Shepherd and Bishop of the Church of Gnosis
Teacher of the tradition of inner knowing
Entered this world through the Kingdom of the Magyars
Passerby bishop in Yaldabaoth’s world of night
Holding his staff to the twinkling eons above
Awakening us to the blazing mind of Jung
Nourishing the eon of gnosis arisen
Anointed in heavenly baths of Christ Jesus
Hoeller died, yet he now lives in unfading light
Our Lady Sophia shed tears this month and night
Enter the Fullness of love and divinity
Lily of the valley, who escaped death’s valley
Look and behold the divine aeons’ faces
Enter the Fullness of the Mother and Father
Rest in the Bridal Chamber of Christ our saviour
(Acrostic poem in honour of Bishop Stephan A. Hoeller, who died on May 3 2026).
Subjugator of Rome's eagle
Hero of the sacred flame
Able and gentle horseman
Patron of the paraclete
Upholder of the holy dove
Renowned as the King of Kings
(Poem in honour of Shapur I, who ruled the Sasanian Empire from 240 – 270 AD, known for his religious tolerance and victory over the Roman Empire)
Vanished in death’s flames with Mani’s scriptures of life
Banished to mine for grey-white marble to fulfil Rome’s plan
Punished to mine in Phaeno, or die by Rome’s knife
Unvanquished through the endurance of the First Man
Valiantly working in marble mines, they now rest on diamond roads of light
Patently, those burned souls became our sweet remembrance and frankincense
Rampantly, inflamed Diocletian tried and failed to steal their pearls of pure white
Brilliantly, Mani’s burned medicine became our sweet myrrh incense
Poem about the Roman Emperor Diocletian's (284–305 AD) persecution of Manichaeans, which later extended to Christians. This is in honour of those persecuted.
You close the door changing tides,
The streets empty into you,
Twilight harbingers tranquil,
Good night soon becomes the word,
From the lips of friends and foes.
You convey the departed,
To a place beyond the stars.
October 18, 2025.
Nette Onclaud,
In Honour Of An Ode Poetry Contest.
I look into his baby blue eyes,
A young man now standing before me.
My heart sees a little boy
To protect.
Shielding him from the cross I carry,
The pain of losing one of my babies,
Living my remaining days
In honour of those left behind.
Shielding him,
Protecting him
From life’s unexpected twist of fate.
Shielding him,
Like a mama bear,
Fiercely holding on.
Pointing to the rainbows,
To the pot of gold.
Shielding him
With love.
She struts
from the pages of infamy
Black bold and beautiful
No straightening of her Afro
She owns her gorgeous
Forget “The man,”
She’s got things to do
Not concerned with his master fetish
In her world women rule
If you cross her
Honey you are the fool
Her voice is smooth dark chocolate
with just a hint of bitter
She’s both a saint and sinner
No skinny thinking
Curves are for winners
There is rhythm
running through her veins
She is steeped in strength stories
birthed from palatial pain
When you try to hold her down
she rises up again
Her every page
the hidden embodiment of America History
She faces the future
clothed in mystery
Hear her harmony notes
On forever she floats
Faithfully fantastic
she’s the embodiment of hope.
She’s every true story
that has ever been told
If you try to confine her
she’s impossible to hold
Add your own
chapter line and verse
You are born from nobility
quench your inner thirst
Perfection
doesn’t need to be rehearsed.
Dedicated to my friend Valerie Thibadeaux in honour of Black History Month.
Riding a great dragon’s tail through the soaking wet darkness of the early morning,
Red,
Tails and tails of red bending through the breathing stone as I inch closer to the labour camp,
Closer and closer to the sacrificial alter of Kronos,
Where I hang my heart from his crooked scythe of time,
In exchange for small pieces of silver,
Never big enough to free me from the great dragon’s tail that furls red through the weeping shade of bitter cold,
Never big enough to unhook my heart from his Scythe and give it full and healthy to my daughter’s,
Never big enough to leave the labour camp,
Never big enough to feel the rings of time shining long and warm on my pale skin,
Just enough to keep me coming back,
Just enough to chain me to the red tail,
Just enough to lock me away from every colour of meaning,
Just enough to enslave me in perpetual servitude,
In honour of those small pieces of silver.
SEVEN THOUSAND ISLANDS
Some five hundred miles East of Vietnam
The Phillipines is a multi-island archipelago
Named in honour of King Phillip of Castile
It was Spain’s mid sixteenth century deal
But colonisation and ownership a farrago
Won by Spain but then lost to Uncle Sam
Conquered by Japan in Second World War
Won Back by US but became independent
Restoring a Filipino focus with some urgency
And fighting regular communist insurgency
In mid 60’s, Marcos was elected president
After economic growth, he changed the law
Since he escaped the country in disgrace
It’s been ups and downs in the economy
Marcos’ son, Bongbong, recently elected
By Covid, all has been severely affected
Yet few challenge the nation’s autonomy
And as for its future, just watch this space
(Poem in honour of the ancient Christian named "Alexamenos" who was mocked with Christ and named in the "Alexamenos graffito" in Rome)
A man who looked up high towards the blood-soaked cross of earthly strife
Lovingly devout to Christ, Christ who became the tree of knowledge and life
Even though he was mocked as a donkey, you saw his white raiment
Xtian who bowed to the lamb who rode on a donkey in a king’s garment
A man who lives with the living, who has died to the dead here present
May blessings be upon you who was reviled and in much torment
Even the lamb was hated, though without him no one could see the divinity
Now your name and devotion are set in stone for eternity
Overturning the mockery crafted to be a thorn crown of blight
Strong in the shouts of mockery, you took up your own cross of plight
Do you see the colour of my skin?
And the fire that burns in my eyes?
Yes! By now you must realize,
I am a strong, black man!
Yes! I am a Jamaican.
The rich black blood that runs through my veins,
Has lit a fire into the pit of my stomach,
And I feel the urge to dance, to laugh and to sing a sweet reggae tune.
In honour of my ancestors who struggled for a place to call their own.
Freedom came with sweat and tears
And with pride and heads held high
The journey will continue with my son, my daughter and many more to come.
I will knock on doors that will open wide!
I will seek and find my place.
I am a strong black man!
Yes! I am a Jamaican, no longer a slave!
And with nothing to lose I will gain a place among the strong and the brave
And our journey, my journey will take me where no one knows,
For I am me! A ***** Aroused!
Inspired by a storyline from a show. The Native American tribal culture is beautiful. This is written in honour of their Light.
Death of a warrior
By Michelle Morris
11/08/2023
Lay me down
Under the big sky
Where my ancestors
Can see my soul fly
I knew it was always
Going to end this way
I've lived my life
A warrior brave
Shot and scalped
By the dark one
The death of a warrior
Is on his conscience
We all make our choices
We all live our fates
Our destiny and lessons
Are left in our wake
My honour and peace
My legacy for my tribe
Our bodies may stay here
But our souls dance with the Light
© Michelle Morris, 2023
~In Honour of……
~Stella Berry a 16year old girl who passed away from a shark attack on ~Saturday 4th of February 2023 in the Swan River at North Fremantle,
~ Perth, Western Australia.
Sixteen with a life ahead
Went to the river with friends
Sadly now she is dead.
In the river having fun
Riding a jet-ski
Her life ended that day before it really begun
Off the jet-ski to the water she jumped in
When she saw a pod of dolphins
Close to them she wanted to swim
Terrifying screams filled the air
The water turned red
A predator had attacked from nowhere
Tragedy struck that day
Death and trauma occurred
In the most horrific way
Words cannot express the sadness felt
For this beautiful young girl
And the unfair , tragic card she was dealt
Her family and friends distraught with pain
Their lives changed forever
Never to be the same
The state of Western Australia is mourning
For a sixteen year old girl named Stella
Her life just ended without warning
So many lives traumatised , changed for evermore
One decision made …..
Stella’s loved ones will never be as before
Tribute To L . MILTON
winter climbs to eaves
icicles growing longer
dripping tears of joy.
The above poem is written By Milton on December 5, 2022
I was whelmed to go through as incidentally it matched my feelings.
Perfect presentation on Winter. I recollect my honey moon trip to a hill station
exactly showing similar picture. Literally speaking Icicles were hanging from
eaves growing longer ! Might be dripping tears of joy.
Chilled sensation in room longing for cosy warmth.
I admired. I was touched.
My Reverence to L. MILTON
01/ 15/ 23
In Honour of Milt . an Un Contest
First Place
Contest by Andrea Dietrich
Do you make love in the light
adorned in a beauty so bright
basking with heavenly glow
consumed in each ebb and each flow
or like me do you like it dark
inhaled with a faint trace of heart
fingers embrace the unknown
living and breathing each moan
tongues tantalizing
the braille of the body
moist moments meet and greet
inside the throes of life
lips bled in honour of another
begging to last
a synchronization of soul
eluding death, becoming whole
When I Experienced China I understood why
The Lord gave Watchman Nee such a powerful ministry!
Discovering the Chinese culture, I can understand
The reason behind the Lord’s decision!
I wrote several poems in China while
Understanding calligraphy—
Each stroke carried a unique purpose!
Love filtered in my life as I prayed in China
I saw the Lord’s hand more and more!
As I walked through Jiangsu with
The weight and knowledge of Watchman Nee
I saw love so pure for a foreign people
It brought me to my knees
“God has supplied all my needs and
Has not failed me once”
Now I am walking through China celebrating His Name
Floating around
I set up three memorials in China
In honour of Watchman Nee
Mark Frank
Copyright 2019
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