Best Commonweal Poems
Night Light
The last visitor before I sleep
is always the old priest
puffing up the stairs to my door,
a wine cask under each arm,
a loaf of pumpernickel in his teeth.
He’s always too late to give the last rites,
and even though I’m usually dead by then,
it falls to me to console him.
So I say, “Father, Father,
you don’t have to hurry.
Faith is no longer a klieg.
It’s a night light left burning all day,
and its bulb is hissing.”
Donal Mahoney
first appeared in print in
Commonweal Magazine
475 Riverside Drive, Room 405
New York, NY 10115
November 6, 2009
(otherwise titled psalm to
Amelie Beth by Matthew Scott,
his genuine, gluten free and non GMO
poetic non fake appreciative guise.)
Ah, thee availed me reason to craft
a poem with rhyme or reason,
when I beheld unexpected email
exemplifying Christmas season
triptych most handily drawn pictures
by southpaw sister to think
on the other hand (right),
would be synonymous
with brother commiting treason...
Tempting as such crime
to oust Trump doth appeal
worst scenario... an utter
nightmare should commonweal
constituting United States of America...
blatantly, doggedly, ferociously...
crushing democracy fragile ethereal
frenziedly, maniacally, and unceremoniously
grinding into powder art of the deal
compliments those doughy
two hundred forty three pounds
with squishy feel
bearing full force upon
every square inch of each heal
commanding, forcing, and torturing
every American get down
on knees and kneal
until they simultaneously beg
for mercy with ear splitting squeal.
The ruthless "Fake" tyrant
cackles, gurgles, issues glee
as he doth reveal
his starkly totalitarian, ultimately
vindictive, wickedly surreal
punishment to every man,
woman and child for
not winning 2020 election yule
suffer where high crimes
and misdemeanors during
farcical impeachment trial miniscule
compared to reign of terror
he will violently unleash
rip pull sieve tides
substituting himself as top dog
thus, he forcefully usurps
permanent dictatorial rule...
Other than the above dystopian fear
your brother eagerly
awaits the new year
maybe joining activist group
(maximizing) plank - scare
ring up said apocalyptic near
possibility, cuz Trump equals sore loser
(methinks that an understatement)
nonetheless, what I write might
seem far fetched hear
say (grim heresy),
yet... look no further,
he doth plainly appear
as anti-semitic, bombastic, cataleptic,
demonic, egocentric,
graphic, horrific, misogynistic...
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
The Honey Room
Brother Al, in his hood,
is out in his field
making love to his bees.
From my room I can see him
move through his hives
the way people should move
among people.
The bees give him gold and the gold
turns orange in the jars
that he sells in a room
near the door of the abbey.
The Honey Room, everyone calls it.
Besides Brother Al, only I
go into that room full of honey.
I go in there and bend
and look through the jars
on the shelves and the sills
till there in the orange I see Sue
standing straight
in a field of her own
with a smile
for our garland of children.
Donal Mahoney
Commonweal Magazine
November 14, 1969
Vol. 91 No. 7. November 1969
232 Madison Ave.
New York, NY 10016
John Fandel, poetry editor
45th anniversary issue
The last visitor before I sleep
is always the old priest
puffing up the stairs to my door,
a wine cask under each arm,
a loaf of pumpernickel in his teeth.
He’s always too late to give the last rites,
and even though I’m usually dead by then,
it falls to me to console him.
So I say, “Father, Father,
you don’t have to hurry.
Faith is no longer a klieg.
It’s a night light left burning all day,
and its bulb is hissing.”
Donal Mahoney
------------------------------------------------------------
This poem was first published in
Commonweal Magazine, November 6, 2009.
Written 24, 2023, For Robert James Liguori Politics Contest
___________________________________
Politics is what triggers nations to collide.
A place where power and ambition coincide.
Oh, the acrimony of aspiring to be a politician.
To navigate the hazardous tides and mission
The first thing they master is to never say yes.
Since the thrill of politics is rife with impress.
You're required to dazzle, prevail, and flourish.
And convince the populace, inspire, and nourish.
A campaign—a search for fans, a quest to know
Promising alternatives, with a chance to show
What the population genuinely desires
That you may fulfill their wishes and inspire.
They express their imprint on the political stage.
A lively hug, a brittle society, a burning cage
Should no cotillion of stigmas, no excision of a few.
To avoid immoral speech and unsavory eschew.
Gone are the days when luring was hard.
Now, with the gift of persuasion, you can discard,
Human minds have evolved, times have changed,
But darkness and sin have also been arranged.
We operate in harmony, never to stigmatize.
We prize no demimondaine, no social pragmatize
In the history of our society, there are evil deeds.
We embrace the ideals of brotherhood and creed.
Red and blue are our only choices.
Divisions and conflicts, our society's voices,
Genocide, broken treaties, and illness
Insulting names, cultural destruction, and distress
We envy to induce people not to become illiterate.
We may spur elders and penurious, if considerate,
No sectarianism or partying; no debating whence.
Yet, in a culture where virtue is of high precedence
I can't walk in my niche, yet I'm apprehensive.
Politics and society as a whole are impressive.
Courteous decisions are diplomatic and wise.
For the commonweal betterment, we devise
In this smooth domain, where everyone is heard,
We build a society that stands undeterred.
integrated society, a beacon of hope,
Where harmony and justice in a melody cope.
I no speaky . . . 'cept better'n you!
Hide white-crime
behind white-erasure;
that this brown skin'll ne'er
win your view, unless
more light lights-upon
your vacuous “Truths”;
for all your Of, & For, & By;
your final-flush to nether-color,
as "Green" abuse' your hues.
Then burn in'er . . . 'till stone owns you!
Hope, however, by
heaven's 'pink reckon',
as though such hall's
called rabbits like you;
keep “greasin' da chain”
or break “Spic'd” - like me!
Amera can'ts’ 'gutter-pride'
niggardly rescues.
Truth be told,
evolution narys.
Only heaven-hope holds
your null-cull’d ayes;
your just true-state,
remanding her due.
_______________
Notes:
[In consideration of the oligarchs]
Political Statement:
If economic power can translate so easily into political power, then excessive wealth, as easily, becomes a threat to the commonweal. By such a power-dynamic, Republican Governance Fails.
_____
The subject is: "White-Supremacy", which does not include nor encapsulate all “Caucasians”.
There is but one “Race” and given its historical behavior, I wouldn't recommend it.
The economic reference is just to put a “Commie” Scare into them because:
The greatest weapon of the oppressed is: “The Truth".
Welcome to the status quo ~ America's Perpetual Revolution!