I’m looking at the stream of life
But thinking of its sea,
While wondering who is free
To be what they should be.
Though life is short, it rambles on;
Still, we plan ahead until we’re gone
And before we die we realize
Our hopes and dreams metastasized.
Yet, after life what happens next?
We think we know, but only guess.
Yet, there are those who have a plan,
And forge ahead like a clergyman
Who is sure his beliefs cannot be shams.
They, too, look at the stream of life
While thinking of its sea
And wonder how to be free.
The quote, "Now comes the mystery,"
American clergyman and social reformer
Henry Ward Beecher, 1813-1887.
"His final words reflect a philosophical and contemplative
attitude toward death and the afterlife.” Google
His deathbed holds the endless mystery
of where or what will truly happen next;
not what he'd learned from books or history
or what he taught at church as sacred text.
But from his deepest feeling there within,
he knew that death is not the simple end.
And so, his hopeful soul stayed clear of sin;
God's power, love, and mercy did defend.
Surely, he knew that Heaven was his goal-
perhaps imagined it a certain way;
But as a preacher, it is quite a toll
to understand what's real beyond his stay.
He knew the sacred mystery death holds-
but not the where or when of victory.
But at that last-breath moment, it unfolds;
his deathbed quote, “Now comes the mystery,”
Clairaudient Claire clambered to cling to her cliquish closeted clan
Clutching cloistered clues, clarifying a clumsily closed clergyman.
WE WERE THE FOOLS
Harvard, named after a minister
Yale, started by a clergyman
great foundations soon destroyed
by evolutionists they employed
Our institutions had right intentions
soon all of the signs
pointed in the wrong directions
A godless-radical fought a God
she didn’t think existed
her invisible foe
oh my, what she didn’t know
Like a witch on a broom
casting a spell
removed prayer from classrooms
Supreme Court agreed 6-1
it surprised everyone
Is the Creator a spare tire
only used in time of distress
after society becomes a mess
Like Eve obeying the serpent
we trusted government
Tossing children in a hot cauldron
of deception and delusion
society was soon rewarded
with total confusion
We trusted everyone else
but it always fails
now something smells
especially our schools
blame us, we were the fools
Labyrinthia P. Babineaux …………… The White Witch of the Lower 9th Ward
Papa Babineaux …………………………… The Father, an honest apothecary
Algebra Babineaux ……………………… The even-tempered Mother
Bumblebee Babineaux ………………… The precocious younger Sister
Gnat Babineaux …………………………… The curious little Brother
Cabernet Babineaux …………………… The distant Cousin
Ulysses “Zully” Kowolski ……………… The world-weary Sailorman
Nikita Something ………………………… The learned Creole Seer
Mitchell Hollywood ………………………. The adulterous Inn Keeper
Tom Sickley …………………………………… The disingenuous Feather Merchant
Fr. Marcus Paternoster ……………...... The lecherous Clergyman
Steve Merkin ………………………………… The unscrupulous Accountant
Vince Fettish ………………………………… The nefarious Fantasy Man
Xerxes the Great …………………………… The Emperor of Persia and Media
Dante Foolhardy …………………………... The Stultifying Court Jester
John Travailleur, Esq. …………………… Just another John
Plus … townspeople, pirates, Indians, street musicians and beggars, Cajuns, swamp rats, women, young ladies, and girls.
I have seen some unusual things going around.
There is this woman named Olivia I have found.
She is someone I absolutely don't know.
The strangest thing is: she keeps calling me "Cesario".
Here I am in this unusual land named Illyria.
I still don't know the fate of my sister Viola.
Olivia is a noble woman and quite fair to me.
Out of nowhere, she is already suggesting matrimony.
How convenient to have a priest standing nearby.
This way, the clergyman can unite Olivia and I.
Based on the play "Twelfth Night" by William Shakespeare.
Freshly disturbed soil
Dress shoes and the grass
Folding chairs in rows
Underneath a tent
Or out in the sun
Family, Friends
And Acquaintances
The Director
A Clergyman
Prayers and Hymns
Tears Falling
Last Goodbyes
You're Gone
I'm Here
Grief
Contest: Diminished Hexaverse Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger Date: 01/07/2021
A mysterious guy
who was devilishly gifted
wore a healer's dress
like a clergyman
kind of wolf in sheep's clothing
but his eyes bared another ego
he crept into women's hearts
and strangled their resistance
with fervent thrusts
untill the souls were slashed
a cemetry of trophies
he bent men's iron will
and got what he wanted
and finally his manhood
made the queen whisper
his wishes to her husband
he changed the course of
country's destiny.
Looks for birds in the bush
to preach vague salvation,
and they listen meekly
if he is the man of God
loaded with divine words
tipped with fire of truth
that no creature can ignore
his success flies in clouds
When I Didn't Know Pirs Don't Marry Others
O love! How was it before!
When we were free…
That Nature's our yard;
And played whole days, the amusing love-games.
When something like ‘society’ we didn’t know;
When our families had no role.
When I didn’t know your religious father’s as adamant
And your charming brother as antagonistic.
When I didn’t know, I must make money—somehow
And earn you.
When I didn’t know, ‘pirs don’t marry others!’
When I presented you on paper-pieces Sweet fragments, and you Acknowledged with slipping smiles, and chic chuckles, Or loud laughs
And called it exaggeration.
When we thought it as easy
And fought on phone, on naming our children,
I preffered a flimsy female child
And you wanted tough boys.
(Pir is a clergyman in kashmiri) and they restrain from marrying Muslims of other castes.
Injustice is the legacy of man
It is the tainted ground on which he stands
Do not put your trust in earthling man
Why, he cannot wield his mundane lifespan
So what do we do with our earthy divan
This copious globe of purpose and plan
When all the media flaxen flames do fan,
And there is no trusting a robed clergyman
When half the country hates a family man
His replacement backed by the Ku Klux Klan
We cannot put our trust in earthling man
So put your faith in the Higher Helmsman
My mind is thirsty for her,
I search her in the sky,
I can hear the sound of her legs everywhere.
That's why my mind is always cry.
Sometimes she peeps into my thirsty mind,
Sometimes she comes to me in my dream,
I can feel she is not far behind.
I can also feel she is floating over the airstream.
she is not a crooked woman,
In the light of the darkness,
She treats me as like as a clergyman.
I can see someting is shining on her face called shyness.
THE KING OF THE HOUSE
In Vallelado, Segovia, to a woman from quarter
God gaves his grace: she just had seven daughters
And she was about to give birth
Without knowing if it would be son or daughter.
The day of nativity play revealed the difference
And the village people said "that impossible"
They could not believe it
After being born so much females
That they should come and see him.
They came to meet him and see if he was a boy.
They congratulated the father and mother
Worshiping the child as a king.
Little girls, when they saw him, said smiling:
"The Little sailor stand out
And his two ships loaded with gold and silver”.
They say that pigeons peeked out their window
And the bells of the parish church
Played with joy alone
And Sacristan said: "Not for less."
The medieval clergyman
Who came with his concubine
Exclaimed: "A good combine harvester
For the Village."
The day gold is missed in the vault,
knock not at my door;
what I want is precious than gold.
The day rose is missed in the orchard,
knock not at my door;
what I want is prettier than rose.
The day Princess is missed in the Palace,
call not the Police but the Clergyman;
his question I do wait to answer:
Yes, I do .
25.7.2015
O love! How was it before!
When we were free…
That Nature’s our yard;
And played whole days, the lovely love games.
When something like ‘society’ we didn’t know;
When our families had no role.
When I didn’t know, your religious father’s as rigid
And your charming brother as proud.
When I didn’t know, I must make money—somehow
And earn you.
When I didn’t know, ‘pirs don’t marry others!’
When I presented you on paper-pieces
Sweet fragments, and you
Acknowledged with slipping smiles, and chic chuckles,
Or loud laughs
And called it exaggeration.
When we thought it as easy,
And fought on phone, on naming our children,
I proffered a flimsy female child
And you wanted tough boys.
(Pir is a clergyman in kashmiri) and they restrain from marrying Muslims of other castes.
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