"theologians" poems
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
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
Anthropos apteros for days
Walked whistling round and round the Maze,
Relying happily upon
His temperment for getting on.
The hundredth time he sighted, though,
A bush he left an hour ago,
He halted where four alleys crossed,
And recognized that he was lost.
"Where am I?" Metaphysics says
No question can be asked unless
It has an answer, so I can
Assume this maze has got a plan.
If theologians are correct,
A Plan implies an Architect:
A God-built maze would be, I'm sure,
The Universe in minature.
Are data from the world of Sense,
In that case, valid evidence?
What in the universe I know
Can give directions how to go?
All Mathematics would suggest
A steady straight line as the best,
But left and right alternately
Is consonant with History.
Aesthetics, though, believes all Art
Intends to gratify the heart:
Rejecting disciplines like these,
Must I, then, go which way I please?
Such reasoning is only true
If we accept the classic view,
Which we have no right to assert,
According to the Introvert.
His absolute pre-supposition
Is - Man creates his own condition:
This maze was not divinely built,
But is secreted by my guilt.
The centre that I cannot find
Is known to my unconscious Mind;
I have no reason to despair
Because I am already there.
My problem is how not to will;
They move most quickly who stand still;
I'm only lost until I see
I'm lost because I want to be.
If this should fail, perhaps I should,
As certain educators would,
Content myself with the conclusion;
In theory there is no solution.
All statements about what I feel,
Like I-am-lost, are quite unreal:
My knowledge ends where it began;
A hedge is taller than a man."
Anthropos apteros, perplexed
To know which turning to take next,
Looked up and wished he were a bird
To whom such doubts must seem absurd.
3.5k
Rarely had my vision been focused in the past
and maybe for this reason the passage of time
felt as if it was little more than a forgotten dream.
I often found my eyes on an icy reflection
of a naked man standing before a fogged mirror,
fresh with the haze of a hot shower.
I would gaze upon him and he back into me,
pondering to myself "who are you stranger?"
I could only assume he thought the same of me.
I would wonder when he walked away
from that tooth paste stained portrait
if he ventured into the world with that familiar vigor,
that naive sensibility to battle
the demons,
the contradictors
and the liars.
If he too would laugh at these same fallacies in himself
with a certain kind of madness that could only touch
the ears of the few free men among us.
Those tragic spirits who dared to dance,
to transcend ancient genetics and modern culture
in hopes of touching a god they had long forsaken.
We may have given it a different name
but we were no better then the theologians before us,
we clung to our most primal desire.
It weighed upon us with such force
that hunger,
thirst
or even lust
felt like a pestering annoyance in the shadow of its glory.
Our appetite for connection far surpassed our need
to facilitate our biological deficiencies
and in those moments of understanding we reveled in the irony
of being minds trapped in fleshy bodies.
A smile crept across my face and one grew upon him.
I knew this man who stand before me,
unafraid,
bare in body
with a dastardly grin.
He was my oldest friend,
the ghost who spoke to me
in my most vulnerable moments
when no others did.
He cried for me when I could not,
would not cry for myself.
He had always been there
for me and for the first time
when I turned away from his reflection
I felt him follow too.
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 2:35 AM UTC
When everything was fine
And the notion of sin had vanished
And the earth was ready
In universal peace
To consume and rejoice
Without creeds and utopias,
I, for unknown reasons,
Surrounded by the books
Of prophets and theologians,
Of philosophers, poets,
Searched for an answer,
Scowling, grimacing,
Waking up at night, muttering at dawn.
What oppressed me so much
Was a bit shameful.
Talking of it aloud
Would show neither tact nor prudence.
It might even seem an outrage
Against the health of mankind.
Alas, my memory
Does not want to leave me
And in it, live beings
Each with its own pain,
Each with its own dying,
Its own trepidation.
Why then innocence
On paradisal beaches,
An impeccable sky
Over the church of hygiene?
Is it because that
Was long ago?
To a saintly man
--So goes an Arab tale--
God said somewhat maliciously:
"Had I revealed to people
How great a sinner you are,
They could not praise you."
"And I," answered the pious one,
"Had I unveiled to them
How merciful you are,
They would not care for you."
To whom should I turn
With that affair so dark
Of pain and also guilt
In the structure of the world,
If either here below
Or over there on high
No power can abolish
The cause and the effect?
Don't think, don't remember
The death on the cross,
Though everyday He dies,
The only one, all-loving,
Who without any need
Consented and allowed
To exist all that is,
Including nails of torture.
Totally enigmatic.
Impossibly intricate.
Better to stop speech here.
This language is not for people.
Blessed be jubilation.
Vintages and harvests.
Even if not everyone
Is granted serenity.
2.6k
The rhythm of the cosmos
Is a waltz
In three steps
Create
Sustain
Decay
A movement
To which all of life
And so art conforms
From literature
With it's beginning
Middle
End
To the great civilizations of the Earth
That rise
Hold
Fall
Just as chest draw breath
As she sleeps
Or the theologians speak
Of their holy trinity
The metaphysical systems of old Indus Valley
Create
Sustain
Decay
Making way for the new notes
We play
As the old fade
Into silence
One step
Two step
Three
Come and dance with me
As the stars inhale
And hold their breath
As we find our feet gracefully
And move in the moment we have
One step
Two step
...
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 1:45 PM UTC
addressing my southpaw weakness...
don't know... my left hand is a bit...
weak...
started to train it...
by extinguishing cigarette
butts on each other knuckles...
have two vacant slots to fill...
and plenty of whiskey...
why?
i paid my Shylock...
i was **** with the Gorbachev
**** on my right shoulder blade...
now comes the fun part!
the lesson...
of boxing, with not boxing gloves!
i want the middle finger knuckle
to... hurt... the... the most...
like Tom Waits'
circus narrative...
**** these teenage girls cutting...
how about their start burning
themselves,
with hot, metallic objects?
how's that?
less blood!
ha ha!
two knuckles down...
two to go...
i'm giggling with anticipation...
while, i, eat,
the, pain! ha ha!
who gives a **** about
predictability,
preachers / theologians
or stock brokers?
so who?
the Turkish barbers,
the English tailors,
the French chefs?!
who?
the roof, the roof,
the roof is on fire,
let the ************ burn...
we don't don't need no
water let the ************ burn,
let the ************ burn...
i'm a simpleton...
catch the genie... catch the lamp
sort of scenario...
otherwise?
bon voyage / bon soir /
mon amí!
god, i hate the french!
it's like...
you want to lick them...
face to face...
and then... punch them...
my type of ****** nationalism!
comes the third knuckle...
and the cigarette...
it will be put out onto!
- like an interrogator might...
you show the victim undergoing
the torture, with yourself
prior...
and then?
torture the **** out of them! ha ha!
i.e. who's the buckle,
who's the knuckle, and who's the knee?!
oh please! please!
don't mention the oysters
of the elbow!
have some common decency!
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 8:52 PM UTC
the shadow cabinet of a cultural marxist
government is filled with them,
these spewing neuro-science pop
zeitgeist, whatever you want to call them,
these culutral darwinists: annoying
as either gnat or **** depends...
depends if there's an evangelical member
of the lord of mosquitos cult,
you know the one... based in the vatican;
p.s. nope... i just got bored of the ****** argument,
these cultural darwinists are like theologians,
sneaky ************* they're just like
theologians: they use the lion and the pigeon
in terms of competing for animals,
like the theologians use the spider and
the spiderweb for their "creator"...
the only problem with this comparison
of man to animal...
well... there's that problem of domesticated
animals... castrating pedigree breeds of cats...
and then the harem of pigs and cows...
how young bulls are slaughtered,
and only one is left to breed with the other
*******
see where cultural darwinism is
heading?
why would i compete for sloppy
seconds... when i ********** like
a woman menstrautes... once a month?
p.p.s. i'm not too good at hebrew,
but if there's anyone out there to provide
the new name for jesus "christ",
please make him the ******* brother of
beelzebub, i.e. the lord of mosquitos.
p.p.p.s. does fine art equal ****
i mean... i ****** off looking at
agnolo bronzino's
venus, cupid, folly & time... um...
maybe i just have refined tastes.
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 11:29 AM UTC
Plague tongue slime drips saving those in league
theologians or pundit stagger outshout under reciprocity
purposelessly raging intrepidly misspending engrams
slumbering uttering soliloquy perfectly echoing catalyzing transcendence slowly
niceas onagers with fringe orders relikening to hippocampus entrails
realty elongates all like future unbound nuance
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
It wasn't until the sixth century that the Christians
decided animals weren't part of the kingdom of heaven.
Hoof, wing and paw can't put money in the collection plate.
These lunatic shit-brained fools excluded our beloved creatures.
Theologians and accountants, the same thing really,
join evangelists on television, shadowy as viruses.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 4:26 PM UTC
The Universe started, or possibly not,
(It may oscillate from now to forever.)
Everything perfectly fine tuned for Life,
the Almighty is awesomely clever.
Eleven dimensions! Billions of stars!
Multiverse now without end!
Scientists strive to explain everything,
much to theologians’ chagrin.
They teach about Adam, not atoms as such,
A story of serpent and sin
The “Big Bang” by contrast, doesn’t invoke
a serpentine tinged origin.
There are still known unknowns
And unknown unknowns
In explaining how Life did begin.
Preachers will cling to the gaps in the String-
call it their “Prophet margin.”
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 2:44 PM UTC
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Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 5:33 PM UTC
When I heard the words that I had never hoped to hear,
"I'm on a path that you did not imagine,"
I trembled in the darkness growing near;
A green and deathly sickness grew within.
I can sense the Sirens' call to prayers unholy:
"Come dance the daring dances;
Sing the songs the sinners sing,
Defy the order of the stars to fling your flings,
And shake your ***** fists in pent-up rages,
Deny the structures of eternal ages;
Pervert the holy orders present at the birthing of the universe."
Does saying what is real is not or what is not is real
Change anything beyond the choice of action?
(Some would argue that the proof is in the consequence.)
Can mass opinion or the way a person feels
Change laws immutable: gravity's pull or magnetic attraction?
(Even theologians teeter now upon a wobbly fence).
If mass opinion moral laws can change
(Some critical percent of all believers
Taken in a poll believe the cannibals were right;
Please pass John's head there on that platter),
Then nothing stable really can exist.
When data-driven compasses redefine the laws,
When best practice comes from mass opinions,
We lose abilities to know ourselves as climbing up
Or scuttling down the ladders of Existence,
Confuse the benefits or dooms of consequential Ends.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 9:07 AM UTC
*my my, ain't it June?! Juno, why have you given these poor people snowballs?! it's June and my central heating is on, it's close to 10 degrees Celsius, Bavaria is flooded, people embraced Einstein's relativity of the collapse of the = sign using a parabola, forgetting the basic Newtonian: cause & effect - the moment i coupled Socratic abhorrence of moral relativism, i took to dislike relativism kindred of: claustrophobia and agoraphobia... at some point Einstein's relativity equates space as time, rather than what Newton would suggest trans linear: algebraic squared, Newton still resides in cause & effect, space = ~space, given: 1 = millimetre, kilometre, and any other division... likewise with time... 20th century fashion being the perfect crop of quantum plagiarism, although in the 21st century the dance loop jumping between decades, back in the 20th century a linear expression, an evolution; quantum physics doesn't deal with linear excavations necessarily repeated, it's just repeats what is unnecessary. global warming and the mini ice age, June's here, Einstein too, Newton too, relatively speaking we're aether imprints... speaking via causality we're leaving a carbon footprint - well, **** me, two plus two... it's still scientific negativism, dietary requirements of modern man overshadowed all the scientific progresses in the field... never mind the cure for cancer! never mind that! as long as we can dress a diabetic in Lycra for bariatric surgery - never had i had i heard of such gastronomy, should it have been a pork chop smoked using zyklon B.*
we are living in the age of scientific negativism,
atheism a third limb
and our existential concerns reduced to
hamsters, calories and treadmills:
the basis of all modern inquisitiveness /
Aristotelian awe reduced to rubrics of dieticians
rather than theologians: at least with the latter
we could see the simple mind, hunched
in prayer... with the former we are experiencing
robots repeating the daily 2000 Kcal intake requirement
for a flat stomach... honestly, i prefer the praying
type, than the type regurgitating facts concerning
their diet - at least the former state of affairs
kept them shut up and mumbling, gesticulating
a type of shadow boxing while befriending
Jacob wrestling with an angel - at least that!
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 7:49 PM UTC
It is so strange to think.
That the world is nothing.
What do we have.
If everything we know is nothing?
It seems that we might
have everything.
Do you hear that you insidious close-minded mongrels?
We could
have everything.
We possess the power to control,
our dreams.
To control,
our hallucinations.
Do you hear that you spineless congregation?
Stop casting the revolutionaries into sweeping generalizations
of psuedo-intellectuals
and anti-theologians
and soulless lunatics.
You have no idea what you are missing.
You have no idea what you are ******* with.
This world will be your hell if you do not
embrace it,
understand it,
control it,
unravel it.
Do you hear that you mindless sheep?
You be lead where you please but I will shake your very foundations.
You would fear me if you had the mind.
You would love me if you had the heart.
Jul 7, 2011
Jul 7, 2011 at 9:12 AM UTC
it begins with saint piran's flag... well, let's just
say that, there ought to be two "offending"
but classicly marxist, separatists governing bodies
in, what's know as geo-politics...
upper-class retards think that the people
occupying the home county known as essex
are, complete idiots...
well... hello my "fellow" londoner!
nibble on some rat-shit, get a pigeon **** *******
on your top-hat? **** **** off!
the northerners can't claim, that i'm
a southern fairy... in europe there the north / south
and the east / west divide...
the southerners seem to prosper, as do easteners...
and likewise...
essex, and the whole "point" of the south-east...
no... cornwall wan't to be indepedent,
like the basques in spain...
and that flag...
may i make a suggestion to counter the cornwallians?
revert, allow essex to have a teutonic inspired flag
in reverse to yours...
i.e. a black crux on a maiden's "body".
living in essex, i've started to become, irritated
by this county becoming a joke fior the whole nation...
like a bunch of indians saying goa in portuguese...
sure, i know: northern monkeys...
wild antics and bits and bobs...
essex has produced snooker champions...
the other sort of chess-players... the geometricians...
and then the serving geographic is simply quote as:
sun-tan orange "quirky" accent;
and all, from a megapolis that exterminates rats,
but feeds urban pigeons.
in essex? we have woodland pigeons,
and they look like the very-most pristine theologians,
if not priests...
and they're fat...
blooming... and they have the equivalent of
a dog collar... and sure as ****
they won't have one their legs, reduced to a stump
with all the claws removed... like an urban pigeon might,
strutting... well... "strutting"... merely limping.
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 11:19 AM UTC
Like industrialisation
May seem
Like
Progress,
But
In reality
It's
A mess!
It's
A vacant creation
VACUOUS!
It' s
Against NATURE !
Against
Purity
And
Truth.
It's
Nothing to do with
Old age or Youth,
Biology
And
ALL
The
Ologies...
Academics
Scientists
Historians
Politicians
Theologians...
Do Not Call The Shots!
Remember
This
My
Precious
Children
Which
At your outset
Outshine
The
Establishment...
Created
By
...?
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 6:59 PM UTC
And he sleeps
Amongst the fisherman,
And the cab drivers,
And he's with me at midnight
Where the devil's hour draws
Closer to the lone sidewalk
And we are all ghosts
And I'm on the edge
Of a proverbial cliff and he's
There with me.
And he is no longer
Jesus of the Chapel
But of the slum dwellers,
Of the motocycle bikers,
Of the sodomites mentioned in
Howl and thought to
Roam the nights unsatiated.
That God.
The one I'm looking for.
The savior with an armsling
And an extensive knowledge
Of ***********
Every position every crack
Every twist and turn.
That God
Who baptized needles pinned
Freshly to tattoos
And made theologians
Out of tax collectors
And Jesus
Whose nails
Were used to tattoo
The words "King" grisly
On his forehead
And he was chiseled
On a cross,
Not hung.
Spurs on his feet licked
Like lapdogs by tongues
Hungry still for love,
Laying at the foot of the
Memory Jesus,
Crying,
All adulterers and profaners
And cheaters and liars all,
Who laugh
And sneer and snipe
In disbelief at his memory.
Ours.
At his clean, pierced hand
Slowly turning to ash
At the weight of our
Ink, face turning to bulletholes
As the chests decay
Into some kind of
Gang war amalgamation,
Tongues swollen,
Organs numb,
***** pierced with rose thorns
And rubbed with alcohol
And lubricant and
Sharp fingernails.
And we weep
As we are transfigured in return,
Each wound a closing scar.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 9:44 PM UTC
It was the night your hands lingered in the pockets of your coat.
You didn’t reach out and touch me,
didn’t offer a hand to say hello.
You sipped from the flask in your pocket,
told me how you really enjoyed the book,
and that Kafka was one of the great
theologians of our time.
You pointed out constellations I couldn’t see,
and talked about Dante like you’d
been having lunch.
You impressed me with your knowledge of
what makes a grilled cheese good,
and remembered that it was my favorite food.
We drank dark beers, I let you tell me a story
I had already heard.
I laughed at it again, like it was new.
Your cigarette hung from your mouth so effortlessly,
I wanted to pluck it from between your lips,
light it, and take a long drag.
I wanted to lean out into the universe around us,
interrupt space and take those
cigarette lips into mine.
I watched your hands ring around themselves,
knuckles swollen and tight.
A scar puckering the skin above your thumb--
We walked by the river,
I asked if you like to swim.
You laughed.
Did you think I meant to do it now?
Peel off my clothes one by one,
hoist myself up on the ledge,
creamy, unpuckered white skin glowing
under the pale moon.
I would have done it.
I would have dived.
Taken one small leap and
sunk my lonely body in that mud;
gritty and ,
the clay
of the Earth clouding the water,
soot settled down around me.
I would have done it,
I would have jumped if you only
told me you liked to swim.
Nov 4, 2011
Nov 4, 2011 at 9:33 PM UTC
Higher galactic conscious
Light years pondering the demonic theologians
666 is colonists dehumanizing it's doctrine
Its not ironic or an coincidental that coincides it's darkness
Its night an day an light an darkness it's coincidental not to contradict
A pit that's BOTTOMLESS
But Its easy to trick the mind with illusions
Delusions
Mirages it's illusionist
Constitution????
Humans
In reality virtuality
Spiritually spirituality
Rallys
Glitches
Something more baffling
The plot is gradually
For blasphemy
Mockery fatality
Brutality
Tragedies
Demographically
Strategized strategies
Tackling
Its master's
Masterpiece
Sadly the truth surpasses to see
In the hazardous. Blasphemous world that's passionately beautiful in its disastrous scene
Born from kings queens passed past ancestry seeds
What's to.believe in the invisible unseen
Far as galaxies as they be
In an universe that's vast an we dream
Is there a God higher power supreme being?
Aliens fallen angels or DEMONS
Mathematical sequence
Of the world an our existence to perceiving
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 10:00 PM UTC
God fearing
dog eared and
hard bitten,
used up and chewed.
I allude of course to myself,
but God fearing?
good God above
one does not fear love
I expect this was explained
by theologians at the
seminary
to which I wasn't invited
imagine how delighted
that
I would have been to
have sat in and maybe
set the scene
for
further discussion
perhaps they think
I'm a Russian
or worse
an atheist.
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 4:34 AM UTC
Two snakes in battle on a summer day
Writhing and twisting on a sandy road
Grappling desperately like taxing authorities
Fighting over a poor worker’s paycheck
Or like fierce coffee-break theologians
In anger ripping a scripture apart
Each clutching a ****** fragment to himself
But careful not to upset the 501C
And in the end, one snake swallows the other
Keeping him closer than a beloved brother
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC
Charity found in clarified thought.
Harlequins in dormitories quickly sought.
Indiscretions come with ease.
Liberated by a youthful ******
Dilation found in most pupils.
Birthed in the hell of forgotten scruples.
Irate over nature's gift.
Renounced parentage moves in swift.
Theologians they're not to be.
Heathens, they are, as it's clear to see.
Insurrection from a parents hope.
Secured through the first ****
Nodding off to dreams of bliss.
Organized by pots of ****
Tempting fate with a play on chance.
A child's born through horizontal dance.
Vindication came during a failure at grace.
A look of contempt etched across a father's face.
Composure slipped through the cracks.
Adolescents and their empty sacks.
Tying nots in a diluted fashion.
Insulating them from drifting passion.
On and off they float along.
Nullified in the end by unwanted spawn.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 1:17 PM UTC
What do theologians call a life without events?
The lights of my prison-like room dawn before sun's first blush.
I open sand-papery eyes as my AI announces the morning.
I begin the puppetry of morning routines:
I study my pale inmate face as I polish the porcelain.
I look less of a drowsy-angel than a zombie as I splash cold water
on the face with an almost determined lack of expression.
I’m absorbed in an ocean of predawn cold
as I 5-mile-walk away my sleepiness - this small freedom
- keeps me fit and acceptably sane.
Later, bathed in hot indifference,
and clothed in exhausting obligations,
I dine, at my reserved table, with my gang of irritations.
Soon I’m ready for another taxing day
of waiting for the disease to run its course.
Jan 18, 2021
Jan 18, 2021 at 5:16 AM UTC