Inquisitors Poems | Examples

Knowledge 101

surrounded
by the inquisitive
the thinkers, searchers
binky dependent
“toddleresque”
Inquisitors
exploring
in tactile glee
a world of wonder.

I am blessed
for they invite me
to feel
to investigate
the simplicity
of knowledge.

John G. Lawless
©1/7/2023

New Species Wanted

I think after all grace fails – 
man not, in time, making it 
far enough out~ too late bails
to a fresh planet uninhabited,

much like ours before consuming
and mating, as if a vibrant garden 
could not be overly rabbited 

(you know, what I mean~
after the big one dropped

or some miraculous vaccine
has totally flopped)

yet, somehow, some way,
in a twisted sort of divine display, 
pigeons, rats and roaches, will be 
the Big Blue Marble's, by default, 
newly ordained goodwill
ambassadors and spiritual 
coaches – 

(a banner hung in 
near space inviting alien visitors -- 
unfortunately too late arriving
to be humanity's saving inquisitors -- 

“To Thee we will pay homage,
another eclectic, semi-intelligent species needed – 
bring lots of garbage....”)

And All the King's Inquisitors Are Kind

Somewhere between the BS and the PS
would be nice if we thought that they could see us
from the weight of all their folly somehow free us
for surely there’s no way they’d like to be us

thus, do they weave their webs as spider’s do
claim they put them there to protect you
yet if you step inside it’s plainly true
won’t be nothing left when they are through with you

they’ll gag you yet have you hold a screaming sign
that shouts “we hate you, everything is fine”
convince you the sighted are the blind
and all the king’s inquisitors are kind

so humbly ask: “Please may I have some more?”
as you stand outside their now unopened door
wondering why this isn’t like before
when there was always more, and more of more


John G. Lawless
©11/17/2022

The Teapot House

The teapot house takes our meadow to the brink.
It makes us feel delightful, increasing our pink.
She is colorfully whimsical, an imaginative drink.
We feel her compassion, as around her we slink.

Have you ever been inside? A faerie asks me.
I have a bad memory and cannot remember for free. 
I am not sure, I admit. But here is my friend the bee.
He has been there many times, he knows the owner, Lee.

I have never been inside; my bee friend admits.
But I have heard others say sweetness it spits.
Ask the gnome on the hill who has all the tantrum fits.
But I don’t feel comfortable, so I run toward friendly kits.

Where is she going? One of the inquisitors doth ask. 
I don’t know, but I am sure she has a laborious task.
I lie in the sun with the snugglies, and we all bask.
Swigging down Dr. Pepper in a teapot decorated flask.

The Prize

The politics of religion,
its statues on fire
All martyred saints burning
in canonized pyre

As cardinals of vengeance
seek new hearts to be stoned
Inquisitors ramble,
the Creator on loan

The religion of politics,
 papal decrees
Guilt laden promises,
 salvationists fee

Crusaders on horseback,
twelve Apostles alone
Which is more dangerous,
the Word or the throne

(Chorus)

“Raise the curtain—praise the Lord,
  darkness censures fast
Faith though blind, still hope to find,
beyond iconoclasts

“With eyes wide open, see the light,
all else to render lies
His love unending, given free,
eternal life the prize”


(The New Room: April, 2022)

Contextual Comrades Incarcerated

EXTRA  EXTRA

Contextual Comrades Incarcerated,

Victims of vitriols vexation 
denied the rights of their inquisitors.
Censored by the voices of shame
guilt and hubris masquerading
as righteous indignation.
Virtue’s vanity
shouting from the “bully” pulpit
concerned only with its own reflection
“gutturally” genuflecting
before a muted “god”.



©6/3/2021

Frankenstein Felt Claustrophobic

Relatives were coming in so fast that Frankenstein felt claustrophobic.
Why invite all your relatives? He asked his wife Symbersobic.
She laughed at his misery; in the throes of having fun with them.
The door opened and sixteen more of her crazy cousins walked in.

I may have to go to the bathroom, Frankenstein thought.
He could stay in there for a couple of hours, let the rest of them rot.
When he reached the loo, he heard two tiny monsters say
How long does it take? Will you be finished today?

He had forgotten her kin could pop in and out as they pleased.
He was not happy with these inquisitors who came to his knees.
He went out to his work shed but it had been taken over by others.
He opened his eyes and saw two of his monsterly brothers!

What a great wife Symbersobic is, one of them said.
She invited us, and six cousins whom we thought were dead.
The dead ones were dancing in a joyous, jazzy, weird falling-apart way.
They had been in graves for years; she’d brought them back for a day.

Maid In Orleans

Intro 

Unable to get her to admit being a heretic 
or committing any crime against God, she 
told the truth to her inquisitors, she had
dressed as a man, to avoid detection by 
enemy forces as she moved around France. 
A crime apparently punishable by death in 
those days. She also wore them to try avoid 
being raped by her jailers after her death 
sentence was passed.    


               saint jeanne d'arc


                  a terrible fate
       to be burnt at the stake ~ boy
            she wore the trousers 


By 
David Kavanagh

Cure Ye Cure Ye, O City

....in the times of witch hunts (of one sort or another) cats were suspect and
    maybe some opposed the hunt and dared to question the inquisitors....


"cure!? ye?...'o' city...kill e' t-i-quette!?

cure! ye!...'o' city?...kill eh!?...uh quit!


curio city...kill ed...adequate?

curio city?...kill ed?...ah' quit!


curio city killed!?...uh! cat!?

curiosity?...killed...the cat!?"

An Occult Niche

Once, inquisitors would torture a witch
and strip her naked down to the last stitch.
And fear in the people reached fever pitch
encouraged by the clergy and the rich.

It's like scratching that unreachable itch
crushing skulls of succubus that bewitch.
And procuring an informant or snitch
the church used faith as a means to enrich.

Burnt alive or hug, so's to watch them twitch
practiced for centuries with naught a glitch.
Finally, attitudes began to switch
and today, witches fill an occult niche.

With a witch, an itch, a glitch, and a twitch,
the war on women runs without a hitch.
Subjugated women are labeled B*tch
raped murdered and disposed of in a ditch.


(Monorhyme)


10/24/2019
Itch, witch, glitch or twitch Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Nina Parmenter

Slum

Slum

Where hard looks and thin soup oppose,
the spider, cockroach, rat, and mouse dispute
in patient litigation or in border raids
our title to this world. 

There is no mystery, it boils down to food.
Our ruined lunches providing theirs
as Roman baths provided stones
for abbeys of a different creed.

They too win converts. With earbite and cold fear,
patient, persistent, numerous, 
their inquisitors huddle together in dim light
to study our disgust.

Greyly, brownly, blackly surpliced
they muse on our improbable millennium.

Enhanced Techniques

Verbal gymnastics 
twist the real meaning of this barbarous truth
To kill is called to sanction,
deliver the package is black ops captured proof
Approval of torture
moves a scared society 911 degrees
to the medieval reprobate melting phase
Blood flowers of a Nazi security horticulture 
gets pruned and propaganda presented as being vitally necessary
By lovers of the philosophy of Marquis de Sade
Enhanced techniques of interrogation
is such a sterile term
Clinical desensitized dark suit pain inquisitors
favor methods of food and sleep deprivation
Give the screamers an amplified sip of electrical sperm,
treat the enemy combatants like ovulated planarian visitors
Torture is not for the squeamish heart ...
Cruel breakers of the body
like wearing the cloaked title of Roman toga civility
Closely check the polygraph chart,
see the shattered souls lay beaten with eyes empty
Classified secrets justify enhanced techniques;
flayed flesh of revenge satiate their bloodlust need,
give the vampire drinkers a full chalice of grapes of wrath plead
Lovers of life hate crucified words that morally bleed

At What Cost Shall We Ransom This God

At What Cost Shall We Ransom This God


At what cost shall we ransom this God!
Held hostage in the towers of sanctity
by the scurrilous usurpers of His throne.

We pay homage to the hierarchic harlots
bow and scrape to the gnomish gatekeepers
pray to the hollow echo of an empty dome

worship at the bloody feet of tyrants
begging for their intercessory indulgences
weeping at the feet of sainted idols.

What is this God, this silent myth,
this silent, helpless, savior
mocked by those that call him Master.

When will He show his hand,
His mercy, His power, His love
to those who cower in the shadows,

struggle to exist outside the temple walls
hold hungry children in the scent of feasts
offered to the fattened inquisitors.

At what cost shall we ransom this God
free Him from the confines of His keepers
share a crust of bread, a moments peace?



4/17/2016

submitted to – Any Poem Written In April 2016
sponsor – Laura Loo

A Rant

You!
Harbinger of wars
Impeder of enlightenment
I beseech you
Begone, begone with you
Cease beguiling
The weak, the meek
With atonement
For alleged sins
Cease spearing
The flesh of the simple
With your evil seed
Behind the vespers
In the corrupted house
Of your alleged God

For my eyes are open
I see the veracity
Behind the fraud
Scoundrels that you are
You think you own
By lies sown
Spewed forth from
The house of Rome
Intimidators of purgatory
And hell
Inquisitors of death
I pity you
For, you
Rule by fear
And fear alone

Ancient Ways

To walk with knowledge born of whole,
begat of ageless power of soul
from times when stories made of man
destroyed the ones where power ran.

In name of church and fear of earth
inquisitors killed all whose birth
carried on the ways of old
and threatened church's lust for gold.

There now remains all but a few
whose birthright lets old ways shine through.
I know I've met them, felt their pain
as in past lives I've died again.

'Tis true that evil scours the earth,
but of man's greed, and not of birth.
I pledge my knowledge to the light
and hope one day earth wins the fight.

Ivor G Davies

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