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Deb Jones Jan 4
When I was a child

Some of the most judgmental and unkind People I ever met were on church pews
Every Sunday with a Hymnal
And a Bible in their hands

I didn’t know how some people
Were able to disassociate their own Shortcomings and cruelty
From their religious
Obligations and convictions
But many were able to do just that

But as a child I couldn’t reconcile
The child abusers
The pedophiles
The rapists
The drug traffickers
The thieves
The alcoholics
The cheaters
The liars

From the people that stood at the pulpits.
The ones I was told to emulate.
The minister
The reverends
The deacons

The word minister embodies
Loving protection

The word reverend invokes
Reverence and inspiration

Doesn’t it?

I was a young adult
Before I realized
Church is for sinners
By that time organized religion
For me?
Was black and soiled.
Repulsive

Here I am now.
I fling mantras out into the world
Of love, hope, compassion,
Good health

I recently walked into
A cathedral in Ireland and cried.
I felt the weight of time and
Countless generations of believers.

Working in the medical field
And specializing in pediatrics
Holding a one pound baby
In my hands
Months before even
The parents were allowed to touch them
I sincerely believe in miracles
I see them almost every day

My church is in my head
Buddhism is in my heart
And in the actions of my hands
The words in my mouth
What my ears hear
The soothing of my soul

The meals I help serve the homeless
The blankets I spread on their cots

I bow my head and listen to prayers
Wherever they are offered
I quietly whisper
My wishes
Into an unknown ear  

I don’t judge many people anymore
My childhood is past
I learned valuable lessons
And peace is mind at last

That doesn’t mean I trust
Easily or broadly
It just means I am an adult
And am responsible

There is some good
In almost everyone
I don’t say that out of naivety
I have danced with monsters

But that’s another tale...
marianne Nov 2018
2:00 am and it’s that other-worldly heat
rising from the deepest hell, earth’s centre
extra a.f., as she would say
and she would know
at 15—
our separate bodies (summer of her life, mine between) give way
to an inevitable biology

2:00 am and another long hazy chain of women
my foremothers, and we are
single file, through burnt fields in blazing sun
walking a thousand miles
searching for god,
or our free selves—
tired faith stirs
to rightful power

Again, and a heavy grey-smudged blanket
settles around me, uneasy
I sip black tea with milk, eyes adjust, and
night becomes a friend
morning light will appear again
as it does—
fear surrenders
to the unknowable

In the night, like my bearded ancestors
shouting sermons from rough cut pulpits, doctrine
five hundred years old,
I am making peace
but laying down body, soul and mind
not arms—
a new pacifism
old as my mothers
Because the night can be miserable—hot flashes, dreams, insomnia. But it can also become a friend.
JB Claywell Mar 2018
Every chance we get,
we’ll fail one another.
All of us.

We’ll talk over one person;
ignore all the others.

We complain that no one
ever listens to us.

We rail from our personal
pulpits against the injustices
leveled against the least of us,
doing so behind the comfort
of our keyboards.

Even if we know that we’re
wrong, misaligned, misinformed,
we fight onward anyway.

At this point,
the goal seems
to be that humanity
is choosing to be as
insular, isolationist,
antagonistic as is
possible.

We’ll hate one another
from across the world,
never bothering to cross
the street.

We’ll shoot one another
emails, messages of our
discontent, before we let
the bullets fly.

But, we’ll fire those too.

Each new home sold
will come with it’s own
chain-gun turret.
(Why the hell not?
It’s the American Way,
Isn’t it?)

We’ll climb down from
our turrets each morning,
log onto our computers, tablets, or smartphones;
sending our family, friends, neighbors, and even a few
strangers a fresh round of electronic hate-mail or
a few new anti-social media posts that finally say what
we all think anyway:

“Greetings and salutations!
*******! I’ve always been smarter than you.
I hate you, but I hate myself more and I’ve
never gotten the attention that I think I deserve.
Have a miserable day!
I know I will!”

After that we’ll back our
cars out into the driveway,
We’ll get on all fours;
fellating our exhaust pipes
for about 30 minutes.

After we’re exhausted,
(Get it?! Exhausted!)
We’ll climb back into
the car and pull it back
into the garage.

We’ll punch in the code
to our home security system.

The code will automatically
activate our ambient anti-anxiety
and antidepressant systems

(
conveniently included in our home HVAC unit.)

These will fill our homes with enough meds/particles
so that we will be easily sated, manipulated
all day long.

For an extra $200
these systems will also
post positive comments
on all of your social-media
posts so as to maintain
the body’s highest levels
of dopamine.

We want you to end your day
feeling like the center of The
******* Universe.

(Remember when they made posting
vague, attention-seeking updates
On social-media illegal?)

Lights out!
Time to get
the government-sanctioned
2.75 hrs. of  sleep.

Goodnight!
I hate you!
Stay off
of my lawn!

My chain-gun is
set to auto!

Hail Trump!
Hail America!

*
-JBClaywell
©PZPublications 2018
tinhearts Nov 2018
You come like stealth
An insignificant whisper
Spoken wealth
“I’m hear Lord,” I answer

Truly a hidden word was spoken
In this darkness a light lit Word
My ear caught it like stolen
Whispers in an empty Church

Intimacy of Your Presence
Anticipations rise in nakedness
Your breath touching my inner essence
Humbly phrases string holiness

Listening intensely
Melting my heart with Your Love
Assuring me I’m His innocently
Speak out in the light of

Words spoken in darkness
Proclaim from the hilltops
Obscure sentiments
Treasures to share as tear drops

On pillows of proprietary
In doves beaks on missions
Truth sent from the breath of God’s diary
Assurance purity conditions

Let them know it’s time
Blow the trumpets
Wisdom has spoken in a rhythm
To gather Loves children away from pulpits

Come gather in the flax
Bend your ears to Divine Utterances
Take care not to relax
Words from the beginning substance

Have encircled the past
Returning like the swallows
Messengers swiftly gasp
At the Glory of the Kingdom’s hallow

Here
At last
My Loves deepest souvenir
Unsurpassed
*
tinhearts~©️

— The End —