Best Sect Poems
A strange claim
Of a man of passion
Of kindness
He said
Let the children come to me
For what man would refuse the smile
The innocence of a child
He parted his kindness
His wisdom
His love of all tribes
Animal and man, felt the kindness of his eyes
His tears grew this world
His voice made all of us listen
He made fisherman, philosophers
He made masons run free
He sang to ladies of the night
With the wine from wells of passion
Caliphs and Abu Nuwas soon followed
Love belongs to no one tribe
No sect or religion
It’s the flower that seed's travels the globe
Like feathers floating in the wind
When you see a child with no food
A woman with no smile
A man with no home
You make a balloon or funny face
You grow a rose
You build a hut
Trust in the kindness underneath
It will kiss you on your death bed
You shall rise to the heavens
Knowing
You loved the universe
Notes: This is one poem that for sure can be peeled like an onion. First of all, I am working on a poem based on historical fact, and documents from the Vatican, that will serve no other purpose than to tell an age old story. Yes part of it takes place in current day Turkey.
Second, I have a friend who resides in Turkey, and we met over the internet, and over the years, have become friends. I know him to be kind, to all people and animals. We are simply friends that have shared stories, laughter, and hardships at times. Whether someone lives next door or half way around the world, true friendship and honor is hard to find. You can not give it or receive it. You can only both earn it over time.
No man is perfect, we are what we are, but when you see a world in turmoil, as we do these days, maybe this small event or moment carries weight. I myself am not so nice. So then I must say this, My friend Volkan is, not to me, but to countless people. A smile and kindness costs nothing, and the world needs more of this richness.
Everyone these days talks of how technology is ripping apart society and this may well be true, but this is a choice we all make, technology is merely a tool. One can also use it to build bridges and friendships.
Normally I would be shy to give such praise, however events have taught me that, its better to speak good words than be silent.
Thank you, for helping building a better world!
Our parents chose to join a cult
Nobody asked us
We went along with what they chose
Too small to make a fuss
Indoctrinated,we believed
This life was the norm,
We were fed on 'comic books'
Taught to worship ****.
While still children we became
'Flirty Fish for God'
We wore bright make up
Wore bright clothes
Walked dark streets alone.
We searched for men and sold them 'love'
They paid with souls and money.
We took them to 'church' convinced that we'd
Fulfilled all Gods wishes.
In innocence we walked the streets
We knew not what we did
Our parents were so proud of us
We were Gods'good fishes
.
Now this sect has all but gone
What's become of us?
Are we your neighbours or your friend
Maybe someone on a bus!
Are we filling up the jails ?
Or selling sex for pennies?
Are we shooting up with drugs
To blot out all our memories?
Are we alcoholics,drowning out our sorrow,
Pity the poor 'Flirty Fish
Fulfilling someone elses' wish
For them no bright tomorrow.
All's not about Darfur
I've seen it, eerie winds
Moonlight through our thatch
We kissed round, one *palmie gourd
Kigali was but a miss
Waist-beads - beats to love
Have you heard the talk-drum,
*Fela's horns of brass,
Or the *Aladuras' joy of Alleluia?
My grandmother still walks miles
Just because her forbears did,
And shame on malaria
For the dearth of men
Oh, on Mandela's earth
Of Soyinka's nobel ideas
Africa - a big breast,
the good, the bad, the ugly. . .
all, as sucklings!
*palmie - palm wine
*Fela - Celebrated afrobeat musician
*Aladura - a popular african instituted christian sect noted for heavy prayers
THE FAIRY TREE
Somewhere on the black mountain
Overlooking Belfast town
There’s a fairy tree with umbilical roots
Which go far beneath the ground
The local people fear its power
They pay it full respect
For they know that deep beneath the earth
There’s a powerful fairy sect
They live between the neverworld
And the world which we all know
Some folk have claimed to see them fly
With a fairy magic glow
Make sure you don’t get too close
Or you’ll feel the fairies wraith
And they’ll send the elves to put you
In a mucky nettle bath
The fairies have a job to do
In fact, it’s vital, you might say
They protect us from the evil trolls
And they keep the imps at bay
They look after all the honey bees
And they paint the butterflies
They keep our rivers running
And make rainbows in the skies
So when you’re outside walking
And you see a fairy tree
Just wave, smile and remember
They look after you and me
I learn from you, dear garden, wisdom vivacious,
You are a vast archive, that makes my life gracious;
You give feast to my sensory organs and mind,
Your means of living and letting live, makes me kind...!
I, often, feel sad, seeing your seed planted, dead,
But, soon wonder in awe, when it raises its head;
When I, in manual work, get mix with you well,
You, in silent secret, vitalize my life-cell...!
Your rainbow-tinted bubbly blossoms, bloom my joy,
Your smile-filled serene scenes, I cheerfully enjoy;
Raring you and caring for you make me younger,
Faith and hope brim-fill my pitcher of life, fuller...!
Planting you, I see my future with optimism,
For, innate in you is, unending altruism;
Amidst your fragrant flowers, weeds too grow sporty,
It's, indeed, orchestration of nature's beauty...!
Your coffers of bounty never find emptiness;
No creature goes hungry, having sought your kindness,
Life you live for others, dying you resurrect,
Body and soul for all; with no color and sect...!
Thoughts of liveliness; religion of godliness,
Existential baseness; wisdom flow in fullness;
In the endless canvas of life, virtues you paint,
Whole in ethics and morals; you're a living saint...!
13 March 2022
Garden Inspirations Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: BJ Legros Kelley
Springing up, like a cactus sprout, after the First-World-War,
The concept of New-World-Order did not touch deeper core;
Like, water drop on lotus leaf, it stood touched and untouched,
Sometimes it appeared ditched; other times, again, it got clutched...!
Thompson Woodrow Wilson thought of International peace,
Is peace, so simple? Do tensions within minutes get ease?
Did he, yet, ever think of such concept, in any way?
Or, any other leaders, on this, their opinion say...?
Is it a ploy, like monkey becoming judge for the cats?
Or, is it like the fox asking the crow to sing, as tact?
Why did the race-course stop, in midway, as though at random?
Hare lost or tortoise won? - Why no information, solemn...?
A New-World-Order, indeed, is prerequisite today,
It's not like an advanced nation, swaying power away;
Nor like an alien troop beyond nations control the rule,
And making all others, as though asses, permanent fool...!
New-World-Order is a system, in which, concord exists,
Peace and prosperity, among all citizens persists;
Caste, color, creed, sect, ethnic variations are erased,
Dealings midst beings are always compassionate love- based...!
Poor and needy, like twigs among bouquets, should have their place,
Care for others, like horse-tack, should control the cut-throat race;
Each, in this planet, should have their essential piece of land,
If anyone lacks, others, like brothers, should lend their hand...!
World, as made by God, must turn like the Garden of Eden,
Fresh air, fresh water, measure freshness should ever deepen;
If one thinks, this thought is Utopia, let this be one,
Won't striving toward such a state be an unending fun...?
24 April 2022
New World Order Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
"She Rides with Lions"
That Queen rides like God
She rides with Lions
like she could harness the Sun
Her many arms throw fierce Durga destruction
as She holds tight to what means most to Her resurrection
hidden and held in the arms behind her
like a Mother all Trouble untroubled
the cub hidden and held for protection
Her many arms throw fierce Durga destruction
like a Mother
losses arrive expensive with high cost in wars
the stolen Worlds in the dreams of Other
come undone
Her many arms throw fierce Durga destruction
as She holds tight to what means most to Her resurrection
until all retribution is delivered and done
Unbroken ephemeral creature
Amor plate in front
Lion Daemon
Candide Diderot. ‘24
“Durga's legend centres around combating evils and demonic forces that threaten peace, prosperity, and dharma, representing the power of good over evil. Durga is believed to unleash her divine wrath against the wicked for the liberation of the oppressed, and entails destruction to empower creation. Durga is seen as a motherly figure and often depicted as a beautiful woman, riding a lion or tiger, with many arms each carrying a weapon and often defeating demons.She is widely worshipped by the followers of the goddess-centric sect, Shaktism, and has importance in other denominations like Shaivism and Vaishnavism.”
Amor/french
Armour (English)
Armor (American)
(Part One) The first few hours.
I was just a ordinary man
caught up in the unruly throng,
The mob jeering and ranting
insults on the road along,
I pushed and shoved my way
through all the furore
to see what all the fuss and melee
was all about at the fore.
My heart shrunk as I eyed
in total dismay that ghastly sight,
From what befell my eyes, that Friday morn
befouling that dawning day with blight,
Was a Man sparsely clad, and bloodied soiled,
And about fifteen and a half hands tall,
His nut brown shoulder length hair
now caked and matted in disarray.
The way His hair and beard
was parted in the middle down
i knew that Man then
was belonging to the Nazarene Sect,
And brutally entwined upon His head
was a brambled thorny crown,
What more torturous and bestial
torment can a naked body be subject,
His body oozed and dripped sweat
all mixed with blood and grime,
And even more the gruesome
was the criss-cross lashes mark,
So visible, as He staggered along
on that arduous path that morning time,
Dragging a fifteen cubit long sycamore
torture-stake on His shoulder, bared stark.
His back bent and racked in obvious pain
bearing that one and a half hand in diameter log,
Then when, He stumbled in His stride
and before the Roman Centurion Him wanted to flog,
For that Man's wretched agony
and pain, I no longer could bear to stand,
Then in haste that Man to help
I shed my outer garments and tossed it to another man,
I stayed the Centurion's hand
and hoisted that stake upon my own broad back,
For I was Simon an Grecian man from Cyrene
and favoured arduous labourous toil,
When that frail worn-out Man turned
with blue-grey eyes and looked at me,
I saw in that look, relief and gratitude
then I knew, I did just right,
He sadly smiled as He said these words to me,
"Do you too now drink from this bitter cup?",
And added, "You shall indeed sip
its rim with Me to the end of time",
I knew Him then no ordinary, man could be
His voice so gentle and mild,
And I truly then wandered who this Man could be?
to suffer so cruelly, in the hands of man,
When He lightly placed His hand
upon my shoulder, I felt the load lightened,
as if I walked with a feather
on my back, and not His gruesome burden no more,
As we together trudged, on that path
that road, to Calvaria, that place of death,
I then knew that Man at my side
Was a Holy-man by His touch alone.
DOMKIRKEISM, DOMKIRKISM, & SOCIAL THEOLOGY
Does the face of humankind know their faith?
On the other hand, do we believe that humankind is forsaken?
Many examinations we have withstood
Kept our belief in the omnipotent.
Is our life on an encyclopedic religious path?
Rite of religious conviction defeats that which is kept to a sociopath stratagem.
Equability and identity is our sacrament.
Is this not a blessing by The Almighty?
Such worthiness should not be disregarded.
Mystic and awe-inspiring is praise and worship to our creator.
Does the face of humankind know their faith?
On the other hand, do we believe that humankind is forsaken?
Many examinations we have withstood while we kept our belief in the
omnipotent.
Is our life on an encyclopedic religious path?
Rite of religious conviction defeats that which is kept to a sociopath stratagem.
Is this not a blessing by The Almighty God?
Such worthiness should not be disregarded.
Mystic and awe-inspiring is praise and worship to our creator.
Such social worthiness should not be disregarded.
Our lives are based on what is inspiring.
Courses are taken to define this isolation of minds,
Are we preternaturally inclined to link to unearthly discoveries otherworldly?
This theology is psychosomatic triggered, housed via a place of worship.
Ecclesiastically, we praise.
Omnipotent supreme
Lord of divinity
Overwhelmed by your presence
Godlike is our environment.
Yay, I am saved via your grace.
________________________________|
Religion: Domkirkeism/Domkirkism
Sect: Domkirke
Penned on October 05, 2014!
Form: ANAPHORA
Old Jake lived a mile or so below the falls.
He wasn’t a hermit, or any other sect or sort.
He was just an old man; though always alone.
Well, except for the critters.
They were not remarkable, just - - -many
and they all adored old Jake.
He didn’t even have to feed them.
Only gave them what they needed most---love.
Oh, the whole crowd needed companionship!
Or, so it seemed.
That one small cabin?
A six hundred pound bear is a bit much!!
least in my humble opinion.
Then consider the raccoon !
The sucker fusses and complains
all day, all night twenty four-seven.
The covey of pigeons were good about cooing him to sleep
but ‘twearnt worth NO dad gum roosting on the porch rail !!!!!!
Geez!! The hose is not long enough
to drag around to the front steps;
much less scour that whole rail “on and under it”,
the whole width of the house--every day!
That fox!! Slick as a whistle and he will lie
in a skinny minute--
And we have yet to find any sign
of the gone gosling !
Who else would do such a thing?
I know every family has problems, but most can
be fixed with a little think through:
common sense and resolve.
Let’s all work on it----who knows?
One might find, that the powers which be, can take a hint from
the common man for a change.
‘stead of vice versa.
Sunshine and stormy weather,
From egg,to feather,
Grains until I am matured,
Off to the boilers for sure,
Cluck,cluck,cluck no more,
Chopped or bi-sect in four,
Leg,wing and thigh,
Jerk,bar-b-que or fry,
Brown stew or curry,
Get me ready in a hurry,
Natural seasoning or powder spice,
Finger licking,I am so nice,
Rice and peas or mashed potato,
Done at home or nicely catered.......
The old faith healer carefully got things ready.
She had spring water collected from the source
that had been taken at the night of the new moon.
Some special herbs also gathered by moonlight.
Setting the pebbles in a circle on the cleared earth.
She lights a small fire in its heart and feeds it.
Once it is burning bright, she shakes out some of the herbs
adding them to the spring water, then patiently waits.
When the moon appears she busily goes to work,
a pinch of liverwort, some ground sunflowers.
Tansy and dried apple, a bit of spiders web,
she places the pot on the fire and stirs.
First three stirs clockwise, now two anti three more clockwise.
Chanting softly as she stirs the simmering brew.
Now adding crushed primrose and burdock, she stirs.
Then she lays it in the moonlight waiting for dark.
Once the moon slides from sight, she pours it into a vessel
and caps it tight. Shrugging back her hood she gathers all.
Now it is time for it to sit and infuse before it is time for use.
Her fame is renown, the kingdom wide, many are they who seek her.
She blesses the potion first with Mut, then calls on Pax,
finally she invokes Serena's help, finally done,
she sets it in a ray of moonlight leaving it for now.
It is time for the cleansing of her patients before they drink it.
The following day miraculous recoveries by them all.
Singing her praises they try to cross her hand with silver.
Gently she shakes her head, not for money is her gift.
Freely she shares it, for the goddesses gave her the healing gift.
Mut is the goddess of nature mother earth.
Pax is the goddess of peace.
Serena is the goddess of healing.
written 10/14/2014
Sect: Faith Healer
contest: Religious Poetry: Non-Christian
Sitting in the spectacular shingle beach,
While the waves in the seemingly endless sea gives its speech,
And the winds smoothly whispering in my ears,
As it plays with my once kempt hairs.
The salty lips of the sea kisses the sand roughly,
Swirling and whirling as the tide changes freely,
The sun, in a fiery orb’s move is deft,
Slowly setting and there are a few swallows left.
The sky consists of an assortment of shades,
A blend of reds, oranges and yellows,
The humming waters dexterously reflecting this effect,
As the sun looks like it is receding into the water sect.
The contrast created between dark waters,
And the kaleidoscopic luminous skies,
Makes the semi spherical horizon look like two meeting worlds,
The known and the unknown creations.
It clouds the vision of its proponents
Causing them to see things that are not.
It mixes their minds into components
To which rational people give no thought.
It dismisses those whose eyes are angled
Or whose skin is anything but white.
It is quick to see the homeless as mangled
And to surmise they cannot be half-right.
It believes its views are singularly correct
And all other positions implacably wrong.
It lumps non-conformists into a sect
And treats them as a misguided throng.
It forecloses on every outreached move
Designed to help it achieve perspective.
It knows what it knows—nothing to prove,
Unaware its thinking is grossly defective.
It owns uniquely the truth of every issue,
Taking care to avoid having facts intervene.
Its arguments are made of gossamer tissue,
And in time they are sluiced from the scene.
Land of the free,
and home of the brave.
A great title for a nation,
but what of a slave?
Not just those of the past,
those too, but no,
people enslaved now
to the prejudice we all know.
This is no land of the free
and no home of the brave
when this flag we fly free
shows the hate that we crave.
A hatred so painful,
so hurtful and cruel,
that no God and no Devil
could compare to that duel.
Yes all lives matter,
that fact is true,
but why talk about all
when those dying are in the few?
We cannot say:
"all lives matter"
when a sub-sect of that
causes your world to shatter.
Black lives matter
no more than you,
but when it comes to the law
if you're white, then what's new?
We've had rights all this time,
no systemic oppression.
Now is not the time
to start this suppression.
Black lives matter
and so do you,
so why when they call out
can they not depend on you?
A fluke,
you're done,
no more lying when it matters.
Your time is up,
we've all heard your chatter.
I'd like to be honest,
just tell me your truth,
if all lives matter,
then tell me, do you?
Does he? Does she? Does anyone to you?
Or is this all just you
denying?
This is no land of the free.
It is home of the fake.
And never will it be free
until you see your mistake.
Oh, and what a wonderful day that will be.