"marys" poems
its amazing what we’re capable of when pressed;
lunar launches
and shaman healing
hail marys
and fortunes of gold
heavy hauls
and broken borders
war, compassion
and treaties of peace
all those wild and lofty regressions from the mean;
soul re-settings
(from deadly deeds)
scores and scriptures
liberty and peace
walls, asylums
(in the jaws of defeat!)
channeled spirits
of warmth
and love
and connection
and sometimes, it’s just a little fodder;
pyramids and viaducts
aqua-lines and chunnels
spider climbs
and deep dives
(with base jumps near the high wire)
gardens, and divine art
and even water boards
(for beauty is always in the eye of the beholder!)
have a look around...
and let gratitude be your guide
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 11:56 PM UTC
*all my life i held a dream
of a woman i would love
of course
she would be alluring
supple
a charming countenance
erudite, with an angelic face
her body
a muscular stretching willow
arching her legs over head
kissing her own
curving soft feet
a graceful contortionist
in confetti colored sparkle pantyhose
stretching towards me
silken hair draping a perfect symmetry
with spun sugar kisses
wafting the scent of vanilla
and candied vaporous breath
lips like cherry lozenges
but
one never knows ones destiny
i met her
my girl destiny
and except for a faint look of languor and ruin
with a tinge of withering
she was without doubt unbearably titillating
with razor-thin blackened lips
mascara slits for eyes
hair pulled straight back
jet black
jelled like hardened licorice
with satanic blood rivulets
and pitch fork tattooed ****
a vice of lechery
a malefaction of moral turpitude
her *** scarred from orgiastic beatings
her **** became
like a large wrinkly mouth
resembling the face of a bullfrog
from pleasuring herself with
tableware cutlery
her soul
a broken creel
suffering bouts of anxiety
like a weeping moon
having been institutionalized
in Mother Marys Hell House
from a ghastly bout of parricide
her father,
a hobbling gloomish troll
while the dark veins of mother
ran through her soul
leaving little choice
but to dispatch
the parents
abandoning their corpses in the kitchen
like strewn litter
turned out
just my
kinda
girl
d
e
s
t
i
n
y
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 9:14 AM UTC
The two collieries where I was employed,
Houses now stand winders destroyed.
From a window where I controlled the flow,
I could see the horizon far and low.
I can also see sunrise and set,
Pictures past I won’t forget.
Through the shifts seasons would go,
From summer sun to winter snow.
To wake one morning already too late,
Decisions were made to close the gate.
Work was gone and mates were lost,
Ripped apart at great cost.
Left us with a grey slurry beach,
The nanny goat path we walked to reach.
Down to the coast a ***** line,
Carried shale from the mine.
Through our town they ran so fast,
To tip more waste upon the blast.
Now I sit where I want to be,
Looking out at the great North Sea.
From chemical beach to clean east shore,
The north east pits are no more.
From brownie box in old dark room,
To Digital with super zoom.
Memories fade but photos show,
All we really need to know.
St Marys church to Hawthorn hive,
These scenes of Seaham will survive.
Apr 21, 2010
Apr 21, 2010 at 7:48 AM UTC
Seek out the skeletons on every surface
Your no fun if you go to bed first
Those days were dark & merciless
You recited lies to my pretty face
I forgave you;
Lord knows we both sin
My fortune predicts I won't win
Cause you're already tasting that drip;
And you crave the bitterness
You can't cure him with charisma
And your love won't liberate him
So say your prayers till your voice is strained
100 Hail Marys won't alter this game
-Kellie A. Scranton
May 21, 2017
May 21, 2017 at 4:29 AM UTC
square-up marys,
It’s junior year, in the ivie,
we’re gambling for big-chips.
so gambate, do-it-big!
It's time, buck-up or labron.
if you bunny rouble
homeskillets will hook-it-up
lovems juju
.
.
*slang…
girlogue = conversation between girls that guys can’t understand
square-up = get ready
marys = bookish and lovable girls of wit and looks
ivie = ivy league
big-chips = high stakes, high risk
gambate = Japanese word: 'Try your best!!'
do-it-big = take things to the next level
buck-up = rise to a challenge, to do something others are unable to
labron = fail miserably at the last second
bunny rouble = have trouble
homeskillets = friends
hook-it-up = help you out
lovems = sending you love
juju = good luck*
.
.
(*Get ready, you bookish and lovable girls of wit and looks,
it’s junior year, in the ivy league,
and we’re gambling for high stakes.
So try your best, take things to the next level!
It's time, to rise to a challenge and do something others are unable to
or fail miserably at the last second.
If you have trouble
your friends will help you out
I'm sending you love, good luck.*)
Jan 4, 2024
Jan 4, 2024 at 1:52 PM UTC
It was a
****** mary morning,
with a Van Gogh sky.
I woke up early, and
found a bar that did the
same.
My kind of place
dark
and empty.
I began ordering ****** marys,
one after another.
At noon I paid
my bill and
caught the bus downtown.
I had to be at the
courthouse at one for a
probation violation hearing.
I met my lawyer in the
hall.
He said,
“What the hell are you doing?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“You’re drunk,” he shouted.
“I’m fine,” I said.
I followed him into the
courtroom.
We sat down across the
table from the
prosecutor.
As soon as we sat
down,
he said,
“Come with me.”
I got up and followed
him into the
judges chambers.
He handed me a small
machine with a
tube attached,
and said,
“Blow in this.”
I did.
He said, "This must be your
lucky day.
It’s broken.
Do you want a
week in jail or
a month more
probation?”
I’ll take the longer
probation, I said
I had nothing but
time, and a small
amount of cash.
I walked out of
the court house.
Everything
looked ******
Mar 3, 2023
Mar 3, 2023 at 6:55 AM UTC
What could be worse
Than a garden
Full of gnomes and trolls?
Is it:
Lawn jockeys and yardells;
Chuck adjusting his carb every Sunday afternoon;
Bathtub ****** Marys beseaching us to love;
Metal flowers on outside garage walls;
Fish ponds with gills in the filter;
Red gravel flowerbeds with little white fences;
Cosmetic door knockers;
Swimming pools without diving boards;
Mirrors on fences;
Burning ******* in fire pits;
Backyard landfills;
Icicle lights;
Weedy neighbours and an east wind;
The screech of tires;
The thump of metal;
The sound of screaming;
The absence?
Yeah. Plenty could be worse.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 4:25 PM UTC
THORNED CROSS OF SCARLET TEARS,
OH HOW THY HAVE KNEELED TO THOU THROUGHOUT THE YEARS.
THOU SMOOTH BEADS THAT SWIRL AROUND THOU NECK OF THE HOLY SON,
OH HOW THY HAVE REPEATED “OUR FATHERS” AND “HAIL MARYS” FOR THOU PATRIARCHAL CREATOR ABOVE.
LOVING HANDS THAT SHALL SHOW THOU THE LADDER TO HEAVEN,
OH HOW THY BELIEVES WINGS WILL PREVAIL OVER THOU TAIL OF SATAN.
CIRCLES OF GOLD AND ASCENDED WINGS,
OH HOW THY AWAITS FOR THOU REDEMPTION THOU SHALL BRING.
FEMININE CANDLES TO AWAIT THOU FEMININE ACT OF BIRTH,
OH HOW THY LIFTS THE FOUR CANDLES FOR ALL THOU IS WORTH.
THE WINE THAT CAME FROM THOU WATER,
OH HOW THY SHALT TELL THOU MIRACLE TALE TO THOU DAUGHTER.
WHITE AND BLUE ROSES OUR LADY OF HELP REQUESTS AT HER FEET FOR HER BIRTHDAY,
OH HOW THY BUYS FLOWERS FOR THOU NEXT TIME THY AND THOU MEET.
HEART PROTECTED BY THE SHIELD OF THE HOLY SPIRIT’S GUIDANCE,
OH HOW THY NEVER BECOMES A VICTIM TO SUBSIDENCE.
WATER THAT SWIRLS INTO THE BLOOD OF CHRIST,
OH HOW THY REMEMBERS HOW THE SON SAVED US IN SIGHT.
BREAD THAT ENTERS THE BODY AND THUS THE SON HIMSELF,
OH HOW THY REMEMBERS TO REFLECT IN THYSELF.
EYES TOWARDS THE SKY IN HOPE OF MIRACLES,
HOW THE LIGHT IN THY VISION RETURNS SYMMETRICAL.
PAIN THAT DISAPPEARS LIKE THE AIR FROM THY LUNGS,
OH HOW THY REJOICES WITH THE WORDS THAT ROLL OF THY TONGUE.
PRAYING FOR THE HOPE THAT THOU SAVIOR PUSHES UNTO THY SOUL,
OH HOW THY GETS CLOSER TO THY GOAL.
REMEMBERING THE GRIM THAT THE CRUCIFIXION CAUSED THE SON WITH GRACE,
OH HOW THY IS STRUCKEN WITH TEARS DOWN THY FACE.
INVISIBLE MORTAL WINGS THAT SHALL ONE DAY BE SEEN AND RISE ABOVE,
OH HOW THY BELIEVES IN THE REDEMPTION BY THE DOVE.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 6:52 AM UTC
I am secluded
by the steps of a brutal mind
Written in black and white
numerals on ***** chalkboards
Was I sleeping passed my childhood lesson?
Please, wake my tired, bloodshot eyes !!
They are weary from
illuminated nightmares
and X rated dreams
The sting of the wooden rule of measure
punished my hands
The welted numbers tattooed
on my swollen palms
Ten Hail Marys are not enough to stop this atrocity
The towering stoic women,
dressed in black habits
I do not dare look away
but I did
Time was broken
when the rulers cracked the desk
Ear deafening sounds
with my frozen tears stuck in pause
I looked up to the heavens
to seek answers from my god
Not one whisper back,
I was screaming vulgarties in silence
Lowering my head to my desk,
I closed my eyes
and counted the numerals
on the ***** chalkboard
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 9:03 AM UTC
She's in parties
& knees-up
She's half-seas over
& in the king's cup
She's in missionary
She's in backwards
She's on backseats
& dashboards
She's in fast lanes
& intersections
She's in full throttle
& Hail Marys
She's in obituaries
& cemeteries
Jun 21, 2020
Jun 21, 2020 at 8:38 AM UTC
Quick sweep of the steeple's steep
staircase winding
forever reminding
of a chasm in the maze and the mess;
A House of Mirrors.
A ***** trail, left to confess.
Three hail marys and a change of tack;
A quick sin shower
gets the devil off the back.
Perpetually pious of the priest
to keep the gun beneath the sheets.
Christ is hanging on the walls
a quick look up
the burden falls.
Shattered into tiny pieces
peace re-pieced upon the altar,
by Holy ghost and ****** Mary
Be this not the day he falter.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 8:15 PM UTC
Meaningless *** Poem
5/4/2014
Set your gaze upon the man across the bar.
Watch him as he casually drinks a beer and laughs with his friends.
Gossiping about past drunken nights' ends.
Ends that were met with a warm welcome's comfort.
Ends that involved taking a woman to bed without much effort.
How many do you think that man slept with in high school?
A mindless **** count as if they were tools,
willing to be wielded and fooled.
willing to be picked up and ******
in the back of his ****** '04 pickup truck.
Maybe he's had at least one meaningless ***** with that **** of his.
So tell me this.
Please, why is the *** I have meaningful to him?
If his *** is shallow, then why does mine fill his hatred to the brim?
What's worse is the way he claims to 'know.'
The signs I give off that are guaranteed to show.
1. I wear tight underwear.
2. Their color scheme has a brightly colored flare.
3. I sit with my legs crossed in a chair.
4. That tells him I want it down there.
3. I get up and walk to the bathroom with a sway,
2. No straight man would dare do that.
1. ****** Marys and Long Islands are dead give-a-ways,
0. I held hands with a man walking into the bar.
But the same as him,
I could take someone home and forget their name.
I could gloat about it to friends the next night out for two minutes' fame.
I could go on with what to him could be an ordinary day.
But because it's me, it's more meaningful to him.
Because I am gay.
Let's have a toast for the ********** as Kanye once said.
Let's have a toast for homophobes who take women meaninglessly to bed.
meanwhile my meaningless *** only finds meaning in their heads.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 7:18 PM UTC
The memories that were made around
THE FIREPIT
My husband had a great idea
I'll build a FIREPIT
It will be like camping.
So with the help of my dad
They dug the hole,
Added built in benches
It was grand...
We had breakfast, hotdogs, chili
Oh yes, Marys chili
She made it on our FIREPIT
We added neighbors, and all our kids.
Of course samores were a big hit.
One night we hauled the little
Black and white TV out there
And watched THE BLOB....
With our just popped popcorn.
Back then SCARY.......
The stories that were told
Around that FIREPIT
Solving the worlds problems
Which seemed pretty simple back then.
The neighborhood was like a family.
The FIREPIT was a gathering place
for laughing, sharing stories,
And eating....
~
By judy
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 4:01 AM UTC
They tried to bury Yahushua Alef Tav
behind a nice Platonic, less Jewish facade
Renamed Him Jesus the Alpha Omega
and chanted many HEP HEP Hoorahs
... beside His feminist-friendly god/mother
to the tune of many hail Marys
even freed Him from His own Torah
despite "think not I came to replace it"
But see, He's risen now
from every holy papal place
from every charismatic falsity
that preached pew-warming prosperity
He's restoring Israel
not gentiledom...
one lost sheep at a time
back into twelve chaste tribes
just as she was under Sinai's hupa
before the separation
He's elbowing aside modern pharisees
who refuse to know Moses
and therefore can't know Him
or follow His commandments
who really aren't into feeding lost sheep
Egyptians hate sheep
It reminds them of plagues
Leaven goes better with bacon
Aug 26, 2010
Aug 26, 2010 at 11:54 AM UTC
The outlined shadows of angel-like apparitions, and I'm soaked in anxiety like the wingless houseflies,
Where can I find peace in the midst of hell and nirvana?
My soul is torn apart and my body a rigor mortis,
I feel the blows under the baobab,
Where is the Lord? Where is the God that sheds light? Where is the God that resuscitates dead souls?
The devil has ****** my spirit in the dark hole, I'm now groping in the murk with my dogged effort,
I have been a survivor of many months, of the battle between the devil and the many generations, the way to find peace is to rest in peace, No! And what about my mama?
The divine lady who enshrines his son with a prayer, this woman tells me of how coward the devil is, she talks of the galaxies and the Hail Marys,
But I'm not dead yet, she is the reason why I'm still alive, and why I should live to 72
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 4:47 AM UTC
In the bar where sad things grow,
Where(s) Happiness(?),
is pumped in Like champagne through IV.
I-found-us-strung-together-again-
“ Now
I’m the type of person
to-
fall-
**** near in love with gratitude. ”
“ Like that glancing smile,
Hidden behind a mask of bourbon and-
all ten hail marys you replaced
with ****** ones. ”
“ And if gratitude gets you this far?
*Just imagine what the *** is like.* ”
Apr 4, 2021
Apr 4, 2021 at 5:12 AM UTC
Take a long look at the road
you walked past and wonder of
how many stops you made
and how many you had to take.
(Was the meter still running
when you had me waiting outside
your house waiting
for it to become a home you
would have never built with me?
But become a visitor in a gallery
of art I could never understand.)
Live each day like a sombre white
and watch over your thoughts
as if you had a limit to how much
you could hurt yourself
because there is only so long
the Father could hear and only so many hail Marys that can keep you
sinless as the day you were born.
Plant a tree for every heart you broke
and watch someone else carve their stories
in you.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 11:58 AM UTC
Read verse from the big book
join groups who all seek
Gather together
at least once a week
Feel free to kneel
light candles or pray
Whatever it takes
to feel good at the end of the day
But the message seems tainted
confused over the years
Highly doubt gods plan
included wars saturated with tear
It was left open to each
to interrupt themselves
How to use the information
retained from Gods shelves.
But do I feel guilty for not joining in?
Do I agree not attending church each Sundays a sin?
No I do not, No not at all.
I'll still approach heavens gates
head held high... standing tall.
In my opinion those who should worry
Behind me in line
Are those who thought sinning, then confession
Would be just fine
No hail marys for me
I'm in no choir that sings
My resume in gods hands
Will be filled with different things
He will read of my friendship
My contribution to all
How I pick up my friends
Each time that they fall
Highlighted will be my conscience
My love for all kind.
The generosity and love
That fills my heart & my mind
I felt compelled to write this
For all living in fear
Those full of guilt
Fearful the end is near
Keep living true to yourself treat others with care
And I'll see you in heaven With nothing to fear
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 12:46 PM UTC
The memories that were made around
THE FIREPIT
My husband had a great idea
I'll build a FIREPIT
It will be like camping.
So with the help of my dad
They dug the hole,
Added built in benches
It was grand...
We had breakfast, hotdogs, chili
Oh yes, Marys chili
She made it on our FIREPIT
We added neighbors, and all our kids.
Of course samores were a big hit.
One night we hauled the little
Black and white TV out there
And watched THE BLOB....
With our just popped popcorn.
Back then SCARY.......
The stories that were told
Around that FIREPIT
Solving the worlds problems
Which seemed pretty simple back then.
The neighborhood was like a family.
The FIREPIT was a gathering place
for laughing, sharing stories,
And eating....
~
By judy
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 3:50 AM UTC
transcending
this cocoon of flesh
all the trappings of walkway icons
gilded
like the ****** Marys of Constantinople
without the divinity of virtue
where is zen
in this jungle
of glass and steel
time in a bottle leaking out
with a faulty seal.
when will the turn of the wheel
bring happiness
instead of the wet blanket
of sorrow
following a path
down by the River of Tears
watching the Lily Maid drift by
wondering
where is my dress and veil
in the cards of the gypsy
will I ever reach
Shangra La
May 12, 2010
May 12, 2010 at 7:42 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
Hello coastline
Hello winter
Hello solitary moonlit drive
I'll be enchanting blank pages with poetry
as you waste away city-side
Tragic and lamenting but fading as I moan
You are my empty ***** liter as I glide
I'm the dawn breaking through your curtains as you roam
Goodbye afternoons
Goodbye white lies
Good bye little lace ivory dress
I'll be slashing through the semblance of symmetry
as you ask the bartender for yet another splash
You'll be beautiful on the pavement and novels of mystery
as my overdrive desires and loneliness inevitably crash
Hello bloodstreams and ****** Marys
Goodbye falsified kindness and sorrow
Hello sparrows and destiny's bone marrow
Goodbye Hudson views and embraces on the ferry
Hello empty skylines and generalizations
Goodbye comforters and pillows side revelations
You were so crimson in your shining armor
You were so elegant as love's fine soldier
I was so isolated in the stone and glass of the tower
The lake sparkled like a diamond in our final hour
Goodbye romeo,
hello sad song's flow
goodbye april
hello unfaithful.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 5:20 PM UTC
Many years
ago, I went to
this little
Irish bar.
On Sunday nights,
there was a jazz band.
They played
Monk
Mingus
Coltrane
Miles
and the Duke.
I drank gallons of
****** marys on
those hot
summer nights.
Dill pickle spears, and
green olives came up
later on those
hungover, dreamless
mornings.
I was young.
I wasted the days,
lying in the sun,
bayonetted by youth.
Copper colored skin,
tin soul.
I would go thousands
of miles, chasing
that train, before I
would be forgiven.
Dec 11, 2024
Dec 11, 2024 at 9:35 PM UTC
Overdose of stimuli
Parade of light in the sky
Music falls, silence
The mer-men raise their tridents
-in the air
Selene wailed, in her cot
-the velvet bare
The diamonds flown and caught.
Drop your miniature bombs
On Marys and Toms.
Like school-boys, pulling your school-girls' hair.
Flirt with death, dance a desperate dare.
Douse Hell-fire in hemlock wine.
You're blind with opium's ditsy shine.
Wake and sadly find, the stars -still 'live.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
with good guns
and ****** marys
in a slow-spinning vestibule
with chairs made of wicker
and wood,
and accidental great whites
smiling from the ceiling.
music slips in from her viola.
we wish we were in a class
of language
by Fridays and last night's
setting fire to station wagons,
knowing not how to prevail.
from our seperate young boats,
one last sip,
we watch the sunrise
and we let life be the same,
equal distance between our names.
the afternoon ends with abnormal thunder
walking overhead like dead neighbors.
on the ground we walk their way, too.
so this is Rhode Island?
then music slips in.
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 4:21 PM UTC