John Donne* (1572 – March 31, 1631 Jacobean poet, satirist, lawyer and preacher/cleric in the Church of England considered the founding figure of the so-called metaphysical poetry movement dwells in this 6/8/6/8 lined quatrain of stanzas on love the other topic on which his well deserved 'master' poet' reputation famously rests.His analytical mind draws out universal truths recognised by we favoured with true love experientially our lives
*English cleric one John Donne
oneday his poetics had just begun
A master of verse so erotic
so divine & metaphysique
Oh what a mockery is the church of England..With its un-holy trinity.' Has
Beens..Or never beens in fact? where
A man, called a king is the head.'
Was andrew the second in command?
With an arch-bishop the third person
No wonder the whole thing is dead..'
A festering mass, of false teachings
Leperous liturgys; and sour coffe
mournings.!
Its dark, so dark my surrounds are quiet..Yet the
Dawn advances.' So; so silent.' My spirit my mind
Conjects on time, on hours passing.. and new years
Chimes' minutes become decades...No way to reverse'
The church of England denotes on 'net zero?' I think
Religion.. Is it a curse? Always waiting for some rigid form
They are never any different, lovers of a frigid norm.'
As the west advances to inanity, in the east is much
Division, Russia now is capitailist; i see, yet China still in communisam' sometimes they claim they are partners?
The whole worlds on the boil..Oh the light of dawn.! I
Must away into the morn; of my new turmoil."
The adulterer and adulteress rode
In a gilded carriage, while horses strode
Many looked on with pride
Others hated the ride
Most of the world yawned in blasé mode
I had some thoughts when they said he was the leader of the Church Of England.
Staring with your dark panda eyes,
Lips hinting a smile,
The carrot offering,
You beckon me
To play your game of souls.
Will I be redeemed or damned?
I fear death is the promise of those eyes
Camouflaged in an angelic visage.
Like a whore peddling sex
At an anti-disestablishmentarianism convention,
I am ripped from my element.
Wary of the risks,
Searching those secretive panda eyes,
Tentatively, I offer my soul.
Damned or redeemed I play.
9/8/04
Older word challenge poem using the words panda, angelic, anti-disestablishmentarianism. Why else would that word ever show up in a poem. PS~ it was the opposition to the established Church of England
Byron McGovern (true story 1900)
At Denowan near Goodooga,
lived Mc Govern so they say,
At a Church of England mission,
Aubrey lived there anyway,
now Byron McGovern got arrested,
Black Trackers they said sure,
in jail he was invested,
his tracks came to the door,
the murderer was cunning,
tiptoed to Byrons' camp,
pulled on Byrons' muddy boots,
tiptoe running, in his dance,
Frog Morton he had no chance,
foul murder it was done,
axed to death, the Emus wept,
bad signatures on the cheque book, one,
Byron sidestepped the gallows,
no death for murder him,
the forgers face was sallow,
slip knot got tight and grim,
and the corpse did swing a swing,
and justice came ashore,
some stupid bloody ding a ling ,
got his karma bloody sure....
Don Johnson
There stood Joan, “The Maid of Orleans”-
Brave, full of wit, modesty and simplicity!
Being tried by the rascals of the Church of England for heresy
And lay in their hands her night or day;
Oh, the young warrior toiling for dear life!
So young, yet deeds of height for the Kingdom of France, for her motherland;
The voices of the angels moved her to the field where she killed,
Took up the sacred sword and swore by God, for God, for France;
Oh, young lass, now betrayed by the King!
And here on that fateful day,
Sacrificed in the flames and
Done to death a martyr,
A young warrior, a daughter, a lovely soul—Joan of Arc!
Tuppy
Silver strands silver bands and the rings on her hands,
Her hair was the colour of grey,
Eyes far away, with the thoughts of her day,
As her grandson an audience sought,
I was there that day, with an empty head thought,
just a boy, but loved this I say.
As I looked at her troubled eyes,
A Catholic she’d once been married,
To a Church of England, man called John,
so now she was surely harried,
Excommunicated by a priest on that day,
So she caught up a rifle, pulled off a few shots,
Bounced bullets, as he was running away.
The only pleasure to be got,
Anyway.
With polio born she couldn’t stand,
But dragged herself onto a pony,
She did eventually walk,
But she walked in the path of the lonely.
Susan Burch
Contest Name Silver Strands
Vyonie (left a year ago)
From life she rode the chariot down
Escaped through death a spirit found
The hound did bay till she turned round
The dog was hers a welcome sound
Released from pain and suffering
Cancers bloody awful sting
To fly without the angels wing
Be here be gone be everything
For life is but a harsh cocoon
Deaths butterfly enjoys the tune
To float unto the stars the moon
4 it fulfils the weavers loom….
.....but then.....
2look in vain 4 answers....
2 love and sometimes fail....
2wait until the sunrise....
comes sunset no avail.....
2 hope till u r weary....
but hope cast down again....
my eyes are getting bleary...
and the writer just asks when...
It touches the heart
It reaches the soul
to die and to part
till resurection makes us whole
Don Johnson
She said she would be up in the beams of the Roma church of England.
Vyonie worked in the country town at the Roma radio station and managed it.
She fought 3 years the good fight, the local pub wouldn't take her money for the wake
she organized.
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