"pater" poems
Doctor Ponsonby’s Patented Empowering Electrical Rosary
*This ilke Monk leet olde thynges pace,
And heeld after the newe world the space.*
Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales
How out of date are simple wooden beads
An upgrade is what the Rosary needs!
Something to give your meditations spice
Connected to your electronic device
Beamed back and forth to The Cloud, you see
With mega-mega gigs of memory
Doctor Ponsonby’s Patented Empowering
Electrical Rosary is just the thing!
The Ave Maria is so out of date
It’s Ave ME now, ‘cause we’re all so great!
Make your prayers less about God, more about you
Signal yourself through sacred Tooth of Blue
A camera hidden in the crucifix
Enables you to take your selfie-flicks
The Pater beads count each joggery mile
Or kilometres if those are your style
The Ave beads are recycled with care
To save the forests, the rivers, and air
Designed in Germany, made in China
High-definition beads; there’s nothing finer
Buy the first (as advertised on tv)
And we’ll send you a second all for free
Remember: for weddings, funerals, and daily devotions
Let RAM and ROM go through all the motions
Doctor Ponsonby’s Patented Empowering
Electrical Rosary – O make it sing!
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 7:24 AM UTC
I will remain,
I remain here,
The remains of star dust.
What are my
Ears telling me?
Mater, Pater,
What did you do?
Originally written 2/26/11
Revised 10/19/14
Revised 12/4/16
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 6:19 PM UTC
Here come I to my own again,
Fed, forgiven and known again,
Claimed by bone of my bone again
And cheered by flesh of my flesh.
The fatted calf is dressed for me,
But the husks have greater zest for me,
I think my pigs will be best for me,
So I’m off to the Yards afresh.
I never was very refined, you see,
(And it weighs on my brother’s mind, you see)
But there’s no reproach among swine, d’you see,
For being a bit of a swine.
So I’m off with wallet and staff to eat
The bread that is three parts chaff to wheat,
But glory be!—there’s a laugh to it,
Which isn’t the case when we dine.
My father glooms and advises me,
My brother sulks and despises me,
And Mother catechises me
Till I want to go out and swear.
And, in spite of the butler’s gravity,
I know that the servants have it I
Am a monster of moral depravity,
And I’m ****** if I think it’s fair!
I wasted my substance, I know I did,
On riotous living, so I did,
But there’s nothing on record to show I did
Worse than my betters have done.
They talk of the money I spent out there—
They hint at the pace that I went out there—
But they all forget I was sent out there
Alone as a rich man’s son.
So I was a mark for plunder at once,
And lost my cash (can you wonder?) at once,
But I didn’t give up and knock under at once,
I worked in the Yards, for a spell,
Where I spent my nights and my days with hogs.
And shared their milk and maize with hogs,
Till, I guess, I have learned what pays with hogs
And—I have that knowledge to sell!
So back I go to my job again,
Not so easy to rob again,
Or quite so ready to sob again
On any neck that’s around.
I’m leaving, Pater. Good-bye to you!
God bless you, Mater! I’ll write to you!
I wouldn’t be impolite to you,
But, Brother, you are a hound!
3.8k
We're just a bunch of 90s babies, sniffing coke like it's the 1980s
In the night we're popping Molly like we're the ones that made it
Calling it a new summer of love, like this time was always fated
Making fun of everyone that isn't turnt, because we never waited
Leave the club with ratchet girls when the sun goes down much later
I'm just having my fun, why do you have to be a player hater?
The greatest generation has gone, do we have what it takes to be greater?
When the weekend romance ends, return to love thy mater and thy pater
xoxo, imagine being strung out on dank bud with the grand creator
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
Rise! Oh, Mighty Jupiter;
Our Father now forgotten.
Come claim your rightful reverence.
Your pagan pedigree misgotten.
You were once our Shining Father;
Great King of all the Sky.
But you allowed your world to set
so a new Son could arise.
Zeus once ruled before you, and
Jesus became your heir.
Today not many realize
how we got from here to there.
I have considered for some moments
how our thoughts of god do change.
Plural notions of so long ago,
today can seem so strange.
We like to think we've come so far,
since those pagan days of yore.
Have we abandoned superstition
or just embraced it even more?
It was millennia ago
that Zeus ruled Mount Olympus.
He, their leader, more than father,
often beaten by hubris.
The Greeks, they worshiped leaders,
seeking standing in this forum.
Such desires, democratic
became their gods that ruled before them.
As the centuries moved on,
your new Latin home was Roma.
Your title too, transformed
to reflect a new persona.
To Zeus we added "Father",
or in Latin, pater, we prefer.
So Zeus, becomes Zeus-pater,
Zupater, then Jupiter.
Our names for gods reveal
exactly how they fill our needs.
Over time our needs evolve
and so a new name supersedes.
As Rome aged, it developed
a need to know god as a man.
To be one of his number.
To see themselves as of his clan.
This zeus, he can be talked to,
can be greeted and be known.
They "Hail Zeus" as HeyZeus.
And now its Jesus on the Throne.
Through such inquests we can see
the needs Gods fill evolving,
from cold, covetous Kings
to a begotten Son absolving.
We imagine in the Heavens
things to help us understand,
how a universe so endless
can be the realm alone of man.
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 5:53 PM UTC
You couldn't relate to my life if you tried
Degenerate pride, in my pride, the family all died
I took a trip, slip from the front door
Walking to the house of a man with some more
Of the poison of my mother, the mater, my pater, the father
My brothers and sisters slumped against a wall, injecting
It gets harder
I'm a martyr
But I fall farther
Brown brings ardour
In the haze of detestable days, bus journey raves
To the estates, I'm in a state, I hate fate
Try and place blame, struggle to get straight
But straight to the point, you're a mate
Pass the plate, and the joint
I'll do a line, get straight
Straight to the point...
Where was I?
Back in the house, forgot how I got here
The emptiness too much to bear
I miss my family being here
My mother the seer
My father drinking beer
I close my eyes, open, hope they appear
The loneliness of the kitchen feels so queer
I pop a few pills and realise its been a year
Since I saw them here
Fading to black and I awake in a wrack
Fiending for some smack, panic attack
Light up a pipe, smoke some pale crack
Keep me going on this lonesome track
So I pack my bag, down a glass of Jack
And get back on the beaten path
To the corner where I find her, solemn in a slump
Hard night's day, I give her cash and we arrange the jump
Pump pump, I dump my junk and feeling drunk
Walk silently in a grump, she re-adjusts her skirt
and returns to her bunk
To her lifelong funk
before being packed into another John's trunk
The streetlights are cruel in the winter night's haze
What beautiful days, in a daze, feeling amazed
Clasp my hands and I pray, am I crazed
or is this mournful delay
A year ago today,
my love took my family away
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 6:01 PM UTC
Providing you survive the drive inside the suicide lane,
The inane objections of several secular seconds will both drive you insane and tame the frame of irrational sanity,
Which stripped away the man in me,
And grabbed my sleeve convincingly to lament the angry laugh of free...
Enterprise; do I comprise of many lies,
As you do?
A gift or prize; yes I surmise the former plays no voodoo.
Like the latter,
Piter pater, I ask exactly, "Do you,"
Truly
care
to know...
If existence is but chatter in a blankness with no matter,
And no welcome mat to meet the merry-minded Happy Hatter's
Dash to seek that ****** infatuation with the sadder shift of anger which,
Shook the sheets to show off that the banker is an actor,
Who washes
Shame
Away
In calm, hot showers.
What empowerment.
We underwent the chance event,
Which supplemented discontent with the rich and single one percent,
How kind it was of him to lend,
His hand,
For both of mine.
What malcontent.
We thought dissent would overthrow the circus tent,
Which represented forced consent with the oppressed by blissful fraudulence
Remaining 99 percent.
Peasants, plebeians, proletariat;
We poke the U.N. Secretariat,
To ask again,
"Are we there yet?"
"Are we there yet?"
And silence is how were always met.
We drop it, trust they won't forget,
About us, suffering cold sweats;
As we fear unwanted debt,
They won't forget,
They won't forget,
They won't forget
About us.
Yet competition takes it place,
And twists that sympathetic face,
To grab a poor man's knowledge base,
To ask him,
"What do
I gain
from assisting
The likes
Of you?"
The poor man bellows, "you're poor too!
Like those who can't afford shampoo.
You can't afford my point of view,
It risks a loss that's overdue,
And money makes you misconstrue,
Existence."
And if existence is but chatter in a blankness with no matter,
And no welcome mat to meet the merry-minded Happy Hatter's
Dash to seek that ****** infatuation with the sadder shift of anger which,
Shook the sheets to show off that the banker is an actor;
He forgot the human aspect should always be the biggest factor,
On his spreadsheets as he calculates productivity's next chapter;
What empowerment.
We underwent the chance event,
Which supplemented discontent with the rich and single one percent,
How kind it was of him to lend,
His hand,
For both of mine.
This isn't right.
I question fines,
And wonder, where's the kindness?
What happened to our kindred spirits?
Did we leave all that behind us?
Is money truly all we want,
And happiness put second?
The future is unwritten,
So follow me;
Expect resistance.
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 3:46 PM UTC
I miss you like maps miss fingers,
Like mikes miss singers,
Like hells bells miss ringers,
Like bringers miss takers,
Like ******* miss fakers,
Like cakes miss bakers,
Like lakes miss boats,
Like bad swimmers miss floats,
Like politicians miss votes,
Like doting parents miss school plays,
Like nymphomaniacs miss lays,
Like hypochondriacs miss prescriptions,
Like ****** misses addictions,
Like carpets miss friction,
Like Billy Bunter misses midnight feasts,
Like the grim reaper misses grief,
Like Henry misses the good fellas,
Like sand sculptures miss umbrellas,
Like Rubix cube devotees miss puzzles,
Like rabid dogs miss muzzles,
Like Van Gough missed his brushes,
Like speed freaks miss rushes,
Like pens miss paper,
Like the Mona Lisa missed Pater,
Like the canvas misses the creator,
Like the thirsty miss water,
Like the hungry miss food,
Like ***** miss the lewd,
Like the mind misses mood,
Like the tides miss the moon,
Like the sane miss the loons,
Like the dark misses the light,
Like the brave miss the fright,
Like the kite misses the wind.
I miss everything.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 3:25 PM UTC
It’s very surprising that “SATOR Squares”
seem to appear everywhere
the mighty Roman army had gone;
can they together, really belong?
Can anyone else see
inside this puzzle’s mystery?
It’s been learned that it’s not a game
and a truth, always remains the same.
Known is the square’s earliest evidence –
Can it be a mere coincidence,
that it was found in a retired soldier’s home?
From one who had faithfully served Italy’s Rome.
The Naked Archeologist cracked this riddle,
by playing around with the letters of its middle.
Fairly revealing were some of its words,
whose interpretation were not fully obscured.
From analyzing all 5-lettered Latin palindromes,
it became clear; this particular grid stood alone.
The hidden phrases are now, no longer lost;
PATER NOSTER, “Our Father”, forms a cross;
The leftover letters include “a” for “The Alpha”,
while “o” represents “The Omega”.
The last secret, discovered inside this puzzle’s framework,
informs us: “The Alpha and Omega holds the wheels in work.”
For with Jehovah, nothing is impossible –
when we see that “Jesus makes God’s work possible”.
Author Notes:
Information for this poem was gleaned from a video presentation of Simcha J., who is known as the Naked Archeologist. The first SATOR square was found carved on the wall of a retired soldier's home; he had served the Roman army and his name was Paquio Proculo; it's been dated around 79 AD.
http://www.satorsquare.com/
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2011, All rights reserved.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 6:18 AM UTC
112
Where bells no more affright the morn—
Where scrabble never comes—
Where very nimble Gentlemen
Are forced to keep their rooms—
Where tired Children placid sleep
Thro’ Centuries of noon
This place is Bliss—this town is Heaven—
Please, Pater, pretty soon!
“Oh could we climb where Moses stood,
And view the Landscape o’er”
Not Father’s bells—nor Factories,
Could scare us any more!
1k
Rain is poring
No old man is snoring
Makes you day so boring
As I hit the ground
I rebound
Making a pitter pater sound
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 7:19 PM UTC
Piter pater rain drops from the sky
Falling through the clouds that are high
Tip tap knocking on my window screen
As I see the beautiful scene
Flowers are happy & river feel joy
As farmers in their field enjoy
The children wants to dance & play
In the water, on the rainy day
Paper boats in the water flow
Of rain which has come to make a glow
Peacock dance as he shed his feathers
Enjoying with his lovely brothers
Animals & birds from their home watches
The rainy water as it dashes
But the beautiful scene of the rain still holds
The noises of water & rainy colds...
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 5:14 AM UTC
After breakfast
after doing shopping
for your mother
you met Fay on the grass
in front of Banks House
and you lay there
looking up at the summer sun
and white clouds
and the sound of trains
shunting
over by the railway yard
and Fay said
my daddy says
I’m to be able to recite
the Pater Noster in Latin
by the time
he gets back
from his work travelling
what the heck’s
the Pater Noster?
You asked
looking at her sideway
her pale features
catching your eyes
her blue eyes
gazing at the sun
it’s the Our Father in English
she said
what’s the big deal?
You said
doesn’t God
understand English?
sure He does
she said
but Daddy wants me
to learn the Latin
he said all good
Catholic girls
need to know
their Latin
what’s kiss my ****
in Latin?
You asked
she looked at you
and laughed shyly
and said
I don’t know
ask your dad
You said
I wouldn’t dare
she said
looking away
back at the sky
does he know Latin
your dad?
You asked
some he does
she replied
but he wouldn’t know that
I shouldn’t think
maybe
you should learn that
and say that you him
instead of the Pater Noster
she looked anxious
I wouldn’t dream of it
she said
and as you both lay there
on the grass
she moved her leg
and you saw
a blue bruise
on her thigh
turning greeny yellow
but you said nothing
of that but talked
how your old man
had made you
a blue metal money box
to keep your pocket money in
and she listened in silence
her pale features
and blue eyes
holding your eyes
as you spoke
looking along
her lime coloured dress
at the leg showing
the bruise still there
like a fallen fruit
and she smelt of apples
freshly picked
and held to the nose
better go
she said
best learn this Latin
before his return
and off she walked
across the grass
waving to you
as she went
and you blew her a kiss
from your palm
but she had gone
but at least
You said
gazing at the sky
it’d been sent.
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 5:05 AM UTC
You took Fay
to Kennington Park
it being a fine day
and with no school
and her father
away working
and she sat
on the bus
there in her orange dress
which matched
her fair hair
tied in a ponytail
her brown sandals
and white socks
hands in her lap
her eyes large
in expectation
you sat beside her
in your checked
open neck shirt
and faded blue jeans
battered black shoes
you both swaying
to the bus’s motion
and when you got off
at the Park
she said hadn’t been
to the park before
and that her father
took them
to the park nearby
sometimes on a Sunday
after mass
if she’s been good
and could recite
the Pater Noster
right through
in Latin
without mistakes
what the heck’s
the Pater Noster?
you asked
the Lord’s Prayer
she said
the Park was busy
people everywhere
parents with kids
and without
and kids
with no parents
and she was talking
about the nuns
who taught
at her school
how strict they were
and the girl who was hit
over the knuckles
with a ruler
for not knowing
the Credo all through
you didn’t bother to ask
what that was
but saw her eyes
bright blue
and looking around
the grass and trees
and bushes
and you both sat
on the grass
and you said
your parents brought you here
on Sundays
and you watched
the cricket or played ball
and sometimes
your old man
bought ice creams
or lemonade
and she talked
of her mother
and how she
had to work hard
to please her father
and sometimes
they rowed
and sometimes he hit
her mother if the row
got out of hand
and she went quiet
and looked at you
don’t tell anyone
she said
I’m not to speak
of what goes on
indoors
I won’t say a word
you said
what about an ice cream?
you said
I haven’t any money
she said
I have
you said
my mother gave me 2/6d
for doing chores
o yes then
she said
and went with you
to the ice cream place
and ordered two
and paid the coins
and got your change
and walked along
the path
she taking hold
of your hand in hers
and you sensed
the pulse of her
through your fingers
and the sun was warm
and the sky
a bright blue
with just 12 year old Fay
and 12 year old you.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 3:54 AM UTC
The love we have
was always unspoken, the roles we played has been
and is
forever
been
broken.
(Pater)
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 1:05 AM UTC
“Please try these yellow glasses, sage.”
“Yes, things are now yellow,” says he.
“Now try these blue ones, you patriarch.”
“Oh, things are blue now,” cries the Pater.
“Then what color is the blue sky, you sages?”
“We don’t know, they say it’s not blue.”
“And then, the blue ocean? Really blue?
“Respect our wisdom, you idiot!” they yelled.
If color is no color, then Black is no black;
Then crow is no crow, and death is no birth.
‘Beauty is not truth, and truth no beauty’
Bodhi, mirror and void—all are just illusions!
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 7:57 AM UTC
The old priest
toddles up the side aisle,
sways slightly side to side,
goes past Mary's chapel.
You watch him
from the pews
waiting for confession.
Old Mrs O'Connor's
next in line;
bet she'll be there
for a week or so.
You kneel down
on the knee rest
gaze at your knees.
The priest enters
the confessional,
closes the door;
silence.
Mrs O'Connor
lifts herself
from the pew,
wanders into
the confessional
closes the door
after her.
You sit back
on the pew.
The young priest
is down at the altar,
a nun helps him
fiddle with stuff.
Magdalene hasn't come.
What to say?
What not to say?
Bless me Father
I've been having it off
with Magdalene Murphy.
An old codger comes
into the pew,
kneels down
closes his eyes.
You sigh,
kneel down,
close your eyes,
put in a Pater Noster
and an Ave.
The door
of the confessional
opens,
the O'Connor bag
comes out.
It is you next,
so rise up,
go in, ready
to spill the beans
of sin.
Dec 18, 2016
Dec 18, 2016 at 8:41 AM UTC
Sophia's parents
had invited me to tea
best go
she said
they invite
it rude not to come
(she was Polish
and spoke a broken
kind of English)
so I went and I put on
my best suit and tie
and clean shirt
and there I was
at the front door
Sophia opened the door
and gazed at me
you come ok?
sure why not
are they both home?
she nodded
do they speak English?
I asked
she nodded
I entered the house
and the hall light
was bright and contrasted
with the coming
evening light outside
she ushered me
into the lounge
where the parents sat
on a sofa
the father stood up
a short stocky man
with a moustache
and a shock of short
greying hair
his hand was offered
and he said
you welcome
friend of our daughter
welcome here
(I had been once before
when they returned early
and almost caught us
in bed having a good time
and I crept by him
on the way home)
glad to be here
I said smiling weakly
the mother looked at me
her eyes were searching me
she didn't smile
Sophia sat in an armchair
and I sat in one next to her
and waited for talk
or questions
you Roman Catholic?
the father said
yes convert 1968
I said
go to Mass each Sunday
the mother looked
at her husband
where you meet Sophia?
he said
I work at the same nursing home
I said
you nurse?
yes sort of
I said
Sophia say you good boy
and respect her?
he said
o yes I do
I said
(pushing any images
of us making love on her bed
a few months previously
and my friend's flat
some months ago
out of my mind)
we want her to be pure
and marry untouched
the father said
of course
I said
looking at Sophia
who sat pale faced
and hands in her lap
she's a good girl
I added
highly respected at work
the mother smiled shyly
the father looked at me
his eyes searching mine
good
he said
that is good
our neighbours see you
and Sophia come here
that time and think things
but we knew she
would not do anything
to spoil herself
before marriage
he added stiffly
that's right
I said
not looking at Sophia
but at the mother
who was warming to me
she's a daughter
to be proud of
I added
he nodded his head
right now we have tea
he said
and the mother and Sophia
got up and went into the kitchen
and began bringing in
sandwiches and cakes
and teapot and jug
and cups and saucers
and plates and such
and I sat there gazing
at the father who sat back
gazing at me
you know the Pater Noster?
he said
I frowned thinking stupidly
of the Italian Mafia
then remembering
he was Polish
said
o yes the Our Father
yes of course and recited
the Pater Noster in Latin
softly and unsurely
you can say it
in English if it easier
he said
so I did
and all the while
the females were bringing
in the food and Sophia
like some ****** queen
looking innocent
and untouched
and secretly
I wanted her
o so much.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 3:08 AM UTC
ya want some love but not for keeps,
ya play us well and make the sweeps,
we swept right up off the floor,
we hurried and broomed on out the door.
so take it or go,
make it real slow,
lemme watch ya and think to myself,
"Daddy,
baby, my fine **** man,
lemme watch ya and think to myself,
'When is he gonna trip onto that
fat ****** face?
Pale, ignorant race?'
Not even a trace,
no, no, no."
No, no, no,
not even a single ****** trace
of warmth or love or kindness
or recognition of my humanity,
the sole thing that makes me
a likewise piece of the Earth.
I'm gonna sweep away those ships,
****** doggoned grisly wrecks,
sweep 'em right over the passing waves
and right off the edge of the Earth.
Cuz I don't call NOBODY "Daddy,"
though I call one person "dad,"
"father," "pops" and it pops
I stick my needle through the
pulsing air and it pops
your **** heart pops.
and ya had your fun,
your day in the Sun,
our little run and now,
and now, and now,
oh, now, it's done,
don't make me get a gun.
I know nothin' exists in singularities,
nothin' exists on its own,
vacuums only are in theory,
we are living to our bones
and the living state rests
right into our **** bones,
however,
I can hate you for what you have done.
I can hate you and I will hate you
for every single thing that you have done,
"Daddy,"
"Mommy," too,
the systems of patronizing pater familias
and all working gears of institutional
injustice,
hurt,
pain,
wreck,
my ships may be wrecks, now, too,
but the wind and the breeze are quick to blow
and the direction of the currents are fast and strong.
So just sit there ya ****
sit and **** into your ***** being
just sit there and ya think,
"Why ya fingerin' that doorknob
when I thought I played ya for keeps?"
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 12:45 AM UTC
You’re sort of everything I could hope for
with a beard of decades and faded tattoos,
like you’ve seen too much sun and rode
a motorcycle too long.
I have this hearsay that says you were a
traveling man who traded your
friendship and your charisma.
(I know nothing firsthand.)
I was a girl once and thought you were
searching for something until I realized
no one ever actually said as much. Just that
you went from here to there and sometimes back.
I wish you could have been seldom rather
than absent. Or maybe rare but at least felt
the pull of my heart enough to pause.
I don’t remember the sound of your voice.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 10:24 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
We’ll Write a New Idyll This Year
The old order changeth, yielding place to new,
And God fulfils himself in many ways
-Idylls of the King, “The Passing of Arthur,” 8-9
Janus faces both ways, and so do we
A last, lingering look at the year that was
And then a turn to the year we must meet
Marching to it through Janus Pater’s doors
We will most remember about the past
Our friends whose pilgrimages came to their ends
We joy in the remembrance of their happiness
Their stories and songs, their unfailing kindness
Janus faces both ways, and so do we;
But now our friends, our happy friends, they see
Light
And the new sun rose bringing the new year
-Idylls, “The Passing of Arthur,” 469
Jan 1, 2022
Jan 1, 2022 at 8:04 AM UTC
Mary left the confessional
or kind of sneaked out
as if she'd pick pocketed
the priest's gown
and sat in one
of the church pews
and stared down
at her shoes
Father Joseph seemed
rather quiet after
her confession
no big suggestions
no piles of Hail Marys
or Pater Nosters
or other seemingly
pointless quests
and when she said
about her menstrual cycle
buggering her mind up
so that she did things
she didn't mean to do
he just went mm mm
and she could see
his head nod through
the mesh of the grid
and that thing about
the rumour about himself
(Father Joseph)
and Sister Lucy
was not spread by her(Mary)
but she just happen
to hear it said along
the playground line
the priest had said nothing
about that he seemed
to be elsewhere other than
the dark chair
she looked up from her shoes
and stared at Sister Lucy
tiding the prayer books
on the pews over the way
and wondered if or what
was going on between
her and him or maybe nothing
just girl's gossip as they do
the nun walked on by
eyes downcast
Mary thought about
the penance the priest
had given her for the sins
confessed and contrition shown
(well at least she
seemed contrite)
to read the first letter
of St Paul to the Corinthians
verses 12-21
and pray about what she read
another girl went
into the confessional
and closed the door
it had been dark in there
he sighed a lot
and she smelt a mixture
of pipe tobacco and mothballs
like her da's old suit
brought out
for high days and holidays
she smiled
that thing about the boy
touching her ***
hung in the air
of the confessional
like a bad smell
no mind
she mused
I'm just a good Catholic girl.
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 4:26 AM UTC
We three sat
on the stoop
on Thursday night
eating watermelon.
Our Georgian brick
building
crouched behind us,
the front door held open
by someone’s flip-flop.
The day had been hot,
and when it began
to rain,
the sidewalk steamed
with every drop
until there were no more
drops but the evening’s
deafening applause
and silver spears of rain
shattering themselves
on the wet-black street.
We piled our melon rinds
in mixing bowls
and all stood
wordlessly
to go.
We had talked that night
as students do;
ambling about,
trying new things out:
Pater, Pound,
Benjamin, Foucault.
Distracted now and then,
we watched a desperate moon
clamber gently
up an arching oak
and jump
in the sad, still way
that moons
so often do.
In the silences
of our conversation,
the locusts stirred their thrum,
shrill and urgent,
talking one to the other—
or one to all—
in the noisy communion
that is a Virginia night.
Nighttime’s business
had halted, though,
to let the sky be unburdened.
In the rain’s roar,
our watermelon all but gone
and Baudelaire
(for the moment)
spent,
we'd grown unexpectedly
silent
as if to note
something sacred
in the night.
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 12:32 PM UTC
We walked down
Deacon Way
(had to get her away
from her home
and her old man
and his Bible bashing)
it was after school
and tea
and the sky was blue
but becoming grey
she tied her long
blonde hair
into a pony tail
with a red ribbon
but what will
my father say
when he finds
that I’ve gone out?
Fay said
say you needed the air
say the nuns said
you had to appreciate
the evening air
that God made
I said
he knows the nuns
will not have
said that
he keeps in touch
what they say
and how
I am behaving
at school
she said
and how do you
behave at school?
I asked
I do my best to be good
she said
but they are so picky
you have not said
your Pater Noster
with due reference
or you have said
the Ave too quickly
who's the Pater Noster?
I asked
the Lord's Prayer
she said
and the Ave
is the Hail Mary
I see
I said
although I didn't see
we came back
to the New Kent Road
and stood
by the hairdressers
on the corner
where now?
she asked
I ought to get back
Father will be looking
over the balcony for me
how about a bag of chips?
I said
Father says chips
are bad for you
make you fat
she said
but they're good
fill you up
if you're hungry
I said
best not
she said
I must go back
he'll get so angry
ok
I said
so we crossed the road
and walked down
Meadow Row
she looked anxious
I looked at her
sideways on
her blue eyes
blonde hair
and that look
in her features
of sad despair.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 3:11 AM UTC
It was a sunny afternoon
You identify what is new with me,
I was in puzzle, unable to internalize
“What new you talks about”?
Then you underline on my notebook ‘
Put a margin remarks,
It is different here
Appreciate ‘humanize dimension of nature’
Be careful
“Do not replaced nature from the frame
Never forget about identity of culture rooted in nature! “
That’s you are, a curator of younger
And Pater for many one!
I know you become tired
In the long journey of loving and living!
I know you become aide-de-camp
By rapturing of your beloved one!
I know you want to go for a long sleep
Please take rest in peace!
We will run-through the practices of curatorship for young
But not for incubation!
Apr 2, 2020
Apr 2, 2020 at 2:05 PM UTC