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Dark n Beautiful Apr 2015
The poets became the underwear sale men
They tried to sell their poems to the optimist
Whereas an Queen of African Pop singer exposes her body on stage
While belting out loud outrageous lyrics, because she was a crowd pleaser

Long poems, short poems
Old century poets, modern contemporary poets
We all have the right to sermonize your words into magical dust,
The contemporary poets stood on the balcony reciting,
Some onlookers’ claps and some Jarred

Today’s youth is being waste away faster than their elders
Chanting, raving ranting rapping lyrics from the balcony
making a mockery of the old century poetic poets
The poets became the underwear sale men
as they tried to sell their poems to the optimist
However, legendary John Lennon’s scribbles, letters and poems have proved a hit for Sotheby’s after exceeding their pre-sale estimates to sell for almost $3 million in New York.
The former Beatle’s nonsensical poem, “The Fat Budgie”, sold for $143,000 (£85,000) despite being valued at the much lower price of $35,000 (£21,000).
Handwritten manuscript “I Sat Be lonely” took four times its estimate and went for $137,000 (£82,000), while a corrected typescript called Neville Club surpassed its £12,000 (£7,000) estimate to sell for $100,000 (£60,000).
Vivian Sep 2013
I learned fear watching a twenty-something white man with three goody-goody sons and a wife of a teacher or maybe a teacher of a wife sermonize on hell clothed in the black cassock I imagine death decreed all pastors should wear in reverence to the end-all be-all. fear was realizing that all your friends that shared the same skin color were bound to hell by an omnipotent and benevolent and above all merciful god who couldn't tolerate any dissent. we were children, we were taught, didn't Jesus love children best of all?
I grew up, and then it wasn't just my friends who shared my skin color; no none of my friends believed in a higher power at all, and I was unsure I did.
but fear of eternity in hell kept me devout and that was when I learned that there was something worse than hell, there was heaven. how could I be happy without the people I loved? would God make me forget all about them? how could you be perfectly happy in a utopia with no problems to surmount? how could an eternal God judge mortal crimes so harshly? and then I realized that not even people who had dedicated their lives to preaching the word of god knew why God would allow it. I heard ******* arguments that hell was God's last great mercy, allowing those who did not believe in him to not have to be near him for eternity; I didn't believe them for a second. people are full of ****, but only because god created us in his image.
jeffrey conyers Feb 2011
Good morning, God.
I'm here to serve your will.
What plans must I expect, from you?

Who's in need, of the good news?
Is it the minister?
Who seems confused on the scriptures?
As he preach to the congregation.

Well, that would be hard because they the teachers.
And, I hadn't see one yet willing to admit they need help.

Is it the sinner?
Who can make some saints see a different view?

But, that's a good sign when someone challenge you.
We must now the word to spread the word.
But be willing to accept others might know a little bit more.

I have always ponder the minister's that question the thelogian teacher.
Who educated them on things within the holy book?
And once they get assigned to preach than they offering us their own personal word.

We hear constantly on, how we're robbing God in Malachi?
But getting people to accept that ten percent of their earning goes to the Lord many just don't buy.

They state it's like buying the word.
When Jesus stated go out and spread the word.
Not once did he say for money.
Of course don't turn  it down if it put a person's on solid ground.

The church isn't  made because of a foundation.
Don't matter what anyone say?
It made because of the people.
Who constantly continue to pray?

The Word was hear long before a building was form.
And, if it gets destroyed the Word will be here.
Even after the ruins.

Good morning ,God.
I didn't mean to preach.
I just wanted your opinion on my sermonize speech.

So, please forgive me lord.
If my comments stepped on a few people feet.
Created by Jeffrey T. Conyers all rights controlled.
jeffrey conyers Feb 2011
Good morning, God.
I'm here to serve your will.
What plans must I expect, from you?

Who's in need, of the good news?
Is it the minister?
Who seems confused on the scriptures?
As he preach to the congregation.

Well, that would be hard because they the teachers.
And, I hadn't see one yet willing to admit they need help.

Is it the sinner?
Who can make some saints see a different view?

But, that's a good sign when someone challenge you.
We must know the word to spread the word.
But be willing to accept others might know a little bit more.

I have always ponder the minister's that question the theologian teacher.
Who educated them on things within the holy book?
And once they get assigned to preach than they offering us their own personal word.

We hear constantly on, how we're robbing God in Malachi?
But getting people to accept that ten percent of their earning goes to the Lord many just don't buy.

They state it's like buying the word.
When Jesus stated go out and spread the word.
Not once did he say for money.
Of course don't turn  it down if it put a person's on solid ground.

The church isn't  made because of a foundation.
Don't matter what anyone say?
It made because of the people.
Who constantly continue to pray?

The Word was hear long before a building was form.
And, if it gets destroyed the Word will be here.
Even after the ruins.

Good morning ,God.
I didn't mean to preach.
I just wanted your opinion on my sermonize speech.

So, please forgive me lord.
If my comments stepped on a few people feet.
Created by Jeffrey T. Conyers all rights controlled.
jeffrey conyers Oct 2018
Why?
Do the wicked prosperous in society?
We can't deny it.
We see the signs.
Maybe its because they act so freely upon their intention.

Bold, direct and straight to the point.
An original hustler.
They go for it not afraid of the consequences.

One that deals in illicit games of the drug trade.
Visit many past and you see they aware of the consequences.
Most likely they have been to prison.
And got used to the confinements.

So one arrested it just their second home.
Turn the situation around and you see cops can be just as wicked.
Only when they busted do they offer up various reasons.

And yes, we see this with various ministers and teachers.
People with serious responsibilities.
Operating off of greed.
Who?
Doesn't believe churches are a profitable form of greed?
Or like they sermonize you're sowing a seed.

Okay, I have forgotten the oddest of crooks.
The politicians that stand before a few fools.
And have you believing they looking out for you.

So why do the wicked so prosperous?
Because we let them serve a God purpose.
He will expose those not doing right?

So this is my opinion for today.
in view of blue orchids
on a rattled omen vase
crust and core undulate
the ground shakes
and its crumbs spread to fulminate
along then came a spider with
a blue messianic face
pulling martyrs out like **** stems
from unsuspecting graves
unfolding the patchwork of
shattered porcelain paint
rim and base suffocate
luminous sprites spread
to fill in the missing space
with tired eyes and fire light
they meld it all into a frame
placed on a pedestal
to sermonize disaster
and voluminous revival in the wake
Three rows from the front
That's where I sit
Oh, and to the right of the pulpit
My eyes gaze upward towards our dear crucifix
I pray hard for salvation
I try harder to cast the devil aside
I listen with rapt attention when the priest begins to sermonize
During all this, I feel a tickle on my neck  
I feel as though I'm being checked
For whom I feel is watching sits about six pews back, and to the left    
I wonder, does he pray for penance too
Lord knows both him and I have given the devil his due
I try to brush it from my mind and listen like I should
But it's so hard when the one I want, though still far apart, feels like he sits next to you    
Time now for communion
I hope my vessel ready
I stride up to the communion minister
I'm starting to feel a little heady
As I walk back to my place
I take a chance and glance
He quickly looks to the ground
I know that he watched me
My cheeks grow redder as I remember last night's round
I kneel and pray, giving thanks to our God
And I say an extra special prayer
Thanking Him for letting him be there
Now that church is over
I breathe a sigh of relief
We didn't get struck by lightning
As been told in belief
Maybe my prayers or his and mine combined
Kept the devil at bay
Maybe God then was the one today
The one to show that it's ok, that this may actually be.
That him and I can quit punishing ourselves
That together we can be.
Oh how the devil likes to play even inside the Lord's home....
jeffrey conyers Jul 2016
Jesus, could take a sad tale and turn it into a tale.
One with a teachable lesson that grandparents mainly tell.

Jesus, change things with power and laying of hands that many today still sermonize upon.

We must fight for JESUS like he's constantly fighting for us.
jeffrey conyers Sep 2016
Ministers, sermonize often to church members.
When I'm not around you act different.

Notice, how some treat the homeless.
But if that was Jesus he be treated different.

We front when it's appropriate.
Pretend when it's needed.
And sincere when its required.

The ones you treat harshly in life.
Sometimes be the one need the most.

Angels surrounds us.
We just don't see it until needed.
We see this with Jesus the Christ.
jeffrey conyers Feb 2015
The minister's stood behind the podium and preached.
It's against the word of God.
Words written by men.
According to some assigned to speak for him to the world.

But as, with anything in life.
We add on to our words with opinions.

It's against the word of God supposedly men with long hair.
But as we know, it was what protected Samson for a time.
Until he was manipulated to tell his secret.

We safely sit and agree with many ministers.
Although in certain circles we are around.
We truly offer our opinions.

Some agree.
Some disagree.
But somethings stands out.
When a few speak truth"I can't speak for God".

Cause maybe in truth He seeking our truth.
That all people's of living air entitle to the life they live.
For the bottom line is, we all are so very different.

What?
Did she and she?
Or he and he?
Ever do to you.

Sure He created woman for man to share and multiply.
But over times, He's seeking to see our adjustments too.
On acceptance of others that might not seek our ways.

Some of the best sinners, are ministers.
Who sermonize a lot?
It's against the word of God.
Written by men.
But inspired by Him.

Who can honestly say?
God heart isn't totally about loving mankind.
We know women held up standards more in scriptures.
But gets so little credit.
Cause those words, was written by men.
H McDonald May 2020
Before the bomb exploded, before my own last breath,
The terrorist in bomber’s vest pinned a poem to his chest.
A poem that foresaw my death.  

Can I read your poem?  Can we conceive of what you’d pen?
Did you write of anger? Or pain, or fear or when
your own father went to war, or his father before him?

I might think, some riotous spirit you’d invoke,
a thing of fury, envy, rage.
But rather, you might fill the page
with every pain of every age
a memoir of a stoic sage.

And this great choice before you,
Do you see it as a chance to free your heart, to free your mind
your soul reborn, your choice resigned, your one last final stance?

“Do they not see?”  You wonder, “that I’m not scared to die?”
“That all my wrath, all my worth, this choice will amplify?”  

You’d ask how kings and lords who dine,
who themselves drew the battle-line,
in restaurants, sipping sparkling wine,
now sermonize and opine
your life and mine should intertwine.
jeffrey conyers Nov 2020
It's against God's word.
Says who?
You?

Can you read God's mind or words of human men?

It's the words of human men guiding the world of today.

A woman should be quiet and submissive is of a different time.
But many follow still along this line.

It's against the word of God.
Says who?
Scriptures or you the so-called preacher.

All we read God gave Mose those inspirations.
But we all been around ministers that sermonize and then suddenly states God just gave them a message.

I guess they having a Moses moment.

It's against God's law.
But some truth remains that God speaks for himself.

He needs no help.
Let alone an interpreter.
Aditya Roy Jul 2019
Finding lost lamps in the endless river
Finding lost paths in the endless sea of shiny slivers
Superimposed by cherry blossoms looking to get red, falling like the samurai wind
A metaphorical sword in the word of the kicking and rolling with the deracinated punches
Leers and steers, queers and the prayers comin' in the firm hands and the strutting souls that just can't make it through
Trembling and positive rhapsody, heartbeat flows through these terrible feelings with ease and rough edges
That gives me some relief in the ruins of a time past and has gone ne'er to wait on the cusp of time
The temerity of the weak people gets on the nerves of the patient who wait to test time
Loving you is like a trap, and the journey ends up in the faintest memory
These are things that make the spring lust, undermining everything that I remember

The sunset line can be mistaken for this road of hopeful faith
And opportunity comes with it, and some lost souls find their destiny awakening
Impression and departure, it's just case of arriving somewhere but here in the future of adversity
Fickle lady luck you've made my life, a metaphorical world
Just for a metaphysical girl, in case I just forget
How funny it is when life is times in perspective
Adding a soundtrack too can make it or break it
etudes, classical violins and broken dreams in this town of blue notes and thick smoke and purple groove
Haze doesn't work as a substitute for connective interfaces
Freedom to bucolic cygnets too truant to dream desire and demean
Swimming in the pool with the same ducks and ugly as cracked places
Traces of you, smoldering smitten semaphoring thoughts of someone close to you

Killjoy, repeat joy, you don't say; tell me more about your bebop and hip pop
Hip hop doesn't stop, until the groove is gone and the night as right
I guess I'm to blame for that rap music
Trepidatious isn't it being surreptitious, sounds silence in the dancing dark
Your mountain dog helps you awake in mended ways of a villainous version of systems and resuscitated governments
Of hootenanny, heralding the vernacular and jokes and veritable wine of aged humor, the dogs of the military take it all
Sharing it with the slightly avuncular makes it singularly appealing

Like a rat crossing the vegetations to look for slavery
Forging the plots of the bubonic pathos of plagued souls
Logical isn't how the rebirth died with a topical topsy-turvy thing called metaphors and teenage angst
Tranches and branches, stigmatize these sprigs of hovering forest of the streams of streaming rivers through the Conrad lands of radiance and splendor
Reminding of madness, barren words of the baroness, iridescent memory
Telling us only time could wait for us, and tell us to fly above all these vermins and scar tissues
Sermonize and call the heaven-sent, and ask for destiny awakening, in the crimson red, celestial bodies that resemble celadon
Love is true, till is you, that flows through the river in you
I could tell you till my face is a different hue, I dream of a better time in this place called reality
Reminding myself everything is in reverse, and distant memory is just the closest feeling I recount when each iambic meter states the verses of this timeless life  
Remember from the blues and the acropolis and metropolitan incriminating, all these people going across like fleeting figures of the literary imagination
I could care less, and leave this city too, this is a thought I keep
If I could run away from this destiny too if I wasn't sleeping at the new kid's place in this town, drinking on the borrowed time of strangers
Trenchant, turpitude and tocsin is the truth when it comes to freely loading all your murderous cases of reprise and flickering lamps
True is just me that thinks it's relevant to this germane generation following the natural order, calling it the new substance
Simply railing through this blazing road, I'm on fire
Intermission and comes transience
This hip hop is old and so is the talk of condolences, shot rappers for gold and fake names
Riches from rags, to make homes out of the outbound trembling time that scares common time
And talk of immediate memory, and thespian and tulips blossom similarly
Putting on an act, like the midnight pretenders bending midnight spoons
Surmise and I suppose to be yours if I could get over these brighter stars of the darkness
Make your magnum opus with the correction and subjective precision, that you would show an etherized patient
Terse and cursory, you're spontaneity only syncopates with the silence
The redaction of statements would be criminal and I would rather like your writing on some stolen notebook
Grasping and gaping Centauri, releasing gases like the solar chrome horses
Inane and intermittent, aren't these sunshine beams, God wouldn't want me to be a sagacious beam
In the unforgiven law of the supposed religious belief and the dream weavers, make of the same sky we share
They might mistake the distance of the Sun, for God's light shining on cues
So, says the man who sold the world, to the cumulus accord that governs the capricious desert
Surpassing this law takes some law and serfs, breakfast is served by the smurf-head
The sun shines on us all, especially those who have mouths to feed
And don't understand boulders, unsteady tears, and cologne
They revel in the thought of seeing sunshine on their weary shoulders the coalition of the hollow men
Country roads, hitchhiking, I'm lost on road called sunset free street, the straws burning
People ask me, why I never appear on this trailblazing cars and find a hilarious lintel saying "This way for Love."
Suppose, I should tell them that I'm famously private and I don't take rides from strangers and don't lend hands to those without money
Love talkin' about that sometime, honey
Sometimes is never and some semblance of the past that was fiduciary
Smug and shy, I'm not sure that guy brings me some childish dreams and inspired, stirring, and compelling stories
Cabin Fever door closes five dollars,
a-Bag Used Book Sale
Sunday, February 23, 2020
hence less than twenty four hours
before avid readers bewail
foregoing scampering across Hillandale
vital poetic proclamation

yours truly doth broadcast,
albeit apologize short notice,
while courtesy warden
at Highland Manor Jail
gave scant time regarding
voluntary convict generic male
i.e. hastily dash off important message
pinch hitting talking head (me)

hammering metaphorical nail
if able, eager, ready and willing to hightail
body electric charged without fail
Lower Providence Community Library
50 Parklane Dr, Eagleville, PA 19403
buzzfeeding, grubhubbing, ripsnorting...
adieu, I in track ably rant and rail

take rucksack in hand
aforementioned (mere pennies on the dollar)
golden opportunity doth avail
to appease hunger for knowledge
pinteresting plethora reading material,
cuz ordinarily soft and hardbound books
cost fifty cents and one dollar
respectively without fail.

Analogous with General
George Armstrong Custer,
whose ***** deed done dirt cheap -
a vindictive haughty Civil War buster
subsequently sabotaging his military luster
received deserved comeuppance -

(strictly mine opinion, which
don't find me to cringe nor fluster),
yea for Indigenous Americans courage to muster
said brainstorm idea burst thru mine
fifty shades gray matter like... gangbuster.

Any Noah Ark kin sawed
Pacific intent to sermonize
merely interject personal opinion gussied up
with reasonable rhyming guise
creative freedom of speech, I tactfully exercise
when airing similar perspective (such as...)

if election results constitutes Democratic
securing commander in chief prize
Tuesday November 3rd, 2020 where cries
of hallelujah and huzzahs
(maybe bajillion hosannas
thrown in for good measure),
no extra mayo to relish nor fries

brief political predilection
(fingers n toes crossed hopeful prediction),
which trump petting one
ordinary Joe Schmoe buys
him cautious optimism, as myopia doth apprise
how democracy going to hell in handbasket
linkedin lockstep as global governments

webbed publics militarize
against youthquake (me = aging, livingsocial
media professing, wheezing... no lies
long haired pencil necked geek baby boomer)
proclaims Matthew Scott Harris approves
bad mitten (din) age and persiflage
the aforementioned broadcast before he dies.
The following lines
haphazardly linkedin
slap dash fashion
over the course
of dazed and confused days,
therefore desist reading
any profound meaning
if you dear reader dare expend
energy and time perusing
meandering gibberish.

One mortal wedded male
pledged his troth and married gold,
thus Marigold (abbreviation of her name)
my monied imaginary paramour,
I willingly tasted sweetened deal
until milk of human kindness went sour,
whereat said benefactor
no longer ponied up funds
and didst reckon
eyes that espy wads of moolah.

She naysayed bequeathing
unlimited largesse,
and claimed over generous
financial beneficence
spurred misplaced
horse sense to go amiss
not thee holy grail
viz billeted, fortified,
lulled, and touted panacea

steeped with ushering bliss
delivering monetary salvation
analogous envisioning mirage
to an ephemeral lost horizon,
which illusory utopia
foolhardy to chase after
fostering long globe trotting criss
crossing all four square corners
across the oblate spheroid

in search of said golden manna,
experiencing das boot
jilted jack of alt raids
copacetic, fetishistic,
idiomatic...logogrammatic,
opportunistic, rhapsodic, universalistic...,
nevertheless despite surge
of clamoring sycophants
bajillion dollars windfall wordsmith
wishes himself subsequently

cursed bing flush
with ample legal tender
quite ad aware
regarding the over emphasis
on material trappings
courtesy the blitzkrieg of
mass media/ popular culture
and the adumbrated pleasure
of the leisure class

vis a vis his venerated holiness
trumpeted, encapsulated, and donned
conspicuous consumption
(tba as wasting away greenbacks)
SPCA adopted pet credo, ethos,
hot button western civilization polemics,
this hortatory expressed
by Thorstein Veblen
doth not miss

a figurative beat,
which American
not so shabby chic ethic
brought him as eminence grise -
though tongue in cheek he made Swiss
cheese out of the bulwark
constituting the capitalistic coda,
which I rarely sermonize, but tis
only this instance to beseech
whomever may anonymously

intercede on my behalf
to parlay voo any dollar figure -
since this LXIV year old papa
of two fully grown
darling daughters struggles
psychologically like the dickens
learning how to take broken wing,
and a prayer
to reinforce analogous fence of defiance,
yours truly uber twittering

one flew over the cuckoo's nest
birds of a feather stick together
meaning mine other half thee spouse
similarly tussles and wrestles
with psychological mailer daemons -
that snigger and laugh
at owning psychic landscape,
as similar malevolent depredations
infiltrate my mind –
ousted through the staff

of pharmaceutical wizards -
this chap relies on eight
prescription medications
to attain quality mental health
and receives social security disability
for incursions of anxiety, panic,
and social schizoid disorders
in years gone by exacerbated
by unceasing verbal black barbs
from mine imaginary mistress - ha.
Walter Alter Aug 2023
you have such a good mind
why waste it on the next ten minutes
in the grand tradition of spiritual vagrancy
OK then another merry Sterno Christmas
wedged under any freeway overpass
the drunker you get the better I look
some of my best friends are antonyms
granted my thoughts have been poisoned
but by my own semi-hinged family
the stars are bright out here
you can hold them in your palms
they can make you howl like a lobo
loping across the radio tracks
on the outskirts of Zenith Arizona
both ambidextrous and symmetrical
a well recognized dangerous combo
there were silver bullet gunshots that night
and he lay in a pool of moral stupor
wondering what could be better to desire
what might make us more intelligent
could only be answered adequately with
try to carry the weak until they are strong
and shape your clay to get us to the next step
on the desert paradise lecture circuit
ready to sermonize you purple
be sure to bring your snakebite knife
a lot of reptile men out there
and six inch long insects
never mind give me subway crime
it's not the ****** banality of evil
it's the functioning persistence of evil
being a ******* survival attribute
pressing in from all sides
rest your ******* easy lad
teach yourself sanity nobody else will
but at least he could divide
the ground from the sky
connect a few of the zillion dots
knew that death was inconceivable
cursed the day he was initiated
into prehensile Neanderthal wonderment
next I'll probably be hearing from
the Neanderthal Liberation Front
Godzilla stamped out 17 cities
before they invented the Z-Ray
turns every molecule in your body
into hypochondria and pop therapeutics
it was as deep as he got
into a most case scenario

From "Pageant of Naked Mischief" available on Amazon

— The End —