"nazarene" poems
i see the words floating on
message boards or perched
upon the lips of jocular hypocrites
double-standards that demand
sensual chastity and virginal sexuality
in endless iterations of irony
the concussive
monosyllabic words
slung like stones
cast like arrows
****
*****
*****
all labels for
women possessed of
the courage to pursue
their own passion
once upon a time a
Nazarene insisted a ********** had
more integrity than a rich
statesman throwing self-serving parties
so tell me why so
many Christian politicians
propagate patriarchal notions of depravity
in blanket attempts to regulate
the bodies of women
if being anti-choice was really
about preventing abortions
why do rich right-wing conservative
Republicans spend all their time
and money picketing free clinics
when the solution lies in comprehensive
****** education universal healthcare
complimentary birth control
and comprehensive child support
don't dare use the reprehensible
rhetoric of pro-life unless you're
at once anti-war
and anti-death penalty
riddle me this
what pray tell is the
difference between a jealous
religious misogynist
and a secular sexist
it's rather simple actually
while the former bases his
slut-shaming on the edicts of
a two thousand year old letter to
the Corinthians inconspicuously
sandwiched between a celebration of
love and a section on speaking in tongues
the latter’s learned behavior is
birthed by a hyper-masculine culture
grounded in dominance
either way we await the day
when wild women raze
these ideologies
with torches before
rising like phoenixes
from the ashes of
decimated passages
dismissed by intellectuals
as archaic and outmoded
deaf blind and dumb to
the vestiges of modernity
that sap unscientific
philosophies of their potency
and render them utterly obsolete
in their wake
these proud women
erase the hate
from words like
****
*****
*****
and reclaim equality
with a far more
comprehensive term
feminist
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
1736
Proud of my broken heart, since thou didst break it,
Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee,
Proud of my night, since thou with moons dost slake it,
Not to partake thy passion, my humility.
Thou can’st not boast, like Jesus, drunken without companion
Was the strong cup of anguish brewed for the Nazarene
Thou can’st not pierce tradition with the peerless puncture,
See! I usurped thy crucifix to honor mine!
10.6k
Sprawl of the nazarene toothslayer,
Nucleotide bombast explosion;
***** of the eftsoon soothsayer,
Pyramid galaxies implosion:
Breathing quintuplicating matrix
Somersault to ceaseless meiosis,
Goldbeating phlanx initiatrix:
Amphimixis apotheosis.
Lifen gyrovagues aerolitic:
And fixate Atlas telescopic!
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 10:55 AM UTC
If I had to ask you for something before it happens,
I'd probably ask for a kiss. Something
To ease the pain. A spark of warmth
Out here. The garden is cold. The night is cold it's all
Cold. So please don't let me go,
Alone and cold.
Or
Or would it just make it worse? Maybe the kiss
Would be colder than the night air that mocks me
Now. Maybe it's a bitter token,
One final joke: You, my friend,
My best friend, selling me with a kiss
Goodbye.
Alone.
So alone here. While others sleep carelessly, I wait
All by myself. I wait for you to
Finally come along and end this. You have to know
I love you. So please come back soon, kiss or
No kiss. It's so cold, I'm so tired, and I can't be
Alone anymore.
please
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 7:53 PM UTC
i.
Malkhati, ourn arrangement hath been prearranged, set aside all of past anger's, Sting's from compeer's; knoweth ourn lion from the tribe of Judah, the Messiah draweth near.
ii.
Hush mine love, quiet mine dear, notice the weather's change and the birthing pain's of fear; though we shant faint, we shalt run through Meadow's clear. Wherein nothing shalt compare, to the thing's that we shalt see.
iii.
O' just imagine mine Jane, fountain of life that spring's, from God's throne seraph's gleam, as we'll Stare at Christ's bronze feet. Many table's for a holy feast, None beast's to make their way, for the beast's wilt be left behind us, making their trail's in Satan's day.
iv.
For we mine love, O' we; art messenger's, disciples, for Jesus the lowly Nazarene, now he's on high, his time is nigh, where all shalt shalt see his white robe, in blood dipped, paradise gripped, unearthly flow.
v.
We must be ready mine Asian hunny, for the sky's won't be sunny; that much longer now. The time is here, his call for us, we must speak and YELL OF JESUS, the one whom shalt awake the dead from the dust. Prophecy must be fulfilled mine girl, don't be in angst, of this soon passing world. He is the pearl, that once was rejected, the cornerstone to every broken home, the one in the beginning the builder's once disrespected. But every eye shalt see, every tribe shalt mourn, O' his sweet return, His sweet return. We must prophesy, before this earth doth burn, we bring TRUTH NOT FEAR, mayest love come by storm. Anyone who hath an ear, please heed ourn word's. For the Warning's art on the clouds, driven by storm's. YESHUA HAMASHIACH, He's coming soon, wilt thou listen O' man? Or let Lucifer deceive thou to? Mine Jane, Mine Jane, I seeith him coming;
Holy, holy is his name.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry , prophetic poetry.
©Earl jane Nagley dedicated ( àgapi mou)
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 9:56 PM UTC
Drink up the radiation
Subhuman viral nation
That or starve in skeleton cars
Chewin' on lettuce and candy bars
It's a caper world but there's no dancing
Skippin' like a child? Prepare for the violins
An interlude of electric tubes
Pushin' you closer to the cube
Tinted windows beg for bullets
And she makes *** feel like school
I've climbed the mountains, crawled in the caves
Still can't tell the veins from the beige
Still don't know if I'm better off in Nod's nowhere
Or Pan's wonderland of the living dead
Don't talk much except to my shaky fingers
Nibble nimble, spin a spindle, see the symbols, give a little
I've got a man who lives under my tongue
He fixes all my cavities
And when the paycheck comes
He sits atop the pink carpet-
His anti-gravity
I had a dream-weaver
But now he's vacationing
Somewhere in Himalayan Mountain territory
He's been there for two moons
And I doubt he'll ever leave
He sends me postcards and fancy little things
I put em' in a cigar box, hoping one day I'll see wings
****** was eaten by maggots
Before he took the helm
Insanity breeds anti-gravity
Life breeds cruel leaders
Forget divide and conquer
It's swarm and swallow
Tools of the revolution
Intravenously protrude you
Same In Nazarene
Spit In the Name of me
Go limping with a tishbite in the Cherith
Stating the obvious facts of Sin
Livin' only for lunar limbs
And Bailey's beads
Screaming,
"My God!
It's full of stars!"
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 9:37 PM UTC
Fallen One that fell from grace
Destiny engulfed you in flames
No other recourse but to change
You who tempted that Nazarene
The One some confuse with Seth or Baʿal
Venus is your place.
Your abode among the archangels
No one could take but Yahweh
The forbidden name
You loved Him more than your beautiful face
When ordered to love us feeble mortals more than the Lord of Hosts
Deign was not in your plate
Your phalangeal joints against the archangel Michael
General of the Heavenly Chariots
Lucifer, you of the Order of Music
The One they say buys souls
Michael took what was rightfully yours
On the Earthly plains your fallen angels
Only thought of empires to make.
Purson you probably do not know
Of the Order of Honor and Virtue once upon a time
Sunday stories that are told
God got old
Rest easy Prince don't sweat Judgement Day
Most of us are bound to Hades anyway.
Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 7:20 PM UTC
Sa loob ng halos daang taon
Mula nang naparito ang ****
Ang mga Pilipinong deboto
Taunang dumaragsa sa Quiapo
Dala’y kanya-kanyang panalangin
Tiwala na hiling ay diringgin
Kaya nagmula man sa malayo
Sa Quiapo parin ay dumarayo
Lubos na pananampalataya
Puspos pananalig sa biyaya
Sa tuwing sasapit buwan ng Enero
Nandyan Panata sa Nazareno.
-01/10/2012
(Dumarao)
*Feast Day of the Black Nazarene in Quiapo
Aug 24, 2019
Aug 24, 2019 at 10:00 PM UTC
He, naked by the gun
polished by antiquity.
Bronze in an age of reason,
overthrown by passion.
Live by the fruit of god, and
by god, I am risen.
Nazarene, Gabriel, Abaddon, a wing
Apollo, a foot, I float on air
and water-- watch me.
Me. To the thyself and thou art
I, I, I, beauty--
Rosepyre absence.
frozen
I sink in air, choke on air,
bloated by the birth of drought.
This is not a lake of fire. This is
your mother, standing
at the edge of Eden, milky thighs
tough skin and swollen.
Westward, says the philosopher,
the questioner, the one
who doubts god, but knows
he is god
And takes sanctity by the mouthful--
apples to apples, dust to bodies
Evolution without degradation, Genesis: Martyr:
drive another nail in.
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 1:57 AM UTC
Mexico is a great gift. But there. Good services (male / female / people). The founder of the Boston Market has 300 boxes. Many adults make mistakes. In the Philippines (4), prostitutes, many doctors are wrong. In Brazil, France and Brazil it is difficult to reduce the 600-100-1. Brazil 300 300 pure white, new regions of Russia, Morocco, Wilson, Brooklyn, Harlem, George Washington and at least four. 40.82 300 + 8: Mobile, Google solves the problem with Greece, Macedonia, South Africa, South Africa and Sweden. Mexico is the name "William". Mexico, color, 300 years without other black ornaments for horses or card assistants. Russia, Russia, Russia and Russia. "For 600 years Brazil has 600,000 dollars, 600, many teachers and many other things and bloggers," Sugar, Sugar ": Events: 8: 8 however, Ricky 40.82 South Africa with Joseph because he does what is right for China Africa click on Google Toolbar was and will not ruin Julius Caesar's school, it is above all the foundations of Alkcal's alkaline, the way of life of the child. (4) in three years, 82 Peter Kirkland, George Washington in the White House, Nazarene introduced by Tom, has two dogs, Brazil, Brazil, 600 and 600-600 600-600 games, so thank you for your government that 1000 F-Oh-rty-two children 8 + 8 and 8 women 8, 40, 82, South Africa , Northwest Africa, the continent of Africa Good service (male / female / people) Lotus Boston Trading is the latest version of the 300 Sleeves 600-100-1 Brazil 300 300 pure white regions of Russia, Morocco, Wilson, Brooklyn, George Washington and at least four others. 40.82 300 + 8: Mobile, Google solves the problem with Greece, Macedonia, South Africa, Ica Ica, and Sweden. Mexico is the name "William". Mexico's color for 300 years; There are no more black horses or carts. Russia, Russia, Russia and Russia. "There are 600,000 doctors in Brazil, Brazil, Brazil 600, who do not crash it". Stories, Teens 8 8: South Africa: 40.82 Ricky, African Football, Mother, China and Africa, click on Google Toolbar Jumper Alkashams to protect the house or destroy it. Georgia responds with jelly beans and head piercing each girl's skin to study the words of a group as well as the salivation of young men and women. (82) 82 82 (4) in three years, 82 Peter Kirkland and George Washington back in the White House introduced by Nazareth. Tom has two dogs. Today is a good team. The flight chooses this option in California. Good public security services, public offices and other names. 1.1. Brazil, Brazil, 600 and 600 to 600 600-600 games. Thank you for your head? And everything in the world is great. women. there are many problems at home. The sons of forty victims will come. 8 + 8 and 8 women, 8, 40, 82, South Africa, North-West Africa and the African continent. In fact, click on Google. Mexico is a great gift. But there. Good services (male / female / people). Traffic in Boston. Lotus is the latest sleeve version of 300. In many adult mistakes. In the Philippines (4), they commit many doctors who are wrong. In Brazil, France and Brazil it is difficult to reduce the 600-100-1. Brazil 300 300 pure white, new regions of Russia, Morocco, Wilson, Brooklyn, Harlem, George Washington and at least four. 40.82 300 + 8: Mobile, Google solves the problem with Greece, Macedonia, South Africa, South Africa and Sweden. Mexico, whose name is "William". Mexico, color, black kits 300 years, and other helmets of horse trolleys. Russia, Russia, Russia and Russia. "There are 600,000 doctors in Brazil, Brazil, Brazil 600, who do not crash it". Events: 8: 8 However, Ricky 40.82 South Africa is good for the Tully Halls in China and Africa, click on Google Toolbar and delete the school. Glass bottles with nitrogen oxide come from Alkasham.
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 8:39 AM UTC
In absence of the few,
a current flows lightly
and if the blade of thoughts lingering
fade in the wake of tomorrow, a gasp
will follow.
The lone tendril curls and reveals
solace for tomorrow, a million
syllables found in infinite sounds.
Here, there are only cauls
waning in the night
where the preacher surrendered his hands
and revealed the anchored eyes
of the subdued.
We were only sleeping, the coma
of the waking, the silence of the breathing,
the Ides stretching beneath the fount
and bow of the Nazarene--
a blue lining to veil
the face of today.
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 12:14 AM UTC
Tasting blood,sweat and tears all at once,
Carrying a cross for undeserving fans,
That's how much He loves us,
Let's take Him wholeheartedly,and quit taking His word as a fuss.
Bet it was possible for Him to fly,
But no,He just had to die
He was in flesh and blood,He felt the pain no lie,
And yes,He did cry.
Lo and behold!a new passage to God was made,
For our sins He had paid,
Our own duty was and still is to just accept that free precious gift of salvation,
And abandon the place of spiritual thirst,unrest and stagnation.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 7:29 PM UTC
an intrepid inheritance
predicated on delusion
processing profuse refuse an
iconoclastic self-absorption suffusing
each and every molecule
we’re confusing consumption
with an inane ideology
as we choke the atmosphere with
CO2 and pump toxins into
our food will we pause as
the doomsday clock tick-tocks
closer to midnight
and the terror alert
goes code red
to consider that we
are at once
this planet’s cancer
and its cure
if Jesus is truly the
reason for the season
do you suppose he’d
impose on those
who do not
share your faith
for the love of Christ
let’s depose the overlords
the Nazarene opposed
hell
that’s something even
i could get behind
Mary
did you know
that your baby boy
was an anarchist who
practiced non-violence
and met death on a cross
as a terrorist rebelling
against the unjust
to those who deign to
name themselves Christians in
homage to the divine
why profane the memory
of a socialistic hippie who
bred an insurrection and
bled for the cessation
of human conflict
the negation of
self-serving intentions
disguised in capitalism
in the spirit of Christmas
defy the death drive
propelling us towards mass extinction
abandon corporate bookstores
protest in front of city hall
the kingdom of god is within you
so go home
kiss the ones you love for
“if we are not the word of god
then god never spoke”
it’s up to us to recognize
that we ourselves
are progenitors of the divine
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 12:59 PM UTC
It is night now, and I am bloom all over.
Creeper crawling on earth, beneath:
the thicket of my blades, there lies
secret a crypt to eternity concealed.
I'm jasmine and I conceal a grave.
What is more deadly, say, concealment,
or the thing concealed? This is mystery.
I'm growing everywhere: by Himalaya
gazing at thunder cracking up the peaks.
By the well, where spake the Nazarene.
Clambering up to the heights of temple
towers, and kissing the eastern clouds.
But here is the whiff of fragrant endings:
concealment, more deathly than death.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 1:37 PM UTC
I was,
And I am.
So shall I be to the end of time,
For I am without end.
I have cleft the vast spaces of the infinite, and
taken flight in the world of fantasy, and drawn nigh
to the circle of light on high.
Yet behold me a captive of matter.
I have hearkened to the teachings of Confucius,
and listened to the wisdom of Brahma, and sat be-
side the Buddha beneath the tree of knowledge.
Behold me now contending with ignorance and
unbelieving.
I was upon Sinai when the Lord showed Himself
to Moses. By the Jordan I beheld the Nazarene's
miracles. In Medina I heard the words of the Apostle
of Arabia.
Behold me now a prisoner of doubt.
I have seen Babylon's strength and Egypt's glory
and the greatness of Greece. My eyes cease not
upon the smallness and poverty of their works.
I have sat with the witch of Endor and the priests
of Assyria and the prophets of Palestine, and I cease
not to chant the truth.
I have learned the wisdom that descended on India,
and gained mastery over poetry that welled
from the Arabian's heart, and hearkened to the music
of people from the west.
Yet am I blind and see not; my ears are stopped
and I do not hear.
I have borne the harshness of unsatiable con-
querors, and felt the oppression of tyrants and the
******* of the powerful.
Yet am I strong to do battle with the days.
All this have I heard and seen, and I am yet a
child. In truth shall I hear and see the deeds of
youth, and grow old and attain perfection and
return to God.
I was,
And I am
So shall I be to the end of time,
For I am without end.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC
This bald man stares at me,
In the mirror across the room,
He had dreadlocks at seven,
A full haired Nazarene.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 9:53 AM UTC
Amazing grace is the sound
So sweet to me, Lord hear my plea
Your blood shed for me
Thy yoke is light tho my sin is heavy
Fill my thoughts
I store up your Word in my heart
Oh Lord my savior how you
bought me at such a cost
took the nails for my transgressions
Humble a True
it is Your love that I pursue
In a broken world I come to you
On my knees I pray
Peace is your outstretched arm
Grace is your gift in glory
Joy is what we share as we worship you
Oh Lord my savior how sweet the sound of your voice
You are my comfort
You are my strength
You are my God
Thank you Lord for choosing me
when I chose you not
Your light shines my sin away
Your love brings me to my knees
I will worship you all of my days
Let us sing in your name
Jesus the Nazarene
Jesus the King of Kings
Jesus the Creator of all beauty we sing Hallelujah Jesus is coming back
For you and me
together we shall worship Thee in peaceful eternity
Seated before your throne
Righteous and pure in your sight
Jesus to you we reach
To you we sing
It is the name of Jesus we preach
You are with us in spirit
You came to us in person
And we wait for you in your glory.
Hallelujah. In Jesus the Christ we pray.
Amen.
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 10:18 PM UTC
Oh Poong Hesus Nazareno
Kahit ngayong Ikaw ay malayo
Kahit ako’y hindi mkapunta diyan sa Quiapo
Ako ay sa Iyo parin sumasamo
Ikaw na Siyang noon ay dinaingan ko
Ikaw na Siyang noon ay hinilingan ko
Na makatapos ako sa kolehiyo
Ikaw na Siyang mismong tinungo ko
Ikaw na Siyang mismong dinasalan ko
At duminig sa mga panalangin ko
Ako’y muling sumasamo sa Iyo
Tingnan Mo ngayon ang sitwasyon ko
Nasa alanganin na naman ang buhay ko
Walang kasiguruhan sa trabaho
Kinabukasang maganda ay malabo
Maawa Ka naman sa pamilya ko
Maawa Ka naman sa ibang tao
Sila ay matutulungan ko
Kapag dininig Mo ang samong ito
Kung ano ito ay alam Mo na po
Upang akin naring mabago
Ang nabubulok na buhay at pagkatao.
-0/09/2014
(Dumarao)
*written this day of the Feast of the Black Nazarene
Sep 14, 2019
Sep 14, 2019 at 9:58 PM UTC
The mocking birds mouth is as still as the tree, The mocking birds mouth is as still as the tree, The mocking birds mouth is as still as the tree, The mocking birds mouth is as still as the tree,
I shall be enveloped, intoxicated in it's last words effigy,
Transcribed across the tablets of the deserts final plea,
It searches for my body
The coyote calls my name,
The sands ask for me as a trophy
They swallow up my grave,
The slits of eyes in my wrist and thighs show my life's vision out to sky, it sees the world from the deep inside where I hid it in my skin and my arteries,
When you find me dead bury me in the sand, il be a sand angel in 2010,
I was never worth consoling, hid from every one I knew, finally at the end you found you hate me too.
Guilts too hard to take, it ***** in my soul like a vacuum, guilt beats hate, Benton falls down in the bathroom,
The tiles watch him **** on the floor
He collapsed then shat and vomited more, whole lives fall in the toilet. too moist as miscarried babies,
So bury me in the desert,
So the mocking bird can't say ****
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
your god lies dead and buried
in an unmarked grave. a radical—
a terrorist charged with treason.
for defying the Roman Throne,
they shoved a crown wove from thorns
onto his brow and called him "traitor."
but two thousand years later,
if the homeless rabbi
walked the Earth,
he'd be in the streets
with the anarchists,
fighting to end the wars
that plant kids' corpses
like seeds in the ground
that only yield new bombs.
he'd call your president
a ******* fascist.
he'd denounce Israel for bombing
his homeland and try to cease
the genocide in Palestine.
your savior would stand
shoulder-to-shoulder
with water protectors
in North Dakota, shouting, "mni wiconi!"
in the faces of cops guised in riot gear.
can't you see, pharisee? or is the log
in your eye blurring your vision?
snakes like you, who stand on street corners
preaching the "Good News," were the very same
self-righteous fools he detested.
you can't white-wash the legacy of the Nazarene.
you stand on the wrong side of history.
if Jesus walked this earth right now,
your hands would hold him down
while the State drove nails through his palms.
i only wish the fantasy was true,
that i could see your face as he said,
"away from me, evildoer.
truly, i never knew you!"
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 12:01 AM UTC
I live by daily participating
and not by distant gesticulating.
I live by putting love into action,
not by singing for holy intervention.
I live by getting both hands soiled,
not sanitised and kept unspoiled.
If you want to follow the Nazarene
you can't keep your hands wet wipe clean.
This is life as he envisaged -
living like we're one big village.
Roll up your sleeves to each elbow,
let's serve together and not alone.
This is life as Jesus did it -
all hands-on, with dirt and spit!
May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 3:26 PM UTC
i have no idea how many hours she toiled
in the community kitchen before i arrived,
but she’d made a *** of tofu stew, a bowl
of rice and beans, some spinach lasagna
soaked in marinara, hummus
and daiya cheese sandwiches.
diligent and dutiful,
without question,
without expectation.
an hour later, we stood in Lykes Gaslight Park,
doling out food to the houseless folks
who’d lined up for a vegan meal
when, out of the blue, a well-dressed
college student swaggered up to us,
his smile shimmering, and asked
what we were doing.
she brushed a loose strand
of hair behind one ear,
smearing a bit of sauce
across her cheek,
and said, “we are here to live
as if we are already free.”
they were sharing food too,
he explained, which was all well
and good. but we couldn’t help but notice
they’d never set foot here in the past,
that they only came out
when the season
passed into the holidays.
“you know,” he told us,
“you might not realize,
but the Lord Jesus Christ
is using you for the gospel.”
which seemed rather strange,
given that he’d be back
in his sanctuary before the year
was out, raising his hands
and praising his dead god
instead of standing beside us
every Tuesday and Saturday,
sharing.
but we remember the legacy
of the radical Nazarene,
the anarchic revolutionary
who fed five thousand—
a conquest of bread
with nothing but a few loaves
and some fish.
if you listen closely,
you can still hear him whispering,
“take what you need,
give what you can.”
we carry a new world
in our hearts and heads.
we don’t feed the hungry
to win a one-way trip to heaven.
so when you forget
about the poor you use as a prop,
we godless few will remain
in the streets until every belly’s full
and capitalism collapses—
risking arrest, fighting abuse,
addiction and empty stomachs.
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 7:25 AM UTC
The periapt otiose stone helotage that the tactiturn builders
Rejected at Golgotha, bode the heart of Heaven has now
Become the corner-stone henting the regal worm of worms
With temerity of the spire of spires; And they look ignominious
Upon the necromancer that they pierced testifying a vision of
Living beings, a saviour, an insuperable scorned man,
The maxim of kings, the miracle man of blood and water
Invidiously feeling despised crying out loud;
''Eloi, Eloi, Lema Sabachthani'',
Whom the ill-starred crucified and divided purloin his robes
At the rolling of dice. Yet still God raised from death much alike
The Nazarene himself had disintered Lazarus, resurrecting after
Four days his friend buried at Bethany; alike too Tabitha
Which (Simon), Peter, presented before the widows and believers
commanding alive in the name of the Almighty Holy Lord
From the clutches of the darkened Sun, clinging to the
Dark side of the moon within a star-less sky
Annointed the way to the Father.
ELEETE J MUIR
Jan 28, 2018
Jan 28, 2018 at 9:35 PM UTC
the worship service looks full this morning
though, admittedly, i haven't been
in attendance since Christmas.
families in their Sunday best
sit on wooden pews
in a patriarchal church
that spent its tithings
on a multi-million dollar
gymnasium rather than the poor
their savior told them to look out for.
men, women, and children
awkwardly pretend
to sing contemporary hymns
beneath their breath,
hoping no one will notice
as they pick their noses,
thinking absently of Easter dinner.
i write poems
while the pastor prattles,
his shallow words
an empty drone
filling my ears
with white noise.
i feel myself drifting.
i haven't been sleeping
lately. the news has got me thinking
each passing day might be our last
on planet Earth and i'll be incensed
if i waste one minute more
than necessary
in this cramped
and ugly church,
a sanctuary smelling faintly
of old ladies, cheap perfume,
and wilted flowers dying silently.
just one more week
and i'll have been
god-free for half a decade.
for now,
i grin and bear the tedium
and mourn the tarnished legacy
of the radical rabbi,
a Nazarene who took on an Empire
and died by his convictions.
i daresay,
he'd be rolling in his grave
if he could see
these rich, white
Presbyterians sullying
his good name—
provided, of course,
he'd not so famously
vacated the premises.
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 10:42 AM UTC
Off the Back of a Truck
The black painted truck drives about the country doing its job
Moving things from A to B and losing them in-between
Passing thru Chorley it drops a mountain bike without wheels
Going past Leeds it discards a new microwave oven minus door
In the middle of Rochdale it dumps a crate of empty beer bottles
Speeding in Yeovil the truck gives out used bullet proof vests
And at Aberdeen it abandons some PCs minus hard drives
For Cardiff the lorry leaves hundreds of out of date pizzas
Hours later in Birmingham hooded tops with just one arm are left
The ******* trail goes to Whitby where books of fake stamps fall
Onwards to York to discard plastic crosses with half a Nazarene
Back to Dover to chuck a hundred coffee flasks with drilled hole
On and on drives the strange lorry with its load of goodies
All are useless and no use to anybody except a fool or idiot
Like the one driving the truck on his nationwide dumping trip
Ticking each place off his list as he follows his map
A to ****** Z...
******* Upside Down In a Blazing Avro Manchester Bomber – Poems from My Life and More
Nick Armbrister
Jul 25, 2019
Jul 25, 2019 at 8:33 AM UTC