"sacristy" poems
I turned lesser men to stone, snakes nipping idly at my dress:
I am monster, living incarceration of a profane affair.
I turned sacristy into brothel, my beauty was perverted to despair.
I am monster, grotesque face topped by a hissing nest.
As you approached, and I felt a grim shiver in my chest;
I glowered my petrifying glare,
But you were given hiding-cape', sword, winged sandals to wear,
And mirrored shield my powers to arrest.
My mask of potent shame was made:
Lips blood red and eyes of smoldering coal,
Around my face writhing serpents twist and roll.
I saw my eyes in your hand, I wailed a last serenade.
Gasping in the instant before – everything went stone cold.
I am weapon, crafting you a garden of entombed souls.
1Hades’ cap of invisibility
May 4, 2010
May 4, 2010 at 5:01 PM UTC
The legere sacristy of pure love blazing
Feline confluence across ethereal plains
Arched angelic collusion of things sepulchral
The arcane occidere travisty of
Transmogrification canonized
Darkling eminence ordained;
The verity aura of radiance
Twilights tidal blood- dye magenta,
Germane sleek meagre wealth chiming lo!.
Finitudes golden prayer draping flounded
Brutality tithing the zenith with mealy
Doer aptitude majestically turbulent
Sacrificing thoriums weld feudal
Of heavens deceitful soothsayers,
Fellow djinn of Gotterdammerung
Soli of vilest stoic jingoism.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 7:07 AM UTC
St. Teresa swoons to herself.
The angel’s impish face laughs
At her pain.
Bernini’s operatic sculpture bound
Behind bars.
Perfectionism, restorationism,
OCD.
Outside, a gypsy woman begs
For centimes.
Inside, scaffolding dims Teresa’s glow.
Art sacrificed to the future,
Content to die in darkness.
A monk dozes in his rosary.
Recitation of dreams.
No legend in the sacristy:
Teresa’s book remains
Unread, dull behind glass.
Ecstasy of love: her path toward God.
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 8:20 PM UTC
Starless, chilly an autumn night
It all started right
A dance it would be
A stranger I was
Amongst a two roosts of Latter Day Saints
Popular, I was not
Neither shy nor sociable,
I stood in wait for a suitor
Then a lad glided in
A bit taller than I, blonde hair, green eyes
And an adorable hat on his head
Chitter-chatter,
Smiles, laughter,
Then the Games began
This suitor, Gage he was called
Had speed, but not dexterity
And was soon defeated
Charming, cheering, continuing
The dancing came
Clumsy, was I ever so
While he radiated mastery
Every misstep spin on my part
Made him smile
He whispered in my ear,
In hot breaths,
Compliments of golden rarity
A suitor of suitors I see
A spectacular dance, then another...and quite a few more
Each spin drawing me closer,
As we learned the ways of our bodies purely
The intense stares making my cheeks glow rouge
Beguiled in the moment,
I followed Gage out in an innocent move
Outside, taking a walk around the sacristy
We sat upon an abandoned stair
We spoke, we laughed, and...
His sparking eyes locked with mine
And I knew such a day would come!
An elegant milestone!
Lips in incoherent shapes as we did the most ancient of things
Simple and sweet
Breathless, I was
Yet I wanted more
We kissed once again, longer this route
Your lips are sweet, he said in my ear, as I shook in delight
Paper and pen, number in hand
My phone in his hands, exchanging modern things
A quick hug
And a long night of thought for me
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Since then, contact has been strangled to a near death
As though it was alive beforehand
My hope has faded
But still, I choose to see it as a lesson for the wise
Not a regret for the stupid
It was magical,
It was ordinarily extraordinary,
And blessed I feel for the experience.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 10:43 PM UTC
there is a song inside of my chest it
begs to be born from my naked breast
it comes to me in lullabies and keeps me from rest i find the goddess of earth in my dreams
a quest of solitude that only the soil can give me i feel
unraveled at the spine and
crave the blessing of death not for
the fear of life but merely the romance of the unknown
i speak words of love to all who
cross me i whisper intimacy
to my familiars all those whom are
dear to me are my soulmates
i was made
to love to be crucified
for sharing my body
*** is a gift
my body is communion
my divinity comes at the expense
of knowing myself
the sacred earth whispers to me words of mourning i cry for its
plants
body
and sacristy
and share myself to sacrifice
for the land which built me
Jul 13, 2021
Jul 13, 2021 at 4:06 PM UTC
The Rusted creaking lies,
whispered through putrid crooked teeth,
from underneath his ragged brim.
Time-worn top-hat sits tilted on his bony head,
yakking jaw, spitting prostulations, intimidations,
while swirling tattoos filled my eyes and propagandized, and hypnotized.
He is here, he is there,
on mossy rock, on broken chair,
floating phantom through foggy air,
to tear into my heart with his dark despair.
His words......his words, I can not trust
they haunt me as the moon.
His chilling breath fowl with death,
my skull becomes my tomb.
And then I hear a distant bell,
it breaks his grip on me.
I run and fall in gentle new snow
and am once again a child.
I close my eyes and drift to our place,
away from his gaze and grumblings,
to our mosaic covered Sacristy.
And you take my hand to bring me back.
You, with your Spring scented breath,
kissing away my hoary dreams.
The bells clang pure as midnight snow,
and I am safe again in your arms.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
A scattering of leaves.
In the house of the greatest of charity
through the corridors, passing the sacristy,
into the chapel where up on the balcony
the Sisters of Mercy chant
prayers for me.
I sit humbly,
no coins for the offertory
a poor man in search of
a history,
in the house of the greatest of charity
I find hope in the
sisters that pray for me.
Still waters reflecting the worst of me
where the savage of time's
not been kind to me,
in the house of the greatest of charity
St Barnabas is there
to encourage me.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
You were much more than a church-goer,
Much of your history floated under my nose,
But I realize now and am honored to have known you.
You served in the Navy,
At the Bay of Pigs in 1963.
I also read through the names of people
Who loved you and continue to hold your name in high regard, in faith.
You were a loyal, local church attendee,
You were always willing to volunteer during liturgies.
The fact that you would talk to my parents each week
And, in future years, also becoming my friend,
Showed how much you loved my family,
Which made you family, regardless of the sporadic times my family and I saw you.
I’d always round the right
To walk into the vestibule.
There you’d be, not intending to harass,
But to make me laugh and see
Sundays as a celebration of community
Rather than a somber type of solemn atmosphere.
To me, you are an insignia of St. Leo church
Being one of the first figures I’d link to the parish title.
I also cannot forget how,
When I began wearing ties to church,
You’d wrap the tongue of my tie(s) in your grasp:
“Let’s have a tie party,” you’d chuckle
As I tried mutely laughing back in the sacristy
Where silence was enforced, but you challenged the norm
And went against the tide of rules, remaining true
To your person, being an example for me
As I struggle to, like you, remain true to who I am.
May the halls of everlasting peace
Welcome you, Dan Desmond.
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 11:25 PM UTC
Jump into my arms and there find sweet rests
Climb into my soul and there get calm comforts
Come, come into my heart and find everlasting peace
Come take a walk into my being
And there enjoy truer compassions
Plenty of sincere and pure passions
My heart will be with you
My soul will be for you
My breath will be under you
My body will abide with you
My thoughts and wants; feelings and emotions
My desires and aspires; urges and yearns
Will be at home with you, in your true jails
Just come, come experience my ambience
Just come, come be my soul’s solo audience
My heart awaits for your sanctimonious salience
My thoughts will be for you
My dreams will be for you
You will be the revere of my reflections:
The respect of my contemplations
My brain will follow your will
Your will, will be my daily fill
In every of me I will you truly feel
For with you I am in total capitulation
My veins are open to carry you back to your humble hut-my heart
My arteries are widening to sail you through your dignity-my divinity
My Vena amoris is all yours, a private jet to airlift you to your sacristy-my soul
You only need to come home, if only you come home!
© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 3:27 AM UTC
Bell tower
against the afternoon sky
and the tolling of bells
for the office of None,
Domine *****
mea aperies,
the sun in the church
through high windows
pouring in the light
and we stood
chanting in Latin,
siamo come Dio
ci ha fatti
said the Italian monk
as he aided me
in the sacristy,
see I am as Eve
come enter my valley
she said and I obliged,
pray as if everything
depended on God
but work as if everything
depended on you
said Augustine(saint),
the feel of the rope
between hands
as we pulled down
to toll bells
for the office of Sext
George smiling
and I too,
Dieu se trouve dans
le silence the French monks said
as we walked
the abbey woodland
after lunch and birds sang
from high trees,
she peeled down her clothes
and revealed her soft fruit
partake she said,
Hugh stood in the shade
arms folded
gazing at the tree
in the garth
and the fruit it bore
still unpicked,
I polished the choir stalls
with a yellow duster
and red polish
the smell mingled
with incense
from mass that morning,
sprechen mit Gott
the Austrian monk said
as we walked
from the chapter house
one early evening
and I did but
was he listening?
I wondered,
perfect numbers are like
perfect men they
are very rare Gareth
said quoting Descartes
as we washed up
after supper
in the small room
by the kitchen,
my husband will never know
she said if you want to,
Deus qui possit ita
salvare te,
but I closed my ears
and even in the dark hours
I saw little light,
and I closed the shutters
to the departing day
and gazed at the Crucified
on the wall
above my bed
but small connection
to Christ in my head.
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 2:35 AM UTC
Why do people keep secrets?
Can I trust you?
Can you keep it?
Wait does it have to be school appropriate.
Wait should I even say ****
Ya forget it
I know I'll get judged for my past
That's why I keep
secrets in sacristy
If my past doesn't matter to me
Why can't you just trust and believe
That that's not who
I once was
Cause there's a new
Girl
And she wants to be accepted for what she stands for
Not stood
If you hate my past
Then sorry homie but there's the door
Get your mind out if the past
We don't live there anymore
It's the present we need to learn to adore
Cause this is what I stand for:
I stand for believing in who we are
Set your standards up far
Its that bully's issue
If he crosses the bar
Don't let them get the best if you
It's time you prove
To yourself that you are not afraid of the truths
What I stand for is to just Cruz
With your chin higher then cowards that are just rude
Your the one with power
I'm me
And I say it proudly
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 2:19 AM UTC
I went for an early morning shower
thinking the bell
in the abbey clock tower
had struck four
but after the shower
it tolled again four times
and I had got up too early
and so went back
to bed until five,
tempus et tempus,
the French monk weeded
the beds in the garden
his broad back bent
almost in two
I spoke but he looked
at me with his peasant eyes
and smiled,
take me from the rear she said
so I did and she said
her husband didn't understand
neither did I,
man is justified by faith
without the deeds of the law
said saint Paul
I read it in that Bible
I'd bought in my home town,
bell tower so tall
and we rang the bells
to learn the way it was done
release the ropes
or you'll go to the top
Dom James said smiling,
amare Dio ed essere salvati
the Italian monk said
as we worked in the sacristy
before Sext and lunch,
the reader in the refectory
read about ****** Mary
he read in a monotone voice
his voice alone in the air
and we just sat there,
the higher one is placed
the more humbly one should walk
Gareth said quoting Cicero,
Dieu voit dans le cœur
the French monk told me
he was old and came over
from a French abbey in exile,
we made love as she wanted
to be loved her husband
was on a long trip with his lorry
and wouldn't be back until late,
loqui ad vos Deus scit
a monk said and George
who Latin told me
what he had said
while waiting
for Vespers to begin,
the huge table napkins
we wore during mealtimes
could have covered a bed
which made George smile
as we tucked them
around our necks,
fühlen Gott hier
a German monk said
pointing to his chest
then to his tonsured head,
that old monk Dom James told us
whom we helped last week
is no more
he is dead.
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 3:30 AM UTC
The bed against the wall
near the crucifix
on the wall above the bed
and a small lamp
on the bedside cabinet,
et sonus campanae,
time to rise
and prepare for Matins
opened the shutters
over the windows
to catch dawn's 5am light,
and she said
come back to bed
I want you to make love
to me again,
George in the toilets
getting water in the jug
for absolutions
but said nothing
because of the Grand Silence,
Dio parla nel silenzio
the Italian monk said
after Mass as we walked
from the church,
sunlight came and went
as we walked along
the cloisters after Lauds,
O Lord help me to be pure
but not yet
Augustine(saint) said,
I wondered that as I washed
down the walls
of the sluice room
after Terce smell of bleach
in my nose,
la remise de soi à Dieu
the French monk
told me as I helped
tidy the sacristy
before Sext and lunch
stomach moaning,
she was small but she
had this way about ***
that was tireless,
Hugh spoke
of his father's visit
and his father thought
he'd make abbot
but he left years later
and married,
the bell tolled
in the cloister
the French monk held
the rope as we entered
for lunch and grace prayers
and readings by the reader
maybe Cromwell's life,
hablar y Dios te escucha
the Spanish monk said
the rain fell as we waited
for Vespers
and I saw a rainbow,
it is easy to forgive
a child who is afraid
of the dark but the real
tragedy of life
is when men
are afraid of the light
said Gareth quoting Plato
on the lawn as we ate tea
and biscuits,
to walk with God
or in His shadow
looking for light
even in the darkest night.
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 2:50 AM UTC
I left part of you
under and within mulch
of the rhododendrons
by sacristy's window
As close as I could bring you
to saintly relics
without endangerment
of my own immolation
That way
when church bells chime
communicant I might be
with you
Garrulous tolls
ringing from a high
reminding me
your hallowed selflessness
As clangs resound,
reechoing's reaching,
your preaching, there
to your choir
And here I dance
above other scatterings
of you, your deranged
selfish parts
Dichotomous bones
cremated and created
because I never believed
in your martyrdom
Too self-righteous
to resurrect
Let your clattering flatter
Let my feet stomp
Your suicide changed me
Enflamed me
And you and I
are not saints
Though you are now
somewhat
closer
to them
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 8:04 PM UTC
hi, an illusion, a nightmare
shrunken ribs, heart a limp rebel
lungs the stagnant parents
moths in the gut, immortal
womb the failed garden
humiliation in étalage
******* the sacristy daughters
true worshipers of tedious
traditional values
hi, temple of the holy spirit
gaze into the weary stones
of the five senses, multiplied
ears buzzing bees, eyes the hive
nose a haunted house
dorsum a wildfire
kindling wood, spreading
villagers of freethinking
mind the silver shoes
wherever but
head, the great and powerful
wizard of oz
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 4:55 PM UTC
Days like these, when she sits there bright eyed
And her constellations whirl in accordance with
Sacred geometry
And the rabbit and horse know their names
Days like these there are breezes in the mountains
Rains in the valleys
And softly, lavender scents the moon
The clarion call wakes dreamers and thieves
The night brings its own lexicon of perhaps
Useless speculation graces our table
Tears fall in disarray again
The cutlery of thought clanging and ringing in discord
Ghosts in the ivory tower
Ghosts in the ivory tower
Days like these, when the hour hands stutter
And she burrows into the sacristy of almost sleep
Angels sing lullabies
The open gates of her world welcome Summer
Days like these there are beaches in the living room
Sandcastle sofas
And tomorrows grow in the sunshine
The clarion call wakes dreamers and thieves
Stealing her away, stealing her away
Prayers and bargainings rise and fall
Sepia photographs frame us
Moments of pleasure and joy pause for remembrance
Then all fall down
Then all fall down
Days like these when fate has no excuse or alibi
Love is sole mercy...
Days like these
Fade too soon
Sep 9, 2019
Sep 9, 2019 at 4:32 AM UTC
I touched
the wooden choir stall
as I entered
the abbey church
felt the smoothness,
tactus Dei,
Dom Joe walked me
to the sacristy and said
help Dom Charles
he will show you
what he wants doing
and remember
it is God's work
you do,
habitavitque
in domo Dei,
George was hoovering
the cloister getting
into the corners
with a dedicated skill,
always do
the smallest right
and do it for love
Therese said
Faire le plus petit droit
et le faire pour l'amour,
I did it because
I was asked and even
when Dom Charles
was so finicky
I did it,
kiss this she said
he will not do so
so I did,
the abbey bells rang
while I walked back
to the abbey
from the gardens
carrying the apples,
prunelle de mes yeux
the girl in
Paris had said that time
but was I?
le monde est ton
vaisseau et non ton foyer
Therese said so I read
a ship not a home
this world,
Gareth cleaned out
the latrines
on all floors
beginning is the most
important part of work
he said quoting Plato
but he in the Greek,
she knelt on the bed
and said
take me take me
so I did so quite slow,
en silence Dieu
nous parle
the French monk said
as we stood
in the cloister garth
sipping afternoon tea,
I smelt incense
as I waited
for the office of None
to begin and watched
the birds dive
into the cloister garth
for the bread thrown down
by the old monk,
feel Him there
Dom James said
speaking of God's being,
I looked at the moon
and lost Him
for all my seeing.
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 4:01 AM UTC