Frivolous half-
tone heathens over-
hit the hive mind's fa-
vorite flavored com-
ing hither in-
side out of
strike zone slav-
ery walls.
In the call to follow Christ
Some create their own device
They offer salvation and their advice
In knowing that there is an after life
Some are aware and take delight
We have a choice punishment or paradise
To where we spend an unending life
Where once were days of fault and vice
Some not knowing about the price
Paid for admission to that paradice
It doesn’t matter who you like
Doesn’t matter what
What does matter is the when and where
What really mattered is were you there
When your soul finally declared
The truth of what happened Divine
The revelation at that certain time
The truth that was told with certain sighs
That everything occurred by design
Only to be interpreted as a crime
I’m told a napkin was folded
After they dined
The work was finished and it was fine
It reaches far into our lives
Where heathens thoughts are compromised
Where we once saw death and dispair
Suddenly we saw a great repair
Some may suffer with in a snare
But once your saved
Your no longer there
We are the innocent ones who were verbally and
physically eviscerated by heathens who deemed us weak.
The evil ones punished our hearts, souls and minds
leaving us in an internal pool of blood.
We endured the ruthlessness and brutality from all whom
wrongly believed they were somehow above us.
There were so many of us children living in fear and
desperation, while countless turned a blind eye to us.
My hope for God’s meek ones is that their memory of the
inhumane persecution doesn’t cause them pain forever.
I’m writing this for all of God’s meek ones, who are
the chosen ones that our abusers failed in destroying.
My promise to God’s meek ones is that a divine light will
shine down guiding, protecting and leading them to Heaven.
Surely, as God’s meek ones, we will be looked upon as
His most precious and pure!
My heartfelt sincerest gratitude is for my beloved Aunt Flo, her
kindness helped me to feel worthy giving me back faith in God.
To all the Meek Ones trust that God will create a way through all
your pain and know that no one can stand against Him!
Raised a thumb, hitched a ride
random raced, inside
a freaky, desert mirage—
—then took it——solo
and slammed smack dab
into Slab City.
Oasis to lost, wandering souls
outcasts, living off society’s Grid
—crash landed—
into immediate immersion
of oddball oddities and eccentricities.
Psychedelic dreamscapes
mixed with Truth tellers—
—Salvation Mountain, God’s love
and John 3:16.
then, around the corner
East Jesus, where heathens
and aliens commune.
Find your path, your truth
within Coke bottle walls
Madonna shrines, plastic people
junk art sculptures—-
—-RV snowbirds and hippies
living side by side.
Commentary complimentary—
—spun from a grey bearded elder
telling tales of the glory days—
—of protests and picket lines
—of hazy days, flower children
and far out, rainbow dreams.
I like Continetal tours, and continental breakfast.
All I wanted was some more head room
Like Max max max max heathens Though
Brutally released ina brutal crisis
Who The Told You About this
Was It Era Game, Era game. Era Game?
Who the sold you down this?
Who the told you to sell drugs
Told You not to give a
So you can come up out it.
Barkin at me, barking at man doubt it
Give it to the thugs give it to the es
Give up to the hoes
Its Rap up Hoes Down
Its rap up Hoes down
Its a ing clown a ing liar
and a ing obsessed person
Trapped up in it
Trapped up in the infinite version,
Its infinite Its like Fright Night
Its like fight night
Its in Fentanyl
Pleiades, Pleiades How You Shine Down Amongst The Heathens Of Night
O' Yee Seven Sisters Of Light,
Ever So-Bright, So High In The Ethers Of Life
Scintillating, The Starry Abodes Of The Sacred Sky
Illumine Then Forever, Through The Darkest Of Nights
With Your Blue Mystical Dust, In Spite
Long Live The King who shines Sublime
Gleaming in Sheens Of Excellent Light,
Oscillating Crowns Of Fire and Gems
Forever Be, Blitzing Mountains till the end
Shine Thereon above the Heathens Of Night
Robed in Garments, Illumined like Galactic Knights
Take Flight, Always Rising Kingly Like
In Kingly Strides towards Kingly Heights,
Press Forth, Ever-Beyond the Mists Of Time
Ever-Triumphant Free and Wild
Let the Winds Chant, Whisper, and Sing
As The Seasons Pass... Long Live The King
In the call to follow Christ
Some create their own device
They offer salvation and their advice
In knowing that there's an after life
Some are aware and take delight
We have a choice, punishment or paradise
To where we spend an unending life
Where once were days of fault and vice
Some not knowing about the price
Paid for admission to that paradice
It doesn’t matter who you like
Doesn’t matter what
What does matter is the when and where
What really mattered is were you there
When your soul finally declared
The truth of what happened, Divine
The revelation at that certain time
The truth that was told with certain sighs
That everything occurred by design
Only to be interpreted as a crime
I’m told a napkin was folded
After they dined
The work was finished and it was fine
It reaches far into our lives
Where heathens thoughts are compromised
Where we once saw death and dispair
Suddenly we saw a great repair
Some may suffer with in a snare
But once your saved
Your no longer there
God's word is clear, a call to segregate
From the world's wicked ways, to separate
Not to befriend the darkness, nor to condone
The sins that shame the Lord, and cause His throne to moan
But many play the fool, with feet in both camps
Claiming Christ's name, while living in the devil's trance
Enjoying the world's pleasures, like heathens of old
While professing faith in God, with hearts grown cold
But we are called to come out, to be set apart
To live in holy distinction, with a tender heart
Not to love the world, nor the things it affords
But to seek first the kingdom, and His righteous words
So let us heed the call, to separate and be pure
To follow Christ alone, and not the world's allure
For friendship with the world, is enmity with God
And we must choose whom we will serve, and to whom we will nod.
Tide, gently carry my whispers
Across the grey clouds that glitter
With a silvery silver lining.
Across the saturated linings fighting my flaming words,
Beyond the vultures sailing the skies
To the angels who receive them with smiles.
Gab! harness my words into meaning;
Let them be a symphony amidst the chaos that rings
From the screams of souls locked out of heaven_
From the bottomless pits where heathens
Together with my shame reside.
Heroines fought battles, overcame
hardships to proclaim victory
Lena's sedentary reel, same same
Pristine paged humdrum story
Secure foundation led steadily wed
Chores' blur bolstered home
Wholesale whore for husband's bed
Battle liberated life bemoan
Pencil skirt vixens strut on television
Bold shoulder pads deception
Kids' Father ensured ample provision
Fed a fortress family protection
Frumpy comfort hot oven soap opera
Glazed gaps, glassed gorgeous
Razzmatazz Rochelle dating a doctor
Lena's latent longing engorges
27th June
Heaven for Heathens
Saint Patrick died on March 17th.
So we celebrate the day with green and drink.
Patrick, was kidnapped to Ireland as a slave,
a condition he never fully forgot or forgave.
Patty (as he was known by his friends)
was a sober, relentless, devout Christian.
As a missionary, he gallivanted methodically, converting heathens
and if he failed to convert you, you weren’t left breathin’.
He could burn you at the steak for ignoring ‘reason’.
To show Christ’s power, he ‘banished’ the snakes,
It’s amazing, the difference a miracle can make.
The year 461 pre-dated laptops and even the Internet,
so, I think it’s time we finally forgive and even forget
the sad, sordid history of Catholic conversion “therapy”
because today we need a reason to drink until we’re green.
.
.
Webster: Gallivant: “travel for pleasure.”
My roommates and I went to Doublin, Ireland last summer.
In casual conversation we asked how they celebrated Saint Patrick's day and their celebrations are like ours, more or less - a secular overindulgence. But on a deeper level, this holiday, they say, is dedicated to the patron saint of heathen genocide.
Holly’s been hung
Jolly are some
Visions of debt
And sugar plums
Food on the table
For those who are able
It’s a wonderful life
Marathon on cable
Children are screaming
Disrupting the dreaming
Of poor Santa clause
Who keeps them believing
Too busy to think
Mrs. Clause needs a drink
So much preparation
Lasts only a blink
Candy high babes
Jingle bells plays
Dad got new socks
Instead of a raise
Full trash cans
Granted demands
Drained accounts
Overpriced brands
This is the season
Despite the reason
A holiday full
Of pleasing heathens
It's not just young couples making a choice
I am for life please have your baby, okay
It's a farce about the tissue inside, mother has no voice
Having an abortion Dr. makes an incision
It's gets much darker, still to this day
Incest, rape, not her decision
Fundamentalists look away
after unwanted baby is born
Assuming the poor can afford
Self-kit abortion leaves her torn
Aretha Franklin, raped by her father's inside men
Save the baby? Mother dies? They'll decide
No choice of hers, pregnant at ten
Spent her youth trying to hide
More stories like these will unfold in the end
They don't hate Gays—they hate what Gays do
It's sodomy, old laws make a come back
Couples shouldn't do that, yes them too!
Healthcare, abortion Mills under attack
In your own home, behind closed doors
Blaming women for wanting pro-choice
The ignorant call you heathens and whores!
Religions want your property
Rituals aim to get it free
But honour bound
No one has found
Their god treats heathens differently
n.b. No prayer to any god by any
religious leader - nor adherent -
by any method nor ritual -
has softened the heart of Putin!
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