"nomine" poems
President Elizabeth Warren
Vice-President Dwayne Johnson
Treasury Secretary Bernie Sanders
Chief of Staff Hillary Clinton
Michelle Obama Secretary of State
White House Spokesman Joe Biden
Supreme Ct Nomine Barack Obama
Why not run a champion ticket by joining together to win?
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 6:12 PM UTC
Och! Airn an' Thwndir!
An' Urquhart's Wae Verra Hel!
Great Warlike Glamis' Firey,
An' Hwmyd Loch Doon's Orrah!
Downe! Downe! tae thad howch owre miserable!
Ye a' swithe hame, hame! wae ma Airn ***
An' weile 'yont yondir Suthron!
Waefu', waefu' heyre Ah! War-Ironclad heyne Ȝell,
Wae burr-thistle’s Gowlin’ Storne Micht!
Frae ma verra, verra! Ah ageyne!
Tae the Cauld Enraged Wynde
Unco! intae Æternall Battle Scorchin'
Towardis Moorlan Chain Mail-Bosom o' mine!
O'er an' o'er IT! increasingly thro' Force returnin',
Wae ma verra Blacklyn Tartan o' War heyne,
An' Silvery Brooch, wi'in yondir Lone Sceadewe!
Unco! wae the Rubye Stane deep-shimmerin'
Naixt tae Carham's Gory Landis, an' the Targe-Hell,
Thro’ nowe Tune Martial, stick-an-stowe Ȝell!
Airn-Curse Core-Firey, Hye-Flamin' IT!
Heyne unco rychte Airn-Moorlan o'er ye a'!
Ah, bye nowe the FEUDAL OWAR-MANN!
'Yont thad Auld Whunstane Tower-Shrine
Togider wae Lang Titanium-Claymore, Airn-Dazzlin'
An' ne'er, ne'er, IT! stick-an-stowe tae wane!
Wi'in theis Bluish Fyre syne! Verra War-Swaird Rairan IT,
Intae Thae Hringiren Æternall, Thwndir-Devastatin' o' mine!
QVOAD FEODALE MEA CVM RVBRA SPATHA
ET RELVCENTE HOC SCVTO AC FVLMINE NIVEO
SCOTORVM INTRA HANC TEMPESTATEM MAGNAM
QVÆ FLOS IGNEVS EST TONITRVO NOMINE ALTO
NEMO GELIDO HOC LOCO IMPVNE ME LACESSIT.
Oct 1, 2020
Oct 1, 2020 at 4:42 AM UTC
Dawn breaks. Sliver of light
through shutters, wakes Sister
Blaise, stirs her from sleep.
Bell rings. Chimes loud.
She sits up, legs over the
side of the bed. Bare feet,
wooden floor. Coldness bites.
Rubs arms, legs. Crosses
herself with middle digit,
in nomine Patris. Bright light
through shutters slices into
floor. Prayer said she rises
from her bed. Thoughts race
through her head. Drab night
gown, grey, long. She walks
to the enamel bowl, pours
cold water, washes face and
neck and hands. Et Filii, et
Spiritus Sancti. Lets water
run through fingers. Wash
me whiter. The Christ on
the wall hangs there in His
silence. Picture of Christ on
her desk, hands out stretched.
She runs water through her
fingers, wet, cold. Wash me,
cleanse me. She dries her
hands on the old white towel,
rubbing dry fingers, hands,
face and neck. Uncle used to.
Pushes thoughts of him away,
they slip back in place, eel like.
Uncle used to touch. Bless me
Father. She folds the towel,
places it neatly at the foot
of her bed. She removes the
nightgown. Dresses in her habit.
White and black. Mother said
nothing. Silence and the turning
of the head. Finger pressed
against lips. Dressed, she sets
about her cell. Tidying, sorting,
bed making. Uncle used to touch
her. For I have sinned. She opens
the shutters, lets light in, opens
the windows, fresh air, birdsong,
slight breeze. Father used to beat.
The Christ hanging from the cross
on the wall is silent. Nailed hands,
hands curled. She has kissed the
nailed feet. Now she stares at the
turned head, turned slightly to one
side, crown of thorns, wood carved.
Sister Clare is in the cloister. She
watches her walk. She stops. Looks
into the cloister Garth. Flowers
growing, neat rows, large bushes.
Mother said nothing. Beatings.
Lies told about Uncle he said.
Sent to bed, no supper. The sun
is warm, light on head. She walks
from the window and stands in
front of the crucifix. His hands
curled, nailed, old nails, pins.
Feet one on top of the other, nailed
in place. She kisses His feet.
Presses soft lips. Uncle used
to touch, said our secret, sin
to tell, little girl. She presses
lips to His feet. Mother weak,
said nothing, dying now, cancer,
pain, hurts. Father dead. Never
make old bones he said. Proved
right. She closes her eyes. Touches
His legs, runs finger along. Stiff,
cold, smooth. Uncle did; she never
told again. Father displeased, the
beating pleased. The bell rings again.
Echoes along cloister. She crosses
herself with middle digit. A bird sings.
Wind moves branches by window,
He calls, must leave, must go.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 4:58 AM UTC
I'm not here to leave a legendary impression,
these poems are merely syntactical confession,
and if you find in your own personal expression,
the mutual feels from the scheme of grand depression,
felicitation, aggression, commiseration, obsession
all of the above, et cetera, the thorough digression,
glory will be given to the one in succession
of the ethereal destination we hold in compression
with the wordly oppression and greedy possession,
without further ado and much indiscretion,
tis time now to reflect upon my next spiritual transgression.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 6:38 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
Your Poems as Love-Letters to God
Gregariousness is always the refuge of mediocrities, whether
they swear by Soloviev or Kant or Marx. Only individuals
seek the truth, and they break with those who don’t love it
sufficiently.
-Doctor Zhivago, p. 9 in the Pantheon edition
You live, you have lived, and you will live
And because you live you will engrave your life
In elegant scansion, in noble lines
That shape chaos into beauty and truth
Not into metal or rocks or wood
But flung into Creation in gratitude
For the sacred life you have been given
For the strength of your love and thoughts
Each little line is a gathering-gift to God
Baptized in the Jordan and in the Hippocrene
To God, and to the Muses who smile on you
And to great Mysteries beyond the stars
Each little line is a gathering-gift to all
To read in the light of seven sacred lamps
The wisdom of patience and pilgrimage
Beside the banks of the river you know
You live, and so you write, you must, you must:
For there is meaning in tumbling in the grass
On a summer day that will live forever
Helped along in your written remembrancing
You live an eternal meaning in the why
Of laughter and puppy-kissings and grass-stained jeans
And that is why you must write it all down
For others in intellectually-sharpened rhythms
You live an eternal meaning in the why
Of love, of deeper kissings in the dark
Emotional confusions gone crazy-wild
Until they are sensed through crafted verse
You live an eternal meaning in the why
Of recruit training and sometimes war
The joys of learning wisdom from great books
Tentatively shaping your own new knowledge worthily
You live an eternal meaning in the why
Of leafy springs and apple-green summers
Golden autumns and winters of blue
Writing them as hymns of gratitude
You live an eternal meaning in the why
Of children in a home modest in wealth
But rich and layered in love, work, and prayer
“Is this poem about me?!” Oh, yes, child
You live an eternal meaning in the why
Of lonely nights, hospital stays, mistakes
Disappearing dreams, disappointed hopes
Memories of friends buried in the dust
You live, you have lived, and you will live
And because you live you will engrave your life
Love-letters as your gift to Creation
In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti*
Apr 8, 2025
Apr 8, 2025 at 8:54 AM UTC
So lay me down
in the coffin beneath
the sea, that's exactly
where I want to be.
Salt water building pressure
on the wood like the pressure
that you put me under each
and every day. Let the wood
splinter like so many lost lovers
and friends and let the water
fill my lungs and ears, bubbles
exploding from my mouth like
the arguments we use to have
to the backdrop of silverware
falling on linoleum. Let it fill my
body with **** and vinegar and
let the light that you cherished
so much fade away from my eyes
like headlights in the distance.
Feb 21, 2011
Feb 21, 2011 at 9:27 AM UTC
And stoners we shall be for thee, my **** for thee.
Tokes hath descended forth from thy bowl that our lungs may swiftly fill with thy smoke.
And we shall pass the dutchie to thy left of thee and flying with friends shall it ever be.
In nomine mater, et spherae igitur et sanctam favillam.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 9:38 PM UTC
I'm walking but I don't know where to,
It's a winding road that I've been on for what seems like years.
Lay down to rest my head, give my body to nature.
Stuck in the soil, sprouting slowly, but the rain comes and the lightning strikes.
I'm dead, but what's the difference?
I didn't stand a chance anyway.
Reborn; a cloud in the sky, I'm forming a tornado, touching ground, rapidly spinning and destroying everything in my path,
I'll gather everything around me and tear it up, drop it and dissipate.
I just want to be pure
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 8:19 PM UTC
VLTORIS MEA INCIDENS SVVM ÆTERNVM IMAGINE THORAX
DIXIT VNIVERSI MIHI LAPIDE AΠΟΦΘEΓΜΑΤΙ TYRANNVS
DVM SCYTHIÆ SVPER SANGVINE ARDEOR INVICTO
SEXTA RESVLTANS MEA NOCTIS SPECVLO FORMA
CÆDIT SVO PROBVS SIGNATOS FVLMINE POSTES
QVO VASTATIO CHALYBE DICITVR ESSE INDIGNI
VICTRICIS AQVILA TVRMA SACRI CONSONA
PRIMO SIGILLO TEVCRVS NOMINE CRVORIS
VINDEX XYSTO DÆMON IΕΡΩI
MITHRÆO TEGVNT FVLGENTEM TENEBRÆ HOSTES TEMPLVM.
Mar 24, 2024
Mar 24, 2024 at 8:08 AM UTC
O, Lord forgotten please accept
Me upon my mission bereft,
I look to the stars in darkness and cry,
And teeming with demons I ask you why,
And how I can be rid of myself,
How may I ask you for help?
Please remain with me where others have left,
Please linger with me as I conquer each step,
Forgive my wrath, forgive my hatred,
Please stay in my destitute heart, my Savior.
In all my life I shall remember my words,
About the others who walk with the heard.
Nunquam animadverto paradisum,
Omnes perdes qui scitus I,
In nomine Patris et Filii,
Et Spiritus Sancti.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 7:27 PM UTC
He exists in ****** duality
Dwelling in ********* lips and tongue
She is born of blackest dimension’s strum
When the rifle conquest bellows loud
And slaughter’s hum be murderous roar
It rivers in winding bends
Of purest human shale
The destroyer’s chorus in innocent’s wail
Clammy skin of mistresses pale
Chant in rounds this king curse brain
Her obsidian Charon
His violent game
It thousand claws
It needle veins
Sand drowning corpses in rotting flame
It eldest spirit from ancient plains
She blood unholy
He flesh unchained
Forever wholly thirst insane
Dismembering life
In nomine
Essence
Essence
Essence
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 4:23 PM UTC
The light of Nirvana manifest at the first glint of creativity , the glow in the writers heart praised at the Gates of Heaven , their records etched in pink marble within the Heavenly Foyer for all eternity .
The journal of the ancients , scribed with fire , cast in bronze tablet , adored by Angelic host ..
Works of praise engraved from the template of the Most High , eyes of fire in the darkest of night ..
Carmine in nomine ipsius gloriari !
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 4:48 PM UTC