent child in a civil war dies.
This climate change that we call Global warming
Is the earth giving mankind its final warning.
For this world knows that it would be a far better place
with the total extinction of the human race.
Without mankind all other life would thrive.
Without mankind this world will survive.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 2:20 PM UTC
I'm a doomsday prepper
Afraid of zombie lepers
And nuclear line steppers
So I spend my life preparing
Instead of repairing
A civilization that is constantly crumbling
I focus on post-apocalyptic rumbling
My self reliance
Met my defiance
In an alliance
Of deadly appliance
When I have no faith in the government
Because they might make preparing futile
For the disasters of my wonderment
I don't copy their community style
They'll just die when the world ends
So they're a waste of the time I spend
I tried to look above
To find love
But a giant tidal wave
Blocked the sun's rays
And I could feel the Earth quake
Under my shaking feet
So I decided it was a mistake
And to avoid what's sweet
I will no longer be a misfit
After the apocalypse
I will be more comfortable than everyone else
But will I really keep my resources to myself?
I say of course
From my high horse
I fantasize about being right
So others will see the light
Of a nuclear blast
And see that I last
They'll beg to see my stocked shelf
Yet I will offer no help
I'll say my memory is hazy
Didn't you call me crazy?
Protecting my goods in that vulnerable hour
With a stockpile of firearm firepower
I prepare for an impending doom
That'll create some elbow room
Instead of friends I gather supplies
For a cataclysmic surprise
Where everyone dies
Then I'll be happy
Hunting and trapping
All alone
In a blast zone
Where someone once said
Life is what happens
While you're making plans
But the apocalypse
Is my promised land
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 4:50 AM UTC
Where are the prisoners?
Where are the guards?
Watching. Ever watching.
Light floods this cubicle, and
Shadows entangle themselves in my sheets, while
The omnipresent and intangible eye gazes.
Devoid of visibility, only
The gloom confides in me.
The power of perfection entrapped in a hoop.
Our ring encircles the guardian, who
Is invariably stalking. Plagued
Are the confined and deserted lepers.
But what of the locks?
Locks? The tower is our bolt.
The eye will find the madman.
Madness is also our disease,
Guilt triumphs over futile attempts, the
Belief is our ideology.
Indisputable solidity becomes imaginary, while
The goal is communal. We must,
Survive in a personal Panopticon.
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 11:31 PM UTC
Head and Shoulders, knees and toes
That's the way the story goes
Here is something no one knows
To lepers...it's important
It's the inventory song
You may think that this is wrong
Put me back where I belong
But, lepers need to do this
Count your digits 'fore you leave
It's a fact you must believe
They're not out for to deceive
They need to inventory
If they count and all is there
They face the world without a care
They lose their parts, but not their hair
Their day will be successful
Head and Shoulders, Knees and toes
That's the way the old song goes
I've got four fingers and six toes
I guess I'll put some gloves on
The inventory song is neat
It teaches them, they need two feet
Or they can't walk down the street
It really is important
Gripping things is kind of tough
When digits...you've not enough
You know your fingers' with your stuff
You'll go and find it later
So, if you think that this is wrong
And you do not like this song
Put me back where I belong
I think this song's a service
Head and Shoulders, Knees and Toes
I've a friend with half a nose
Now you know what no one knows
Inventory is required.
.
May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 6:37 PM UTC
I tried God,
I tried to be your little boy,
Your altar boy, the tin soldier for you,
Because it was easier when life was a toy.
I have genuflected just to be patted on the head.
I do not cuss, drink, smoke, or gamble,
Aren't you proud of me God? Aren't I good?
It was not easy, becoming a nice guy.
I had to trade in words like passion and faith
For words like duty, responsibility, obligation.
Because I do not love you or your children,
No, I am obligated to them, held accountable.
God my heart feels captive and not captivating,
It feels as though it has sold out and not been purchased
With blood by your Son, the first living Man,
My destiny is one of a Pharisee and not a Savior.
But God make me wild
Because this penance has left the man in me chained
And lets the good little boy, the nice guy, wander.
But set me lose upon this world,
And I will roar as the Lion of Judah!
Let my love run rampant like a wildfire,
Let passion rush from me like a waterfall,
Because nice guys are scented candles,
And good little boys are bubbling brooks,
But your Son was a hurricane
Walk through fire with me, into the Lion's Den,
Silence the voices of kings before me,
Lead me to preach to pirates and live with lepers,
Because the heart of adventure lies in your heart,
And the battle of a lifetime is your lifetime,
And my beauty to rescue is your Bride.
Let me seek your heart and once sheltered there
I'll discover that mine was made after it.
Mar 24, 2011
Mar 24, 2011 at 6:25 PM UTC
Four lepers outside the gate
of besieged Jerusalem
devoid of pride
deprived of wives
nothing left to lose
least of all, their lives
Perhaps thats why Y'shua used them
to route Assyrian invaders
even rewarded them
They weren't healed
Just remained lepers
Perhaps the most famous
nameless lepers
of all time
Perhaps that's also why
the remnant suffer
rejected, despised
just as He was
There's less to lose
less to impede one's view
of the bigger picture
Father's plan
No doubt that's why
shepherds were invited to Bethlehem
not well-heeled high priests
in pearly porsches
Oh, and absolutely why
the meek will inherit the earth
Sep 11, 2010
Sep 11, 2010 at 2:30 AM UTC
Marvel at the mystics
with bent backs
hawking wares in the courtyard
word of gods on fire
in the electric
Razorback armies of onlooking lepers
leap forth at the call of the mystics
calming martyrdom
Marvel at the mystics
who cash checks and built steps
up to the attic of mental harmony
Marvel
as they make money hand over
fist off of your faith.
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 12:26 PM UTC
God is very generous
He gives to those who seek
He resists the proud & arrogant
And undergirds the meek
He puts to shame the strong of mind
Gives wisdom to the weak
God is very merciful
He helps the poor & lowly
But He is not like Santa Claus
He will give, but slowly
He will not prosper greediness
For God is pure & holy
God is very fair & just
He protects downtrodden
He will not help the vengeful man
Who wants to **** and plots them
He will repay the evil one
For wickedness he's brought them!
God is of a lowly heart
He came to earth a slave
To His Father's every wish
To be murdered by the knave
Innocent of everything
They put Him in the grave
God is Truth & Righteousness
He won't bend to our whim
He won't wink his eyes for wickedness
Or rubber-stamp our sin
He helps those who want to change
And give them strength to win
For God is strong and mighty
He's not for the high-born
Three lepers ran off multitudes
He defeats who He has sworn
He gave David polished stones
To slay the Philistine
God is patiently in love
With those of slower pace
He lets them fall, then picks them up
He does not turn His face
Does not regard color or creed
Adores the human race
He suffered the crown of THORNS
He came to share His Grace
God is the total Ruler
The holy angels sing
Around His throne and scepter
On their glorious wings
He's due praise & honor
For HE is our KING!
SoulSurvivor
(C) 6/24/2016
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 10:48 AM UTC
You or I could be lepers.
Or hideously deformed.
If we are it shouldn't matter.
Photography, mixed up and twisted.
Reborn.
Pictures misted.
Just who are you chatting to today?
Mentally.
physically.
internet voices.
Distorted.
Misinformed choices.
Maybe just genuine liars,
Getting kicks.
Turning tricks
Preying on others.
Taking the biscuit.
You could be an angel
Or one who follows you on cycle paths,
(PSYCHOPATHS)
Mental health issues falling out off your ears.
No problem with mental health issues.
Been there.
Done it.
Or better still put them onto your paper.
Best place to put them.
If you ask me.
Maybe a sliver of communion wafer.
Selling religion for half a crown.
Maybe half a silver dollar.
Ripping you off.
While doffing his hat.
Pretending to be,
What you can't see.
Words of naïveté.
From she who is down.
Unless you really know the one on the screen.
Be ever so careful and I'm not being mean.
(c) Livvi MMCV
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 8:01 PM UTC