Best Bishops Poems
Between paper-soft
worlds of fragile
imaginations,
I float upon those
gossamer tulips
that split every
second of saccharine
musings and
eclipsed confessions,
distinguishing all
photoelectric synonyms
of lachrymose
stimuli towards
glassy manipulations
of blood-fragranced sun.
Everything that is
sown in sweetened
textures of afterglow-soil,
always blossoms upon
decayed fossils of
frivolous fates, as
balanced bullets have
forever pierced
through the pulpy
sheaths of nature's
rainbow-blankets,
but their aged roots
always adorn nourishing
gemstones of
ephemeral healing,
to spread their wise
branches across earth's
mirrors, as the thin
veil disappears.
What is the raven-spade
-hearted impulse
without its nascent yet
succulently flowing
snow-white mist?
What if, reality speaks
of those skies smitten with
hypnotic illusions of
chess-shaped horizons?
Have yin and yang ever
repelled each other's
rusty-maroon notes
that they whisper in
immortal prelude?
We have remained
skillfully blindfolded to
the isles of inceptions,
swirling amidst ripples
of diamond-kismet
estuaries, washing away
consciences with
diplomatic dewdrops
of frosty maple fog.
Tending to forget that,
we are mere syzygy knights,
crawling along
slanting seesaws as
bioluminescent bishops.
Our schizophrenic
threads have been
tied to the aroma of
poisoned satin within
these final alphabets of
enchante´ epitaphs,
where life will be
the last organ grinder
of karma, playing
an evanescent checkmate
which shall ascend
every soulful spirit
beyond Persephone's
penumbral embrace.
There is much to be loved and appreciated about the United States Constitution, and
Heaven, I believe, breathed upon the founding fathers in their pursuit of good government.
England was ruled by kings and state bishops but never were there to be such in New England.
Christianity was indeed the driving force behind the nation, but no religion was to be mandated.
One of the things I appreciate most about the constitution is its God-Awareness and wisdom.
Nothing in history had provided the new nation with the idea of a government of, for, and by the people.
Sudden and swift suicide seemed certain a decade prior, except to those men willing to die for their cause.
Thirteen states united and saw themselves as, "We the people in order to form a more perfect union".
Independence had been fought for and obtained, and now it was time to establish a secure government.
Their time had come to be a beacon, a city on a hill, and it was time for good principled laws among men.
Unity was paramount, but it also required an agreement to disagree when a total agreement was not possible.
Tolerance among countrymen of like purposes was far superior to the intolerance and tyranny of Britain.
It was now time to put into practice, to implement, to execute and practice their plan before all the world.
Optimum care has been implemented, making this document the envy of the world.
Navigating and activating this sacred document need never be a constitutional crisis.
07022019PoSoupContest, Another Eight Word Challenge, Kai Michael Neumann. Chosen word: Constitution
Belva Berry
1889 - 1905
I truly never asked to be born.
I truly never wanted any of this.
But what choice did I have?
What choice does any one of us have?
With our first breath
We begin our long slow descent into the darkness.
With our last breath
We end this long steady slide
From nothing to nothing
From dust to dust.
I was the girl who lived in the corner house
Over on Newlin and Broadway streets.
I was the shy freckled daughter
Of Lunetta and James Berry.
And I was the unknown silent witness
To the crushing tragic tumble
Of my secret esoteric friend, Elvin.
Elvin Allen.
Elvin and me walked hand in hand
To the eastern hills that day.
Elvin and me stared into each other’s eyes and smiled that day.
And Elvin and me dared to dance on the sweet oily dirt that day.
There in the midst of the black fields,
The land of the black oil machines
That rise high like chess pieces
The Bishops of industry and money!
We kissed that day
And it was our first kiss.
And then, he climbed up the ladder there.
I saw him fall,
Fall like a falcon from the heavens.
And I knew he was gone.
Please forgive me God for running away.
Please forgive me God for never telling anyone
Of the first kiss, our kiss,
That long ago day in the black fields
In the eastern hills
Of this Quaker town.
The Pillars of humanity
felled by little boys tears
Irish clover
not so lucky for boys in white
defrocked
a new generation of holy men
the cycle of sodomy
sickens the soul
yet the masses
on their knees
sending child
like a lamb on the cross
blood droplets
religious tears glow
ah but the Irish clap
as Saint Patrick
condemns them to purgatory
wishing the evils ones
had been aborted
why will men fight and suffer to advance the interests of their masters, who fling them aside when they have no further use for them?
Arthur Findlay
The black king and the white king, well they didn't see eye to eye
A war was looming, but not them; it was the pawns that would die
They placed them up to the front, with their cavalry at the rear
No side had any notion of backing down, and no side showed fear.
God is surely with us, the bishops on both sides proclaimed
Anyone saying otherwise would have been publicly shamed
A white pawn was the first to move forward, ready for the fight
But in just a couple of moves was struck down, by a black knight.
Two white knights moved forward in a blazing counter attack
The black pieces managed to hold the line and didn't fall back
Then a white bishop moved forward in a straight diagonal line
Black King told his pawns to move forward; everything will be fine.
The black queen wanted action and urged her pawns to be brave
But it wouldn't be her or the king that would be digging their grave
One by one her pawns were slaughtered, like lambs on the battlefield
A ceasefire was out of the question, because neither side would yield.
But the proud white king was about, to meet an agonising fate
When the black queen with her knights, declared a checkmate
But there were really no winners or losers, in this senseless war
Supporters on both sides wondered, what the hell it was all for.
The two main players in the background escaped without a scratch
And were already preparing to meet on the battlefield, for a rematch
Both sides exchanged their battered pieces of the injured and the slain
And maybe tomorrow or the next day were preparing to do it all again.
Meanwhile the arms manufacturers, were making big monetary gain
Whilst the landed gentry ate caviar and sipped on their champagne
Victory parades were held in all the towns, with all the pomp and flair
Hollow platitudes read out to mourn the dead, but do they really care?
Written on 6th June 2022.
Two giants stare into each other’s eyes
Each out to prove that he is more wise
The battlefield is broken down into squares
The moves are recorded to keep the war fair
The armies line up in parallel lines
Each solider a piece of timeless design
The pawns look across and each of them know
When it comes to sacrifice there the first to go
But that is ok for this is their place
Better to die for their King then live in disgrace
Each pawn is driven or so it would seem
Reach the end of the board and answer your dream
The Castles stand at the corners of it all
For the true defense is found in their walls
The Knights have their own special move
They will pick you apart if they fall in their groove
Next to the Knights the Bishops pray
Asking the Lord to guide their way
The Queen is the most powerful as it’s always been
For she holds the hearts of all of her men
Next to the Queen the King stands with pride
For he has an army and a giant on his side
Two armies collide each seeking the fame
Of placing a W next to their giants name
I picked war to place this under
because I had no idea what to put
it under. open for suggestions.
scratch, scratch
strike a match
throw it in
and burn the batch
lies, lies
an orphan cries
loveless words
made to despise
scare, flare
from here to there
likely tale
that goes nowhere
books, cooks
bishops, rooks
games played now
by saints and crooks
lies, flies
a prophet dies
holy writ
as moon star rise
reason, season
almost treason
heralding in
a winter season
lies, lies
death and flies
loveless beast
in light’s disguise
wake, shake
the sleeping snake
light and truth
reveals the fake
The apostles entrusted the “Sacred deposit” of the faith
Contained in Sacred scripture and Tradition
To the whole Church
By adhering to this heritage
The entire holy people
United to its pastors
Remains always faithful to the teaching of the apostles
The brotherhood
To the breaking of bread
Prayers
So, in maintaining
Practicing
Professing the faith that has been handed on
There should be a remarkable harmony between the bishops
Faithful
1132015
The Bishops bathe in Babylon
while Princes, prancing on the lawn,
watch Queen deflowered, pale and wan.
The King dares not defend her.
The Horsemen, holding broken reins
the Morning of the Hurricanes,
sigh “it’s no use, it’s all in vain,
the Saints will soon surrender”.
They wonder why they ever came,
they have No One whom they can blame,
they have no face, they have no name,
and even less, a gender.
The empty-handed Vagabonds
smoke stale cigars, stroke faded Blondes
while waiting at the walls beyond,
but kneel as Chaos enters.
They’re gazing through the window panes
in hopes that distant Hurricanes
will twist and break their iron chains
defying life’s tormentors.
The Fantom of the Opera frowns
as feeble minded Cleric-clowns
mouth hollow hurdy-gurdy sounds
when blessing doomed dissenters.
The Pirate wields a wooden leg,
with pupils dull and visage vague,
and if by chance he spreads the plague,
it really doesn’t matter.
His Princess, pale, no longer feigns,
foresees instead (down ancient lanes)
the coming of the Hurricanes -
the Stones stir, staring at her.
And Jackals scrape the river bed
as Savants soothe the underfed
and Crows, collecting scattered bread,
adorn, with crumbs, the platter.
The Jokers Wild and One Eyed Janes
weep, winding up in rundown trains
mid whispers of the Hurricanes,
and Priests refuse to christen.
They’re fleeing from the Leprechauns,
the cuckoo birds, the dying swans;
while pitching pennies into ponds
their eyes opaquely glisten.
The spectral Clocks with spindled spokes
remind the Mimes to tell the Folks
the time of day and other jokes,
yet No One looks to listen.
The Hunchbacks with contorted canes
galumph before the Hurricanes,
in melted sleet, in frozen rains,
in bruised and battered sandals.
Their Groans engulf the land of gulls,
the land of stones, the land of nulls,
and lurk between the blackened lulls,
for Nighttime brooks no candles.
Their prayers to Dogs and Nuns and Dukes,
(and other long forgotten Spooks)
are more than random crazed rebukes,
though taunting to the Vandals.
Continued in Part 2
All the faithful share in understanding
Handing on revealed truth
They have received the anointing of the Eternal Holy Spirit
Who instructs them
And Guides them into all truth
The whole body of the faithful
Cannot err in matters of belief
This characteristic is shown in the supernatural appreciation of faith
(sensus fidei)
The part of the whole people
When from the bishops to the last faithful
They manifest a universal consent in matters of faith
Morals
By the appreciation of the faith
Aroused
Sustained the spirit of truth
The
People of God guided by the sacred teaching authority {(Magisterium)
Receives…
The faith
Once for all delivered to the saints…
The people unfailingly adheres to this faith
Penetrates it more deeply with right judgment
Applies it more fully in daily life
1162015
The Soul-train was leaving the station,
Believers were gathered on board.
Their hands were all reaching for heaven,
And happily praising the lord.
But someone was left on the platform,
A ticket-stub fell from his hands.
He waved as the train was departing,
As Jesus said strike up the band.
The train rolled from station to station,
A star-man looked down from above.
Some Hindus were busy complaining,
That one God is never enough.
The clairvoyant spoke in a whisper,
This supper it may be my last.
A methodist minister kissed her,
And said you're a pain in the ****.
The passengers drunk with excitement,
Were having a whale of a time.
Cajoling and laughing and singing,
While guzzling down gallons of wine.
The Muslims were barracking bishops,
The party was hitting its stride.
A Cardinal minced with the choir,
Who just came along for the ride.
While paupers were wedged in the gangways,
With other unfortunate souls.
Their betters had cosy appartments,
All furnished in leather and gold.
The train climbed the stairway to heaven,
Agnostics all cheered from below.
St Peter was holding a sermon,
And God was the star of the show.
The clamour rose to a crescendo,
With rumours that God would appear.
The Pope stuck his head out the window,
And said I believe that he's here.
The saints held the hands of the sinners,
While Gabriel was singing above.
The train lurched across the horizon,
Then crashed in the tunnel of love.
The pearly gates took such a beating,
Reporters descended in droves.
The wreckage was charred and disfigured,
As heaven began to explode.
Old newspapers scattered in Eden,
Said one day somebody will pay.
While British rail made an announcement,
To say that the train's been delayed.
Fires burning, burning bright.
Not for warmth or even light.
Burning flesh seared to the bone.
Was this the sense of martyrdom?
Mary Tudor was the Queen,
return of Popery her dream.
Henry's child without a doubt,
her fathers deeds to turn about.
Men and women, loosing life,
butchers son and bakers wife.
Bishops, clerics, Lords and sires,
Not one spared the holy fires.
Thomas Cranmer was her aim,
he caused her mother so much pain.
Anne Boleyn's most errant knight,
causing Mary's own sad plight.
Hooper, Ridley, Cranmer too,
English folk, all good and true.
All subsumed to appease her bile,
sacrificed on the stakes woodpile.
Fourteen score souls finally died,
entering the flames with pride.
Heretics, each and every one.
Assured of joining God's own son.
As death became well-nigh routine,
The people cried God Save the Queen.
But they, in their hearts, were wary,
amongst themselves called her Bloody Mary.
Shall we adjourn from the
morning morgue
For pizza and a game of chess?
Rays Curve Along The Earth
It is daybreak
With morning comes the
shining off the layers of the
lake
And mourning the opening of
the floodgates
We went down to the coffee
table
Skipping past the cherry tree
This tree, it served us fruit and
oak
To love and to live beside the
wood
And there we played a game of
chess
[/i/The bishops had fallen but
the castle was gone
The White king shoved the
guardsman pawn
He fell soon after
To roars of laughter
They all adjourned to the
morgue
To the final morgue]
Tea for two and two for tea
Still Café Paris for you and me
We lounged in striped sky blue
beach chairs
Our raking gazes grazed the
summit of the hill
I would not have sat still
But for the girl that had lain
The girl wreathed in flame
Scratched her shoulders and
laughed with the rain
I wondered: did I dare?
Hold her hand and descend into
the uncharted lair?
Gears and Cogs
It was between April and June
I began to build my bicycle
Fitted in a third wheel
By then I couldn't tell what was
true
What was real?
Took her down ol' King's Road
Gave her a short spin
But for the third wheel she
would've broken
She survived, just barely, a
token
The token piece remained
unbroken
I BUILT a house of upside down
I KNOW that lost is lost but
found
She was my house of upside
down
I built her and she built me
We built each other in the
machine
Gliding Through The Winter
Wood
It is nightfall
With dark tags along the
midnight sun
Unwanted but unaffected
She shifts the curves along the
earth
And ruffles up the winter wood
Where I have been waiting
Where I have wasted many a
night praying
And on the tree bark painting
For love and for my love
And the taking of an oath and
tea
What then shall the leaves fall
From thy hand onto the snow
And when shall there be
daylight once more?
For now I shall be gliding
Gliding through the winter
wood
Dark amongst the silver white
I am king and you are queen
In an endless game of chess
What Father Christ entrusted to the apostles
In turn handed on by their preaching and writing
Under the inspiration of the Eternal Holy Spirit
To all generations
Until Father Christ return in glory
“Sacred Tradition and Sacred Scripture make up a single deposit of the Word of Eternal God”
In which
In a mirror
The pilgrim Church contemplates Eternal God
In her doctrine
Life and worship perpetuates
Transmits to every generation all that she herself is
All that she believes
Thanks to its supernatural sense of faith
The People of Eternal God as a whole never ceases to welcome
Penetrate more deeply
And to live more fully from the gift of divine Revelation
The task of interpreting the Word of Eternal God
AAuthentically been entrusted solely to the Magisterium of the Church
That is
To the Pope
The bishops in communion with Him
1182015
Religion
holy, peaceful
serving, loving, dedicating
harbingers, wishers, speakers, sellers
separating, competing, fighting
narrow, isolated
community
community
selfish, bellicose
hating, disbelieving, thinking
saints, bishops, saviors, pioneers
committing, secularizing, uniting
fraternal, human
Religion
SOUHARDYA GOSWAMI, INDIA
(The poem was written by my son Souhardya Who is 14+ years old. He is inspired by every great poet in POETRYSOUP.)