"sacrilegious" poems
First glance, I’m a good Christian girl. But dark purple flecks decorate my neck.
In leather and lace I forget to pray and let you do what you want with me
because pain is complex and melded with pleasure.
Do you know what they say about girls that enjoy ***
They never dare to say it to my face but I can feel them staring from the pew
at the dark purple flecks that decorate my neck.
Your hands, more powerful than God, make the earth of my body quake
while I draw fault lines down your back with my nails under the broken
crucifix above your bed. The pain is complex and melded with pleasure.
Deep, growling voice shakes the dusty rosary on your nightstand when we ****
Your handprints are left on my flesh and the hand around my throat
leaves the dark purple flecks decorating my neck.
Coffee in the narthex and I’m labeled a harlot. Sinner. Sacrilegious. Branded as freaks…
Brush it off. I know what you like and how you like me. God will have mercy.
Sensations blend because pain is complex and melded with pleasure
and I can’t have one without the other. To reach our peak
you leave me red, marked and breathless, gasping, “Oh my God.”
Questioning my beliefs with dark purple flecks to decorate my neck,
I know pain will always be complex and melded with pleasure.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
Colliding; the collusion of day and night
Of things co-exsisting, theirs,
Light and darkness.
Blazing across the ethereal plain
An arch angelic inferno.
Infinite is the horizon
Confluently coloured; eminence
Transforming smouldering heat.
An auric aureole interpenetrating diverse bi-unity,
Illuminative transcension igniting
The charcoal black vast depths of heaven, space.
The eternal perfection ordained, twilight
Zenith sense turbulent like the oceans tide
Anthropomorphic legions, lingering shadows
In the purgatory of mischievous children.
Blood gushing like emotions,
Sacraments ordained for sacrifice
Canonised; Sepulchre
Immortal legions mortal as the knell echoes
This side of paradise,
Heaven an altar
A church altar, rapidly retreating
As stars disperse like candles fading-
Sacrilegious; sepulchre
Of angels fallen.
1997 ELEETE J MUIR
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
I don't know what it is
about bringing god into the most intimate times of your life,
but I couldn't ignore the bible that was spread open
on your nightstand that night.
During the space between
whenever you rolled off of me
and rolled back on,
I was granted time to think about how I ended up
in this dreadfully exposed position
(literally, you told me not to put my clothes back on).
So I thought about how I had convinced myself
that you were as religious as you claimed to be,
and that this would be nothing more than
a simple movie date with a little cuddling.
But whenever you removed your arm from around me
and stood from the couch beside me,
I knew this was going to be far from it.
So I crawled into bed beside you
and felt your hands search my body in the dark
as though you were in a temple on a quest to find a golden cross.
And you found it,
radiating warmth between two stone pillars
that you couldn't resist digging your nails into.
And soon enough,
the walls came crumbling down
and you begged me not to make a sound
as you sank your teeth into my neck
as though you were taking a bite of the forbidden fruit
for the very first time.
And I must have tasted sweet
because your tongue shortly followed
to lap up all the salty juices.
But you were determined to tear the temple down
because you knew how sacrilegious it would be to leave it standing,
so you asserted your strength to the already crumbling pillars
and walls and heard and watched them fall around you
in all their holy glory.
But it wasn't until I was lying beneath you
in a pile of dust
that the bible beside me spoke.
The pages parted like the red sea
and the letters lept from the page like the egyptians
and I was shaking as though Moses himself
was standing before me.
But you didn't notice when you returned,
because your goal wasn't to build the temple walls.
So you climbed back on top of me,
rolled over,
and went to sleep.
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
I'm strapped for battle, and prepared for war, so societally sacrilegious make a rich man pray to god for no more, but I'm so subliminally catastrophe ridden that I'll take off like a ***** mcdonalds napkin blown from the hands of a man that was shown the true depth of his wager with sin, because I've been looking within and inside the size of my fevered lies that I tell myself at night so I can close my eyes, and stifle out the cries of the boy who staked his soul in the rise of his own demise
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC
there will be no love poetry today
Sabbath cancelled
there will be the will to love
and there will be poetry
someplace
but not here, not today
the load bearing suspension
of belief
beyond busted
the mind
no mas
busted
one killing too many
love poetry seems inappropriately fruitless
there will love
and there will be poetry
somewhere
but not here
more than pointless,
sacrilegious,
human sacrifice ruthless,
a ****** sacrilege
the world profaned and the blood spilling
is in everything and everywhere
and has driven the love poetry out of this person
maybe tomorrow
may it be tomorrow, we will pass a twenty four
news cycle
with the bombs gone quiet
the innocents surviving
and the god spark burner inside me will
relight on its own
but not today not here not me
there will be
no love poetry
and this
this not a poem
<>
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 9:06 AM UTC
Rancor,
Swashbuckling with a sawtooth grin and sacrilegious shouts, selcouth with an unsound mind, the commonness of uniqueness, the commonness of opinionated onions cutting their teeth on life and crying, again, and ready to saw off the limbs of the opposition out of revenge!
Rancor, relax, you're not a Twitter matador, I wish you were because I’d love to watch the show.
We cuddle with exotic nylon fibers and squeal about our weight and status and how someone insulted us and how terrible it is to be alive while sipping on easily accessibly high fructose corn syrup! Life has never been this sweet, but I guess we’re getting sick of honey.
I complain about the complaints, I am the anti-complaining complaint club president.
I am a writer, an iPhone thumb tapper.
Hear me
These mental gymnastics will somersault and summerset you right, child,
Don’t listen to Rancor,
That man’ll grab your gaze and stir your attention into a cocktail while winking at you from behind the bar
he’ll leave your brain a little woozy from a life that used to be sweet until you left it out in the sun a few years too long,
I wonder if some of the dead watch us from the corners of our bedroom or the trees along the freeway, waiting for greatness to unfurl.
I’ll bet they do and I’ll bet you’re a glitch, I’ll bet a little piece of another galaxy hit you in the head and made your finger twitch.
How many hot car hours have been spent in a parking lot,
the skin dries, the phone dies,
the spirit once lifted towards the outlines of the mountain peak now seeks memes, transcendent in their own right.
May 12, 2022
May 12, 2022 at 1:54 AM UTC
I want to write a bad poem
A cringe worthy, generic, forgettable poem
Maybe something along the lines of...
...your bruised arms around me
left a hole where my heart should have been....
That was a good first attempt at bad, I reckon.
I shall litter said poem with words I found in a thesaurus,
(iridescent, luminous, diabolical, sacrilegious, egregious etc.)
and elements of nature,
(infinite blue skies, bubbling starfish pond, burnt autumn leaves)
and vague ****** references,
(satin bedsheets, steamy phone booths, glistening skin)
and unremarkable idiosyncrasies of past lovers
(you always filled your pockets with loose change;
you always peeled the apple bottom-up;
you always blahd the blooh blah with your blah-like personality)
and lastly,
but most importantly,
the stray allusions to a life of tortuous heartache and unfulfilled dreams.
Zzzzzzzzzzz
Sep 10, 2010
Sep 10, 2010 at 5:18 PM UTC
its the end of the old beginning of the new
but i can't pretend to walk through this new door without any residue
without any trace of you, or memories
starting a new project, transversing a new lane
i wish i was as sacrilegious and vain
as i used to be before i was beaten black and blue
until i encountered you and my confidence was rocked
until i encountered you and your mind games won’t stop
even after i have burned away every trace
even after i have burned away at the stake
you always find a way to worm your way into my peace
disrupt and unplug, mistrust and vengeance
but what really is love, i just crave revenge
Jan 10, 2022
Jan 10, 2022 at 8:20 AM UTC
This world is but a graveyard
Of kings and kingdoms
Of philosophers and freemen
Of sacrilegious arrogance
For we live in a vast wasteland
Of prospectors and merchants
Only a few steps from oasis
Battling for a distant mirage
Humans are mere beasts
Like hyenas and lionesses
Fighting for supremacy
In this endless ephemerality
iamthe_avatar ©2016
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 6:45 AM UTC
Sombre, pensive, disquietude
Disconnected, subtle, lewd
All emotions rolling 'round
Shattered glass on holy ground
Silver lining made of stone
Face of darkness set alone
Wings of sulphur, ashen down
Butterflies stitched in her gown
Queen of sacrilegious lies
Blood and fire stain black eyes
Lips like poison, dripping lust
Serpent tongue that whispers trust
Silken skin of granite gray
Sparkles stone when in the day
Prehensile tail and wicked strength
Ebony hair of staggered length
**** woman of the night
Seeking prey and seeking fight
Lay you down on holy stone
Death by *** though not alone
When her eyes light on your skin
Flames of lust lick up and in
Against her charms you've not a chance
So open wide and join her dance
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 5:24 AM UTC
Talent, we still have it,
Our generation,
Needs to step up,
Touch and grab it,
We aren't what we make it seem,
We're more than this,
Touch and grab a talent,
You gotta Sound it,
Ready... Set... Do go,
And leave that house,
Go get grounded,
Make it on your own,
Make a living,
Make a world,
For yourself,
You gotta touch and grab your talent,
They have lived,
They have seen,
Now it's our turn,
To touch and grab,
Make it gleam,
Show the pride,
I'm black and I'm proud,
And I'm not gone hide,
That ebonics from the motherland,
Which is cool,
But I can talk like me and talk like you,
From the bottom straight to the top,
Ima touch and grab this talent,
Show you up,
Head start,
That's fine,
But it's my turn to shine,
Blacker the berry the sweeter the juice,
Pac said it,
Mama always had my back,
But now she dead,
Lost but now I'm found in the name,
Speak the tongue of my God,
Spread the word,
Hallelujah,
I made it out,
I'm way to happy to stay on mute,
I'm black and I'm proud,
And I made it out,
I gotta shout,
The world,
I see its end,
Finished,
Soon come,
Straight in this narrow path,
Touch and grab a talent,
Make it out,
Don't stay where you are,
Make it out,
I'm here to tell that it's more to this,
This life is a game,
I have the manual to this,
It's all in the B-I-B-L-E,
Soon banded,
They know the truth and branded it,
Sacrilegious,
And they have their God,
But I have mine too,
To the Man upstairs,
I'm sorry for all I've done,
Please save us too,
Take me home with you,
But to my people,
Stay black and stay proud,
Touch your talent,
Grab your talent,
Let's take over the world !
I'm out ...
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 6:04 PM UTC
Service
the sections
we skim
on
four limbs,
integral
to the insect
cause
and effectively
crippling
the cross culture,
dumb and
auspicious
in the year
of the
opposable
thumb.
Feline
friction
in
the way
you
hug the fuzz
and
tug at
the tension,
a conscious
show of
subterfuge
and
pretentious
pretenses
concludes
in the dismal
aftermath
of a
stamped
and sent
ten cent
envelope
filled with
nothing
but hope.
Sacrilegious
privileges
construct
reality,
obstructing
the
graffiti art
along the
cosmonaut
crosswalk.
The fire,
fought
with wine
in the dark
etched an
imprint
in ash
where
the
cadre had
left its' mark
in the colors
of a
corroded
battery.
Under
spray
paint stars,
hollow,
half
sunken
sights
echo
through
the
illegitimate
children
of a
wind
chime.
Sulfurous
silver
lining
igniting
the ego.
A blue
reaction
in a black
field,
refraction
with a
maximum
yield,
it all glows.
Feline
friction
in
the way
you
hug the fuzz
and
tug at
the tension,
smooth
and rigid,
we fit in
the grooves
and service
the sections
in a
crippled
cross
culture
that
crawls
on all fours,
integral
to an insect
cause.
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 5:27 PM UTC
*Bitter taste in my mouth
A metallic tangy taste
He shoved in his engorged enlarged shaft
as far as it'd go
He ***** & stole away my innocents
offering wine
I find this sacrilegious
more I guess like blasphemy
after all he is a Deacon
Preaching lies
more to me then our whole congregation
Sinners have to pay to get into heaven
Guess mines is my virginity
Age 10 going on 11
I'm now like *** the sacrificial wine***
I've been past round
Who'd want to go to heaven anyways
If this is the price to pay*
All I can remember is; Us surviving victim, get sour grapes
***I'm floating out of myself
as I think of them***
*I can see all that's happening
until I crash into myself
Back to my torturous reality
I wait until he pulls out
just enough to bite down hard
with all my strength........*
*Sour grapes like sour hearts,
but
So unlike sour hearts...
You can still make wine outta
Sour grapes*
Blood doesn't taste so sweet!
Copyright ©
Ayeshah K.C.L.N
1977-Present
All right reserved
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 8:30 AM UTC
To take you and place you, raised.
You are the dawn.
You take with one hand.
I pry the other hand open and find it empty.
You are to be praised, for your creator’s sake.
Your mistakes, His perfections, sacrilegious.
Bring me towards Him so that I may pray for you to come towards me.
My eyes are closed. And I stumble on words, but not yours.
Distances. I’ve never been enough.
Legs not long enough. Arms not strong enough.
I couldn’t lift you up and I couldn’t let you go.
Regardless, you are to be praised, to be raised. Exalted.
My death is on standby. My calling is mute, mum, moot.
L’amour est un oiseau rebelle.
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 5:55 AM UTC
When Oedipus sees a ****** love
And holds hands in his womb
You'll find me ripe with love
Mary's little protégé
Glowing with hatred.
................................................
She comes up gasping for air
A lucid smile plastered on her pure face
Finely ground, strong as coffee, worn and burt.
A sacrilegious offering.
................................................
It's days like this
When the air is sharp and rips my lungs with glass
(sharper than his eyes once were)
That I mistake myself for a *****
................................................
For infinity, or so, I will walk this coast
One step after another
Feet friendly with the hard ground
Back burning with arrows flung down from a suspended Hell.
................................................
Is Hell a place or state of mind?
Aug 21, 2011
Aug 21, 2011 at 1:22 AM UTC
Inherent disregard to my own scars
drain this chalice of my inebriated blood
akin to the taste of cyanide, cascading down your tongue
a sacrilegious demon may not be evil
my church is but of rotting wood and bone
my fragile prayers are not enough to hear
no, not enough to hear such a far away thought
reverberating in my head the battle rages
never ending echo, forever, la douleur exquise
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC
They say everyone has a chance
for eternal life if they accept Him.
They say "the blood of Christ will
make hearts white and cleanse them."
What about the girl whose heart beats
for another girl under her sheets?
Or the boy who was born in sin
lusting over and loving men?
Who makes those sinners well?
If love condemns me to Hell
then I want no part in this holy land
because I only feel heaven when I'm holding her hand.
And if that's wrong
then I don't want to be right
because her blood will cleanse me
and make my heart light.
So call me Judas Iscariot
or nail me to a cross
But love is a battle I've fought and fought
And I won't take this loss.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 3:01 PM UTC
Let me tell you of the day that never came.
The one we thought we’d see
So soon after the night.
Night of fire, day of searing light
That burned all the sinners
All of us,
And dragged us all to hell.
Hell.
Always hot and dry
We can’t wait until it freezes over
Freezes all of them.
All of us.
No more stench of charred flesh
No more black and crumbling bodies
With dry water eyes.
But the day never came
When we’d beg for water-
Ice.
Something other than
The lava forced down our throats on a daily basis.
We are tired of this!
No more, never ever, ever never forever will we
Finish burning
In Hell.
But we never did now did we?
The day never came, and
We
Are forever living.
Maybe more a torture than fire and brimstone.
But the day won’t come when it will all end
Or has it come already and this is our eternal punishment
For being sinners,
Sacrilegious in the way we moved.
And in hell we trudge up hills of spike rock
Carrying boulders the size of pandas with the attitudes of great whites
And all the stripes and teeth of rabid tigers,
Jagged claws of koalas and the ability to scent fear like no other animal can
And they are always afraid
All of us
That maybe one day
the day will come
and we will burn.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 8:14 AM UTC
Another
****** up morning
Gray light transforming
The walls
Arcing displays
Of my never ending failures
Souls connected
And ripped apart like bailing twine
Remains burned
Put out with sacrilegious wine
Trampled and ground into misery
I eat the misery
My daily bread
Needs, wants, fated jaunts
Blatant disregards
Constant circling carrion birds
Salivating over my stumbles
I mumble, and cite
The glorious night
But I have failed yet again.
A Joker laughs
A Riddler giggles
I stumble and fall into the pit
At least there is no bottom.
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 8:02 AM UTC
People on earth are segregated,
Their identities always unique.
Not just fingerprints or birth marks,
But exist many more identity marks.
Can be religious like any tilak,
Can also be sacrilegious things.
Mellifluous activity it seemed,
Descended upon me as death.
Even I have some sacrilegious scars,
I will carry them as vestiges of past..
Past where just pain was felt,
Days when only torture was.
Till I get better I can just wait,
Rubbing clear my ***** slate.
Allowing life to smile with herself,
Found her as my pure happiness...
Just waiting for her to come,
I wait in complete patience.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 10:16 AM UTC
They took them…
With a *** shovel and beards engulfed with disguise,
By fire, by force and harm
They heartlessly took them…
Loading with a military van from the snare, the school
Sabotaging their education and jubilance
At the brink of our oculus, like a hot blade through margarine,
Like the evanescence of dew upon new dawn,
They were gone…
We cajole to Haram Islamic militants,
Not the slavery we signed up for,
Yet this is our story, but not our destiny.
It is profane and sacrilegious to talk slavery upon our realms.
Our ancestral dormancy and Jesus crucifixion outlines our history.
We were untrammeled...but today,
Our existence is dreary and clouded by mystery
We count minutes turning into tormented hours,
In lament of our own flesh and blood
They took them..
with needles and stylus they pinched poked and taunted us,
Like a bunch of sponges filled with voids,
Our hearts are painfully porous,
Dope them with defects,
Bring back our girls…
Haram saboteurs came in with a saber,
They took them…
How less of a man to not respect the words of the late Tata Madiba,
When he said"Never, never and never again shall it be that this beautiful land
Will again experience the oppression of one by another".
There will be war upon the element of Haram when Jesus intervene..
Bring back our girls..
(Nigreian acsent)
Chinekeee, man of Haram, bring back our girls_oo
I beg, why go they take?
Eeeh, god will go get you one day,
With our teary Nigerian eyes, will we ever see?
Adedagbo, our crown of joy ?
Aduke, our beloved ?
Afolayan Walking in majesty...
Agbogu, God settles dispute…
Bring back our girls.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 1:28 AM UTC
shine storm shadow heave sordid sky
beat your diamond rain and milk sweet
delirious black blue moaned symphony
drive woman drive rough skin delicate
run spring drunk light panting velvet
watch you play your sea on raw bed
live rust sun mad rose-tinted like moon
over lake
you have chocolate drool ache
mother I never did like those sad
arms all dressed in red and furious
but see no wild woman feels less
sit or go but let what is be is
eat one picture a day, smear languid
love with finger
flick you kind wand kazzoo away
and please whisper smooth scream
through apparatus from forest
lather you life white bubble like
snow
use all ugly love as fertilizer then cry
bitterly and pour frantic sleep into
lazy garden moss soft as a pillow
upon sacrilegious world thought
swim water through silken sheets
and rock it fluff puppy
you are an enormous exquisite honey ship
lick it fresh juice sweet cream
rip your winter above want
and rave on brave pilgrim
rave on
Dec 31, 2017
Dec 31, 2017 at 6:35 AM UTC
Uneasy eyes comprehend the easy lines of the minds who dine and constantly define all sacramental chimes without a whimper or whine I decline,
To be invited reunited I decided to combust without a rush might find a crush more than trust isn’t lust tho we do tend to touch less than enough,
Belief to be discreet the preacher falls to his feet help the man stand or pass again without demand now am banned from their gospel, am without welcome to their church, reached the spiritual out come that can praise without a book.
Shepard’s crook has created a nook of who play with the for play, my forte no pay do the doomed approve, or wether sentence you to a private room where all disapproved can go loose as is pleased, feel the ease then recklessly leave believers grieve.
Feigning teachers relentlessly fail as they see their fallen students have trials on bail, as unborn babies wail no need to be ail is a chance of good tales unreasonable detail of all hail, praise the male, position fail while grows frail as have said..He bled, the sermonizer not to seem mean but he has dreamed to wean off the unseen, ruining the light hearted beam he forgets to bring.
Evangelist is common type unless it brings a bible fight of heaven’s fright the right delight a fearful night in believer’s sight they might reunite, domestic might be what we need the preacher pleads ‘Oh please believe’ we don’t take heed we simply need to take the lead and set again demons pretend all sacrilegious men, do forgive of what we do, faithful to you, do not approve of what we choose to loose is You.
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 10:49 PM UTC
*Sensibly we talk and nonsense we go
Orthodox are the words uttered
Profane are the verses sang
Deceptive are the eyes buried
They appear pious and they are saints,
I speak sacrilegious and I am vindictive
How the flowers bloom is fate,
How the flowers bloom I hate
When kindled is the vigor
Ignited are these roses,
Of Vehemence we had a feel
Of Abhorrence we had to ****
My own path I have,
My own dreams I latch
A soul wandering at the prairies,
Gored yet numb with your poetries
Amorous is the depth inside making me drown,
Covetous is the realm outside wearing a crown
To which force will my heart listen,
Lost in labyrinth I am and fallen into warren
When left as memories are the stories,
And burnt into ashes are the memories
The sun had consumed the earth I know,
But not the world of artifice we had grow*
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 4:10 PM UTC