"processional" poems
Umbrage ultraism infrangible extemporaneous incognito edition
Penumbral platitude platonic proxy photics rendition
Interface fenestration imbroglio pandemonium inducement sedition
Wretched infelicitous extant trajectory sordid intuition
Scandalous scavenger squalid anomalous punitive condition
Panacea chiaroscuro parallax emanate imminent perdition
Equilibrist revision exertion suborn temerity imbues
Indulgent zealous discrepancy apparentness cogitation accrues
Heuristic noumenal psychokinesis extrapolation incursion construes
Aura auspicious primitive prism processional reviews
Obstinate tenacious preeminent edificatory omnipotence eschews
Equivocal gumption ratification constitutional manumission ensues
Delusory apparition extravagance peccavi verity tempestuous
Obtrusive obtusely overt indemnities sagaciously obliquitous
Ephemeral anxiety antonym existential exigency alacritous
Fortuitous emendation phantasm ontological ontogeny acuitous
Indemnify veracious infernal infidel impunities iniquitous
Meritorious fulham presumptive extrication expiation indigenous
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 9:20 PM UTC
~and for Harlan, who loved this one best~
*"for tandem is the ever-changing, graying color of their fierce attached tenacity"
waking/walking in
careful pacing regular lock steps,
like new cadets, counting cadence,
in perfect silent, almost motionless,
except for the minuscule quivering of
slightly parted moving lips
these two elders,
still now plebes,
freshmen
but of a latter, graduated stage,
demonstrating robustly
the slow shuffle-along,
a well practiced dance conjured
'in tandem'
her arm, crooked in his,
his other hand,
in protective custody of a
knight's armored chain glove
encasing hers,
he, shuffling just,
a precise, intended half-a-beat slower
lest she ever think
that she, ever be a drag upon him
hair, his,
threaded with daily,
new arriving grays,
proudly accepted
as the privilege of
graceful aging
hers,
disguised with periodic outings,
outings for the hidings of life's bookmarks,
conceding nothing ever to
time's lunatic desire to separate them
modest in dress,
styling hints of pasts' elegant,
the man's hat defiant,
daringly jaunty angled,
a small scarf to handbag knotted,
matching his Windsor knotted tie
the passers-by, all smile,
the signal charm of an
end game processional,
thinking so sweet,
yet mine eyes detect more,
something
hardy and radical
a fierce, fierce fierceness,
both fighters in the resistance,
armed with tandem tenacity,
ground given,
but only inches surrendered,
wounds resisted by
scar skin toughened
by the caress of ions bonding
under the pressure
of atomic level mutuality
worn out,
well past Purple Hearts,
no capitulation feared,
to the ever changing,
enemies' new disguises,
they,
a two person platoon,
each,
having the other's back
and I burst into tears on the street,
a train of out loud moans,
even groans emitted,
like a string of perfect pearls
breaking,
clattering on an asphalt terrain
weeping
not
from visions of the inevitable,
sighing
not
from the certitude of a
cycle's uptime ending*
but jealous furious by this reminder delightful,
angry at myself, for having lost so many wasted years,
mine, the loss greatest, for absent was the
fierce tenacity of tandem
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 8:41 PM UTC
Up went the roar of the crowd,
Ascending, volumes above, beyond
The everyday murmur of pestering silence.
A futile struggle to withstand its force,
Like a vast wave, rogue and raging,
Slamming nature, a slap in the face of feebleness,
This crowd roars…
Not anger, not anguish, or grief,
But a prideful scream of declaration;
The masses make it known, and known again,
Fists raised, pulverizing the air to a beat
Of human design, of togetherness, of solidarity
In the fight for those like us, a howl,
This crowd roars…
Stampeding feet berate the beaten earth,
Invigorated legs supporting pounding hearts,
To a beat, rolling with the flow,
Energy infusing the soul, encased in flesh, bone, and blood;
Marching onward, forward, processional strides
Declaring and making it known with battle cries,
This crowd roars…
Shouts of proclamation echo the strident resistance
With thunder, earth-quaking, walls crumbling, chains shattering
With thunder, dancing against the discordant system;
Proud warriors raising flags of protest
Amidst the roar, roister, and riots, rising reactionaries
Refusing submission, declining resignation,
This crowd roars…
Bounded together, by blood, by common cause,
Mingling masses of forgotten arise with a vocal
Outcry, intense, pulsing from the core (of us)
Like an infestation, infuriated, a torrent swarm (of us)
Flowing upwards, eroding all obstructions.
Declare, proclaim, announce, request, demand,
This crowd roars…
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 12:31 AM UTC
<!>
Four Irises tall & gallant, looking though
slighted worn out, a tad bedraggled
they are springtime survivor stragglers
of the Great Spring Weather Battle.
living in an open trench, battle conditions,
wind-whipped by constant strong breezes,
raked by intermittent machine gun rain,
familiar weapons of the “handover” season
loyal guardians of their pinpoint position,
remaining on duty, standing at attention,
dignified amidst the serene, nearly summer, now,
accepting quietude & gratitude of surround soundings
arrow-straight, in dress uniforms of royally purple,
four lead a cohort of unbloomed green fellows,
protecting their charge, an ancient marker of time,
rusted-green bronze sundial, symbol of continuity
these four, boon companions to human and animal,
shall persist long after I cease to dabble in this art,
they greet their admirers in full regalia, every year,
long, long may they live, die and be yet reborn!
here, in place, when we arrived four decades ago, a tiny forever,
changelings heading a processional of the summer season,
greeting all with a simple story of constance of change, of beauty,
leading our Summertime Commencement Exercises
May 26 ~ 27, 2023
May 27, 2023
May 27, 2023 at 4:55 PM UTC
Umbrage ultraism infrangible extemporaneous incognito edition
Penumbral platitude platonic proxy photics rendition
Interface fenestration imbroglio pandemonium inducement sedition
Wretched infelicitous extant trajectory sordid intuition
Scandalous scavenger squalid anomalous punitive condition
Panacea chiaroscuro parallax emanate imminent perdition
Equilibrist revision exertion suborn temerity imbues
Indulgent zealous discrepancy apparentness cogitation accrues
Heuristic noumenal psychokinesis extrapolation incursion construes
Aura auspicious primitive prism processional reviews
Obstinate tenacious preeminent edificatory omnipotence eschews
Equivocal gumption ratification constitutional manumission ensues
Delusory apparition extravagance peccavi verity tempestuous
Obtrusive obtusely overt indemnities sagaciously obliquitous
Ephemeral anxiety antonym existential exigency alacritous
Fortuitous emendation phantasm ontological ontogeny acuitous
Indemnify veracious infernal infidel impunities iniquitous
Meritorious fulham presumptive extrication expiation indigenous
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 9:10 AM UTC
The truth is turning plastic
And politicians spastic
As they dream up fantastic
Ways to be bombastic.
The anti-intellectuals,
Their rhetoric effectual,
Demand a perpetual
And lucrative processional
To a place they know the score
Where they can amass more
Of money and stores
In disregarding the mores
They were elected for
And continue waging war
Like high-priced political ******
The truth has no chance
In this genocidal dance
Of unfortunate circumstance
Created to enhance
Resultant happenstance
When, by the seat of his pants
When we happened to glance
Away for a particular moment
And were swamped by the foment
Of eight long years of torment;
Freedoms arteries turned to cement
And any chance of sanity
For American humanity
Got buried in some inanity
About hanging chads and counts
Giving a fool a chance to pounce;
To squeeze the last pure ounce
Of dignity out of the Presidency
By merely taking up residency.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 6:07 AM UTC
Some kind of craftsman is working at his bench
Peeling ribbons of soft wood under a dim lamp
He watches the growing pile of discarded strips.
The timecard is now an electronic monitor
An old woman at the factory wishes
That it were instead a thick piece of yellowing cardstock
So that she could use a hole punch.
Somebody’s daughter is dancing naked in the yard
A business man drives by and hopes that somebody will photograph her.
He is remembering the blush on his lover’s face
When he first saw the photo of her and her sisters
Flat chested, unclothed, and splashing together in the bath.
The waitress from town has left for school.
Somebody there is brushing the hair away from her eyes
And wondering whether or not it is a good moment to kiss her.
Meanwhile there is a young man sitting in his regular spot in her diner
Wondering if her eyes really were the color of the winter grass
He is contemplating joining the army.
A wiry beggar is sitting outside of a convenience store
He asks for a cigarette and gets not even a sideward glance
Later he asks a thin, young thing for a few dollars
Once she is gone he goes inside to buy a pack
And smokes them immediately.
There is a funeral processional going through town.
There is a woman at the end driving with clenched hands
She feels guilty because of her anger
But the traffic is making her late for work.
You may now kiss the bride.
And he does.
The older women are crying.
Without any of these things
It seems we would be left with nothing,
but an insatiable thirst for punctuation.
Apr 7, 2012
Apr 7, 2012 at 2:31 PM UTC
The geese
Form a procession
in their northern formal dress.
Single file they march down
The hill
Coming from deep out of
the tree line and through
A courtyard of grass and sedge,
Their solemn walk
An act of unison metered by
webbed feet.
And an overdone elegance.
At shore of the pond
They prostrate themselves,
Head bowed to the water.
As if encountering an old
priestess among the
church pews.
Solemnly they shake their
Necks like human hands-
A time honored ritual.
Then, an unknown cue,
Their heads
turn up to the blue sky
launching themselves Into
the water
splash-less, like
Floating clouds blown on
The breeze.
Now moving independently,
leaving ripple paths
across the pond.
The ritual has ended.
Oct 2, 2020
Oct 2, 2020 at 11:00 AM UTC
On The Great Lawn of my mind,
The city's biggest dance floor,
Upon its cushions, stepping lightly,
The spring breeze, feeling its way,
Making, reawakening, a thousand acquaintances,
Absent parent kissing each long-lost babe-blade of grass
Breeze takes each blade of spring grass:
Cajoles, asks not,
With windy hands, guided missiles,
gentle/firm
push/pull
engage/ disengages,
open/closes
Breeze makes each one
Neck, caress their neighbor,
A thousand pas de deuces of
fresh faced green children.
All in all a triumphant processional,
Cloaked in robes of sky blue velvet,
Crowned by the sun's burnt orange kisses.
At the middle school dance,
The walls are portrait painted
with the shy ones,
The ones-who-don't-know-how-to-ask.
Passover's children
Needy for a Moses.
Student of the spring breezes,
This silly earnest teacher/chaperone,
Grand-pa-rent will:
Cajole, ask not,
With hands, guided missiles,
gentle/firm
push/pull
engage/ disengages,
open/closes
Under his tutelage,
Every boy and girl
A dancer, a blade,
Each a Passenger on the fuselage
Of his Spring Ballroom breeze.
These are my spring rites
imagined,
Visions of my sight
unimpaired,
Present and future
clarified.
Soon we will teach our own
Little Princes and Princesses,
The shelter of dancing,
Feel the embrace of nature,
Under the mantle of an
A Capella choir of tree leaves,
We will lie side by side,
Skyward pointing,
Sharing our spring-sprung imaginings,
Performing each and all
Upon the breeze to carry away,
For all to gleeful applaud!
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 9:22 AM UTC
How enigmatic are your darkest desires, as they pulsate in the radiance of a resilient carbon-copy?
Our society is egomaniacal in its justification of sinister motives, where the majority simply absorb the current pulse and blend into a confused state of delicious tragedy.
Loyalty can be likened to a misplaced trust, where solitaire transcends the cosmological Gatekeeper. Therefore, let us make haste! No time to wait! We’re off to the Sabbat, so don’t be late.
It is almost time to eat cakes and to drink ale, whilst we play ceremonial games during this synthesis of co-existing opposites. Can we meet on the astral plane?
As the gates between the worlds are open at this time of the year, we call upon our ancestors to pass through and join us.
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
tired of the voices in my head
*blunt spoke, they never shut up, believing their longevity
provides a grandfathered status, denying them dispatch
they do not acknowledge my notice of eviction but the
rumbling is quieter this morning, the mournful bittersweet
residue of their whining, wrecking, nearly murderous noises
their recital of my major crimes, weak selfishness that was the mirrored reflection of my weakness and jealousy, the hallmarks
of the failure to be brave at the moments that mattered, indeed, my own murders Eye-confessed-committed but yet unpublished, remain
flawlessly bawled out loud, with repeat threats to remand me to
a higher judgment if I escape responsibility in this world, which
is laughable as they have played accuser, prosecutor, jury
and judge, so oft that the processional process, my living justice, trembling, slow destruction is preliminary a full color, living hell
but this sabbath morning of a blue sky after forty days/nights
of a cold rain that relentless fell, sparing none, gives me a pretense, a veneer of an almost-bravery to dial till a click clean heard of a
thunderous silencio, “no más” no more and a sudden abrupt of
is this not preferable,
this silenced soliloquy of modest relief
and weep guilty~grateful for a reprieve, a small pardon that
undeserved for the heinous things I have permitted, nay, allowed, will never earn parole, early release, and the finality of no more delay, is a inevitably undeniable, and a poem
of excuses not successes, and an acknowledgment that
I’ll never seat at the head of a table
revered by my progeny
welcoming the arbitrary invitation delineation of a new year,
a fresh start*
Sat Dec17 2022
New York City
Dec 17, 2022
Dec 17, 2022 at 9:38 AM UTC
The fanfare begins
The feet of 100 nervous graduates come together
Attentive to the music, an oral instruction book for their march to the stage
And you
In the mess of individuals stick out like a sore thumb in my eyes
Unwillingly, I service these instructions for you
Directed by the make of these processional blueprints
I rebel against the document in front of me
With symbols that speak of melodies, harmonies, and chords
Slow the tempo
Stretch the fermata's
Refrain from that horrid second ending, which proclaims your childhood
Fine
Save me, Mr. Conductor, from the Recessional, where we say
Goodbye
And you exit to the parking lot
While I exit to the band room, which will no longer consist of our jokes and laughter
Rather silence and empty moments that should have been filled with smiles and conversation
Conversation shared between two friends
A friendship that died in a gym
A friendship that died because of me
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 10:33 PM UTC
Wedding bells
The heart swells
A couple of people teary
Nobody here is leery
When it is two guys
Marrying after so many years.
Not an occasion for tears
They walk hand in hand
Toward a more grand
Joining together
Wedding each other
Now that some in society
See it is propriety;
Now that love is love
And over half the people
Know that couples
Are those who marry
And cease to carry
Their old angry baggage
Like stinking luggage
Into a loving occasion.
There is no reason.
Everyone here knows
That is how love goes.
It is between two hearts
No cart before the horse.
It’s a matter of course.
And, of course, family and friends
Not just kith, but kin
Are happy and celebrating
For the long awaited mating
Of two that fought the tides
And made it here where abides
That rosy day of knowing each other
Part of a couple officially;
Equally exciting and peacefully
Into a new morning of a new day.
What better way is there to say
I love you, a phrase not new
But this time said for two?
And certifiably, legally too.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 5:47 AM UTC
Autumn,
a coffin closing.
Winter,
a coffin buried.
Spring
violets on a grave.
Summer,
the season of amnesia...
when we forget
all other seasons
and begin again
because we must.
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 10:47 AM UTC
most oft, the
wherever I write,
is duly noted,
it is a due,
due you,
and hopefully,
the why I scribe,
arrives ‘pon your eyes
with Steuben glass,
of diamond tooled curettage,
a clarifying visual of
beauty,
but always
with fair detailed precision
is the
when
denoted,
for it is the timing
of the mining the specificity,
of the exact momentous,
a precious decision
taken by you,
when to turn words
of a few seconds
of a heart’s unburdening,
with
an inescapable reminder,
of the
thereabouts & the whyabouts
the very verity of a serious
causality
that parented the
casualties
we call
our poems
join me then,
in the processional
of denoting the origins,
linkage contained therein
to the work we
c r e a t e
*•for in the recording of the reckoning•
•exactitude of the longitude•
•and l’atitude is the truest revelation•
•of yourself•*
Jan 3, 2025
Jan 3, 2025 at 11:21 PM UTC
As your lips
trail slowly
down my stomach,
Lady,
I care nothing
about war, death,
scandal or even
climate change.
I am focused on
your touch and
your destination,
your wanton progress,
but mostly
on this flesh
we share so gently.
~mce
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 5:10 PM UTC
“Travesty,” those orange words spilled across the highway lines
Came on swathes of a stilled
And perfect evening time,
‘Tween buffeting air and screaming music
It seems but a step in a cyclic progression,
Or the lines that commence
This processional of cars
That follows, to the site, trails of incense,
Tears of mourn and memoirs.
Towards the hills canvassed in reluctant ennui
Jutting in the shadows the bleached ribs and pearly jaw lines
That, at times, may have looked alive, yet now
They rest static as the dead ought to be.
I sense I’m getting close, the ***** surges its triumph
As it does the sanctuary,
My head swells with deep booming sound,
The lyric of the preacher without need to expound,
Too late as the ***** shan’t stop or abate
As I pass through churchyard admonished “Hell,
Is truth realized only too late.”
Though I am soothed by that song of my youth,
Lyric’d by many-a familiar cadence and tune
Vestiges of naïveté play on the lips
But, “Hell is truth only realized too soon.”
I wait at its back and reminisce
The coming great years were something to fight for
With life, defend,
But I now see that I spent those last seconds
Waiting for them to end,
Whilst prayers of hollow wind abound
Escaped to show something holds on, at least
Pretends,
Will remain after me, aft’ I’ve settled in the ground,
To be as a sunset and come back around.
I feel like a sun, burning in fury,
Not simply a shimmer in the vastness afar,
Or the muddy face of fetid puddle
Simply rippling like a star.
Keep driving! Don’t cease my tiny hearse!
Just now do I hear the mourners’ verse,
It sounds so golden and couldn’t get worse!
But the ***** has ceased,
The daylight, it rots
(Never mind that, I’ll charge it with haught!)
And the processional laughs as they go to their plots
Their verses fall too coward to brave
The ice and the snow that is to come, mine fall stricken
With every sense of the word ‘dumb,’
But the sun reassuring with it warmth-giving rays
Will be sure to put flowers next to our graves.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 11:07 AM UTC
Umbrage ultraism infrangible extemporaneous incognito edition
Penumbral platitude platonic proxy photics rendition
Interface fenestration imbroglio pandemonium inducement sedition
Wretched infelicitous extant trajectory sordid intuition
Scandalous scavenger squalid anomalous punitive condition
Panacea chiaroscuro parallax emanate imminent perdition
Equilibrist revision exertion suborn temerity imbues
Indulgent zealous discrepancy apparentness cogitation accrues
Heuristic noumenal psychokinesis extrapolation incursion construes
Aura auspicious primitive prism processional reviews
Obstinate tenacious preeminent edificatory omnipotence eschews
Equivocal gumption ratification constitutional manumission ensues
Delusory apparition extravagance peccavi verity tempestuous
Obtrusive obtusely overt indemnities sagaciously obliquitous
Ephemeral anxiety antonym existential exigency alacritous
Fortuitous emendation phantasm ontological ontogeny acuitous
Indemnify veracious infernal infidel impunities iniquitous
Meritorious fulham presumptive extrication expiation indigenous
Sep 5, 2019
Sep 5, 2019 at 1:32 AM UTC
"I hate you now as much as I will ever hate you."
Our fingers laced with strained prose and my blooming heart.
There's only so many ways to tell you this without us both realizing we might have not yet learned our lesson.
The truth is, there's no way for me to know how much this really hurts. I've cast myself numb to the touches of future lovers and to be honest I've said too many times that I would cast this out of my mind but, baby, if you loved me, would you leave me?
Could we bury this romance in a candlelight processional and a chorus of holy reverence, how long could we hold each other till our arms crumbled to dust under the six feet of people we once were?
Would our kisses turn to ash so close to new flames we might light?... could either of us stand the flames?
We'll be okay, I know in time this too shall fade but once, I had high hopes. Once I was left confused crying to a plane window and you couldn't tell me anything to ease the chaos in my mind. Why would you offer yourself to me like that if you didn't want me too?
I'm so stressed, pressing on for answers but, maybe there's nothing to find.
I'll move forward.
One day.
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 2:12 AM UTC
“We should like Nature to go no further; we should like it to be finite, like our mind; but this is to ignore the greatness and majesty of the Author of things.”
—Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, 1715
<>
**for my dear friends who amply supply
pictures of the infinity of nature
daily**
<>
the comfort food of your
living-loving-eyeshot
screenings of moments preservations of
the delicate and the roughened,
the mystical and magical of
our creative globe’s ad and mis
ventures,
oft far from the paths of human ruination
trafficking
these photos
the first of the day,
signaling white smoke rising or
the full fledged regular milky
insertion photographic
into the mine daily awakening
of the
*purpled majesty of the world
when ******* pleasure of
first coffees of life’s days*
and how it pleases me,
that there is no
conceptual conceivable,
that there will not be an
finishing enthralling,
a last never-before-witnessed
visionary submission
without
a never finite ending to this
infinite processional!
thus no need to say with
them ordinary wordy pleas of/to:
“keep them coming,”
for by your read acknowledgement of
this here poem,
you have cosigned this
contractual
o b l i g a t i o n
and I say
an ecstatic
Thank You
Nov 17, 2024
Nov 17, 2024 at 7:48 AM UTC
Umbrage ultraism infrangible extemporaneous incognito edition
Penumbral platitude platonic proxy photics rendition
Interface fenestration imbroglio pandemonium inducement sedition
Wretched infelicitous extant trajectory sordid intuition
Scandalous scavenger squalid anomalous punitive condition
Panacea chiaroscuro parallax emanate imminent perdition
Equilibrist revision exertion suborn temerity imbues
Indulgent zealous discrepancy apparentness cogitation accrues
Heuristic noumenal psychokinesis extrapolation incursion construes
Aura auspicious primitive prism processional reviews
Obstinate tenacious preeminent edificatory omnipotence eschews
Equivocal gumption ratification constitutional manumission ensues
Delusory apparition extravagance peccavi verity tempestuous
Obtrusive obtusely overt indemnities sagaciously obliquitous
Ephemeral anxiety antonym existential exigency alacritous
Fortuitous emendation phantasm ontological ontogeny acuitous
Indemnify veracious infernal infidel impunities iniquitous
Meritorious fulham presumptive extrication expiation indigenous
Feb 17, 2023
Feb 17, 2023 at 5:10 PM UTC
CONTINUING WITH THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS
HERE IS THE STORY BEHIND THE ENGLISH HYMN:
“ONWARD CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS”
"Onward, Christian Soldiers" is a 19th-century English hymn. The words were written by Sabine Baring-Gould in 1865, and the music was composed by Arthur Sullivan in 1871. Sullivan named the tune "St Gertrude," after the wife of his friend Ernest Clay Ker Seymer, at whose country home he composed the tune. The Salvation Army adopted the hymn as its favoured processional. This piece became Sullivan's most popular hymn. The hymn's theme is taken from references in the New Testament to the Christian being a soldier for Christ, for example II Timothy 2:3 (KJV ) : "Thou therefore endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ."
Now Arthur Sullivan was the son of a military bandmaster, who composed his first anthem at the age of eight, and was later a soloist in the boys' choir of the Chapel Royal. ... To supplement the income from his concert works he wrote hymns, parlour ballads, and other light pieces, and worked as a church organist and music teacher.
LYRICS OF THE FAMOUS HYMN
“Onward, Christian soldiers, marching as to war,
With the cross of Jesus going on before.
Christ, the royal Master, leads against the foe;
Forward into battle see His banners go!
o Refrain:
Onward, Christian soldiers, marching as to war,
With the cross of Jesus going on before.
At the sign of triumph Satan’s host doth flee;
On then, Christian soldiers, on to victory!
Hell’s foundations quiver at the shout of praise;
Brothers, lift your voices, loud your anthems raise.
Like a mighty army moves the church of God;
Brothers, we are treading where the saints have trod.
We are not divided, all one body we,
One in hope and doctrine, one in charity.
Crowns and thrones may perish, kingdoms rise and wane,
But the church of Jesus constant will remain.
Gates of hell can never ’gainst that church prevail;
We have Christ’s own promise, and that cannot fail.
Onward then, ye people, join our happy throng,
Blend with ours your voices in the triumph song.
Glory, laud, and honor unto Christ the King,
This through countless ages men and angels sing.”
……Posted by Raj Nandy of New Delhi.……
Dec 16, 2020
Dec 16, 2020 at 10:45 PM UTC
A Processional with MePhones
*From an idea suggested by Anthony Germain,
The Duke of Suffix after the Order of Scrabble©™*
In greeting students on their way to class
One speaks only to the tops of their heads
As they process in ‘tudes of ‘umble prayer
In silence each bowing to her small god
(Or “his” as the gendered pronoun might be)
Speaking to no one, detached from the world
Navigating as does the sightless bat
By strange sensations known only to them
One ‘phone, one soul – that is the ratio
And each dull brain stilled ever in statio
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 7:43 PM UTC