Best Clerical Poems
I’ll never forget what’s her name
A PE teacher and ogre she became
For I was such a sickly child
it really made this ogre wild
Held in my hand a medical certificate
exempted from all things physical
with Rheumatic Fever and St Vitus’ Dance
for me to take part ~ there was no chance
Instead I assisted the Deputy Head
with clerical duties I helped him instead
But clearly this really annoyed her
As she gave me her evil stare
She appeared to be looking right through me
No words were spoken ~ was I even there
Each and every year she wrote
inside my school report
A snide remark that ended with
“as usual she did not take part”
For I was told such illnesses
Could leave me with a weakened heart
And so upon Doctor’s orders
in PE I was not to take part
I can still see her face
As she filled me with fear
No compassionate words
from her lips I could hear
Whilst illnesses kept me off school for a year
It’s time I let go of this nasty so and so
For she left planet Earth a long time ago
And my heart ~ it still beats
I’m so glad to be here
With a smile on my face
I have no one to fear
*This was sadly a true story which whilst writing this poem, brought back some of the feelings, which by her actions she made me feel – she made me feel weak and insignificant because I could not partake in any physical education classes, but I did become a very competent secretary in adulthood, so all that clerical work for the Deputy Head was clearly beneficial…some teachers have a lot to answer for...
21st September 2019
9th place ~ Premier Contest
Contest Name: I'LL NEVER FORGET WHAT'S HIS NAME (OR HER NAME)
Sponsor: John Lawless
Contest Name STRAND CHOICE 7,
Sponsor Brian Strand
3rd Place
I’d like to pretend that my hands aren’t dirty
from the soap of mental suppression,
that the callouses are from hard work,
and not from picking my bones back up
off the floor on a daily basis;
ragged, dry, and weary.
Every fairy tale has a root,
stapled into the hard soil of truth.
They all have a moral,
some sort of clerical error
born from life’s shadow.
We watch, hoping to learn
from the missteps of someone
else’s intrepid imagination,
some 4D revelation singing
lullabies to the young heart
of humanity.
And they bend to the fickle
will of greedy creativity,
making the yoke less bitter
so that we can tongue the purge
of denial without pouting.
I’d like to pretend that my hands are clean,
that I don’t whisper cold lies into your palms,
watch you drink from the frosted glass
of my sincerity; Hope that you don’t blink,
that you won’t notice the blood bubbling
up, and over my shiver before you finally
finish this story.
I just want you to understand.
This isn’t poison.
This is merely me bleeding out,
and hoping you’ll learn to love the
taste of fire kissed oxymoronic metaphors,
served up with juiced will and the vegan
flesh of my inhibition.
So that you can see through my eyes,
know where I have been,
and how it felt to be consumed.
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.
Today's true tom tale;
Today was Dr. day at the clinic
I ended up the day quite a cynic
I'd been awake three days,
With a toothache and pain that slays
My jagged teeth cutting up my tongue
And the promise of help to which I clung
For no more of this pain could I endure,
I desperately did seek some kind of cure
Appointment at 2:15- told the taxi 1:30
I knew the fib was a tad dirty...
"Hedge the bet" one might say,
Sad to think one must be that way,
Of course in this case he showed up at 1PM
And I was in the waiting room at 1:15
Fastest response I'd ever seen.
So I sat in the waiting room as
Clerical shifts came and went
My patience seemed nearly spent
At last I was escorted to an examining room,
To sit and ponder my future doom...
For over an hour I sat there,
Reading all the posters on the wall,
About various diseases,
Soon I had them all!
Cervical cancer,
Malignant volvulus,
Infected ovaries,
Fibroid tumors in my uterus,
A glumaceous gluteus,
Obstructed bowels,
Deviated septum
Leukemia,
Anemia, edemia
Enlarged prostate,
Shrunken prostate
Eczema, Lupus
Leprosy.....
All these for me!
I hoped he didn't keep me
waiting too much longer,
Surely I wasn't getting stronger....
I'd be dead in ten more afflictions
If he could not cure all these conditions.
I felt my life force start to fade
Look at what these posters made!
Surely life was slipping away,
I couldn't stand,
I began to sway.
In he finally came,
Suddenly I did not feel
the same,
I might survive the day after all,
My approaching death grew
rather small.
Next time, bring a book,
For in terms of time,
It hardly took,
Much time to catch
All these ills,
Or at least come in,
With made out wills.
As from his Book of Rules He read,
“Tsk-tsk tsk-tsk, St. Peter said.
So PICKED up I my bags and left
For that damnéd lower cleft.
I stomped away then turned and paused.
How much fuss had my fib caused?
A pardon'd come if I'd just wait.
Saint Pete just smiled then shut the gate.
God appeared with old St. Pete.
"We've a problem. We've got to meet."
St. Peter said, "It's quite unique.
It's your records. We took a peek
at our polls, all done by Gallup.
Found your number. It's not up.
It takes us two to set things right.
I brought God to use his might."
God said, "I've never sent souls back.
I did some research. Found a hack.
Turns out this problem's easily fixed.
Just stand still. My potion's mixed."
A wink a nod a look my way
and God undid the whole last day.
They shook my hand and bade farewell,
said I wouldn't Go to Hell.
They faded slowly from my sight
and dimmed their glow to black as night.
I reappeared, surprised my wife,
told her let's get on with life.
My death was just a clerical error.
They sent me back. It's only fairer.
We smooched and hugged, went out to eat.
Had pickled oysters fused with meat.
We ordered crêpes with grated pear
and lit 'em up to add some flair.
Then I pondered what to do.
I quick thought up a thing or two.
I'd profit from financial schemes
using cash inversion themes.
I'd buy a cat and teach it tricks
to wow the guests at trader Vic's.
I'd give them all tatami mats
and waterproof electric hats.
I paused a moment. I could see
My brand-new stuff was vintage me!
I mused a while: what to do?
I mused some more and then I knew.
I'm only happy being me.
My plan was simple as can be.
I'll carry on with selling stuff
like pitted prunes and candied snuff!
I’m a hate by-product,
made in America
I’m a plantation commodity item,
blue-eye gem slave engraved
in red clay walls Ivory bank vaults
I was silver dross reject packaged:
Prison cargo bar code stamped
coming to America
There’s no doubt about it,
I was fashioned here
by the free-market profiteering traffickers
They sell liberty propaganda lies,
and economic caste division worldwide
Got global many-me, slave waging
in a brave, New technological World
Laboring on noisy climate change thin ice
The only question is:
For your bottled silence,
what is the collaborating price?
I’m a fear by-product,
manufactured in America
Whatever your racial animus preference is,
you can buy on-line, prime patriotic hysteria ...
for the gutter low cost of a figure 8 black ball
My street value is worth a late 911 call,
trigger transactions get no refund
for any tin badge mortal damage caused
A morgue resale
happens every crimson clover fourth fall
I’m an ethnic waste by-product,
iron-oar dumped in America
The Black Plague of chained anger came
when they cattle branded me
with a new name
Been living depressed in ghetto bliss
four centuries as auction clerical
Sitting on a factory warehouse shelf ...
waiting to be placed on a death inventory list,
by the merchants of flesh trafficking
Human property owners and gun lobbyists;
those bought and concealed,
in some dark lord’s pocket,
are semi-trailer trash, automatic fire revealed
by unfretful fetter-some me
I’m a ricochet, re-defined bullet mind,
made in America
Flung on an upward trajectory
Standing at the proverbial crossroads,
tapping into the game like Morse code.
Cutting my loses as I've lost loads,
Nothing more to lose, I'm like frost...
Froze my assets switching to boss mode.
Are ya out my ass yet? Its like I dropped those kids at the pool.
There's no stopping this like a loose stool.
No copying my spits, no deuce fools.
That means no equal, I rebuke tools.
There ain't no sequel, so I puke rules.
In order to break them, like pharmaceutical's.
I advise you to take em. Refutable?
Don't ask why, I didn't make em.
You'll find its suitable to discuss why ya hate em.
Rather than being mutable why don't ya state some...
Cold hard facts.
Wonder if its too late to get my old heart back.
The one I had as a child before they molded my heart black.
Just young and wild they told us they'd be back, to save us from ourselves.
I wonder where they at?
Living it up, not giving a F. Dancing on the ceiling.
I'm not bigging it up. Can't move past.
I'm digging it up once again,
Back is the incredible! who wants the fame?
Man that's hysterical! You'll get ya accolades like a clerical error.
They don't want ya to know ya credible.
A terrible era we find ourselves in.
And what's on my mind probably ain't helping.
Stepping on toes in kindness, just to hear ya yelping.
Repping my foes ain't blindness, as I write this I'm melting.
Back to room temp, a comfortable state and felt things...
I never ever ever felt before.
A good feeling, an endeavour etc forever adored.
Hillary, dear Hillary—where do we begin?
In your tale of deceit and corrupt political spin.
First lady, poor victim—
‘Vast Right Wing’ to blame,
A Chicago born, carpet bagging, New Yorker—how lame.
For over four decades, you ruthlessly fought,
Every virtuous ideal the forefathers sought.
With convictions as sound—as a lifeboat that sinks,
You’re a Chameleon, Hyena, a slithering snake,
who for votes flip flops often—just whatever it takes!
Stolen funds meant for Haiti, Clerical errors to blame,
at the foundation “helping po folks,” that bears your last name,
problem is—no one knows, where this ‘help’ can be seen.
while your net worth exponentially expands to obscene!
Fat chance ‘crooked Hillary,’ parts with the cash
from your “pay to play” system, illegal and brash.
Your condescension exceeds, what most tolerate,
like a child who needs spanking, or a belligerent inmate.
The fawning from media, won’t take you to task,
over emails, Benghazi, Russian Uranium—they won’t ask!
Liberals, dead voters, and criminals don’t care,
‘bout your pile of dead bodies, or ELITIST fanfare.
Just a history of coincidences—corpses intact,
and secret home email server, foreign governments hacked.
while two former presidents’ lies had your back!
You’re the Eva Perón of the United States,
Your red badge of courage—a life of mistakes
As queen of all feminists, their abortion namesake
Whose politically correct mantra remains,
WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE?
It's a bummer, man,
when you get one of those
I owe you letters from Uncle Sam
Wait a minute,
yeah dude, you got it wrong
They don't owe me, I owe them!
Talk about flipping the script
Get your umbrella, and play the raincoat song,
'cause I'm spittin' mad, I'm tired of getting pissed on
How can this be: seeing how I work everyday,
pay my taxes on time too
And then get a letter from the IRS,
saying I owe you!
Ugh ... sorry 'bout that again
Saying I owe them!
Something's not right,
something's very wrong
When the IRS keeps threatening me
with that lame going to prison song
They make me wanna start
spittin' on some graves,
start marking some doors
They make me start to wonder,
why even bother working anymore
After I did all my talking tough;
huffing and puffing, fuming and fussing,
I got on the phone and set a meeting up
That day came, and I went to their office
waiting to be handcuffed
As I was saying goodbye to the man in the mirror,
a nice lady walked in and said they made a clerical error
That I didn't owe them, they owed me,
and the man in the mirror said, well I'll be
So that's the end of the story,
a story I still find hard to believe
Writing
I heard a clerical, documentary developing
Eagerly I looked for the deed
Read, read!
I crave the developing, developmental declaration
The literacy brought such sorrow
Only this and a text
I crave the directive, draft drawing
The nonindustrial narrative noting
I crave the cultural, creative competence
I felt compelled to sniff the lyrics
Declaration - declaration - declaration!
Only this and a composition
I crave the documentary, declaratory drawing
Of rhythms that are clawing
Of lines that are drawing
In there stepped a readable read
Only this and a typesetting
I crave the paperbound, prepress plea
By the grave I saw the readers
I remember I was meaning
I have dreamed of the contracts
I heard a such as a, testamentary lettering
I awoke and flung the recitation
Much I marveled the noted typing
Deep into that darkness creating
Much I marveled this learned reader
The developing declaration dowering
I crave the developing, developmental
6/11/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2022©
Calumny is a sin which consists in maliciously attributing to another faults
detects which he did not posses
A person commits the sin of calumny or
slander when by lying he injures the good name of another
Laity is a member of the Church that does not belong to the clerical
religious state
Unity is what all people of God is supposed to be in His only Catholic
Roman Catholic Church.
Mass is given from Jesus Christ only Roman Catholic Church
New Covenant is the law and dispensation of Jesus Christ
opposed to the Old Covenant of Moses which it infinitely surpassed
superseded
fulfilled
Yahweh refers to the proper name of God
"WHO AM"
12172011
The Mayan calendar of ancient times ends
When December 12 of this year rolls around
Old prophesy: or nothing but a clerical error?
Trembling Earth and volcanic fire raining down
Hurricanes sweeping paths of utter destruction
Outer space invading our fragile atmosphere
Ultimate destruction; *****Sapiens extinction
Stinging rain of fire and ice scouring the Earth
An end to life as humans know it; a new start
Nothing left but ashes, dust and sorry survivors
Destruction on scales unseen though out history
The bureaucratic scribe keeps the Mayan calendar
What happens when important business comes in?
Everyone suspends work on the make work project
Leaving the date at the last day to be penned
Visited by destruction the Mayan culture dies
Enter what amounts to a Typographical error
Gatherin momentum, progression assured. hard work and dedication like meat i've cured. Allways thought i'd matured too quickly. Lured into adulthood tasted rather sickly. Has 2 be endured, reality hits thee. Like a train all aboard just in time 4 his-story. I do this with skill without a pill, touch a soul with a modern day quill. A chemical thrill no clerical ill, most will find it hysterycal. A generic fill lacking merit - still. I Feel the need to share at will, while they continue wit numerical kills. Articulation of my participation bringing the sunshine after prercipitation My anticipation for an integration steadily nears its instalation A mutalation by a group of nations united in chaos of their creation so we accept without question implementation. Manipulation of mind has gripped the nation its time to flick the station and find sweet salvation the crimes are abundantly blatent unwind the twisted situation my rhymes are set for migration allined with intergration, defined my motivation, refined with great complication its belied!? no never falsification its mind over materialisation i've pined over this information and climbed outta segregation to find a source of ventalation so nevermind my frustrations i'll grind the correlations for my minds peace. Comparing notes sharing the jokes, ain't funny no more i'm scaring the folks. Preparing what's spoke daring my quotes to catch on with non glaring approach. Not wearin bespoke, no staring or chokes as i walk by caring what's wrote. Smoking roach tryin to evoke the spirit inside with anuva toke. Feeling provoked constantly poked get it 2gether quit the dope. I build the moat not even a goat can get to me, my hearts in throat. Does the pope, think this hoax. can carry much longer? i live in hope. My personal coach handed the rope gave me freewill to see how i'd cope. Tied in a noose i let that loose used the rope to tie the groups of abuses together in a rhyme. I Dispute that im useless. If my message is a crime it proves that im ruthless pressing these lines.
Steeped in mysterious magic
fearlessly they go
an eerily mischievous bird
you’re never far from a crow
Mystical messenger of the occult
blackest black obsidian plume
baneful omen of death they fly
loudest squawking cawing loom
Many become a murder and
Dickens’ “clerical bird” alas
abounds in much of folklore plus
an omen of change to come and pass
Ominous with foreboding presence
intelligent with cunning scheme
dominant from high in branch
the Shaman’s totem in a dream
A harbinger guiding souls thereafter
a bird of Morrigan’s war and strife
death it seems surrounds although
Bran The Blessed’s giant life
Scruffily nesting high above
bold and swooping on the moor
familiar sight to all who sees
while Keepers of the Sacred Law
Impressive and powerful of un-phased force
tearing without a fuss they eat
opportunists lurking, stalking by
scavenging decay and roadkill meat
A witch’s familiar and wizard’s friend
the alchemist’s first stage
shapeshifting through mysticism
the all knowing, all seeing sage
Of superstition singularly unlucky
but luck would then mean two
three and four in health and wealth
no good, five and six for you
Smartly attired this bird of lore
with fear and with respect
living around and closely within us
an unfathomable intellect
Nature and supernatural alike
realms with ease they merge
from Wicca to mythology
a real otherworldly surge
A four by four of all terrain
from all around they gloat
thankfully an abundant friend
thus ends this Corvid’s note
While all around him were hysterical
the captain remained calm and clerical
The Body of Christ has been mutilated,
Placed on scale balances for bidders,
His blood used yet still in profanity-
Drunk by freemasons and the guilty.
The devil has seized it, in it he bathes and laughs!
Why not? why not?
Our Holy Lord has been desecrated
By clerical cupidity and nominal indiferences.
Look ahead son, look over there!
beneath that roof where congregates
menfolk and clerics
The Body of Christ
is being weighed for the buyers.