Best Papal Poems
Alone in the hallway where time stands still
She serves out her sentence against free will
Brilliance shimmers under torn papal masks
Submitting to servitude and mundane tasks
She listens as the trapped butterfly pleas
Wishing to break out, waiting to be free
Pining to spread it's painted wings and fly
To float on light breezes 'cross bluish skies
To be the butterfly bouncing about
through beamish fields of daisies she sings out
Flittering and fluttering she is in love
Soaking up the rays from the sun up above
Break free from the mask, let your bright beauty shine
Stamp out life's fears, leave all your demons behind
I was on the road to Vezalay, for Richard and his
quest. All the Christian knights would gather from
countries east and west. The papal hordes would
vindicate, and our swords and banners blessed.
As I walked the woods of Avalon, in peace and
serenity. By a stream in the shade, a vision came
to me. There she stood before me dressed in purist
lace, against the sun her silken form, my eyes
could easily trace. With her eyes she beckoned me
to a place where blossoms lay. From her shoulder
the garment slipped, a moon and star above the
breast stole and transfixed the eye, all was haze
and peace below the bluest sky. Jasmine filled the
air as we lay that summers day, we questioned
nought and let our feelings play. Her fingers of
such tenderness, danced and skipped my
nakedness. Her skin against my chest, I leant and
kissed the moon above her breast. Longing sighs
and the joining created, sensuous tones until our
love was sated. The evening grew cooler, the light
began to fade, our bodies locked in passion, all was
love in shade.
The morning proved a darker place, of my love there
was no trace. No bright star to light my way, no kind
lips for me to play. I searched with a heavy heart but
could not find, the love the heart so kind. I asked
myself with great contempt, surely not, I had not
dreamt. Then I saw in the blossoms there, lay the
flowers from her hair. With a heavy heart and heavy
soul, duty called and gained control.
Grandpa was a Bowie.
A tight-lipped protestant Ulsterman
who drifted into the Poblacht na hÉireann
in search of a cure for his cold heart.
His thin lips wed a soft Catholic girl.
He joined the Garda Síochána settling down
to breed Kerry Blue’s. After he retired, he still
wore his uniform, his neck as stiff as ever.
Grandma wrote letters to the Pope
begging for Papal forgiveness
for her heathen husband.
I have not been to Hidalgo County,
but if I were one day to go, I might try
to convince the Daughters of the Alamo
of my credentials to be worshiped
in a mild, concessionary way.
A complimentary burger, a free pass
to the museum, a photograph
of myself brandishing a big knife
at a picture of Generalissimo Santa Anna
that would suffice.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Poblacht na hÉireann" = Republic of Ireland (Éire).
"Ulster' (Northern Ireland).
"Garda Síochána" Is the Police Force of the Republic of Ireland.
Born to a Catholic family
Each Sunday spent kneeling in pews
Taught to accept Christ as my savior
And that Hell is for those that refuse.
As I grew older, I wondered
How good people of different beliefs.
Could be destined to spend eternity
With adulterers, murderers, and thieves.
I learned more and more of our history
It defied my indoctrination.
Through Papal Indulgence to bloody crusades
I was given my own revelation
People, by the book's definition
Are sinners, and each is flawed
Yet somehow. we hold expectations
That we've passed down the true word of God
So I can no longer walk blindly
For in my soul, I have realized
That faith can be found in every heart
And it needn't be organized.
:For If you build it they will misuse it contest
Spreading the good news
Spreading the kindness
Kindness keeps spreading
Kindness heals rascals
Rascals were lying
Rascals and the pope
Pope and Cardinals
Pope re-entered Rome
Rome the papal territory
Rome the city of roman religion
Religion has no office hours
Religion as a set of an ‘unseen’ being
Being a light to others
Being Christian is more than being good
Good name as a personal integrity
Good progress that grows hopeful
Hopeful to have time for others
Hopeful for the kind of love
Love of God and love of neighbor
Love is patient
Patient means being peaceful
Patient means being merciful
Merciful and being considerate
Merciful God
God hides inside you
God as the Holy Spirit
Holy Spirit is God’s power in action
Holy Spirit has nine fruits
Fruits of gentleness
Fruits of faithfulness
Faithfulness being “divine persuasion”
Faithfulness means commitment
Commitment requires faithfulness
Commitment requires self-sacrifice
Self-sacrifice is an altruistic abstinence
Self-sacrifice is akin to self-denial
Self-denial is also self-abnegation
Self-denial leads to self-improvement
Self-improvement must remove old habits
Self-improvement in Christianity
Christianity as a religion based on beliefs
Christianity based on the teachings of Jesus
Jesus chose to suffer on the cross
Jesus ascended to heaven
Heaven as the throne of God and the holy angels
Heaven as the abode for the righteous dead in the afterlife
Afterlife as a contrast to the belief in “oblivion after death”
Afterlife as a continuation of existence in a spiritual realm
Realm…
Death…
05.28.16
Lima has a pulse
arterial and venous it flows…
all the colors of the rainbow glow
in the mist of Pacific sea's
hectic days and disco nights
beat into the sand at the ocean's lea.
Lima's life flows
from Palacio de Gobierno ...
in measured meter from the fountain glow
amidst a Catholic sea
spirits rise of the children of the sun
cleansed of their faith by papal decree.
Lima wealth flows
its chic denizens prance baroque boulevards
barricaded behind razor wire's show
life for the wealthy addressee
distanced from the hovels of El Salvador
and the festive strum of the mariachi.
Lima has a pulse
arterial and venous it flows...
as buses disgorge invaders, colorful, slow
Shamanism lies in a Catholic sea
proud, head held high, clinging to He
beat into the sand at the ocean's lea.
Winter morning light filters through lace curtains,
Reaches down, spills onto the corner kitchen sink,
Through east and south facing windows.
The glass jar, the scrub brush and pad in plastic butter dish,
A down-turned, empty yogurt container,
The pink plastic rinse pan
Keep company around the sink's edges.
The dried-out, yellow dishrag
Straddles the stained white porcelain wall between
Its twin chambers. Home.
The three-track cribbage board,
Deck of blue and white checkered "Boardwalk Casino" cards,
Awaiting friendly competitors,
The gilded "Fiftieth" anniversary photo frame.
Adorned with golden bow, glass-winged butterfly,
Displayed proudly on the fireplace mantel.
The couple with their Papal Blessing,
Sharing in the holding. Home.
Morning light streams through
Aged lace curtains, into the living room,
Over the fireplace, bricks set years ago,
Solid as the blessed couple.
Solid as the Home.
She struggles with the details of conversation,
And asks, as she does each time, "Arrr you mare-eed?"
Trilling the r's, after greeting me
With her Mother's heart, "My Myzeleh Surptizeleh"
In her heavily accented German voice.
"Howv many cheel-drrren you havf?" Home.
The dated, yet functional, lime-colored shag carpet,
Symbolic of their stoic, conservative, old European ways;
The lace doily on the end table, photos of a grandchild,
A son, a daughter; and one of them, too. Home.
The pink plastic Rosary ever present
On the coffee table in front of the well-worn sofa.
Her days spent there,
Sometimes sitting, sometimes lying.
The beads close at hand, atop a book of Prayers.
Crocheted adornments on the walls,
A wooden decorator spoon,
A picture framed pair of swans,
With them all those years. Home.
You find in the slime of indecency
The rotted hollow of an empty skull -
A mindless mind allows redundancy
Repeated repetitions till it's full.
Cogs in a wheel turning round on a run,
As sparrows share their madrigals at dawn.
The tulips muse about the idol, Sun,
Iconoclastic papal paragon.
Once baptised in the bounty of my birth,
Religion's regal razor ripped and flayed;
When double mothers claimed one child of earth
The mighty sword of Solomon was raised.
A wisp of willow in the wind will bend
As will the will of wiser men who found
The sterner tree is broken in the end
To join the lowly loam below the ground.
STICKS AND STONES
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
Every epoch has its own bone chilling word
Causing great trepidation when ever its heard
If you wanted to destroy a group or anyone
This choice word would get the damage done
A thousand years ago it was heretic or heresy
Accuse if you had a grudge or coveted property
The catholic church was aware of dogma revision
So in circa 1232 the pope authorized the “ inquisition “
It started out as a process to unify the church
But morphed into a system to extort and besmirch
Corrupt authorities held trials on their own
Their final verdict guilty, was predictably known
The papal trials were mostly honest and fair
If found guilty the accused could pledge his repair
To follow the teachings and dogma each day
Do penitence, pay a fine and swear never to stray
Locals were more drastic with penalties applied
Burned at the stake even if the person had died
Males were accused of fornication with succubus
Females willingly sleeping along side the incubus
No one was safe from the envious of being accused
Tortures with painful devices were commonly used
Confessions obtained with torture an outright farce
Easy to admit anything with a hot poker in your ****
Forward to the present, does the devil even exist ??
We’re too sophisticated to believe in satanic trysts
But we want our own word to accuse and destroy
Being politically correct is the perfect ploy
One word can make anyone cease and desist
Just point your finger and yell “ racist”
Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent – 21
Would Hindus see in Paris kill Siva’s* will
Who’s show is this: Puppeteer or puppet’s
Kali-Yuga* dragging hind legs to standstill
Callow kids spray lead to warn not infidel
For what glory of own faith’s idle pets
Would Hindus see in Paris kill Siva’s will
What kills: finger on trigger or divine will
ISIS hand or lead Kalashnikov jets
Kali-Yuga dragging hind legs to standstill
Piecemeal World War III Papal wisdom mill
Did not racial hatred collide with tenets
Would Hindus see in Paris kill Siva’s will
Some people seek to dress world in their frill
Are Crusaders fratricidal Semites
Kali-Yuga dragging hind legs to standstill
Andromeda clash through Milky Way spill
Lest ISIS pound Kali-Yuga with jets
Would Hindus see in Paris kill Siva’s will
Kali-Yuga dragging hind legs to standstill
• Siva: Hindu Trinity of the Godhead Brahman
composed of Brahma (Creator), Vishnu (Preserver)
And Siva (Destroyer)
• Kali-Yuga: According to Hindus, the “Iron Age” (the last phase of human existence), having commenced with the Mahabharatha (the Great War on February 18, 3102 B.C.E.)
will come to an end in less than 430000 years. – time enough to shoot the Milky Way to pulp.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
Villanelle: The fall from grace is the shame borne as lost face
The fall from grace is the shame borne as lost face
What were once cherished hopes serve only to nag
The first to fall papal pride in the purple stride of mace
All that one once fought for family position place
Lie now trodden by the wayside no sweat nor brag
The fall from grace is the shame borne as lost face
The once fine psittacine nose at parties shone with grace
Now hangs pudgy a curlicue strawberry smudge a snag
The first to fall papal pride in the purple stride of mace
The ego shifts about the hidden interstices of the maze
Fears of the embattled siege in the psyche’s empty bag
The fall from grace is the shame borne as lost face
Sudden moments of anger take all spouse job and lace
Ego stomps out of the house grimacing grudge vowing no lag
The first to fall papal pride in the purple stride of mace
Deserted one sits unwashed on the pavements in disgrace
Eyes avert insatiable molly-coddled egos which drag gag
The fall from grace is the shame borne as lost face
The first to fall papal pride in the purple stride of mace
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Wake! and see the extent to which you’re still enslaved
enslaved by your own kind who hanker after conditioning platitudes
the clubby comfort of secretly oath-taking power cliques
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!
Remember! Remember Haidar Ali his son Tipu and Akbar
remember Sivaji and Chandra Bose and Kattapomman and Asoka
remember O! remember the one and only Mahatma
Wake India! O! Wake!
Wake! India! Wake! and see how your destitute generations are shunned aside
in infested villages sans drains sans potable water sans hope
see how they’re bound in mantric incantating castiron caste strictures
Wake! O! India! Wake!
No where else in the world are humans so in-humane-ly stratified
what proof have the Brahmins to issue forth from Brahma’s head
who proclaimed them the chosen elite on top of the Indian pile of castes
Wake! O! India! Wake!
Wake! and see how your northern brethren have cast off their spiritual shackles
even if they had abjured the path of the just to yoke their bodies
yet for each child a vaccine a soja-filled stomach to keep slavers away
Wake! O! India! Wake!
Wake! O! India! Wake before it’s too late!
for your own kind are about to enslave you once all over again
and the old master needs hardly despatch troops to proclaim his divine law
Wake! India! Wake!
Wake and watch how your elite ape and espouse the ways of the old master
how for an air-ticket a stipend per diem they would do you in without compunction
how for some lions memberships in select clubs they’d betray your own true kind
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!
Wake! O! Indonesia! Wake and see how the G.N.P. in Singapore
far outweighs that of the former papal Portugal now
how the four fiery Eastern Dragons no more parade in papier maché garb
Wake! Indonesia! Wake!
(Continued in Part One - 3)
Nature's Treasures
A fleeting monarch butterfly greets me on my walk,
Fluttering about, the exquisite orange and black colour,
The conversation subtle and delightful,
Landing on a branch of green leaves of a bush,
I continue and i am blessed with a beautiful blue jay,
The white and blue wings spread like a fan,
When the blue jay reaches his destination,
A tall green spruce tree with brush like branches,
Perches there almost hidden,
I reach the crystal clear lake,
The mallard ducks glide across the water,
They swim in schools,
Learning how to swim in different directions,
You can see the streams of ripples,
The tall statuesque geese,
Standing by the lake simply there,
Sometimes their feathers molt.
And are strewn on the green grass,
Wildflowers grow by the lake, purple in colour,
The very detailed and intricate queen anne's lace,
Waterlilies greet the afternoon,
They have a starlike apppearance,
Exisiting in pods, papal white and pink,
You can see fish swimming about in the water,
Perhaps a rainbow trout or gold fish,
A ray of sunlight reveals their presence,
Godly humans visiting on a sunday,
Picnic baskets and nature walks, their favorite pasttime,
My favorite place to think and reflect,
An aged grey picnic table, sitting on a hill,
Frogs sitting on a floating old log by the lake,
Perhaps a green turtle climbs aboard,
The conversation area is silent,
Sunlight caresses the environment,
Nature's treasures with warmth and love,
A calm breeze refreshes humanity,
I know I am with God.
Author: Gwen Schutz
I have written of love and romance someone
passed a comment about being careful of
false idols. This left burning questions within
the mind and heart. Golden crucifixes, ornate
statues, papal rings to be kissed are not these
false idols, paintings adorn the walls, robes of
elegance are worn for what purpose. Even the
so called father of the church held in the respect
of being no mortal man, to which he surely is.
Why are woman forbidden to preach the word
of the lord when in the past so many have and
been sainted for it, it is not man's given right
to put himself above all others. This church
keeper of the ten commandments, throughout
histories pages has broken everyone of them,
persecution, torture, war, all heralded under
Gods name by the church. Secrecy within the
regime, the closed ranks of some papal inner
cell, what lurks, celibacy such an unnatural
form of life and living, how can a celibate
man preach to me on the everyday ups and
downs of married life when he has no real
experience. Where is the compassion and
humility in this church, the Lord gave words
to alleviate suffering, the churches laws on
contraception compound the misery of the
third world masses, with AIDS and over
population. It seems to me that through the
ages the church has lost it way, remember Jesus
died on a wooden cross for all mankind, all.
Please do not think of me has an unbeliever
for you would be so wrong, I live and love
the path of the Carpenters son, I still love his
word and his word was love.
A is a beautiful day
Brave and bold
Courageous and my Christmas miracle
Divine and religious
Excellent and fulfilling
Figuratively enhanced
Godly and receptive
Handsome and alluring
Idol of humanity
Jay of blue
Kind and princely
Love exemplified with religion
Man of my dreams
Nice to perfection
Outdoor manner refreshing
Papal all the while secular
Question of love and friendship
Reign of kindness
Solar complexity like the sun
Teacher of God and humanity
Universal and fulfilling
Victorious mountain climber
Worldly and romantic,
Xylophone of moderation
Zealous and courageous,my love and friend, God
Author: Gwen von Erlach Schutz