Heathen Poems - Poems about Heathen

why does universe whisper that there is no final destination? no matter how powerful, words a real universe cannot build a blue-green world held in tight thrall by a star and surrounding system we are made from the materials which our environment provides an existence spent orbiting source of our ability to be we are imperfect beings within a non-judgmental...

Continue reading...

God's name is Pootidoodle Don't use it in vain. He had a limp noodle -- This caused him psychic pain. He took a blue pill that made him ill Then whipped it out and spun about And got it bit off by the devil's poodle....

Continue reading...

[A couple… ONLY TWO?… of you have wondered about my recent absence from Soup. I’m on a personal challenge to write 52 poems for kiddies… maybe, only maybe, to put a booklet together. My mind doesn’t naturally do ‘kiddy think’ so it’s stretching me a bit. This little ode, I felt was too grown up for...

Continue reading...

WHEN THE HEATHEN COMES When will the horizon; Spin down and shine; When will never come: Whom am I to cry out; When the heathen comes When will the fire rain; Sprinkle down my pain; And who shall remain; Why must I sustain; When shall I cry out my name; When the heathen comes; Shall I stand or will I run; Am I just a joke Missing the plan...

Continue reading...

A wandering heathen compelled to wander and wonder, clinging to the subjective notions and half-baked personal philosophies that evolve with each new day and whisper with each pale night. Away from the Kingdom Hall, past temples more austere and churchyards more severe and cemeteries filled with believers. Away from the witch and away from the doctor and past the feckless witchdoctor, casually to the throng of the witless, clinging...

Continue reading...

So how did your meeting go? My boss asked Number One and Me. Number one is actually Thing one, and I am Thing 2, for it was Thing One’s idea to adopt families and give Christmas presents to children, and she has been doing it for ten years, I have only been on board...

Continue reading...

index finger of left hand (likened to Michelangelo meticulously chiseling away at marble block), this poe whit attempts to coax (zealously tap into his latent indivisible quo shunt, sans self imposed quotidian literary endeavor slow lee witnessing, an emergent ...

Continue reading...

A HEATHEN HEADED FOR HELL I’ve never been a mentor nor a sage I have, however, garnered knowledge by age No one has ever deemed me a professor or scholar But I’d defile God’s name if I donned a white collar Lord knows I’ve blasphemed the Lord in numerous ways By assorted means I’ve cursed Him for granting me too many...

Continue reading...

Discreet but familiar cradles bound and chained by fountains of sin with the southern wind laden amongst conversations of warrented end,unraveling sinister phenomenon conquering far beyond listen to the laughter of the thousand year grace now out of place. Recieve your invincible step into the crucible suffer as it becomes part of you the primitive...

Continue reading...