"pontiff" poems
Shhh.
Silence.
The red robed supplicants
Are sequestered
Inside the Sistine.
They speak
In silent supplications
To the spirits
To pronounce a Pontiff.
The stewards are set
To send the smoke.
The smoke
That must be white.
Oct 11, 2025
Oct 11, 2025 at 8:42 AM UTC
the pope mobile,
it was something,
a parade of one man.
weather on the 1st day of fall perfect for a pontiff,
the pope in modern day Washington DC
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 6:37 PM UTC
*Let SPAM reign supreme
Same as all mediocrities
Hello Poetry*
*Let lame egos win
Peacocks, fops, vacuous thoughts
Hello Poetry*
*Let psychopaths shine
Make all the peacocks *******
Satan ruling hell*
*Hello Poetry
Tireless self promoters
Hoarders of nothing*
*Let the clueless gawk
At the boneyard of Peacocks
Feather blatherings*
*Hello Poetry
******* all life out of it
Allowing lame writers*
*Wolf Spirit blows hard
Clueless rube awful Pontiff
Hello Poetry*
*Stars shining in void
If ever there was lameness
Hello Poetry*
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 9:05 PM UTC
There was a time in Europe long ago
When no man died for freedom anywhere,
But England’s lion leaping from its lair
Laid hands on the oppressor! it was so
While England could a great Republic show.
Witness the men of Piedmont, chiefest care
Of Cromwell, when with impotent despair
The Pontiff in his painted portico
Trembled before our stern ambassadors.
How comes it then that from such high estate
We have thus fallen, save that Luxury
With barren merchandise piles up the gate
Where noble thoughts and deeds should enter by:
Else might we still be Milton’s heritors.
1.4k
Fidel Castro, the secular Pontiff
The day began with sadness Fidel Castro is dead despite the USA's bilious behaviour
And ill attempt to **** him, he was able to create a health system second to none
And also made the country with the highest literacy on that part of the world which
will stand the people well in the coming storm
He had many flaws democracy as we understand it was not on the list, mind the way
it is practised in the west is not impressive
I towering political giant his place in history is assured on a page of its own and not
lumped together with King & Queens and other useless historical figure
We expect the lying Cuban mafia will try to enter, bring their I-Phones
and cheap day loans, one hope when they find life will tear them apart that they will
not forsake the socialist revolution and what Cuba was before Fidel Castro and can
so easily a place for gambling and prostitution again
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 6:11 AM UTC
The Roman pontiff as a man
walks closer to God in every human.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC
I have a man with a pointy hat
Lives under my desktop lid,
He came for muffins and jam, and that,
I call the Wizard of Did,
His beard got caught when the lid came down
So I had to trim it back,
But he says it’s comfy and warm in there
So he’s turned it into a flat.
I thought at first I would charge him rent
But he wasn’t too keen on that,
So I suggested a garden tent
And he said he’d pass the hat.
I’d try to type in the early hours
But he’d bang up under the lid,
‘How can I get my beauty sleep,’
He said, the Wizard of Did.
‘You’re going to have to pay your way,’
I said, ‘It’s not for free,
‘You’d better come up with something good
That’s of some use to me.’
‘You say you struggle for plots,’ he said,
‘Well I can help with those,
‘I’m full of people I want to be,
I just need different clothes.’
The Wizard was as good as his word
He’d pop up now and then,
Whenever I’d sit and scratch my head
He’d mention Holy men,
Then march along the top of the desk
With mitre, staff and cross,
And make me kiss the pontiff’s ring
On the eve of Pentecost.
He’d play the role of a murderer,
He’d play the role of a clown,
He’d play an old sheep herder-er
With a crook in a shepherd’s gown,
He’d pop up with a pirate’s patch
And ****** pieces of eight,
Or keep me longing for Molly Brown
When my ship came in too late.
Whenever I sat there at a loss
For a line, a rhyme, a verse,
He’d throw a bag on the table top
And say, ‘Now pick a curse!’
He’d turn mine into a haunted house
And he’d stalk me in the gloom,
And have me making a pact with Faust
In a dark and lonely tomb.
And now when I think my muse has gone
That my stories have been spent,
I tap-tap-tap on the table top
And he says, ‘You must repent!
I’m not a bottomless pit, you know,’
Climbs in, and closes the lid,
I say, ‘You promised a constant flow,’
And he groans, ‘I know… I Did!’
David Lewis Paget
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 1:31 AM UTC
♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗
Hopery, changery, stranger-than-strangery
tip the good vicar your hat—
as he sits with Obama, the global Gautama
indulging in neighborly chat.
Popery, popery, changery-hopery
grant the old Pontiff his wish.
Then summon a bishop to season and dish up
a kettle of catechized fish.
Changery, hopery—swing from the ropery,
garnish the Vatican stew.
The Cardinals compassed, the media rumpused
the Protestants joined in, too…
Fakery, changery, safety in dangery
lack of direction was lost
as it became clear that no concord was near
and the threshold of lunacy crossed.
Changery-hopery, soap-on-a-ropery,
buy the Obama a beer.
Let the Lord’s liberation enlighten our nation
as forums and quorums get queer.
Hopery, changery, babe-in-a-mangery
hail the immaculate mess;
until limbo is purged and repentance is urged
and the canonized con-men confess.
Babilo-mockery, roll with the rockery
kiss the pontificate ring;
til’ the old Argentinian wax Constantinian
causing Gods angels to sing.
Jiggery-pokery fooling the folkery
monkery second to none…
what was once sacrilegious is now a religious
conventional focus of fun.
Papacy, lunacy piping the tunacy
Father goose mothered the egg –
but it cracked in the nest while the stupefied West
lit a match to a gunpowder keg.
Yessiree/nopery—smoking the dopery
opiates dulling the masses
who bow genuflecting, with candles reflecting
the shine of their Latinate *****
Fakery funkery, pachyderm trunkery
hierophants never forget
but the clown and his trainer cut loose the restrainer
and cancelled the circus’s debt.
Piggery, smokery, tighten the chokery
offer the refugees bacon;
their mullahs may howl with a slaughterhouse scowl
but the empire’s free for the takin’…
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 1:51 PM UTC
On a throne in Rome is where satan is seated; eating the flesh of man; like a pagan Caesar being fed grapes. He sits, awaiting man, to kneel before him: kissing the ring.
Drinking the blood of man, by his royal cup; that which he never touches with his own fingers. King of all kings, lord of all lords; pope, pontiff patriarch and arch-bishop of all Christendom -- rejects you Rome.
From the schism to the Reformation, yet the prey are tempted as you ****** a bogus return. To/from an institution steeped in crises; openly admitting its satanic infiltration. Men adorn you with biblical claims of negative revelation. As if your satanic throne was of divine establishment. Claiming a unity that never was. Your foes thinking 'denominations' are a division of Christ's Church. While you knowing that 'a house divided cannot stand'.
Awaken your souls hiding among the farther Eastern 'Church', or those farther West. Separated brethren --or-- imitation Christian may your throne be carried on your shoulders by those observing your divine monarchy. Hail Popery! As you in self-pity's pedestal sight Peter. While the post-Protestant ecclesial coward prey sight Judas.
© S. Wesley Mcgranor
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 11:49 AM UTC
/ only failing
comes through
with a spectacular
fashion...
the rest?
just the usual -
grey face, the tie,
albeit tremendous
attire,
and a well donned
grin...
something...
stupendous,
and "in-the-moment"
"leisure"
with a lost "activity"
to, "convince":
or, actually,
never convene around
the pussy-whipped
boy-scouts,
love the punk frisk though...
it's a bit like:
i will never grow up,
contra:
and i won't because
i've been down-selected
like a wheelchair burden
of a person...
which in the case of
stephen hawkings...
if you know the story
of stephen hawkings(')...
is that a martyr,
or a charity chase
given all the provided examples
for a pontiff?!
i said european
"martial arts" begins with
unlearning being kicked
in the *****
allowing the 4th knuckle
to become protruded...
"softened"...
pussy-whipped, sure...
macho macho macho...
macho macho macho...
can't exactly picture your
face,
punching a brick wall;
and i'm seriously trying,
before the rage blackout.
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 10:34 PM UTC
He conjures conscience
constable of contrived control
pontiff in a pool of dogmas
commanding total touch
filigree lover, a shadow-figure
poses in folds of his focus
I am flush
He is the fury
Two isotopes fashioned for synergy's
ping-pong pleasing poetry
The poise
that invokes,
magic... Sticks and midnight
Strokes.
Magnanimously.
I try to bring love
as if it were the last remedy
in this, our irrelevant reluctance of relish,
our satin satire,
when we swell, swirl, swish
somehow we understand
kindled by this kink
kissed by kismet's lending allure
Luridly
He is the murk
Once I was the pure...
He stirs manx and mesh
a mint-tingle on my flesh
an open oyster
which offers black pearls
And quicksilver hush
Wrapped in a maddening shell
he is my guilty blush
I am his kiss and tell...
Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 2:38 PM UTC
they are all asleep
I am not
I cannot find slumber
I am cognizant
I ingest my cafe through my sipping lips
I type right now... at this moment
My hands and body sometimes shake and ache
(shake and bake- hmmmm, "I see daily humor in that stroke")
I pry my appendages apart in the sunlight hours
Why does Nick Cage play this role and how does the Pontiff entertain his?
Where do hobbits come in and the fae make for a common place in nature? but I do recommend
I do recommend
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 9:08 AM UTC
A new Pope
A new hope
Farewell to Pope Francis
Who did a wonderful job as a great clergy
As we know, age believes in no dynasty
We come and we go like a kiss
New blood is needed from time to time
And of course, that’s natural; that’s not a crime
Novum papam habemus
Novum spem habemus
We have a new hope
We have a new Pope
A new Leader for the Catholic Church
The search is over, no more search
For a few decades, since no man or woman is eternal
The recent Popes have been friendly, humble and truthful
We expect the Pontiff to be better than the previous one
(No laughing matter) Who is sitting in Heaven
Filing and signing his proper documents
Where countless Angels are singing under the divine tents
The world is right now deep in a messy situation:
Lies, crimes, corruption, deportation and discrimination
For crying out loud, this is to say the least
However, the entire world wants peace, peace and peace
We want all nightmares to end: injustice, wars and poverty
Novum spem habemus
Novum papam habemus
We have a new hope
We have a new pope
May God bless the new Pontiff, Mother Nature and Humanity!
Copyright © May 8, 2025, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
May 9, 2025
May 9, 2025 at 2:56 AM UTC
Luther walks forth in yon majestic frame,
Bright beam of heaven, and heir of endless fame,
Born, like thyself, thro toils and griefs to wind,
From slavery’s chains to free the captive mind,
Brave adverse crowns, control the pontiff sway,
And bring benighted nations into day.
Remark what crowds his name around him brings,
Schools, synods, prelates, potentates and kings,
All gaining knowledge from his boundless store,
And join’d to shield him from the papal power.
First of his friends, see Frederic’s princely form
Ward from the sage divine the gathering storm,
In learned Wittemburgh secure his seat,
High throne of thought, religion’s safe retreat.
There sits Melancthon, mild as morning light,
And feuds, tho sacred, soften in his sight;
In terms so gentle flows his tuneful tongue,
Even cloister’d bigots join the pupil throng;
By all sectarian chiefs he lives approved,
By monarchs courted and by men beloved…
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 9:54 AM UTC
What is it then
what do you want and
when do you want it?
Religion?
ask the pontiff.
Sunday fails me again
the clang of the bell and
the fall of the rain and the
vicar crying Jesus as if he's
the one in pain.
I have no idea
how I got here
where it began
whether he was a man or
a god or the son of a god
or just plain old fashioned
odd, but it seems to me
that if he was all that he'd
of got a pat on the head and
not nailed to some planks
for the
rank and file to file past
and for the cranks to decry him.
Not being keen on the
reverend or the chapel
scene
I take a scenic walk through
the rubble and grime and take
time out for
a talk with myself.
And sometimes I understand
and others I don't what
I want and want it when,
but then again and then
again and Sunday fails me
yet when I look closely
I am really not sure.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 4:35 PM UTC
The watery waves of Marcus Island and Max Max springing to mind in many areas of the Museum; Words are a mistake, then at the pleasure of my work; John, John was a true soldier, the minor elements of the New Dawn and, in general, a flash of fire at the end of United States history in the shadow of death; and what is my Max Max source? And my mouth and my fingers, my mouth to your mouth, mouth, my mouth and your eyes, and sir, I do not know the names of your feet, to teach and encourage the people, to hide them, us, at this moment. all the same, we talk about using the hairy thing, in fact, it is a function of solving the problems of the pontiff in rapid increase, adoring the Holy Spirit called Spirit, in the bread sticks and in some cases, the drink of the night, when the air is clear, as in Isaiah, the voice of one in freedom? In recent years, photos of girls singing music, is like a business; 1 - Go to the room, and tell people? The service of the DEA is limited to the other lights in the United States, at the end of the day, with decorative materials and ornaments and ornaments. § If not, it is true that they compete on such a screen, on a world track and, therefore, the Maecenas' car for the land speed record is also announced in Asia with Cicero at Maecenas' side, which is common folklore in the mountains. - and in the mountains. in front of the destruction in the end, this is what will be done ... do what he did, and ask about the legend of the Drugs of Osiris, that we know is _him_
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 7:46 PM UTC
Sally the ever so cunning clown
Said to Ratzo the equally cunning Pontiff
Hi Benny, how’s your holy business?
You cannot Benny me without an edict
It goes with the religious territory
Said his haughtily high hatted holiness
An’ there’s no business like gods business
Even to sinners and heretics like you
Ok said Sal you’ve got your edict
What does that make you, Pope?
Is that Ben the edict or Benny the dict
I’m cool with either nomenclature
The latter has more comic possibilities
But the former is beautifully ridiculous
An’ that’s always appealing to a clown
In a purely professional capacity
No, That’s Benedict, one word
And a brace of good looking syllables.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 9:37 AM UTC
Heavy is the head that wears the crown,
A crown of blood, of love, of frown.
He fights the demons, in and out—
Such is the man who soars with doubt.
Provider, Protector, Pontiff, King—
Each role a weight, a stinging sting.
The price is steep, the path is grim,
It strips the soul and hardens him.
Parallel lives now blur the norm,
Behind calm eyes, a quiet storm.
Smiles conceal the tears they hide —
Each man must pay, with self and pride.
"Be bold," they say. "Be strong. Be brave."
Yet none can see the toll it gave.
The pain, the shame, the silent cries—
That is all that is left when honor lies.
In mirrors cracked by time and years
He sees a face he can not revere.
A man of strength, yet worn and torn,
By battles fought since he was born.
And still he walks, though limbs may shake,
For others’ peace, his own he will break.
A living myth, a silent vow —
But who will crown the weary now?
~Kngblaq
Jun 30, 2025
Jun 30, 2025 at 6:23 PM UTC