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Metaphor Religion Poems | Metaphor Poems About Religion

These Metaphor Religion poems are examples of Metaphor poems about Religion. These are the best examples of Metaphor Religion poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse | |

Moments In Time

The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark

The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been 
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark. 

Copyright © John Paluszek | Year Posted 2013

Details | Alliteration | |

THE LAST DAYS

The days seem to go by so fast. there is a void in the air, the birds have lost their vibrant beat, the ocean has lost its luster, the soil feels solid and dry.
 
My soul feels as if it has left my body before my death, my dreams haunt my day, the tears stain my steps, my doctor says that it is depression, I say that it is reality, I am intoxicated by society,I am numb by perscriptions.
 
Why do I feel so isolated within myself? is there no one in my painfully tight shoes? can anyone understand my pain? can anyone melt in my sorrows? why am I this way? why is the world so cruel? why can't I be normal?
 
Wait! I am normal, what am I saying, I know now, the veil has been lifted, humanity is my enemy, the sins that drip from their sweat, the dread that follows their shadows, their souls of black, their intentions of greed pull a shade across their eyes.
 
They are destined for doom, they will not be saved, they will not find salvation, they belittle me, they curse me, they shame me, but they are right about one thing, I am different, unlike them, I will be saved in the last days.

Copyright © stephanie hanvey | Year Posted 2013

Details | Dramatic Verse | |

Money

Money money, ringing in your tills,
Calling us to worship,
The hundred dollar bills.
Bend our knees in wonder,
Bow our heads in awe,
At the power of the liar,
Who now controls us all.
From the darkest deep caverns,
To the stars in the sky,
From the infinite universe,
To the strangers passing by.

From your inner most conviction,
To your laughing in the night,
From everything you 're  seeing,
To everything out of sight.

The new God has risen,
To claim the holy throne,
The one that we have emptied,
Our hearts all cold as stone.

The throne that we have emptied,
We killed the rightful king,
Sold his crown an sceptre,
Pawned his sacred  ring.

Raised his bleeding body,
Up on that bloody hill,
The silent lamb still bleeding,
As the money fills your tills.

Copyright © ness tillson | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Reality's Angel

I am Reality’s angel resting on the broad shoulders of discovery the truth feeds darkness and engulfs its target ideas and concepts in turn become meaningless to you there is a creator of all things He is just and patient many still have fallen into the masses of shadow wrapped in their own filthy idols of philosophy I have seen grown men fall like rose petals and weaklings rise into unjust leaders forever the follower of furtive evil dominating only to remain inferior the most important answers lie in the unseen regions where no sense can fully give assurance the mind that so many unreasonably twist and turn grows weary because of the distance it must take and truth be told the distance is not what frustrates it is knowing we are seeking something far that could very possibly not exist, that our minds can twist into theoretical, idealistic nonsense it is knowing all we really think we know is meaningless and yes—even a lie all that has been written thus far rests under my wings under the warmth in which you refuse to feel can you believe in me— though I am completely unseen? how much more difficult would it be to see Him?

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

Details | Didactic | |

s HIP

 An inquiry into form






There-                            Not here?


Start over-                     A planet and good for YOU!   maybe-


 'Bigger than a breadbox?

So-     vegetable!    GREEN     like €x spec tations


HERE-                    n OT  THERE?


Not again?!             therefore  "w€ s€€"?


NO      Justa                 s  p  a  c  e        (maybe)

with a shape!          Like mathematicians?
                                                                                       l
    (they gather in blue confusion)    so?                             l
                                                                                     i
So a word with a Sumar    add dress                               h
                                                                     A summer address?
    ·  The cats break-open the weeping kitchen  ·            e
                                                                                h
BROWN then         like perfect patterns        just over  t  
                                                        
                                                         and

                                              € = Q = U = A = L

Copyright © Robert Warlov | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

Generic Minds

generic minds listen to generic music
have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive
watch generic things talk about generic things
gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease
better get your flu shot 
thats what they said to me
a suicidal vaccine 
a subliminal killing spree
its contagious and the outrageous
thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye
that they didn't even know they had
it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians 
inside the looking glass
with nightmares of being free
without a key to their mind
for it is trapped in the frequency
in the illusion of time
bathed in our universe
killing all that refuse to see
those that admit to hypocracy
or see the message in hip hop
how cant you see
the message in the lyrics that
bring adolescents to their knees
from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh
contradicting that they're the best
but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest
that they dont wanna go home
that they should ride alone
with the gat as their only companion
and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told
until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane
inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain
they realize that the music itself is ashamed
so whats to look up to
when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak
your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees
now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious
so when youre screaming oh please
close your eyes and bring your mind to life
open your eyes for the first time
and never wonder why
since the answer this entire time
has been inside
and you better find it before you die
you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others
a buncha brothers missing their mothers
but only seeing strangers
only feeling the haters
wishing they would have used their minds when they had them
and now its too late,
now it's time for another new born fate to grab them

Copyright © Green Trees | Year Posted 2012

Details | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: IV

God made all people
But some better than others?
Stop being silly.

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Blank verse | |

The Eye

The eye,a sign the 
unwise can't comprehend
  Forged from the world's 
origin,an 
illumination in darkened 
minds,for the 
enlightened ones like 
Leonardo da Vinci,Isaac 
Newton,John Milton....etc.
   The eye is a tree 
with many branches like 
Priory of Scion,Knight 
templars,I.O.G.T,United 
Nations,Masonic 
Lodge,Music industry, 
Politics,global economy, 
etc 
stretching beyond 
human imaginations-felt 
in all corners of earth.
  The world is clothed 
through wisdom from 
above.
   The eye,all seeing 
sign,an invincible 
emblem of power and 
riches to the lion hearted 
and loyal souls.
A seat of influence and 
fame.
  Creating the social order 
through men of power....
  Some see it as a 
curse,others a blessing.
  I feel it,the great eye is 
everywhere watching 
you!

Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu | Year Posted 2013

Details | Blank verse | |

Sea And Space

I see outer space
As the place
To retrace the roots
Of the human race.

I see under the sea
Is where our bodily
Cells first came to be.

Man's heart is in the stars,
Holding onto the dream to reach Mars.
Man's history,
Written in the stars as destiny.

I am but a child,
Born onto this planet turned wild.
I am but a soul
Sent here to alleviate the toll.

I see a sea of stars,
A healing ocean for our scars.
I see an empty crater
As void as our love for our Creator.

Man's fate has
Always been to create.
Man's destiny is to face
The sailing of the vastness of sea and space.

Copyright © Marissa Faries | Year Posted 2013

Details | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: VI

The body: sacred
We’re all made in God’s image
Hence... circumcision?

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

The Parish

When the time comes we shall all gather, 
People of all walks and talks together, 
In front of the parish for the Holy Communion, 
It is here that we meet our companion, 
In holy matrimony we unite before the father, 

But this is no ordinary parish, 
We separate men from boys before they perish, 
We relish in wines and spirit, 
Just like church goers after the Holy Spirit, 
In beer we trust because its fetish, 

The parish,
I drink until i perish,
In beer my life i cherish,
I wish to make a wish,
Parish, perish, cherish, i wish,

Just like the church seeing holiness in the pope, 
In the bar tender we see drinking hope, 
We speak in tongues under the influence, 
And we never shy away from an audience, 
So don't demonize us, we don't do dope, 

Just like Jesus who walked on water, 
We keep on walking like Johnny Walker, 
On your wall the Holy Virgin Mary, 
On mine you'll find the famous Hale Berry, 
Unlike them were living our happily ever after, 


The parish,
I drink until i perish,
In beer my life i cherish,
I wish to make a wish,
Parish, perish, cherish, i wish,

We've never missed a bar gathering, 
On several occasions you've missed a church meeting, 
We pay all our dues to the bar tender, 
You hardly give two percent tithe to the preacher, 
So when we meet in hell spare me the greeting,

Copyright © Billy Simani | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

My Footprints

It's not footprints that we should be talking about -
They’re personal – my footprints, bold and giving,
Which shape me, make me me - who I am:
They're not Jesus’s, the king of living.

Your personal history partly determines your life,
Helps you, or makes you want to overcome,
Makes you want to become who you want to be,
Because I'm more than just my history’s sum. 

The Jesus that we know is a universality:
Communal, all-knowing and immortal;
But that I evolved and am part of humankind,
Gives me purpose and a rather large portal.

Individual responsibility makes the criminal weep:
His actions are only his, there's no leeway;
It gives the success story her satisfied smile,
At past determination in her disbelieving day. 

Existentialism posits we each exist without divinity,
As self-sufficient entities with meaning as your call;
Supernature strokes the ego, fondles the pride,
So just believe in atheism and be relational to all. 

In Mary Stevenson’s Footprints poem, 
Jesus carries you, with his footprints in yours;
But I think my role-models, physios and teachers,
Along with myself, carried me in theirs!

Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Gratefulness

To be absolutely certain To be firmly convicted in principle and belief Is the scariest feeling of all But, like all feelings, it never lasts The conviction stays, but the mind wanders Deep into the zones of ostensible comfort Where it rests merely to frenzy Into the streets of opposition Straight into the absolute wrong But the feeling never lasts It returns to the minute certainty The mind becomes determined in the conviction it has embraced And the best feeling rises above the initial fear: Gratefulness
6-29-13

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

Details | Dramatic Verse | |

The Silent Lamb

The silent bell rings in the night,
Calling the devils to kneel to the light,
What once was, becomes no more,
As the light breaks through the open door.

What you think and what you feel,
What you saw and thought was real,
Is now only dust on the road,
The desolate remains of your ancient abode.

The new light is rising on the hill,
The new song is singing down in the well,
The new souls are dreaming of your face,
The new hearts are beating at you pace.

The old ideas and reasons you gave,
Are buried in the tomb and in the grave,
The rotting bone and flesh are gone,
In the morning dew, in the morning sun.

The light shines through the open door,
Casts no shadow on the old dirty floor,
The ancient laws of reason and might,
Crumble to dust in the morning light.

What once was real and certain as rock,
Is now the dream the baby forgot,
The new light coming to wake you my love,
The silent lamb and the flying dove.

more of my poems at :
http://labyrinthoflies.com

Copyright © ness tillson | Year Posted 2013

Details | Romanticism | |

Prime Mover

Like the seraphs whose wings unfold,
Christ's light and glory goes not untold;
as the love of his humble grace
moves inside me all time and space,

as the planets orbit heaven's sun
and encircle it one by one--
so, too, am I caught in his sway,
beloved of him from day to day.

Through hosts of astral dimension
God's angels fix their attention
with expectancy and burning pause
around the universe's First Cause.

He, the one true Incarnation  
that begets cosmic causation,
resolves the Infinite Regress
from the pre-Socratics' egress

with his omniscient wisdom
and the archives of his kingdom
where all can come and read and know
what miracles he'll yet bestow.

Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2013

Details | Villanelle | |

Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 48





Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent – 48

Prod not the elements fierce dragons can wake
Tsunamis El Ninos smog haze acid rains
Anger of the Heavens lightning thunder quake

Qian the Father Kun the Mother did hands shake
But Eldest Son Zhen can put mankind in chains
Prod not the elements fierce dragons can wake

Final signs there to see which we still forsake
Can World War scenarios depict real pains
Anger of the Heavens lightning thunder quake

Class race religion which can most money make
What takes over countries do it for its gains
Prod not the elements fierce dragons can wake

Mythic gods we concoct for our ego’s sake
Have not they all harmed us more than mindless brains
Anger of the Heavens lightning thunder quake

Nation States make fated World we must un-make
The single choice One Race One World or HELL reigns
Prod not the elements fierce dragons can wake
Anger of the Heavens lightning thunder quake

-	End of Part Two  

© T. Wignesan – Paris,  2015

Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

The Sculptor

I feel Him chip away at my flesh.
The vibrations shake to my bones.
Pieces that were once part of me now fall helplessly to the floor.

Every scrape of the chisel,
Every pound of the hammer,
Every piece that is broken from me stings with immense pain.

Why doesn't He stop?
Why is The Sculptor so cruel?
Doesn't He realize that each swing He takes is a nightmare to me?

I would be better off as stone that was never touched,
I would be more content without the suffering that comes apon me,
But I wouldn't be a work of art.

Each chip of the chisel is intended to remove a piece that shouldn't be there.
Each pound of the hammer is meant to force the hideous fragments far from me.
Each move The Sculptor makes, takes me closer to His plan for me.

I must trust, knowing that He never takes off too much.
I must be ready, knowing that He never leaves His work incomplete.
I must be thankful, knowing that I am being made beautiful in His eyes.

The acute pain is only a short part of His plan.
The lasting anguish fades in its own time.
Though heart, and soul, and body all grieve, the permanent state will be that of finished work.

I may not know the reason for each strike,
I may not know the fault with each sundered chunk,
And I may never know.

I know the sting of the chisel now,
I know The Sculptor has a plan,
My part is to trust that He will not work forever ... but that He will be done.

Copyright © Bradley Musgrave | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

The Bridged Breach

A demised man without
Jesus is dead.
So also living soul without
Jesus.
Jesus manifested
for purposes,
What purposes?
The hopeless.                 
to receive hope,
To set the captives free,
Destroying forces 
Of darkness.
With thirty pieces;he
Manifested.
Dark forces defeated.
Our sins forgiven,sure
Access to the father.
Breach in Adamic time,
Put in oblivion by lasting
Bridge-
access granted.
His love is lasting.
The death of Jesus!
Lo He has resurrected!
He lives!

Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? | |

MLK - 1929 - 1968

MLK...
(January 15, 1929 – April 4, 1968)


they shot you down
all those years ago

but

your dream lives on
and always will

for though much has been
gained since you dreamed
your dream

there is much to fight for
and much more to struggle for

and much, much more
to fight for still

so
your dream resounds in
our hearts and we pledge 
this to you today
for though they shot you down
all those years ago on a memphis day
we shall overcome
this we do believe
deep in our hearts
that
we shall overcome
someday...


(for Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.)

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Dramatic Verse | |

Sometimes

Sometimes there is silence,
Sometimes there are words,
Sometimes there is meaning,
Sometimes it's absurd.
Sometimes you are near me,
Sometimes you are far,
Sometimes there is darkness,
Sometimes guided by a star.
Sometimes we are up and 
Sometimes we are down,
Sometimes we are slaves,
That wear a holy crown.
Sometimes we are arrogant,
Sometimes we are proud,
Sometimes we are someone,
Lost in the faceless crowd.
Sometimes we are rich and 
Sometimes we are poor,
Sometimes we are angels,
Scratching at the door.
Sometimes I'm living and 
Sometimes I am dead,
Sometimes there is no thoughts
Turning in my head.
Sometimes looking forwards,
Sometimes looking back,
The circle still unbroken,
The train still on the track.
Sometimes we are caught and
Sometimes we are free,
But we always come back praying,
Under this olive tree.

more at http://labyrinthoflies.com

Copyright © ness tillson | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? | |

Blasphemy

Blasphemy

The caustic tongues of the evangelists,
Across all creeds and faiths,
Seem as brittle as an old bone.

For they promise heaven and they spew forth threats of hell
While neglecting the words of that man who walked in Galilee

'let him who is without sin, cast the first stone'

the caustic tongues of the evangelists...

across all religions
new-age and the ones of old
baffle me even as I hear
a single simplistic sermon

for they really do, view us all
as blind imbeciles
scurrying around like faithless vermin


the caustic tongues of the evangelists...

wag on and dazzle us with visions of an eternal paradise
while here and now
their hypocrisy festers
within their earnest
well-meaning eyes...


'...dil mein hai khwaaish-e-hoor-o-jannat
aur zaahir mein shauk-e-ibaadat
bas hamen sheikh-ji aap jaise
allah-waalon se allah bachaaye...'


'...in your heart you desire the maidens of heaven
yet in the now you practice the rituals of piety
o' sheikh, may allah protect me
from the people of allah like yourself...'

is my tongue as caustic as the tongues I write about?
if so, then glad am I
for they shouldn't be the only ones
who preach and rant and continually shout

from their pulpits ever so high in the sky
from their hubris of comfort in possessing the 'truth'

from their 'knowing' that heaven or hell
awaits both the strong as well as the meek

while oblivious to the reeking foul smell
that encourages prejudice and hate
and visions not of peace
but of endless chants and prayers

which they, in their opium haze
rattle on and on
as they never seem to cease to speak

and though I’m sure that all this bile that I have spewed
will threaten
hurt
and offend

friend and
unfriend and
acquaintance alike

but...

take pity on me instead
for it'll surely be I
who'll burn eternally
impaled by a benevolent god
on a slightly warmer than normal day in hell

on a crude wooden spike.

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Lyric | |

Hey Bartender

Written 2010


Flashing lights and sounds roll by
Hear the sound of muffled sighs
Sullen words cannot express
Just confess, and lift it off your chest
Told the priest would hear your cries
If you don't feed him blatent lies

Oh he's your only friend 
But he don't want to hear your sins
He's off doing his own thing
But it's far from priestly things
Oh he wont look in your direction
Let alone show you affection
Even when he hears your plea,
"Hey bartender please!"
Gone are all your hopes and dreams
All you ever sought to be
Heard from all across the room
Are many empty pleas,
"Oh won't you pity me?"

You can close your eyes and count to 10
Again and again
But he wont come back to help his fellow men
He was your only friend, but he left you all alone
To wallow in your sin
He failed to listen to your prayer
Now your lost in dark dispair

You can hide behind your cries
But he'll see into your eyes
Until the time you leave his bar
And wobble to your car

Copyright © Brandon Carter | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? | |

The Tragedy of the Banished Revolutionaries

The Tragedy of the Banished Revolutionaries.

Epochs apart, yet,
bound by conscience,

Buddha, 
Jesus,
Moses,
Muhammad,
Ram.

Enduring the whispers of time,
through creeds professed,
sermons preached,
and a million sins confessed.

Though,

the essence,
of these banished revolutionaries,
is ceremonially muted by ritual,
and gleefully crushed under,
grandiose edifices,
that serve Religion Inc.

"And the meek shall inherit the earth",
an incendiary thought,
conveniently discarded,
for the pie in the sky that must be sought.

The tragedy of the banished revolutionaries,
stings.
stabs,
whispers still,
for us to hear,
through the din of the cacophony of prayer.

Buddha,
Jesus,
Moses,
Muhammad,
Ram.

The tragedy of the banished revolutionaries,
persists,
each day that we choose,
to shun the meek,
and mouth conscience-salving prayers,

for yet more silver,
and yet more silk.

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sometimes in the dark I see snakes

Must have been six when I encountered my first carnivorous reptile 
Walking up the up the hill with my brother I spotted what looked like a snake
I'd heard of snakes, from my mother's tales
I saw it, I wasn't sure whether it was a log or what..
Then I took off running as fast as I could
My brother said it was dead, lifeless
For a long time my brother loved retelling that story

My mother's tales, of walking cockerels wearing red high heels
Of long big snakes with their tongues vibrating and hissing
Of cats and how they see demons, hence "the black cats phobia" 
All these representing a face, an evil force, a witchcraft. ..

The many warnings: 
Never shake their hands
Never go to their house
Never eat their food
Never befriend their kids
Never talk to them
Never look at them
Never take their gifts 

I remember how one time we burned several sea shells
Because
"Sea shells have bad spirits and that's why they make that sound"
And this was done far from the house, in the presence of a pastor 

Sometimes in the dark, in fear, I see snakes
Either behind me when am walking in the dark especially in the house 
Or at the corner of my eye, I may see some figure
And sometimes when I sleep, I have scary dreams of snakes 
And as I have grown older, I've come to interpret these dreams as a sign that someone in my life is deceiving me, someone is trying to hurt me or someone is trying to take from me
So in those times when I have those dreams, I always pray
Being a Christian I understand there are forces out there, of dark and light 

Shindwe shetani

Copyright © njeri hunjeri | Year Posted 2015

Details | Dramatic Verse | |

Signs

The signs are here, for all to see,
The thunder clouds, the dying tree.
The shining lights, that draw you near,
Loud heavy music, in your ear.

By word of mouth, or through cyber space,
The hidden pictures, of your face,
The northern lights, are dancing south,
The rumours you hear, by word of mouth.

The sign are falling, from the sky,
Raining stars, on the passers by,
While the battle rages, on underground,
The innocent dying, without a sound.

The cries of heaven, the screams in hell,
That no one hears, down in this well,
The terrible beauty, the open wound,
The innocent babies, in open tombs.
For all to see, for all to hear,
The blind man's painting, the deaf man's ear.

The birds are falling, the fishes drowned,
What once was up, has now become down,
The tender and loving, an empty shell,
The gross and the ugly, now the rallying bell.

The signs are here, for all to see,
Titanic sinking, on a blood red sea.

More poems at http://labyrinthoflies.com

Copyright © ness tillson | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse | |

Loneliness

Loneliness

He sits at the table and watches the shoppers walk by
There aren’t many seats here, his half-hour limit’s long past
As one by one each worker chats with him; they know this guy
He offers them something for which they could never have asked
Is he all alone but for these times where these grocery carts
Roll blind past this spot where store patrons with sandwiches sit
How much does it matter: he touches the store workers’ hearts
As he in time opens his heart to them too, bit by bit

We need much more than loose companionship: each needs someone
Moment to moment – if you neglect this basic need
And find yourself lulled fast asleep in the Florida sun
The others who share the beach with you will pay you no heed
Your skin that was once yearning warmth having found itself burned
Though long you’d been caught in the thought that you hardly had much
Real need for another – your heart was blocked till you discerned
The pain forcing you to withdraw your own wound-healing touch

Loneliness thus begets loneliness through lack of flow
Leaving society toxic and cold, though aren’t we
Some of the most social creatures: you think we would know
Given the size of our brains that we’ll never be free
To live in our grand isolation – say is it not sad
That we who’ve accomplished so much remain cruelly alone
In safety behind our four walls or four doors, for we’ve had
So many a fear we may act like our hearts are of stone

Most folks are either religious or distant, I think
Though there sure is joy in connecting with someone untamed
If you can sell such on your pat ideas, you may well drink
One and all from the same cup; how could instinct be blamed
For scorn and exclusion of real individualists
Don’t we know strangers whose ways of life cause them to be
Left to themselves with their thoughts – why they’d hardly be missed
That’s why it’s trouble to live as a visionary

He sits at the table: what is he, a healer a saint
Or maybe Kieslowski’s calm witness of silent insight
Observing the Decalogue unfold without the least taint
Of any least judgment, since all of us know our own plight
If you would engage him in talk would you hear unique thoughts
Or would you yet cover him up in the news of the day
And squelch him clear out with a barrel of shoulds woulds and oughts
So leave him there lonely since he’ll never know you that way
    ~ Thanks Always Returns

Copyright © Thanks Returns | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

JEZEBEL

Dim lit, damp and distant corner

Torn from dream of vapor’s fold

Slow descent to worlds divided

Nothing hot and nothing cold

 

Long ago, this soul forgotten

Cast off in the ides of youth

Un-forgiven deeds left hiding

Neath the stones of burden’s proof

 

Wait to see if fate redeems her

Wait to hear if time repeals

Sentence passed down just to mar her

Word and deed like flint and steel

 

‘Jezebel’ they mock to call her

Waging war against the skin

Pressed on by the mob’s directive

Let the judgment now begin

 

Scrutinize each blood stained footprint

Left across the ice drawn field

Hide the ones who hold her province

Never bend, no never yield

 

For from that damp and distant corner

Ever flows the world of hate

Through the veins of those who think they

Hold the key to Heaven’s gate

 

…Jeff Bresee

Copyright © Jeff Bresee | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

What's Sacred


Truculent trucks advert young minds; raging down roads breeding new gods as pompous, glitter covered idols carved from primordial blades of fear. Meanwhile pious pieces of magnesium stone get chiseled out of focus, branded by labels of complex empirical realities, numerically based shrines too impenetrable to worship. Help! Is the cry of objective cynics still rumbling in earthenware, readily retracing faint footsteps of Diogenes. Jumping in a wormhole of subjective garments to escape an ill-fitting, elementary pipe dream of unified ideals, gargled then spat from archetypal lips. Blowing away the dandelion fluff to catch a glimpse of act 1, scene 1; unrevised. Before curtains close the gap, leaving a thinning tightrope walk between me and we. Strutting back inside homes where a novelty Christ hangs on drywall masking punched holes of pain, wagging fingers pointing to his prescribed solvent, waiting for tomorrow to unlock today’s faith. When will they point at the mirror wading in dark nooks of conscience’s blurry frame? For he who searches, will seldom find peace beyond arms reach. 

Copyright © Nicholas Rush | Year Posted 2015

Details | Verse | |

Burnt Verse: Carrion kings

Carrion kings crow callous things in settled twilight cracks; Their cankered queens quote noxious reams down croaking fabric tracks. A patterned noose attentive sits atop a patient peak, Whilst zephyrs drone from Zaire to home to wheeze unto the week. Preachers pine an impassioned whine beneath their teething tongues; 'Twixt caustic lips their worm-breath sits to drain their sunken lungs. Twin servile suns send sullen songs to sleep beneath a cross, Which frays away it's stiff arms held aloft with burning moss.

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2014

Details | Couplet | |

My Clementine Oh my darling

Indulgences Indulgence my clementine                                                                             murder sublime your father sold you for a dime                                                               for some wine and a pair of shoes                                                                                   lost in the wine of the purgatories blues                                                                           you cried for grace but drowned in the rivers vine                                                           your father’s embrace he sold you for a dime                                                             catechism number nine died once for all your silver                                                    recalls a story Judas’s blood money a filthy pilfer

Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2014