"profanely" poems
the curling smoke
from warming fires
rise into the slate
gray sky of the
Beqaa Valley
sheaves of
rising prayers
expire in twisted plumes
dissipating into the
gloom of an ever
looming winter
overcast
refugees from
the Arab Spring's
uncivil wars
gather for warmth
around waning embers,
smoldering in the underbelly
of the lowliest bottom of rusted
steel drums, tended
with scavenged debris
some thought better
suited to fortify the
faltering hovels of
last resort
the fires
join us in
communal rings
straining the
tenuous links of
brotherhood, the
politics of men
assiduously tear
asunder
we count ourselves
among the fortunate,
blessed exiles recused
from the acrimony
of desecrated cities,
welcoming the
residencies of
bewailing lullabies
of colic infants, the
searing hunger of
stunted children and the
incomprehensible babble
the elderly eloquently
speak in tongues
of a desperate
exasperation
our nagging impotence
swaddle us in ambivalent
inabilities to master circumstances
profanely denigrating our humanity
privation is
our daily bread
the bitter manna
feasting on the
animosity the banquet
of rancor generously
prepares for
peace starved
pilgrims
in these
refugee camps
the cold cuts deeper
hunger pangs
grow sharper
our blighted dignity,
vanished livelihoods,
and the presence of
recently interred
loved ones trudge
through our mean
encampment as
fully enfranchised
citizens in our
distressed
kingdom
what was lost can
never be recovered
our homeland leveled
yet doors still stand open
silently pleading all
to cross a new
threshold
the full restoration
of our hope,
the reconstitution
of our flagging
humanity, the
spark of the
holy spirit
willfully uniting us
in the salvation
of reconciliation
is nigh
we are
the divine children
stoking the embers
tending the fire
that light pathways
through the cold
darkness of a
broken world
Oh come
Emmanuel,
dwell among us
Oh come
Emmanuel
ransom once
again the
poor captives
of Israel….
Selah
Music Selection:
L'Accorche-Choeur, Ensemble vocal Fribourg
Veni Veni Emmanuel
Everywhere
Christmas
2013
jbm
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 10:48 AM UTC
I can see it
intriguing smile, flirty eyes,
hair just so, to where it falls across my face.
My breath caresses the mic as if
a snake charmer wooing a cobra.
The crowd leans in
ever so slightly
in one uniform motion
but each are unaware of the others.
Confident, charming
I own them for that moment
and everything I say matters.
Maybe too much.
They chant with me
cult-like in rhythm
and memorization-of idle words
profanely displayed on billboards,
websites, anything at all.
They drink it in- starving to be inspired.
They are without, and I’ve convinced them I’m with.
With what? With consumerism,
battling to control their
next poorly placed dollar?
with knowledge that they don’t have?
Why don’t they have it? Have they tried?
No, of course not. This liberty island has
given up on the American dream; hoping
it can be fought from a prostrate position
on an over-stuffed couch from their
over-stuffed mouths.
They’ve been stuffed with too much power,
too much misplaced freedom.
America, you are no longer free. You chain yourself
with entitlement and ownership.
You force your ideals on any too weak
to speak up for their own. You have turned
into one giant, fifth grade girl fight
with hair-pulling, pinching and screams.
You don’t even know why you fight anymore,
do you?
Feb 20, 2010
Feb 20, 2010 at 3:02 PM UTC
he lays upon a hammock in the garden,
to watch the sun slow travel 'cross the sky,
weighed down by love long gone, profanely ardent,
apollo's fiery chariot drags his eye,
and when the sun god's sunk into the bay,
the glow of hope for her return now cooled,
his eyes then close upon the fruitless day,
his prayers to apollo overruled,
in dreams, there hades beckons him to come,
a room has been prepared that he may stay,
enjoy a painless state existing numb,
where no more he will rue the light of day,
yet he, who can not live without her breath,
likewise can not depart from her in death
(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 10:21 AM UTC
Write me something sensational.
Write me something profanely profound.
Write me your blithest tragedies.
Write me your sweetest fears.
Just write me--
Release the poet in you
as you bring out the poet in me.
Mar 25, 2011
Mar 25, 2011 at 4:16 AM UTC
I can hardly get my head straight, and between every single
Tone, I readjust the cases, straitening the lace
Binding up the loose ends, mending every one and
Creating strait spaces, borderline alone
Indulgence over emotion, I don't have my own
Add a fifth, and once again to make six
The circle begins closing in, closer and then too close
How many sides there are, to a pint of gin
Are there more mixers in a little bit of sin?
Its my disparity
Something I choose; suffering disuse
And a lack of caring
-------------------------------------------
I'm just a branch on another tree
Losing the last of my leaves
I feel the wind running through my hair
I swear, it's blowing just for me
--------------------------------------------
I've seen the face of god staring out the ******* monitor
I've seen the wrath of many more, more, **** it
I'm done
I still speak profanely but only on occasion
When I stop to rest, from the rest like I've been vacant
And the break is all I have, before I fade away in chambers
The scent of lavender light permeating my eyes
Draining through the veins and inflaming the day dream spattered
Doesn't matter
The days where hate is the mode of operation
Now, yes. Now, no
Blown out of proportion, maybe so, but I've been alive a while
And I'm still only a couple old
-------------------------------------------
I've been overlooking so many things
In single words, I frame identity
The wind is blowing through my bones
In simple thoughts, and tragedy
--------------------------------------------
And he told me, take a second for yourself now and then
Pen and paper permit magic beyond a mere existential crisis
Might be something to find amid strands of loose light
Find a new light, bright enough to conquer demons, but
Success is still your metric in the meantime
Fine, enough
But, I can fabricate well enough to get
Everything I need from something not enough
****
I even lose myself sometimes
But that's the point I guess
Another time gone by
another moment well defined
I use the same words, same works, same letters
I take the same lessons from the ones bound and fettered
To the cause, of making minds
Fun enough to pass the time
Long enough, oh god ****
Its almost...
-----------------------------------------------
If you follow my silver spool
I think I left too soon, if memory serves me
Too true for my own good
And the wind blows through my gilded skin
And I watch the moon rising
Jan 4, 2018
Jan 4, 2018 at 9:29 AM UTC
The surge and swell, oh hell!
The grinding steel, the cheeks don’t feel
A right hook that never was
like the anesthesia that thaws.
Kissing my jaw, making it’s way
The agony that stems from root to vein.
I scream and groan with every breath
As life returns to this mouth of death.
Piece by piece, all was lost
A week of pain is what it cost.
Quarter of half is out of the way
I pray the others will come to stay.
Wisdom is grown, not gained.
Then lost, as the mouth that spoke it waned.
This glorious day of pain will not be forgotten
But revered, profanely begotten.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 3:58 AM UTC
Festival of flesh flicks in my nirvana
Inside an ivory tower of Bella Donna
The carnival demands detachment from cure
As the whole world opens the gate for
Springtime in the curvy castle of obscure
There, the wiser seeks no privacy
The loser laments for democracy
While, the stoic savors the slavocracy
The bonanza begins with boisterous bounce
Heats from her chasm in the palace of Ivory
Distances the world and everything it surrounds
The whole ground becomes the ark of Covenant's
Last glimpse to the film which is profanely profound
A Kaleidoscopic cinema of desire runs with fat fun
The Ivory rains down hallelujah in the praise of wet ****
The ripple of The Marvel rinses my combustion!
I was dragged in there for the fetish of my concussion
To draw manna and salwa from mantra maniac's feisty expulsion.
All of them there operated on the perimeter of extremes
Like the ritual for ‘Knight of East and West' to redeem
The **** sapiens's refrain from super-ego, ego and Id
Summer of mayhem in there evokes Eros and Philos
The spring also gushes the gifts from the above
The Hoor's **** yes, the nymph of bliss which was
Guaranteed by the God, for the finest of his Zealots
In this incredible pilgrimage to The Carnival of Eros.
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 7:19 AM UTC