"pulpits" poems
From wars erupting earths core,
we've settled a score only for the heavens and hell to see.
We smother the stench of temptations with potpourri,
only to deceive others stimulating parts of a brain.
Still pardon my slang
Are we using something to rearrange a type of mental suicide arranged,
in order to display portraits of lucid terror?,
Throwing smoke bombs to keep a little order
but even so that's just keeping us ***** for more slaughter.
Like roaches and raid a single spray will cause fragment mutations
a zombie faze shot with steroids and black plagues, just a graze to depict nations,
human infested sanitation able to retaliate government abomination.
A conversation my mind read by Pagans
walking through hallways,
a million rooms perfume and a two headed waitress,
mind binding views,
imitations, crosses, limitations,
serpents, pulpits, fuels lit and shattered creations.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
Lord, with what care hast Thou begirt us round!
Parents first season us; then schoolmasters
Deliver us to laws;—they send us bound
To rules of reason, holy messengers,
Pulpits and Sundays, sorrow ******* sin,
Afflictions sorted, anguish of all sizes,
Fine nets and stratagems to catch us in,
Bibles laid open, millions of surprises,
Blessings beforehand, ties of gratefulness,
The sound of glory ringing in our ears;
Without, our shame; within, our consciences;
Angels and grace, eternal hopes and fears:
Yet all these fences and their whole array
One cunning bosom-sin blows quite away.
2.4k
Some need rocks
To rest bigotry upon
Look down, feel taller
Or throw at others
Others have no guts
Camp on smiles
Feed on indifference
Rivers of promise
Golden tomorrows
Our country is burning
With horror and loss
Buried in traditions hides
Pits of immorality
Walls of racism
Halls filled with assets
Sit in miles of doubt
On hills of sorrow
Growing with fear
Brother, clinging to fear
Differences and inequalities
Hidden from having
While some take all
Sister, must you hate
Wish to **** hope
Bleaching love with hate
In fear of loss
Driven to please
Hating race or creed
Feeding in lack
Altars of fanatical pride
As if there's no God
Walking shame to blame
Taking sides with captors
Tearing all apart
To make what's not
Life goes forward
Insecurity drains hearts
Feeds souls to saviors
With political lies
Trading guts for greed
Builders of distrust
Sell promises if the power
Hiding cruel minds
Open theirs to close ours
Where is forever in now
Convinced we had choices
Wanting more than not
Lost sight of beyond
Cages of greed
Built by pulpits of avarice
Filled by a Congress
Here now, gone tomorrow
Eternal is only the universe
One minute we are here
Without love, there's no power
And soon we die
Holiness lost
Revised 7/7/2019
[email protected]
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 6:26 PM UTC
䷇䷄䷂䷀䷊䷌䷼䷶䷩
Jupiter and the moon take most blows for us
a very nice arrangement for blithering piles of pus
intelligent design or some grand coincidence
the phenomena that is life is no mere incident
64 hexagrams comprise the I Ching
64 nucleotides in a DNA string
anthropic anthropomorphic antagonists
dripping and drooling with dread
that (what if) God caused the thoughts that reside in our heads
the phenomena that is life is beyond your stead
Big bang
hot thing
can't explain
why the rain
brings gain
to the blamed and the sane
God isn't real, that's their deal
religion's exist because you feel
pithy platforms of persistent intrusions
pulpits of platitudes feeding delusions
the phenomena that is life is no mere illusion
Church day, fey day
leave your questions at the door
harken hear the story
of God in all its glory
the grand and the gory
the mysterious phenomena that is life
䷇䷄䷂䷀䷊䷌䷼䷶䷩
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 4:51 PM UTC
Wake up sleeper!
Your summer days are over.
Tidy up and prepare for winter,
lest you be caught off guard.
For we have a steeple with lots of faces,
and symbols and catchphrases,
and pulpits and pews
—but never a
Duluoz and Kerouac.
And do not mistake
silence for absence.
And patience for
impotence.
For just as the sun rises
from the east.
So shall justice be served
for the least.
So then, let us say:
May our days be numbered,
and our troubles few.
And may this sweet surrender
bring us life anew.
iamthe_avatar ©2017
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 2:59 PM UTC
It is to the free-minded yet civil, the industrious yet unambitious, the honest yet kind, the unencumbered yet giving, the private yet civic, the humble yet wise, the quiet yet firm, the suffering yet dignified, the individual yet understanding and the lawful yet forgiving people that I raise my hand in honor and not to those who would hector us with exhortations from the offices of power or the pulpits of vanity.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 10:41 PM UTC
Denial of others
is an easy thing,
Label them
responsible for
everything,
If they are gone,
We'll all
be okay.
We hear the same tune,
Everywhere we go,
Among our friends,
Small office spaces,
Family members,
the black sheep,
Don't you know.
Corporate meetings
in board room splendor,
Fingers are pointed
at those,
Identifying those who disturb our peace,
Interrupt our greed.
Blame becomes epidemic,
Get rid of them,
We'll all be okay.
Pulpits of every denomination
scream at
those who would be so,
Just get rid of them
We'll all be okay.
Changing times
enemies become allies,
The doomsday clock
moves up a notch,
Get rid of them
then we'll all be
okay.
Well, it's just
you and me,
As Dylan said
"I won't be the last to leave."
Get rid of them,
I'll be okay,
We both say,
I look at you,
You look at me.
Alone at last,
No one else to blame,
I'm looking in the mirror,
I'm pointing at
me,
Get rid of him,
Then we'll all
be
okay.
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 11:15 AM UTC
Real Truth is still being sought out,
in this ever growing Age of Information;
the rise of social media has added
to the noise against spiritual institutions.
Unfortunately, ungodly behaviors continue to play out
within our society, neighborhoods and church pulpits.
We Christians must wholeheartedly repent now,
before His divine Grace, we unwittingly forfeit.
Sacred texts attest to God’s existence by faith,
while Science can only prove Him via logical sight.
Genuine and unstoppable power comes from His Word
and never by the temporary strength of human might.
Personal accountability and responsibility
can be displayed via righteous servitude;
develop your unique identity in Christ
with the character of ethical fortitude.
Consumption of the Scriptures should not be ignored
in favor of viewing biblically, inspired frescos.
Be girded on the foundation of Jehovah’s principles
and put an end to the ongoing… moral fiascos.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Matt 6:10; Lam 3:22-23
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 10:22 AM UTC
I am neither the first, nor the last
To try and hold your ambitious thoughts
Veiled behind my innocent mask
Your lies, your motives, your plots
If only you knew what they say of you
In grey pulpits under the Knowledge tree
Trust me you wouldn’t smirk this day
Knowing the serpent is on your way
You would curse them down, bit by bit
Doomed to banality and disgrace
But till you reach that sanity
Let me hold you in your place
For I’m neither the first, nor the last
To care for you till separation in death
But till you reach any sanity
You need me to speak your head
And, when you reach that sanity
Well, you’d already be said and done till death.
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 1:18 PM UTC
One day I'll wake up and see,
See men dropping no more bombs,
To drag myriads of innocents
Indignantly yowl beneath tombs.
One day I'll wake up and see,
See a bunch of desperate culprits
Before their trembling knees,
Seeking redemption by pulpits.
One day I'll wake up and see,
Just as a rose wafts her scents on air,
Soothingly so shall harmony and peace
Ameliorate our world once so fair.
One day I'll wake up and see,
See all men working hand in hand
With a sole aim of invading not,
But to enrich each others land.
One day I'll wake up and see,
See the mighty air of verisimilitude
Dawn upon all men and women,
There's need to care for the destitute.
One day I'll wake up and see,
See it vividly that all women and men,
Whether yellow skinned, red or white,
Accuse not the Raven for a dark omen.
One day I'll wake up and see,
See people of all sorts of creed,
To oblivion obliterate their theories,
Admit to one great soul we're all linked.
One day I'll wake up and see,
See it dawn unto men without doubt,
Walking down the isle to the same ***
In sullen graves they'll never get out.
One day I'll wake up and see,
See men quell their pride and vanity
Right into the most peculiar abyss,
Regain sanity to draw back to humanity
One day you'll wake up and see,
See with me all these wonders evolve,
And we'll stand in a stupendous awed silence,
Seeing such crimes against humanity dissolve.
©Kikodinho Alexandros
Jumeira, Dubai
20th January 2017
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 1:55 PM UTC
There writ in ancient sanscrit text
The answer plain to what lays next,
The answer writ in common tongue
So aged could understand with young,
A secret held within the grasp
Of Kings and Prince of Priests of past,
A secret hidden to confound
All humankind from fact profound
To keep it locked, withheld secure
By gloating greed with goal impure.
Bound in parchment yellow gold
And tied with thong of leather old,
Letters writ in feeble blend
So frail that few could comprehend,
A revelation wrought so hard
That weak might well slice wrist with shard.
I charge thee all take hold within
To gird thyself for message grim........
*"Beyond the end there lies a void
A pitch black nothingness employed
In silence, nay beyond all sound
With deathly stillness all around.
Nothing felt and nothing seen
No sense of good or rank obscene.
Not up nor down, no smile nor frown.
There's no tomorrow in the air
No brilliant light or horn fanfare
The men in pulpits sold a lie
For at the end we merely...DIE!"*
Marshalg
At the Crypt of the Ancestors
10 July 2013
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 7:53 AM UTC
black top hats and heretical clowns
surprise! the circus is back in town
ladies and Gentlemen- we've a show tonight
so bed the kids and dim the lights
hotel ballrooms and cheap champagne
silhouettes of Falsehood and the infamous Fame
a gallery of harlots and libertines
blessed with the curse of controversy
suicidal salvations and casualties
religion built the bomb that burned the buildings
a ballet of East making martyr of West
they pulled their own trigger- shot themselves in the chest
creaky pulpits and dusty pews
a prayer to be one of the Chosen Few
but holy water won't cleanse these Sins
in time, all shows must come to an end
so bed the kids and dim the lights
it's time for a panicked revival tonight
clasp your hands- bound by rosary beads
baptism- your wants, prostitution- your needs.
Mar 7, 2011
Mar 7, 2011 at 4:26 PM UTC
Another day another crisis
In this world that feels Christless
Full of lives that must be priceless
As they spill out on the concrete
New disaster, a new hurricane
Mass shooting, new Garner, new Freddie Grey
The patriots pledge and turn away
As their own cry, "I can't breathe."
This, our land of the free
Bound by our own iniquity
Where are the hands, where are the feet
Is the church not called to more?
In her mass modern transgression
God's command we made suggestion
That we run towards oppression
And unlock the captive' s door.
Will the Church choose to stand tall
For every victim of the fall
Show binding love and light to all
And act upon our creed
Or will we simply hide behind
Our pristine pulpits and our pride
While those for whom Christ Jesus died
We blindly leave to bleed?
|b.g.|
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 10:27 PM UTC
fancy trender
the algorithms adore me
bits and bites love me
girlfriends gush over
what i write
the promises and perjury i pour out
though other few find it fascinating
a collection of casual carousers
deeply drunk and delirious
leer and like
fumble through and follow
these wild words
which
long for your love
and admonish apathy
say something
anything at least
jovially jeer
praise pompously
i rest
with my hands on the home keys
derive inspiration
from insignificant minutia
and you read
and read
taking a break from your home row
hum drum
flaccid
"oh thats nice"
NEXT
dont read and not write
i give not two
i should say ***
but i wont
i dont care
how inarticulately evil
you chose to be
but you must write
say something
start a conversation
engage your fellow artist
what else are we doing here
if not to inspire
it was never an endeavor
to impress our friends
was it
we found this place
for any kind of outlet
a chance to give breath
to the lightening in our bottles
this is our march
on the collective consciousness
that could be called washington
london
but when we march
we hold hands
chant
sing
speak with one another
and form bonds
and that should be done here too
without those acts
we are protestant pastors
banging on pulpits
toward a parish
that no longer exists
or if they do
never say "amen"
amen
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 6:16 PM UTC
We are the refused...
Barefoot in the marketplace
Born in the backseat
With minds erased
To hide dirt in the backstreets
And mud on the school steps
The fool in the textbook
Paints us inept
Tainted
******
Illicit natives
Miserable Misfits
Nothing the magistrates can't handle
OH!!!
They wish!
Suppress our melodies
But never break our lips
We are the misused...
Our eyes do penetrate
Every false-flag they perpetuate
Even though barbiturates
Are placed beneath our pillows
The shame billows
The shame follows
Rodents to the edge of the borough
Where men create addicts
There
Publicans turn
Badges burn
Magistrates press their shirts and hatch their eagles
Discernment is not taught
Nor is it learned
We are the obtuse...
Blacked out and abused!
Sold for pulpits and ocean views
Magistrates hate us
Their eagles circle to berate us
"Intolerant"
"Outdated"
"Unpatriotic"
"Ill-fated"
But by grace we persevere
By faith we adhere
To a higher truth
A purer view
Our strongholds are not stick
and stone
Chrome nor drone
But
Christ alone
Our strength and hope
Out hope for home
NOT polls and popes
NOT guns and votes
NOT Magistrates and lazy legislations
NOT eagles which feed on
Desensitized demonstrations
Police brutality and assassinations
Nomadic nations
Sporadic speculations
We
The Refused
We
The Misused
We
The Obtuse
Will NOT cosign evil
Will NOT massage magistrates
Will NOT elevate eagles
We will NOT
We must NOT
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 1:51 PM UTC
I am the stillborn son of war,
Strapped on to an unmanned chariot of unrealized dreams;
Ever Since I was born as the heir ,
To the twin kingdoms of hypothetics and hypocrisy.
I am a silent sculpture,
Of the broken skeletons of sorrow,
Nourished by the blood of the vanquished,
And meant to unite the mourners on the banks of defeat,
Under a common cause.
I am an unopened letter of sympathy,
Waiting,
For the last tear drop on the armor of the vanquished to dry .
I am the final abandoned fresco,
Fading to obscurity;
As it graces the crumbling walls,
In the Chapel of fallen hopes.
I am the moan of the heart ,
Where the echoes of my prophecy,
Have greeted celebrations of existence,
Long before I was born to die.
I am the chant.
Immortalized.
Immorralized .
By the reverend voices that preached ,
From the pulpits of divine demagogues.
I am the invincible myth,
Inheritance of abstracts afar,
For I was christened Peace ,
The stillborn son of war.
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 1:14 AM UTC
Testify before your false god
built of owned wood
burnt to glowing ashes on
pulpits like eggshells
forgive all transgressions
for to give
merit to
an inch to the game
will mean the end.
Oct 5, 2011
Oct 5, 2011 at 10:32 PM UTC
America is an idea
that "all men are created equal,"
with working definitions of "human", "created", or "equal."
America is freedom for our grandchildren
in a manner we will never understand.
It is the founding fathers who died for liberty.
It is the darker brothers who fought for justice from kitchens and pulpits.
It is the poor, the huddled masses,
And their children who have forgotten this.
It is green cards that become blue passports.
It is unlearning the language of our grandparents.
It is knowing how to pronounce Arkansas and Illinois
It is enjoying barbecues on somber national holidays.
It is unbridled enthusiasm.
It is unbridled arrogance.
It is rugged individualism;
It is passionate paternalism.
It is hellfire that scorches deserts.
It is a gust that has fanned flames.
It is a cool rain that puts out fires.
From sea to shining sea--
It is Manifest Destiny
from Louis and Clark to Wounded Knee.
It is Topaz, and McCarthy,
and hundreds of things we would rather forget.
It is D-day, and Neil Armstrong,
and thousands of things we forget to celebrate.
America is a dream that rings from the red hills of Georgia
to the curvaceous slopes of California
to New York Island.
It is patriotism;
it is progress.
It is the blind worship of our past.
It is red. It is blue.
It is red, white, and blue.
It is what half of us say it isn't.
I say it evolves constantly;
others say it was created in His image.
It is everything I hold dear;
it is everything that infuriates me.
It is the warmth that makes my eyes tear
when I hear the Star Spangled Banner
at football games,
on July 4th,
or on September 11th.
It is hope.
It is the promise of a better tomorrow.
It is what ever I am.
I, too, am America.
*I have posted this to another website under the pen name Anamika Nair. I wasn't sure if this was okay. If it isn't, I can submit something else.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 3:26 PM UTC
There is no Makers formula
This life depends on chance,
The way you play your given cards
Depicts your daily dance.
Oh dogma flows in utterance
From pulpits far and wide
From those who claim to understand
Eternity's vast hide.
From those who hold damnation
As a weapon from on high,
From those who claim a judgement
As their finger points to sky.
The good, the bad are absolute,
The right bedevils wrong,
Redeemed shall live eternally
The bad shall singe for long.
Old men stand in pulpits
Across this Sunday's land
To threaten with damnation
If you should cross God's hand.
"Belief" is now their catchword
Abomination's wrong
Is to seek to proffer proof of claim
....to Sing the Devil's Song.
So gather all ye faithfull
Go listen to your man,
Sing the Gospel loud and long
And pay your tithe, as planned.
...But should you find you're dying
From cancer's frozen claw
And the the Godly fail to sweep you
To eternity's gold door?
Remember my clear message
Your life depends on chance,
You live within your own good sphere
....There is no Maker's Dance.
Marshalg
After an overdose of Pulpit hogwash.
10 March 2013
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 7:29 PM UTC
I sit in a church pew, keep quiet
think ideas outrageous enough to ...start a riot
most men swallow only truths that are shallow
ideas that are not to be questioned because they're hallowed
the scared, the weak, and fools fill up the building
ears closed to the message behind the words that they are shielding
blindly, willing to throw their bodies to the flames
for higher truths that lift the rope to where they're hanged
They say that truth is black and white, i guess they didn't see it blend
like blood and sweat on a heretics skin - to the Jews- he was a heretic to them
guess they haven't realized eyes that never really try to see may as well have always been blind
guess your truth is easy to find
I've seen them lay it in your hands, those half ignorant red-faced men in pulpits in the heartland
They've got a lot to say, and i take it with a grain of salt
but God himself said test the spirits - go a little deeper, walk the walk
so wrap your mind around the words and what they really mean
let the truth and the heretic that brought it be your king
i am
advocating heresy
Feb 10, 2012
Feb 10, 2012 at 2:53 PM UTC
Beneath the nimbus, a rainy day
I've gathered all my sunny days,
For pleasure's a thousand miles away
And the troubles ahead, now I must face.
The lilacs, the lilies, the jack-in-the-pulpits
The green fields, so calm, so serene, so placid,
I'm leaving everything, oh I must've lost my wits
'Cause my fortune's to take my miserable lead.
As I journeyed along the roads and thorns
There on my sides are foxes that scorn,
Leaping across and behind my soul
But I hold on tight to my dreams and goal.
Now I have travelled long enough to die
But until where would this misery of mine lie?
If I'll take the apple from the mad serpent by his lies
Will I ever come to my Father's paradise?
It's easy to think of what and where you want to be
But the hardest part's when you still never see,
The reason, and where would all of these lead you
And in your struggle, still you never find a clue.
Oh I don't know if in this voyage I could still stand
For now, all I want to do is rest on the bottomland,
And see the azure sky fall upon my face
And dream way long of a fairytale-like place.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 3:28 AM UTC
Remained uh
Loyal to the game
Infamous is my name
Im after the fire
Its the return of the reign
Since Pac is King
Im the prince back to hit
Ya with some real ****
Hard to dodge when tryna
Put haters n critics n casket
Though a *******
I still made a change **** the fame
And all these nigguhs is speakin' the same
Riddle me this as i hit ya with some game
Aint got no shame
I was apart of the drug game *******
Filled my pockets mayne
Hangin' on differ corner slangin'
But it was the environment that got me bangin'
But i heard better blues when i see the news
Im seein my people in a fued
At war over each other
For nothing
All roughed up by the media for
Nothing
Then all of sudden
When a brother wants to regained consciousness
They label it ludicrous take my quotes as a diss
But i dismiss
All the ******** got to stay real to roots
Until the fat lady sangs remain
Loyal to the game
Though i was
Cursed as a *****
My focus was on chasin' figures
From ***** dreams
Too ******* in my abode scene
Jewels & jacuzzi in the limousine
Big tv screens
Things aint what it seems
Somehow I thiught money
Would bring happiness
But it only attract serpents
Evil is the root to sorts of treachery
Gotta watch who's next to me ?
Feel me!
They say they have your back
But the first to attack
When ya turn ya back
Thats friends in this day in age
They say why you upset im growin' in a rage
All i know is dope hoes n a 12 guage
They ****** up my community
With the spiritual raid
Invested in homocide drug cartels
Suicide prostitution the stories never fail
And ah
If you plan on makin' future
Better believe they comin' to shoot ya
Eradicate our whole race
The nation steadily sayin' **** you to our face
Get out the **** pulpits n come to the streets
Thats where its real pack yo steel
So haters can feel
The ammunition of revenge
No pretend we never surrend
We straight up warriors
More than thugs
Now embrace the eternal flame
I dont care if i gotta for my peeps
Im vain but ill remain
Loyalllllll to the gammeeeeee
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
Black shards of ambition cover this world of right now people,
they drown in sighs of worry over Christmas, and birthdays and races for no good reason,
These mewing children mourn the loss of people they never knew and miss the places that they've never been to.
We prayed no, we prayed someday, we prayed right now and still the hurricanes hit, still the earth rumbles, still the fires burn and still our people go hungry.
The water is running dry, the oil blood of our earth runs dry, love runs dry, stability runs dry.
The children of earth say that this is not good.
But what do children really know about the ancient space they inhabit?
Fear is for sale, plastered on the sides of buildings, screamed from behind pulpits and at press meetings, thrown into entertainment and song and sold at a price we all can afford.
We seek an answer to questions that we manifest on our own.
We want to answer ourselves, to say that we know,
And to solve a puzzle that exist only for ourselves and because of ourselves
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 4:04 PM UTC
*Oh, Viola
Your missteps are our haven
Dropping, and dripping
Sorbet on the sidewalk
To melt on summer mornings
Oh, Viola
Save the best for first ensemble
Scoffing, and skipping
To the tune of Frère Jacques
A beacon for seaborn warnings
Oh, Viola
A dainty marvel shadow
Flenching, and flaking
Til' Hale Street gleams in purple hues
To banter with the orchids
Oh, Viola
Overhead and underfoot
Whistling, and wincing
From the piercing of a brother
At the pulpits of the sordid*
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 6:31 PM UTC