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Marshal Gebbie Nov 2013
Jesus runs in Everglades, Mohammed climbs the roof
The Angels stamp in anger as the Devil stands aloof,
A wandering Pope in la-la land while Jewish hands do writhe
Those apoplectic Muslims glare while Catholics pay the tithe.

Religion, girls, has hit the skids…the game is up on God
With rosaries rotating hard, theologians do nod,
While Mormons rant moronically with frankincense and myrrh
The irreligious bark and howl in Rastafarian fur.

Sectarian’s recant Sanctum’s Shrine the rite of soul is lost
As neophytes are dancing… the High Priest counts the cost,
Theocracy unbalances as Voodoo’s stamp the floor
And the Prophets throw their hands up, fast retreating for the door.

It’s transcendental disbelief that’s nailed it to the Cross
With the Priesthood chasing little boys all credence here is lost.
With sanctity’s monastic plunge the pagans roar and shout
As Shamans scream their incantations…God declares a route!

There is silence in the Temple now, stillness in the pews
As dust lies thick on altars, a nervous clergy holds reviews,
What, once, was good and vibrant here, is now as dead as dust
As the Blood Red Wine evaporates and Holy Bread…to crust.

Marshalg
Feeding the pigeons by the dusty, open door of the very, empty Chapel.
30 November 2013
Matt May 2016
I do not have the land
Nor have I purchased
Enough seeds
To grow my own food

I am reliant
Upon the power grid

I have enough canned food
To survive a month or so

If I did have money
Maybe I would buy
A good amount of seeds

Buy years worth
Of food
That can be stored
For emergencies

I watch the videos
On YouTube
About what life
Is like

In Yemen
Saudi Arabia
Syria
And Iraq

Wow
What a mess
Sectarian violence

Houthis in Yemen
Opposing the government

FSA rebels in Syria
FIghting ISIS
And trying to overthrow Assad

The Iraqi government
Is having to rely upon
Shia military groups
To combat ISIS

These same Shia militant groups
Then engage in sectarian violence
Burning and attacking
Sunni villages

This may cause
Some Sunnis
To become sympathetic
Toward ISIS

This sectarian conflict
Has been around
Since the beginning
Of Islam

A Shiia protester
In Eastern Saudi Arabia
Protests against
The Sunni regime

Despite the wealth of the country
This Shiia minorities
Live in poverty

A few violent protesters
Spoiled their peaceful protests
Now the Sunni government
Considers them terrorists

"It is a war that never ends
Because it has no objectives
Israel's military occupation
Is not an obstruction of peace;
It is the replacement of peace
It is the institution of war
As a way of life"

This quote
Taken from an article
In Quartz magazine
Written by Oded Na'aman
On Sept. 21, 2015

And as I read
About the problems
In the Middle East

I can't help but think
That one day
Some day
In my life

Life will be closer to what
They experience
Then what we experience today

Class struggles
Armed migrants
Angry Jihadists

A Federal government
That uses the state highway system
For transport
Of military vehicles

The markets
Maybe they won't always get
The food shipments

Maybe there will just be rations
Terrorist attacks
Become more common place

U.N. Forces here to help
Maintain order

A strict curfew enforced
Drones flying over suburban neighborhoods

The dollar
Less and less relevant

As the SDR
Of the
International Monetary Fund
Becomes the reserve currency
Of the world

America's military forces
Involved in different
Conflicts throughout the world

In China, Afghanistan and Syria

North Korea brags and boasts
Of its capabilities
Firing a weapon
That takes down
Most of our power

It's okay
Really
We'll get it
Back up
At least some people
Will have partial power

Just keep your head down
And do
As the militant government says

Or you'll be hauled off to some camp

Yes, this is America

And this is the world

This primitive world

Humans have many problems
It's plain to see
wandering
across
the splinters of
squandered
seasons
the Hajj
of the
lost ones
completes
a broken
circle

returning
with hope to
burrow back
into the safety
of desecrated
graveyards

welcomed
home to the
embrace of a
cadaverous cloak
and the kiss
of carrion
smudged lips,
Hajji's eye
the decrepit
visage of
criminal
depravity

germination
of this
Arab Spring
mocks us

aromas
of jasmine
elude us

emulsified
concrete
clogs our
nostrils

burning eyes
filled with
asbestos dust
form
grateful
blinders
to the
ruination
of reason
betrayed

arcane
remnants
of our life
lay inert
in the open
****** of
fractured
habitations

amidst
jumbled rubble
the decaying
carcasses of
razed buildings
boast grotesque
sculptures of
twisted rebar
cradling artifacts
of a past life

pink
hair curlers
splashed
with sickly
blood grown
mold

scavenged
bicycles
limp on
banished
parts

smashed
skulls of
dolls weep,
her
dismembered
limb reaches
for a lost child’s
nursing
hand

the charred
remains of a
Persian rug
maps the
scale
of a city’s
deconstruction
and a frayed
regions
disconsolation

electric luxury
flowing water
the friendly bustle
of the street
bespeak
expired memories
foretelling an
unimaginal future

sectarian strife
enforces  a communal
solitary confinement

in cold blood
we willingly
murdered
compassion

we
butchered
trust

we
euthanized
our
common
humanity

constructing
buildings is
easy

rebuilding
ourselves
impossible

Music Selection:
Segovia, Capricho Arabe

Oakland
5/13/14
jbm
please also see on Hello Poetry:
Homage to Homs
Leaving Homs
Maryam of Homs
Watching Homs
Wheres Rumi?
r Jun 2014
Ours was less an Arab Spring
and more a half-hearted coup d'état.
There was no immolation,
no burning desire on your part;
no passion in the streets of you.

You stole in at night
through a window I'd left open,
a crack in my need
for something more than mere
existence.  From me there was
no resistance.

I let you lead, and followed blindly;
my voice I raised on your behalf
against all that I had known before.
Your words, your whispers
alone could incite me to storm
against the strongest walls.

Now, as summer comes
and this sectarian affair,
this spring uprising
that we called us has ended,
I sweep the streets of our debris
and wander down
the empty avenues
of you, half-hearted.

r ~ 6/5/14
\•/\
   |      الربيع العربي
  / \
savarez Jul 2013
with all the religious fighting
it's easy to lose one's head
so much sectarian discord

people bring armageddon onto themselves
attracting negative energies
pulling meteors to earth

dip in your toes in the sand
and read magnitude in the sky
let the lapping sea be your preacher
Above our heads and below our feet
electricity surges through.
Power lines linked like huge arteries
giving life to a rising public.
Increasing demand for easy existence
could end with persistence.

Man never stable nor servile creatures
always wanting dominate.
All other species living on our planet
like gods in his approach.
Not respecting earth his only base
as more dangers we face!

Continues conflicts and power struggles
divided between rich and poor.
Tribal and sectarian  violence and greed
as the power starts to falter.
Resources are dwindling as the need rises
a future filled with bad surprises!

The Foureyed Poet.
Power! Through electricity and man's greed! The Foureyed Poet.
sobroquet May 2013
Religious zeal and explosive prowess make incendiary  bedfellows
searing calculating moralism where all fall short  and deserve to suffer
self righteous corrupted calumny  put forth in a sally of sectarian     selectivity  
your ilk is heading for Hell and I'm (already there) not

fanatical  zealots marginalize intellectuals  with their mythical mire of mucked up  claptrap and copious lack of a priori specificity
a glorified preposterous plethora of pompous  pontificating platitudes
the sins of others they deplore but of themselves they don't keep score
Sunday's best is Sunday's worst

you sanctimonious ******* just can't leave people alone
who elected you to point fingers anyway
Jesus was born in a barn to an unmarried woman
And your mommy got shtuped when you were conceived too
you don't walk on water you insolent impertinent  fool

the brain police can't wait for Sunday's
oh the satisfaction of a mutual admiration society
knee-**** hackneyed pavlovian dog speak
Is anything  anymore real if you jump around and shout about it
recipients of adulates get accustomed to sycophants
fawning complacent obsequious kiss ***** and Sunday ****-ups
pass the plate
Mariam Paracha Feb 2013
Balochistan
Tattered and torn

Brother
Forgotten and forlorn

Belief
Cracked like the arid land

Bridge
A hopeless demand

Bomb
Ticks at the rate of your heartbeat

Breath
Becomes heavier and incomplete

Blood
Ironclad? Iron. Ironic.  

Body
Broken and bruised, it’s chronic.

Bury
Under the infected earth

Birth
What is its worth?

A note on the sectarian violence spreading across the nation of Pakistan.
John F McCullagh Sep 2013
The enemy of my enemy
Is not, necessarily, a friend to me.
Sectarian based enmity
In Syria abounds.
Cruise missile strikes certainly
Will be followed by the I.E.D.’s
As surely as boots on the ground
Will result in stone topped
Grassy mounds.
I am one of the best poets on the site
On any subject I can write.
I may lack Neva Flores poetic grace
Or Rue’s literary or linguistic ace

I may lack Denis Barter’s classical touch
I am as useful as telephone hutch
My poetry is as simple as a common man’s speech
It is within every reader’s easy reach

In the literary circle I have considerable space
In my friends’ heart some cordial place
I don’t know much about meter
But  I can write a poem on electrical heater

Some poets think My poetry sounds Victorian
I am undoubtedly not a sectarian
Some critics may feel my poetry is out dated
I think it might have been over rated

I am an instinctive and innovative poet
I am at the threshold of becoming great
If you think I am right bless me
If you think I am boasting curse me
This poem is just for fun.My opinion about fellow poets is true.It is not fun
Matt Feb 2015
The Sunni minority were marginalized

Sectarian killings were commonplace
In 2012 alone,
There were more than 1,600 deaths

The interviewer talked to a motorcycle gang
They said they wanted freedom

But some said they missed the way things were
Under Saddam Hussein
Some would trade the freedom they had
For the stability of Hussein's regime

The Shiah cleric
Says there is an assault on Iraq
Exemplified by the copying of corrupt Western culture.

The cleric wanted to eliminate American influence
Of any kind

Checkpoints make getting
Around the city a hassle

Subcultures in Iraq are under attack
Rap, metal, emo, and classical
All are looked down on

Gays are persecuted

The military uses a faulty device
That is supposed to detect bombs
But has been proven not at all effective

The city exists between extremes
There is the religious extreme
And people who want to be westernized
Without understanding what that is

The infrastructure was ruined by the war
Hopefully life will get better
As they continue to rebuild the infrastructuree
www.youtube.com/watch?v=zhnNIhV4EsU
David Barr Jan 2014
The Gregorian calendar has evolved from insular Celtic languages, whilst the epitome of death is witnessed by desolate tree-tops of silent and haunted hills.
As we bask in the radiance of harsh winter precipitations, I acknowledge his birthplace in Ayrshire. We are asked to give credence to the important lyrics: Haste Ye Back.
The national party has pronounced Brosnachadh Bhruis, whilst partaking of the offal pudding at the address of the laird.
Our sectarian intercourses are ceremonial ejaculations in the bedlam of staunch affiliation.
I can feel the spirit of damp historical ancestry on this Presbyterian eloquence which surpasses Hogmanay by a mere 25 days.
One more thing: Don’t be a stranger.
MdAsadullah Nov 2014
Who are they? Who are they?
Why all these fights, why this fray?
Why innocents are killed, why they are displaced?
Why minorities are ill treated, why they are chased?

Who are they? who are they?
Are they pawns of puppets, who is funding? , who pays?
Do they want to stop revolutions, are they against democracy.
Is it true that puppet dictators are behind the conspiracy?

Who are they? Who are they?
Freedom fighters at times, At times criminal they portray.
Why this sectarian violence, why policy of 'divide and rule'?
Are they collaborators of oil thieves, are they their tool?

Who are they? Who are they?
God knows best but they don't follow prophet's way.
Their actions are criminal and this is the fact.
I just don't like them, I condemn their act.
How our beloved Prophet treated the minorities: - -

(http: //en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Achtiname_of_Muhammad)

From the above link: -
__________________________
English Translation of the Ashtiname by Richard Peacocke[edit]
Muhammad the son of ‘Abd Allah, the Messenger of Allah, and careful guardian of the whole world; has wrote the present instrument to all those who are in his national people, and of his own religion, as a secure and positive promise to be accomplished to the Christian nation, and relations of the Nazarene, whosoever they may be, whether they be the noble or the ******, the honorable or otherwise, saying thus.I. Whosoever of my nation shall presume to break my promise and oath, which is contained in this present agreement, destroys the promise of God, acts contrary to the oath, and will be a resister of the faith, (which God forbid) for he becomes worthy of the curse, whether he be the King himself, or a poor man, or whatever person he may be.
That whenever any of the monks in his travels shall happen to settle upon any mountain, hill, village, or other habitable place, on the sea, or in deserts, or in any convent, church, or house of prayer, I shall be in the midst of them, as the preserver and protector of them, their goods and effects, with my soul, aid, and protection, jointly with all my national people; because they are a part of my own people, and an honor to me.
Moreover, I command all officers not to require any poll-tax on them, or any other tribute, because they shall not be forced or compelled to anything of this kind.
None shall presume to change their judges or governors, but they shall remain in their office, without being deported.
No one shall ****** them when they are travelling on the road.
Whatever churches they are possessed of, no one is to deprive them of them.
Whosoever shall annul any of one of these my decrees, let him know positively that he annuls the ordinance of God.
Moreover, neither their judges, governors, monks, servants, disciples, or any others depending on them, shall pay any poll-tax, or be molested on that account, because I am their protector, wherever they shall be, either by land or sea, east or west, north or south; because both they and all that belong to them are included in this my promissory oath and patent.
And of those that live quietly and solitary upon the mountains, they shall exact neither poll-tax nor tithes from their incomes, neither shall any Muslim partake of what they have; for they labor only to maintain themselves.
Whenever the crop of the earth shall be plentiful in its due time, the inhabitants shall be obliged out of every bushel to give them a certain measure.
Neither in time of war shall they take them out of their habitations, nor compel them to go to the wars, nor even then shall they require of them any poll-tax.
In these eleven chapters is to be found whatever relates to the monks, as to the remaining seven chapters, they direct what relates to every Christian.
Those Christians who are inhabitants, and with their riches and traffic are able to pay the poll-tax, shall pay no more than twelve drachms.
Excepting this, nothing shall be required of them, according to the express order of God, that says, ‘Do not ****** those that have a veneration for the books that are sent from God, but rather in a kind manner give of your good things to them, and converse with them, and hinder everyone from molesting them' [29: 46].
If a Christian woman shall happen to marry a Muslim man, the Muslim shall not cross the inclination of his wife, to keep her from her church and prayers, and the practice of her religion.
That no person hinder them from repairing their churches.
Whosoever acts contrary to my grant, or gives credit to anything contrary to it, becomes truly an apostate to God, and to his divine apostle, because this protection I have granted to them according to this promise.
No one shall bear arms against them, but, on the contrary, the Muslims shall wage war for them.
And by this I ordain, that none of my nation shall presume to do or act contrary to this my promise, until the end of the world.
The Macedonians in this spectral fight would spend their last efforts to reach the heart of Vernarth and Alexander the Great, to try to ****** and defeat them from their captaincies that challenged Asmodeus. The colossal figure of the converted Sapsila had a longitudinal figure from head to toe of approximately four kilometers, all the maritime lines of Leros, Lipsi, and Pireas housed him in the hemisphere of contemplation where his skeleton was more sensitive than the geographical area of Sapsila, where the Achaemenids approached the longitudinal pectoral of several kilometers in length, pointing out the effigy of an immemorial Hoplite sedimented in this region where the feet rested at the height of the southern hemisphere of the feet of the corresponding Nótos and Vóreios that corresponded to its head. The Achaemenids reached the exact diameter of Vernarth's pectoral where it had the admission of the energy of the Kassotides, the same entrance hole that it had with the elder in the Bumodos, ad portas of the Gaugamela stage. Here his exoskeleton was transfigured towards the monastery of Atros with the cognition of the Katapausis, which led him through the hiding place of his epistíthios breastplate or iron and bronze breastplate, which exemplified how it was erected after the Achaemenids dispersed over the nearby line of Skalá. , where they will arrive with the Psiloi, for the purposes of raising the phalanxes that will lift with their feet the colossal figure of the Psiloi being nothing less than an archetype of Brisehal in the desolate Dasht-e-Lut desert, being from unpopulated places of devotion that again he was emerging from the empty glow of the Profitis Ilias. The specters abounded wandering alone as if trying to grasp the last sparks of the politics that remained for them to surrender from their own unencumbered solitude. Brisehal was a mountain with a canine head similar to Anubis, but millions of times larger towards the top and acid, like the hope of regulars to enter the garden-kingdom of Heaven. Before the day trembled with the movement of his trembling mocking strides, that Brisehal was from Das-e-Ruth from Arbela shaking day and night, embodied in the body of Vernarth, like the bombast of the archaeological sedimented hoplite of the Subclavian Kabbalah demarcating the entire pedestrian propulsion dynamics in the Achaemenids by his rib when he was soaked in Samael's silica, since he had been given a superior potion to close the Vernarth pectoral hole, and which has not yet been transplanted by the Kassotides. In such a way that all his anatomy would border the anatomy of his body gigantic free from Asmodeus, and from the whole cycle of tons of breaths of the shadow that conceived sparks of Shemesh on them, to revert the potion of Asmodeus to the degree of innocuous elixir.

Consisting of the voluminous being stretched out in the midst of Gnosticism that declared the figure of its proverbial monstrosity to be erected, born from the consciousness of the sectarian origins that placed it after a being harassed by Samael for centuries and centuries being condemned to be stretched in non-clairvoyance of those who did not really love him and yes, with the great profile of venerating the sublime sky that he knows in front of his eyes looking at the sky that divides Grikos and Skalá, after it was time to get up for the purposes of the Battle of Patmia in the Seventh Heaven, from where Vernarth ran terrified by the Olympic archaeological excitement in which this buried being was, being the same one that represented the god that Saint John the Apostle had mentioned to him referring to Geburah; where all the serpents or basilisks protocolized appeals of revolt against Alehisebenech, the serpent that will transmit paths from Dash-e-Lut on all the heads of the Achaemenids, asserting the judgment of Gnosticism when they were incarnated by Geburah and lost their night vision through nocturnal curtains that this abnormal god of the mesosphere, who was trying to eradicate them from the roof of the Tabernacle of Faith, pointing out that the noble harassments became more inexorable with the counterattack for those who suffered temporarily from the stubborn blindness that this god Geburah forged, as a God who claimed the abilities of Mars to constitute the existential fear that would ultimately intimidate even the Islamist soul that resided in these involuntary beings, being a trophy of their instincts and losing the chrism of the Hoplites for the reason of filling them in the glasses of the room chalice of Elijah, even if they do not attend the Upper Room but may be judicious to exalt the glory oria that resides in the front of the colossus, who personifies the versatile power facing the left where he carried his Xiphos vehemently, trying to adulterate them towards the sword of Samael. The lights of the sea were appreciated in the bay of Skalá exhibiting the ardor of the breakers as the arrest of archangels that took cover to slide in the toppers that were expelled when the mass was finally raised, flickering from a forest of life that would protect the troops of Vernarth, expelling them of every scale that could lodge in a decapitated teacher, being able to come sooty and representing in the Muslim Iblis that he would exchange the eternal nocturnal light, in advance when the first movements of the troops were unleashed, while some were in the stillness of the bonfires. pointing out the glimpse of the Iblis that came quickly to shoot fire due to its excoriation, showing that just by looking into their eyes, the Vernarth clone judged him at more than four kilometers of elevation, causing dissension by trying to stun them. Once again the embryonic action of Alexander the Great would relapse on Vernarth, who was laborious among all the Syntagmas that were conglomerating from the Psiloi, and already on their boyar horses, infants of the Ida and the newly developed wagons of the epsilon, pretending to debate them in doubt of the Exodus. that resembled in the infinitive people that flee from the Shemesh that whipped them from their scriptural registers, on the hands of cherubs with their hands hold the reins, with the patriarchs with the twelve crowns of stars that shone as in the Nile linking with the Sea of Patmia.
Battle of Patmia  Part  II
David Barr May 2014
Serpents writhe across sand dunes where Glaswegian slaughter pronounces her vivid descriptions which are not dissociated from sensuality.
There is a certain rhythm to Marrakech vibrancy, and it comes at the price of percussion awareness.
It is cold on this night of sombre reflection, where the North Line Express cascades across sectarian boundaries.
Please offer me a solid definition of socialism, because my loyalty is laid bare before the perimeters of hatred.
Have you ever driven along Bisland Drive?
My alcoholic escapades have firmly embedded in the annals of street history.
Do you offer your consent?
MdAsadullah Nov 2014
I'll tell you a story of a stony Island which had a beautiful beach.
In search of a touchstone, this secluded place some determined men used to reach.
This touchstone used to turn ordinary metal into Gold
Men came to search this stone to increase their wealth manifold.
Touchstone was there hidden within pebbles and stones and its colour was shiny blue.
Its greed used to effect adventurous souls like some dangerous and contagious flu.
A man with great difficulty reached this promised land
Next moment he was on beach searching stones and sand.
stones which were not blue were straightaway thrown into the sea.
He developed this habit of throwing and was never seen free.
He continued with this habit without any complain or fear
This went on till days became month and months became year.
One day after throwing a stone he stood stunned as if he was struck by thunder.
Because of his habit he threw touchstone whose colour was blue, what a blunder!
Now replace 'sectarian fights' with 'habit of throwing' and 'sects' with 'pebbles' and 'Islam' with 'touchstone'
All you wise men and women do I need to clarify any further, hold on to Islam your blue stone.
The droning above was so familiar
all the bombings not resolved.
There was nothing they could do
civilians targeted below!
Families lost with no mercy killed
deep hatred was instilled.

This was the only life they knew
childhoods never known.
Playing not with toys but with guns
not good for photo albums.
Living in ruins without basic needs
sectarian divides where it leads.

In many cultures it's passed down
can hardened attitudes change?
Is peace the outcome they really want
as elders remain entrenched.
What chance of future generations to seek
with strong unity that is meek!

Will we ever see unilateral peace?

The Foureyed Poet.
Many children have never known anything else but war! The Foureyed Poet.
Mark Lecuona Apr 2015
One too many days without freedom
One too many mornings full of outrage
As the sand pulled away from his feet
He would read then rip out every page

The words from heaven were for all men
But the boat wasn’t big enough; only for the few
A difficult man, he argued inside his own dreams
He neither sleeps or awakens until he knows what is true

Some people have to die before they know what’s true
But it’s not God who decides to tell them
Angels that foretold of his troubles in the night
Are the ones who must remind him

It is by the experience of man that he frames his picture
The color he chose is the sectarian assumption of superiority
How can anyone prove anything in the absence of truth?
He drew inward not to reject but instead to find his own sanity

The decision was made to live only by the mind
Power crushes a man’s will and his ability to succeed
We judge the results without reason or excuse
We forget what can no longer cry or bleed

The memory of the dead drove him to madness
They became more important than the future of the living
To compromise was to mock the power of vengeance
There was nothing to govern; only the will of the forgiving

He told her he didn’t want to talk; only to love
She knew how he felt; he was an idea and not a father
He was too heavy for life but light enough to care
His ideals were like air to breathe but hate was his revolver

He would die a thousand deaths for his people to be heard
But his bitterness could not overcome those who benefit
They were too tired to fight any longer
They saw the sun and told him it was time to watch it set

He was told that his life was no longer necessary
He could not operate within the system
A revolutionary knows yesterday has been locked away
The closets are full of those who pretend to love the victim

He assumed the rich stole everything
It was the land where his ancestors once stood
He began to sag under the weight of his own anger
Because if a bullet wouldn’t do it then he knew progress would
Blue shirt
I can’t trust a boy like you.
Sectarian sympathiser,
driving brothers apart.

I see a glint in your eye
whenever I
lean in for the unanswered kiss
self-assuredness is your favourite

amuse bouche. Nice with a fine wine
tastes a little like shellfish.
Picpoul de Pinet
for a girl that’s hardy on the outside.

Just when I am starting to turn
purple on the lips
you breathe air into me
and hide again.

----------

Believe me,
there’s red in these veins
and flames in my lungs.
Your eyes

eye me up, river blue.
Chip fat and *** smoke
make out for a foul cloud but
girl, you’re the pearl of the night.

Your mouth is the glossy phone
I should answer,
wanting love on a tongue
like a pillow of wine.

When you grip my shirt,
expect to connect, I end up
pouring out puddles of nothing,
your lips apart like violets.
Written: June 2017.
Explanation: A collaboration piece with fellow poet and friend Molly (https://hellopoetry.com/molly-5/). The first four verses of this poem are written by her, while the second four are written by myself. The poem deals with intimacy - one person wants it, the other is a little reluctant to give it. My piece is intended to reflect elements mentioned in Molly's piece. Feedback is very welcome and appreciated on this. The poem should also be found on Molly's own page. I recommend you check out her other work. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
NOTE: Many of my older pieces will be removed from HP at some point in the future.
Soiled vital waters
fetid air, putrid eyes
enshrouded in their mess
pray your savior at mass.
Parched throats of children
skyscrapers of greed to worsen
Apocalyptic weathers.

Laughable leaders
******* you whole
you nodded to their role!
A nation forming fighters
Renegades! Ink traded for
a green and gregarious grenade
and in theaters, more horror and gore.

Curl up in bed with your ***** fingers
Ignore the insisting despair that lingers
Unattainable towers of desire
Sketching lines in your petty quire
Shout out to your flag carried by jocks
Olympic games of hardened idiots
Humans on paper, hideous grey flocks.

Sectarian society silenced by dollar signs
stupidly suffering the absurdity of this all
Lather your body in perfumes to find you whole
wash away the stench of your indifference
Gulping down whatever nectar of horrendous hope
Willingly treading down a meaningless lethal *****
Even our dying Earth won’t bend your deterrence!

August 29, 2018
Lyon
Poetical anger
Victor D López Dec 2018
god is dead
he died of a bad review in The New York Times
that accused him of being
a fascist
and a *****

he is being replaced by a new
non-sectarian trinity
of
Me Myself and I
all of whom are
free
to **** god
and say
god is dead
god dead is
dead is god
is god dead

I think I have heard somebody suggest
(and therefore I have)
that the Department of Health is soon to issue
new and improved
antiexistentialistdespairpills
free of charge  
to every adult
man and woman
sitting in front
of his/her
TV/Smart Phone/Game Console/Computer
waiting for
godot
Slightly revised from the original in Of Pain and Ecstasy: Collected Poems
ConnectHook Oct 2017
Luther walks forth in yon majestic frame,
Bright beam of heaven, and heir of endless fame,
Born, like thyself, thro toils and griefs to wind,
From slavery’s chains to free the captive mind,
Brave adverse crowns, control the pontiff sway,
And bring benighted nations into day.
Remark what crowds his name around him brings,
Schools, synods, prelates, potentates and kings,
All gaining knowledge from his boundless store,
And join’d to shield him from the papal power.
First of his friends, see Frederic’s princely form
Ward from the sage divine the gathering storm,
In learned Wittemburgh secure his seat,
High throne of thought, religion’s safe retreat.
There sits Melancthon, mild as morning light,
And feuds, tho sacred, soften in his sight;
In terms so gentle flows his tuneful tongue,
Even cloister’d bigots join the pupil throng;
By all sectarian chiefs he lives approved,
By monarchs courted and by men beloved…
from: The Columbiad, Book IV  by Joel Barlow

While the little ones are making plans to do their door-to-door candy scavenging tonight, let’s not forget that for Christians all over the world, October 31 marks Reformation Day.

It was October 31, 1517 – 500 years ago – that a monk by the name of Martin Luther nailed his 95 theses to the door of the church in Wittenberg, Germany and set off a firestorm of controversy, but ultimately, changed the path of Christianity with what was the Protestant reformation. He also drew the ire of the Roman Catholic church, whose hierarchy had found the selling of “indulgences” to be quite profitable.

“Indulgences,” by the way, were bought from the church. For a price, otherwise unrepentant people could “buy” forgiveness for their sins, trading money for a get-out-of-Hell-free card.

Yeah. That’s not how it works, and I shudder to think of how many are in eternal agony today because the church cared nothing for their souls and did not do their duty to call them to repentance, but rather, took their money and sold them false security.

Once word of Luther’s 95 theses reached Rome, they were studied and deemed “heretical” to the church. He was given 120 days to recant by Pope Leo X. He refused, and in January 1521 he was excommunicated from the Catholic church.

I don’t think he really cared.

In April of 1521 he was asked again to recant, and his writings were ordered to be burned. He hid out for a year in Eisenach, Germany and began the project of translating the New Testament into German. A transformative project that took 10 years to complete.

Luther’s later years were equally controversial, although, not in a good way. There’s no sense in visiting that part of his life, except to say that he was very much human, and we all are prone to stumble.

What he began with his theses, however, was a good that cannot be taken away.

From the Reformation movement, emerged the Five Solas, the very heart of the movement, and crucial to this Christian life.

Sola Scriptura – Scripture alone. The Bible is our highest authority, when it comes to the teachings of our God.

Sola Fide – Faith alone. Only faith in Jesus Christ saves us.

Sola Gratia – Grace alone. It is the grace of God alone, and not by the graces of any man, that we are counted as saved and forgiven.

Solus Christus – Christ alone. Only Jesus Christ is our Lord, our Savior, and our King.

Soli Deo Gloria – To the glory of God alone. It is for the glory of God alone that we live.

Beautiful.

The Reformation became necessary because the church of the day had drifted from the purpose and intent of Jesus Christ’s teachings, layering over the simple truths of who He is, and who we are to our Father in Heaven with the ambitions and greed of men.

Today, I thank God for the Reformation, that the truth of Christ and his free gift of grace no longer be hidden from humanity, or distorted by politics.

God does have a way of working things out.

From:  https://www.redstate.com/sweetie15/2017/10/31/lets-talk-reformation-day/
Liam hopson Oct 2018
LETS ALL STOP DWELLING ON THE PAST
WHATS DONE IS DONE
THAT TIME IN LIFE HAS ALREADY PASSED
TRY TO FORGET IF YOU FAILED
TRY TO FORGET IF YOU WERE OUTCLASSED
REMAINING IN THE PAST
WILL ONLY MAKE YOU FEEL LIKE AN OUTCAST

ITS TOMORROW WHERE YOUR FUTURE CHANGES
FORGET THOSE STUPID ARGUMENTS
FORGET THOSE STUPID EXCHANGES
REMEMBER THAT YOUR THINKING CHANGES
REMEMBER THAT POSITIVE THINKING REARRANGES

GOD HAS HAD ENOUGH OF THESE SECTARIAN WARS
ILLWILL IN THE PAST IS ALWAYS THE CAUSE
LETS JUST STOP TO THINK
LETS JUST STOP AND PAUSE
LETS REARRANGE THESE STUPID LAWS
ONLY THEN
WILL WE BE WORTHY
OF GODS APPLAUSE
Safana Nov 2023
My country will have wings to fly.
As long as there are young people like Betta Edu,
She will make my country fly into the sky.
I can see Betta Edu.
A woman like many men.
She is fearless, and she is brave.
A true politician is not a snake in the grass.
Edu is a very hefty elephant.
She is a tiger that doesn't bite.
because her gentility is soft.
And she's a very charismatic lioness.
She deserved leadership.
She is originally from Cross River.
Women, there, they are not joking.
They are known to be peaceful.
They don't have any ethnic or sectarian beliefs.
Everyone is hers.
Hausa is all hers.
Yoruba is also all hers.
And also, Igbo is hers.
The south and north are all hers.
Men and women are known to everyone.
an inner conflict dust brew
within this scribe, who offers ye to chew
(like sweet treats metaphorically) thee do
tee incumbent, when Doomsday clock
     counts down minutes few

according Al Gore rhythm  
     unstoppably ticking,
     when life gets turned to global goo
tenderized viz Doctor Zeus

     if not Horton Hears Hoo
then most definitely The Lorax
     (couching urgent morals underscored
     by satellite photographs

     showing melting icecaps or igloos,
which planetary sos, sans in extremis
     requires joint effort of Gentile and Jew,
plus every other sectarian credo,

     dogma, ethos...knew
clear family, and whatnot
     to become linkedin with Linda Loo
yes, we moost not forget

     Old McDonald with his moo
moo there bovine creatures
     agedly hobbling along, or new
lee born, cuz juiced one day

     per three hundred and sixty five
     (six with leap year -
     imagine dragons festooned leotard
     with brand name Oroblu)

or poor ole Whinny The  Pooh
eternally stuck in Rabbit's
     hole sum Hutch as a queue
doth loosely form dreaming up and rue

mien hating solution
     (burning the midnight oil) true
lee trying to remedy plight
     of said bear character,

     perhaps unstated message being woo
king in tandem solutions to resolve
     wretched condition of world wide web
     possible by bridging differences
     between me and you, and you, and you...
If only the man who led a saintly life could
Enter the Kingdom of  God  What hope is
There for the rest of us.  I speak  now of us
The common man but charity asks more  of
Us  Let who is without sin caste the stone.
But if this is so it matters less the road one has
Taken  than the portal he arrives at.and given
Welcome to pass thru.  All that counts in the
End is the end.  Christ's is the Spiritual nature
That one must take on..  Christ the condemned
The villain  that accepted the world's shame and
Guilt and said : Not my will but thy will bc done
While those that loved him could only stand in
Silence, some with tears in their eyes as  He was
Crucified.  Think not that this is some sectarian
Story i am repeating;  it is a universal Truth.  Not
In its particulars but as an iconic meaning. Every
Man's destination and fate as chosen by our Father.


A Fable:
Once there was a cracked dish and after some rough handling it broke in
Two pieces-One was much larger and an argue,ent ensued.  The Large
Piece  said I am not broken it is you that is broken.  The smaller piece said
No it is you.that is broken my guilt is less as I am smaller.  What is obvious-
The plate was broken and no amount of argument about relative guilt would
Make it whole again.  When the pieces realized this and knew not what to do they realized that they were both about to be discarded despite a long and shared history.  Then with a contrite heart they  called out their sorrow to the householder in who's  and for who's service they had been made.  And sharing in their pain He came unto them and said I will heal your parts and ask for gentle usage for their will remain a crack that all be warned that Love
is fragile.
Borker is instructed in Demiurgy, after learning that everyone was gathered at the banquet. He tried to intercommunicate with everyone looking for the reason and intelligence of the soul that he attached to him when they were reunited. His faculty and the authority of the souls of Trouvere led him to the ancient of Helade, in her ritual that was of great heritage and vernacular purity. His freedom of action led him through the forests of Nothofagus to discover his qualities as a Demiurge, fasting alongside the Geodesic quadrangular of Vóreios, Notós, Dyticá, and Aftó. Leiak with the assertive legal chastity of him assisted him for the possibilities that were priorities of the same to distance himself from the magnetism of the souls of Trouvere and the Ghosts of Shiraz, who were unified in the face of geodesy, to excite flat emotions. Borker takes the sword Xifos from Vernarth, makes a circle separate the barriers between the ghosts and the souls that were summoned, so the hoplite grotesques that were relatively close to that dimension, began to grasp the center of eternity. The circle will break the taboo so that the rules of the Duoverso allow the opening antiphon that is pre-figured in the eclectic portal of the nearby cell of Procoro, there was also a bronze vase that would be used to symbolize the reality of unreality, under the level of the condensed water that used to be stored in these Borker rituals. Annelids and pieces of meat from the Falangists were seen entering the circle, scaphoid ossuaries prowled the larnax of Alexander the Great pointing in advance on the losses of the Soul after winning the World. The Souls of Christi were added as a corollary of the common reason to be alive or dead in a verse, which could inflict a sectarian aligned in the Mortis arsenal league, that is, it began to continue moving before the eyes of others declaring a common parable to the magical sighting. The first ritual was circumscribed to the necromancer circle, which in turn towards another round of front on the precognition of another curved space, which mediates the sepulcrity of all to the future in the senses that have never been referenced for a common, that only sees on himself, and sometimes invisible like a Shiraz or a Trouvere. Borker looked carefully into the eyes that were not typical of those who observe, but rather of those who diffuse inter-spirits that flow through his pontificate, clarifying the vision of others to make Vlad Strigoi the one to assist him, since he would gloss it better. The sensations spoke of the true spirit that passed among all and lived to be reborn in the neatness of their actions, in later seconds they would verify their roots with the image of Notós, for the superior moments of spiritual governance, where everything moves and now it will visibly shake it. , unimpeded by the stages that made her invisible, and without the awareness of abandoning a body, which has always been verve among all the perceptions that speak of the Psychic Being, incomplete shimmer of transition towards the Austral, towards the supra-austral! where the Necromancer calls to the Demiurge to quench his physicality, to turn it into a physical and psychic tactility, which invokes a moderate spirituality that converges on the physical, but without limiting in his vitality. Borker released the fetters of the Notós, to travel to the southern-Boreal of Jakidiki, near the sea of Cassandra, very contemplative of the rapture of foreplay to Kallithea, towards an epithet so that the coast of the Cyclades is not demonized, making the circle of Borker a summoning of Cassandra as a living Sibyl, ordering the dawn of an organism allegedly biologically disorganized. The air becomes furious and the wings become gigantic with Borker's orders to sculpt the obsolescence of greater harmonious sounds, over a breath that needs Aion and limbs to move, before the sudden differential of the spirit that only systematizes the connection of liberation of a being not released. Temporality decides to shelter itself from combined conservatories, and from risky guardians who spread their powers risking their own essence as a refugee object and subjective sedentary.

The forces that were born from others, scalding the physical arcane that transmigrated to the psychic arcane zone, systematizing salutary hordes of immunity, which inflicted the natures of the Corpus that were being formed with the demiurgic necromancy, the willing was based on the ordered numerals that made the acrotera rise. , which remained weightless on Zefian's tetra saeta, marking the Eruv of positioning in the greatest preponderances of a fervent transition risk, which was deposited in the hands of Borker as constructive pollution to get close to the ossuary of the Falangists of Arbela, which they were returning to the world of the Living, from the Tremens or trembling delirium that was aggravated in the non-converted supra-gifted bodies in the fangs of history. All the skills of the world roar through the lamps that will discover the work that hangs from a Níma, which is spliced by its rethreading in the Physical Spiritual world of Borker. The will to dig over himself transformed into the revival of the Arbela soldiers so that they would revive, to assist in the construction of the Megaron, then they would stop being unburied spirits purging the broomsticks that throw the dice from the cunning of the throw. , and from the bravery hoplites that instruct the intruders that they are only risky pavites, but without necromancy training. The despotic of the swarming souls are liquefied, with empty bodies but as whole spirits, the ossuaries are quickened and trembled with cold, the bad regretful moment of the bad omen shone in the circular container, and vanishes before everything with the ocher nails of Vlad who assists Borker to open and then close the environment, under an arcane attribute that would resemble everyone's appearance under such *******. The movable objects of the pantry and cellar of Prócoso were sneaking along the path of expropriation, leaving visions behind the ashes of the mantle that temporarily sheltered the full moon of the uncontrolled regression by the shoulder of Getsemani, which alluded to winged tetra appearing in the lattice. that hid the night in its curb, beyond the exact devotionals of San Juan and San Pablo. The lifeless tongues lay to revive in the sacred spaces that touched the earth of the unlived new world, from nothing they only aspired to the prototype of Hillel, for the intelligence that flourishes in the ******* coarseness of those who do not escape from ignorance and who he only thinks and does not act. Shemash and Apochróseis (Sun and Shadows) were lengthening from those that grew through those who still stood on the flat Encina as a console, and were under the predestined Mataki of the pilgrimage of two worldly and momentarily unexplored dimensions. Saint John takes the chalices and illuminates them with the Menorah, where they were encouraged to reside on the sparkling curves of the full moon, which was only preparing to reside in only two cosmos that would unite, under the ******* of one who did not collegiate ... they empowered facilities in the trances.

The Ekev or reason or cause, was in the domain of Saint John when he blocked his eyes and was transported to the year 70 AD in the Judeo-Christian war. Jerusalem was destroyed and its temple too, devastated as well as the Beit Hamikdash that was collapsing, each stone deposited in the free fall of its walls textualized a Christian Gnostic in the stage of analysis of the Apostolic Apocalypse, which led them to the Analogy of the Ditycá , or Equinoctial after the points of expectation that everyone captured when San Juan opened his eyes. The values to prove the truth pontificated before the Ekev, which consolidated the importance of the events of the fall of the wall caused by Tito's troops. This flaunted regression of parapsychology was always guided by Vernarth, Saint John interceding with the matrix of the collapse of the Neshama soul of the Beit Hamikdash, which was inaugurated from there with the free fall of the grafted stones of the voice of the Mashiach, to appear together in the reinforcements of the Zealots to collect the orphan stonework from their free fall, generating the blessed word and testamentary supplication with the fact of bringing all that daring to collapse, for the next oscillation of the Ekev that affected the Testament of Levi, with a large amount of mass tonnages that would follow the parable of ascent, to ***** the word and the action of generating and raising the Megaron, before the Stav or Aramaic winter from where the Mashiach will resemble.

Saint John says through Vernarth: “we were surrounded and lacked legions to stop the advance of the barbarians, the walls were destroyed by the draconian battering rams, but our tefillah turned in the adversity of the siege, seized by our resistance and attracting the forces that rebuilds everything, captivating the volume of voice that determines everything that has already been done, beyond all periods without any architect to redesign it, free fall will be what is catapulted from the uncontrolled fire of catastrophe, which is also rebuilt in reverse. People and their moans became escape routes to sneak into the Tefillah or prayers that skimmed past Caesar's head on his dais, taking with them the souls in the flames that engulfed everything. The demolition was the grace of new construction of the elemental material, and of the consecration of the wasteland of a table under the Mataki, where everyone with total normality dried up seeing the visions of the Prophet of Bethsaida, tying the laces of their sandals, with the towers of Fasael and Miriamme, for a great height of observation of an equinoctial that was now made in the analogy of the Dyticá, which carried the aromatic images of Saint John to perch in the cyclamen forests, towards a divine encounter in Patmos, moving the vocality of the crowd that brought with the force of his voice, in all the building of the stalls that would be contemplated in the twinkling of the eyes of the Saint with his Ekev, for preterism as a prophecy of a Yeshua who was born in the walls turning their voices into the bricks, which built the living gospels in the column that diverged in the Vernarth archivolt, celebrating with him.
Borker Demiurgy

— The End —