Unfilled to over-flowing,
as was her bottle of tears,
with weeping for the fallen woman,
while from her lips to God's ears...
said the Mother Superior,
“I have completely lost track
of how often the Archbishop and I,
wearing ashes and cloth sacks,
crept into the crypt
and made the beast with two backs.
Altho' no one can hold a candle,
to his Grace, yes,
not even the Venerable Abbess,
flagellation notwithstanding,
as a nun married to You,
who committed sacrilege,
I'm ashamed to confess,
I broke your Lord's Commandment
as an unrepentant adulteress.”
The abbess
Blue-eyed prayers drip from
lips white as snow on a mountain top
her face is oriental alabaster.
Restless feet on stone floors
Every candle becomes a temptation
a magnetic attraction.
Over the wall, she will not flee
Faithful as she is to her abstract lover.
When desires leave her
and her steps are ponderous
she is the new abbess.
See the crying of the poet,
I think he's angry at the mowatt.
He finds it hard to see the troll,
Overshadowed by the tiny sausage roll.
Who is that hating near the Trump?
I think she'd like to eat the diffusion pump.
She is but a yellow abbess,
Admired as she sits upon a labus.
Her cold car is just a snot,
It needs no gas, it runs on lot.
She's not alone she brings a Bible,
a pet snake, and lots of geibel.
The snake likes to chase a God,
Especially one that's in the assad.
The poet shudders at the painful catholic
He want to leave but she wants the non-catholic.
A potatoe cake bathing with an onion ring is an iconic sealed ring in a genuine abyss of calm. But an abyss is neither an abbot nor an abbess. For pretty tunnels created in a monastery clap link out to wave wreathed gardens bursting with hue and fauna. So a garland weave can be made into the form of a forty thousand foot ibex. And this can be achieved quite quickly. By placing bees in soldier lines. That normally has the desired effect. Oh wow. A little bean with a fruit cup is arriving. Look how sparkly the costume is. Lovely lingering linguistic lounging linking. And a stick smiling from an antique wooden chair in a mountain forest haze. Hahaha raisins racing radishes. Hahah pointed playing field. Xxxxx intellectuality z
Neophyte
What can I say the pot plants in the yard are fed tiny rain drops
saintly tears of a girl rejected by the abbess to join the order
because she detect a wild sensual abandonment behind eyes that,
at first glance, are mirrors of chastity.
The abbess knows the young girl is not seeking god rather she seeks
shelter from the raving craving of her body, the relentless dreams
so alive she feels the weight of her fantasy lover´s alabaster body,
a young priest at the local church.
Sacrifices, in god´s name is always demanded by religious orders,
and mother superior has a quota to fill, but she is not looking for
troubles She needs compliant novices, Indian girls from the slum
who will forever thank god for escaping Calcutta´s poverty. They
will be slaves of Jesus and married to him, clean his underwear
endure ignominy for three square meals and a bunk bed to sleep in.
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