Best Basilicas Poems
They couldn't have chosen a nest-bed more complex, or vaster.
I lauded their industry (toiling through Sunday, no qualms!),
and almost felt guilty for loitering by their pilaster.
My wife was the hold-up. Those scanty straps were a disaster,
her shoulders cold-shouldered! Here, there's no right to bare arms.
Basilicas don't come mightier, or more splendid, than this one:
Saint Peter's in Rome, High Renaissance, wide-fabled by poets.
The great Michelangelo crafted this Christian Aswan:
they've gathered its glories in guidebooks, so no-one need miss one.
Those frantic ants scampered on legend, but they didn't know it.
And isn't that rather like us? As we hurry and scurry,
accomplishing little, accounting ourselves oh so clever,
ignoring the story (except our immediate worries),
deploring as boring whatever creates no quick flurry,
we miss the magnificence dwarfing our petty endeavours.
Chorus x 2
It’s okay if my ego wears jacket
it’s nice if my resume plays drums
I’m endowed, dazzling and full
so let the world know my hands are a major part
of those holding it.
1. A personality that is a well powered Agora
for affluence and power to trade
from collar to ankle, my long covering is embroidered
with stitches of laurels
as life’s willy, I stand against nature’s passive resistance
educated beyond satisfaction
as I neither drink the slurry of poverty
nor condemned in the scaffold of barbarism.
The depth of my influence
surpasses the borders of space
the slideshow of my worth stays not reclusive
as my path has gone beyond fate
to put fortune under no quandary to visiting me.
Chorus
It’s okay if my ego wears jacket
it’s nice if my resume plays drums
I’m endowed, dazzling and full
so let the world know my hands are a major part
of those holding it.
2. There is no contest
to my flag standing highest and brightest
yet my blessings still feel reclusive
my known image will stand collateral for global peace.
Media houses even in the desert
roar in a moving tempest of my reputation
yet not half the needed depth is achieved.
My commanding drive and intimidating leadership
the first education to all newborns
I am a feather bed to all my networks
even in the grave, my decaying bones
will be worth more than the basilicas of ancient Europe.
Chorus
It’s okay if my ego wears jacket
it’s nice if my resume plays drums
I’m endowed, dazzling and full
so let the world know my hands are a major part
of those holding it.
3. Stronger and continuously refined I am
as I stand on top
and drink the revile, like old wine
of those who wish to live in forgery of me
the air is tagged with my trademark
as communities mimic
from the chronicles and sweeteners of my exploits.
The sun rises from my past
to reiterate a future covered with curtains
of red silk and exotic flowers.
Down the stairs to a panhandler is stupid
but my pride can wear an Asian salwar
rather than an Italian blazer
yet, fully satisfied to cling
unto the appendages of God’s glory.
Chorus
It’s okay if my ego wears jacket
it’s nice if my resume plays drums
I’m endowed, dazzling and full
so let the world know my hands are a major part
of those holding it.
Grand basilicas
built to papal false idols
of graven image -
to apostate relics from
pagan Rome and Babylon!
I was placed in my boat of reed,
And placed in a river run smoothed.
I drifted past Moses’ landing place,
Nestled amongst the rushes,
Past Peter’s boat and fishing nets,
Past reformed basilicas and black minarets,
And factories of manufactured creeds and needs.
All, whose only purpose is to clean the streets,
Tattoo feet, and recycle old shoes and dirt.
I sailed, past them all,
Into the unknown of the ocean.
In spite of all your riches
you eschew what prophets do
Basilicas you build to self
with time but empty pews
Wealth deadly suicidal
when wielded as a gun
Whose target sits between your eyes
with one shot zero-sum
(Dreamsleep: November, 2023)
What better than a summer afternoon?
Where else, but on the trail to La Toscana?
Who is it mounts a mens that's not more sana,
devouring a voluptuous Verdi tune?
Which month might one elect, which isn't June?
I'll pass on Sassafrass and Lisdoonvarna,
to binge on bars, basilicas and Barna.
I like my treasures liberally-strewn.
You're cynical? Think pinnacles don't serve?
I can't agree. A twelvemonth of frustrations,
quotidian slap-downs and humiliations
are answered now. We've finally capped the curve.
The clouds will come again, of course, but verve
should also have its vestals. A libation!