Best Inquisitor Poems
I was sitting in a white room at a table, on a chair
My mind was kind of fuzzy; I wasn’t sure how I got there
I was dressed in a white robe with white slippers on my feet
And I had a funny feeling, an Inquisitor I was to meet
Then a movie started playing on the wall in front of me
I noticed it was about my life from the day I was conceived
Some scenes made me giggle, some scenes made me cry
Some scenes were quite embarrassing, of this I will not lie
Some scenes made me happy, some scenes made me mad
Some scenes left me with a feeling that I hadn’t given it all I had
Then I saw a scene of a truck crashing into me
This was a scene for which I had no clear memory
Then the words “The End” were on the wall with a question mark at the side
And I knew a decision was to be made for which I must abide
I pleaded for a second chance to a judge who was not there
And promised that the mistakes I made I would like to repair
The room suddenly went quite dark and nothing could I see
Then slowly I became aware of tubes inside of me
There was a respirator down my throat helping me to breathe
I saw my wife asleep in a chair and suddenly I was relieved
I have never spoken of this room – this room that caused my change
Old friends that I once had, just think that I’m deranged
But now I am living scenes I won’t mind seeing replayed
When once again I’m in that room and the end can’t be delayed
I am fire, I stalk you and wait to burn your fat,
I am the pyre that delights to ignite your passing hat,
I am fire that brassy whore that sucks you dry with flames
you cannot quench
I am fire, the mongrel of the days and bastard of the night,
who lick's your secrets with the torturer's tongue ignites.
I am fire, who so rips your thirst to quench and leaves your
mossy bank and dew unfit for leaf or mordant hue, so such
a sigh as this, can drench and leave the cracked pot with open
black-soot teeth... a zebra's mouth...black and white
I am fire, my necklace, burning tyre with petrol, dances on the
victim's screams, my delight to be this God, no quarter no release!
and while I taunt you with these fiery lips of death...
remember too I cook your stew and heat the stones of sweet
relief, and with my song, oil your aching back to heal and rest,
but all the while I lay down my pain and smoke to wait, the
falling match the careless brand that spark of quick ignition
I am fire, the grand inquisitor, the knave, the happy mistress
feeding terse sedition, the chance friend who craves your recognition:
I am fire.
For whom do you write, vainglorious poet?
Who are the disciples you seek?
Shall converts worship at the altar of your prose;
Devoutly reciting your works?
Is there passion alight in your breast;
The call of some unknown muse?
Or does your pen labor of its own accord,
Guided by some universal force?
What is the sermon?
What message do you proselytize to the masses?
Shall all bow, or bend knee;
Demonstrably awed by your articulate compilations?
Self-fashioned prophet!
Or perhaps it is godhood you seek.
Author of verbal constructs.
Creator.
For who can judge your writing?
Who can look down their nose?
Furrow their brow?
Scoff?
For what you have crafted stands.
In grandiloquence or simplicity.
Perfect.
Crafted just so, and gifted to the world.
Can a critic better evaluate its worth;
Can the detractor eclipse the creator?
Perhaps then, it is he
Who fancies godhood the more.
A Grand inquisitor!
Laying to rest the heresies of your writ.
Sound the trumpets!
Send forth the drums of war!
Who shall emerge the crusade?
Shaper of public opinion.
Master.
God?
Author Note: Entry for Jon Heck Contest "EDGE." When I think of "fear," I can think of
nothing more fearful than death and wondering what it is like.
Because I could not stop for death,
my brain,
the grand inquisitor,
ponders the moment.
About six minutes,
the time it takes
for the brain to die.
What happens in that short time?
Does the brain ramble;
try to decompose
if, it indeed died?
In death, is there fear;
is recognition instantaneous?
Can you see it in the eyes?
Is six minutes time to make
peace before judgment?
Or, serenity,
a time to relax and reminisce
before memory fades for all time.
Six minutes,
biblical prophecy,
ashes to ashes,
dust to dust,
does partake.
Because I could not stop for death,
in six minutes,
everything learned
erased for all time;
my body lies dead,
I say goodbye.
Tonight, save me and wife and child from thee
Haunted horror our home assumes to be
Enchanted with evils, souls hell has freed
Oh God, thy neck is tired and hard to hold
Tyra...my wife, and child walk old of cold
Hath they, the dark; homeless, grotesque and bold
Entered at ease our evenings to ahold
Reaping our grand estate as ghosts paroled!
Vanish thy presence, hither not, visitor
Ill souls, why bring forth this inquisitor?
She speaks to me a low and lurring breath
I notice now the fog below my breath...
To be or not to be, I question death!
Oh God, must I travel her telepath?
Reciting how death of sick wife and child
Seduced a rope that my neck so beguiled
There’s a charge against you
Though we can’t say what it is
In time, your list of crimes will be released
Pardon our procedures –
We consider grievances
We’ll clear your good name after you’re deceased
A labyrinth of halls and secret tunnels
In a bureaucratic lair
The ambiguity of nightmares
Is the only business there
This deviant behavior
Must be addressed at once
Our agents will turn up who you really are
The whole investigation
Could take a couple months
Please be on-call, and don’t wander too far
A labyrinth of halls and secret tunnels
In a bureaucratic lair
The ambiguity of nightmares
Is the only business there
Nothing makes sense
When it’s Kafkaesque
In a language spewing jargon,
Behind coercing eyes,
Our Grand Inquisitor will take his turn
One half-expects a pardon
When one’s past is scrutinized
Lest one is subjected to public shame and then burned
Nothing makes sense
When it’s Kafkaesque
God is All of Us
The “Grand Inquisitor” was I
inside the grand Cathedral
hatred’s chains and silenced screams
chasing God from every cell.
I cursed the bells, the rancid robes,
a child’s now shattered golden globe
alone, in fear of that called love,
frightened eyes of wingless dove.
An angel came, haloed beret,
told me the church was stone
that God’s extended hand
is formed of willing skin and bone.
So I left my hell that day
and slowly learned to trust
the hand of God that led the way
for God is all of us.
8/6/2014
For Gail Angel Doyle
contest – Finding God
It springs like rain on mown grass
Winds murmur over quiet pines
No hoofbeats of horseman lost
No limpid water from deep springs
oasis lift from arid sand.
Barbarian rides past towers without watchman
Deep thunder in mountain thrown up
Footprints of the darkness
stone like starkness
Harrowing & unhalting.
Grand inquisitor, earth's jailhouser
coverned deep and iron ringed
submerged in auto-cage of steal
Far from end and near to nowhere
lifting our heads to the light of God:
Spare my family and friends, thou great
keeper of souls
In its direness and darkness
footprints of light, our bodies taken,
our self retaken,
wastelands of ruins heaped with ash
mea culpa, mea culpa
Standing near the front of the queue
The boy rehearses his lines
"Just three or four pints"
Over and over again in his head
Focussing on every step
That takes him to the inquisitor
Stray too far to the left or right
And there's no way back
Behind him, the underage drinker
Tries his best to blend in
Three years underage but
Looking sharp in his best togs
"Play it cool," he says to himself
But the doubts creep in
As butterflies mingle with
The Merrydown in his gut
Further back, a girl peers
Into her make-up mirror
As she tries to remove the traces of vomit
From that alleyway spew
The icy wind drags its nails
Through her ample bare skin
But it fails to break her concentration
There's drinking to be had
The guy behind can't help but admire
As she bends over to dab
Chilli sauce off her high heels
With a Johnson's baby wipe
With girls like this around
He will surely add another
Notch to his bedpost
By the breaking of the light
A more miserable night beckons
For the punter round the corner
As a half-empty bottle of beer
Smashes full in his face
As the perpetrator takes flight
With an impressive turn of pace
His victim crashes to the ground
And awaits the siren's call
House of cards
I.
I fear
the clock
renders
neither mirror
nor dull glass.
Like the Lilly
it moves
and grows
and dies
unseen
by our
distracted
eyes,
telling me
nothing,
moment by moment.
Time,
her only
transgression
is death--
quick,
fluid,
emaciated,
withering and
vast.
II.
I will touch the sun
and every
gray
will taste
my eternity.
I will build
Babylon
with an
edict,
with an
imperial
deck of cards,
screaming,
hissing,
blind,
knowing.
You taught me,
after all.
III.
Prince,
ha-satan,
you
laid
the ruin track
for me,
taught me to
accuse
Love.
You,
grand inquisitor,
pro-bono
prosecutor,
veiling the world
again
beneath fire,
beneath scales
under
twisted mouth.
IV.
We once knew
a peace
under
sun and rain.
God offered
the sun
and the rain
before
snow fell
from
the evil tree,
before acid
dripped down
and you,
you,
you,
heard your name
over and over
again,
and the madness
cradled
you
in flame.
What kind of fish are you? The curious girl asked the mechanical bass.
We are steampunk fish, the bass replied, thinking the question crass.
When I think steampunk I think metallic, silver, gold and copper said the girl.
Aren’t you the inquisitor, said the steampunk fish, with his lip in a curl.
I can assure you he is a steampunk fish said another fish swimming by.
I know because we were designed by the same maniacal weird guy.
He did not understand that steampunk has specific colors I guess.
These pastels are irritating and grating to me also, I must confess.
she gets questioned by her girlfriend
about her recent husband
(asks questions about how his business is
going, asks questions about their new
place)---
being young & all
she is grilled by the other
as to her plans for the future &
in comparison to her inquisitor
she feels the need to brag on a
bit about a
“possible future” not yet put in
motion
(hopes & dreams not discussed with
said new husband)---
this leads her inquisitor to get on
the defensive, though still smiling &
promoting the mutual amiability between
them
with her body language &
references to the past when they were
both younger.
and as if the two are both pocketing
their own score cards,
they scribble down inside their minds
those things that they must improve upon
within their individual lives
(after comparing themselves to each
other),
so that if they ever do meet again,
they will have the best chance possible
to one-up the other---
after all,
this is what friendship is all about.
At last the Grand Inquisitor said:
Let the archives burn.
The paper of history weighs us down.
Virtual memory will be the way from now.
A solitary voice rose in protest:
With our memories burn our hearts.
The Inquisitor acted swiftly:
He unleashed fires, controlled and savage,
Beneath the store houses,
Threw Molotov cocktails in libraries.
A billion pages of etched life
In minutes, memos, letters -
The familiar writing of everyday,
Few metaphors, many more lists.
Within a day, ten thousand years,
And more, gone, gone, gone.
The cord that held us to them,
A line of white ashen hearts.
Form:
I say there is a China teapot
Revolving about the sun
Twixt earth n mars
It’s much too small to see
By telescope or all our skills
But I say it is there
I say you can’t disprove it
You may call me mad
Talking a nonsense
But if it were read of in ancient books
Instilled in the minds of children
Taught as sacred truth on Sundays
Doubting this I’d be marked eccentric
Need help psychiatrists help
Or attentions of the Inquisitor in an earlier time
Form:
God is All of Us
The “Grand Inquisitor” was I
inside the grand Cathedral
hatred’s chains and silenced screams
chasing God from every cell.
I cursed the bells, the rancid robes,
a child’s now shattered golden globe
alone, in fear of that called love,
frightened eyes of wingless dove.
An angel came, haloed beret,
told me the church was stone
that God’s extended hand
is formed of willing skin and bone.
So I left my hell that day
and slowly learned to trust
the hand of God that led the way
for God is all of us.
8/6/2014
submitted to – Just Us Together, Praising God – poetry contest