Long Holier Poems
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Striving for perfection comes with a price
so it's true the higher you climb the more unforgiving people become,
so I ask God let thy will be done not mines,
I too felt like I was in the garden of Gethsemane in my life time,
forced to make decisions about the people in it when their season was finished,
am I tripping. That's what they said,
and my actions obviously led them to believe that this wasn't supposed to happen,
kinda like how we who call ourselves believers or even devout saints
weren't suppose to let sin be the reason we relapsed. Cut out the Holier than thou act
truth is even those you idolize and pedestal are in rehab,
everyone is struggling with something,
so go ahead keep lying to yourself but note to self
the first step is acceptance, accepting that you are far from right with God, you went left.
Go ahead repent, what the Holy spirit does that non believers or atheist will never get
is that it shoots straight threw pride past your emotions and leaves a convicting spirit
with the fear in your soul where you finally can admit and say "I'm not right"
you see the biggest misconception about Christianity in the west,
is that if you accept Jesus as your Lord and saviour then everything this world,
these streets couldn't offer you he will and indeed bless you with the rest.
But here's the truth,
just because you came in class late you are not exempt from the test,
Hell, God made his self into a man,
and because he saw no end to our ancestors wickedness,
he deemed it necessary that the only way to redeem us was to give up himself for us.
Now I'm no preacher, I don't even go to church
so don't confuse me with any lay member, minister, or deacon just someone who kinda
knows the Holy script according to how the Catholic church saw fit to write it up.
but here's the message. How can you, a finite flawed human being compete with his
perfection, you can't, stop trying he knows this, so start shooting for progression.
Because no matter how good of a saint you try to be,
you can't buy your way into Heaven.
He paid the price you've been set free from bondage of the flesh.
You got what you didn't deserve,
he took what was coming to you and that's what we call grace.
So I guess my only other question to those who say only God can judge me,
without Christ Jesus how you plan to beat the case...
So after I told the crowd
in the store that I was
not Dolly Parton,
they quickly went away
disappointed and forlorn like,
going over to the dairy
to pick up some milk,
tried to stay calm as I
noticed pictures on
the back of the milk cartons
of my former self,
then I quickly drove home
and put the groceries
on the shelf,
thinking this disguise
isn't doing me any good,
decided to wear a
long red wig around
the neighborhood,
thinking now I can
finally relax again,
until people started
thinking I was Naomi Judd...
Then I noticed the
amish mafia guy
at the local 7-11,
I quickly drove away
to the local police station,
where they put me up in
a convent for
witness protection,
where Mother Superior
gave me my habit to wear,
and with it some long underwear,
calling me by new name
which was now Sister Rose,
she made me feel inferior,
as she was always looking down on me
with her big holier then thou nose,
the routine was to wake up every day at 4 a.m.
going to the chapel to pray
and say a lot of amens,
then having a quick breakfast of
coffee, bread and water,
then onto the cleaning
which lasted several hours,
washing and ironing the nuns
and priests clothes everyday,
cleaning the floors and toilets
with a tiny toothbrush
to my dismay,
dusting and vacuuming
all the rooms,
maintaining the large
farm using an old broken down mule…
At night I'd go to bed on
the lumpy old mattress,
feeling exhausted, lonely and famished,
hearing nothing but my stomach
complaining and grumbling,
thinking to myself
this is worse than the amish!
So tying some bedsheets
together I jumped out
the convent window,
ran all the way as
fast as I could and
started to hitchhike
on the turnpike,
it started raining and a
car finally pulled over,
quickly jumped in
only to discover,
the amish mafia guy
who looked
like Al Pacino give me
a big wide grin…
thinking to myself
not again...
Addendum: She finally escaped again and settled in Timbuktu where thank God nobody recognized her and where she made friends with the natives there who just happened to be so primitive they got her at spearpoint to make all their clothes and food from scratch, clean all their huts, make baskets and pottery, be the nanny for their tribal kids, hunt lions and tigers for meals……….
All of our righteousness are as filthy rags
I do believe that's what I read
We all fall short of the glory of God
I know that's what my bible said.
But there are some of you that don't have a clue
You think yourselves an exception to these rules
You think you are wise and perfect in God's eyes
When in reality, you're nothing but fools.
You judge all of mankind making yourself blind
To your own faults, or you pretend to have none
You curse all men who are submerged in their sin
While forgetting the things that you've done.
You're in church every week and when its your turn to speak
You speak loudly, for you love to be heard
You should keep it in mind while impressing mankind
That your actions speak louder than your words.
It is church goers like you when you do what you do
That causes God to quickly take offense
You skillfully dodge all blame and hide in God's name
However, there are many ways to straddle the fence.
Now don't get me wrong for I do not go along
With the things that men are doing today
But I can't throw a stone when I've many faults of my own
I just tell people about God the right way.
You and your kind who are so stupid and blind
Build yourselves up by knocking others down
Because they're not like you and don't do what you do
You say that they're lost, and will not get a crown.
You sit in high places and walk about with two faces
Seeming godly, if only in your eyes
You tell your sisters and brothers that they're better than others
But I know that this is nothing but lies.
Think what you may but come judgement day
When the Master has completed His reaping
You'll stand in His glory and we'll know the true story
For He'll reveil the secrets that you're keeping.
When God sees your mess He will not be impressed
By what you have or what you think you may know
He'll take just one look, see your name not in His book
Then it will be off to hell you will go.
You could change this sad ending if you stopped your pretending
To be perfect and all holier than thou
Stop hiding your evil ways and do as God says
Then you'll be saved, but the time is right now.
By Benjamin Macieo Davis
Theprinceofpoetry
they drag there feet through the dust of charred land.
observing and writing all's that they found.
smoke bellowed high in an eruption of cloud.
all in it's way was incinerated down.
then came the calm compared to the storm.
the local's forgot and returned to the norm.
cutting off fruit from the tree's by the lawn.
almost forgetting what they saw in the storm.
then came the day that the world was shook still.
three crater's erupted and raced down the hill.
leaving the sea as nothing more than a stream.
krakatoa had spoken and was now to be seen.
the local's prayed to the god of the fire.
struck dumb in a trance they raced to ground higher.
ship's in the sea were smothered in ash.
the breath's of the crew choked as they gasped.
86 mile's away eruption's were heard.
survival was second,panic was first.
tropical city's were drowned in grey ash.
then in the morning cataclysmic sound's passed.
then came the water intruding the sea.
all in it's path became the deceased.
first came the heat now come's the wet.
dozen's of feet high with the force of all death's.
black and white photo's show familiar sight's.
once stood tall buildings gone over night.
then came the fiercest measure of all.
krakatoa had bounced from the earth like a ball.
light colored magma mixed with the dark.
causing directly the sea to embark.
off on it's journey to show all's who see.
that mother nature is here and al way's shall be.
then came the final eruption of all.
heard round the world like a universal call.
pushing on further the sea to the sky.
the tsunami came quicker as the tidal wave's climbed.
panic had gone as the world was to end.
no longer have family,no longer have friend.
do you think that the sea care's who's holier than thou.
no god shall ever hear the prayer's of the drowned.
only the calm of the few did survive.
the world now stood still,shocked and surprised.
who's god was it that sent down this plague.
pushing the night into all of our day's.
mother nature creates us and can take us at will.
so be kind to the lady and hope she is still.
respect her and understand she rule's us all.
don't be surprised by her power,when she stand's tall.
A Rant – The Quiet Hypocrisy
it seeps in through gradual osmosis
and soon is ingrained in pliant minds
it mutates and thrives in tunnels of vision
and then is fused into the fiber of unreason
the quiet hypocrisy that drips of the tongues
spouting broken words of unfathomable callousness
the mutilated reeking carcass of cynicism
obscured by the veneer of polished discourse
stinks of inaction and of insipid rationalization
the probing and prodding and splintering of each thought
curdles the shallow layer of feeling
interring the basic simple and only humanity
that is gleefully ripped into isolated fragments
the quiet hypocrisy of battles fought and of causes embraced
is plain to see in the faces of the earnest
as they cling onto their bitter loathsome prejudices
whilst buying redemption under a placard of well-meaning
the quiet hypocrisy of these selective battles waged under the flimsy pretense of caring
stinks to the highest heaven promised in mantras and duas and prayers and chants
as the spectacle of the apartheid within the mind is worn on each tailored sleeve
the choosing of these battles in the name of faith and clung onto simply because of a common creed
is a pathetic spectacle of segregated thought
buried under the folds of righteous bluster
so before you jump on that bandwagon of indignation because 'your' people are in pain
take a look at the hidden fascism that simmers just below your holier-than-thou sudden spurt of heartfelt rage
for the quiet hypocrisy that is unknowingly imbibed
is apparent for all to behold
for when the 'other' endure the injustice carried out in 'your' peoples' name
you stand mute and silently complicit for your indignation simply melts away
as the quiet hypocrisy that is firmly rooted in you
exults in pious pretences while 'your' own continue to hate, rape, pillage and slay
it saddens me that so much vitriol drips off my pen in such effervescent times
but I cringe as each moment another quiet hypocrite rants about the despotism of the 'other'
while smiling complacently and smugly and soaking in the quiet hypocrisy of remaining mute about 'my' peoples' own crimes
Form:
LET HIM WITHOUT SINS CAST THE FIRST STONE--
Your name calling;
Backbiting;
Globe Trodding
Na na na na na Na
Stop calling my sin out;
When are you gonna
Talk about, talk about yourself
See
It’s not just me
Well
There’s a hell
For all those people who??
Na na na na na Na, Na na na na na Na
Na na na na na Na, Na na na na na Na
name calling;
Backbiting;
Globe trodding
Na na na na na Na
first I need to repent, myself
why you holden your breath
You better check yo'self
Let him without sin, cast the first stone;
Let him without sin, cast the first stone;
What have you done behind closed doors;
What looks good
What smells good
What ripe, what’s right
It’s just could be fifty rags in the Lord sight
Let him without sin, cast the first stone
Yes, I’ve stolen
Yes, I’ve lied
But what have your done
Holier than thou… well
What have you done behind closed doors;
What looks good
What smells good
What ripe, what’s right
It’s just could be fifty rags in the Lord sight
Let him without sin, cast the first stone
Na na na na na Na, Na na na na na Na
Na na na na na Na, Na na na na na Na
name calling;
Backbiting;
Globe trodding
Na na na na na Na
Stop calling my sin out;
When are you gonna
Talk about, talk about yourself
Your name calling;
Backbiting;
Globe Trodding
Na na na na na Na
Your name calling;
Backbiting;
Globe Trodding
Na na na na na Na
Stop calling my sin out;
When are you gonna
Talk about, talk about yourself
See
It’s not just me
Well
There’s a hell
For all those people who??
Na na na na na Na, Na na na na na Na
Na na na na na Na, Na na na na na Na
name calling;
Backbiting;
Globe trodding
Na na na na na Na
first I need to repent, myself
why you holden your breath
You better check yo'self
Let him without sin, cast the first stone;
Let him without sin, cast the first stone;
What have you done behind closed doors;
What looks good
What smells good
What ripe, what’s right
It’s just could be fifty rags in the Lord sight
Let him without sin, cast the first stone
2/6/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
Fundamentalists
Evangelists
Jihadists
HolyWar and Final Judgment and RoughLove Advocates
against infidels and other, more domesticated, sinners:
Put down your Bibles and Korans,
written to grow love
and not weapons for bleary-eyed bullies.
You spend too much time reading and thinking
and arguing
to let your spiritual emotions swell and grow love.
Instead,
pick up a small recycled brown paper bag
of healthy
fertile
organic mustard seeds.
Learn faith with them,
that together you might grow
to know
this radiant reign of God's Eternal Light and NonDual Dark.
Plant them into Advent darkness,
care for them,
water them
and not the tarish tearing weeds
of envy and supremacy,
hypocrisy and punishing misjudgment,
superstition
and hope for antiEarth anti-logical magic,
nightmares and violence,
anger and fear-mongering,
Old Testament blood sacrifices
and enslavement to false fascist idols
as if these were large enough
to contain the wisdom of one regenerative mustard seed,
sprouting radiant love for God's sun
and MotherEarth's baptismal waters,
fueling our shared root restorative ecosystem.
Harvest these therapeutic cultures of health
and gratitude
and grace,
make spicy brown mustard with them.
Serve to and from your students
and children
and mentees
on homemade 7-Grain ReGenerate Manna.
Wait for Paradise
to flow through your mouths,
down your throats,
into your communion stomachs.
If your kids are faithful and loving goats,
watch them wag their tails,
wages of love and not sin,
in gratitude for Grace.
If human
help us listen to,
and speak,
and write better tales
for restorative healing of love,
omnipresent as a mustard seed's integrity
of each moment's sacred with secular potential.
And if you should learn faith as one of these kids,
your tail
and tales
will wag truer,
and far more grace-filling effective
and affective
and infective
and reflective
too.
Then you may be safe to return
to your holier-with-you gardening books
on how to grow histories of love
without sinning against faith
of a mustard seed.
She was taken, dragged from the holy fathers
House of holy purity, against the free wills spirit!
The maiden weeps in the lunar night, a lone predator
Howling for redemption's reclamation, unable to slow
The pace of her running, for the hunter of daylight
Steps within her cursed foot path.
Sleek mistress of the disdain, fleeing from
Thy own kindred pack, without salvation's mercy,
The she-wolf bays at the elliptical moon,
Defying the wolfen curse, its lightning thunder
Flash, rebelling against her inner desire
For hungers blood satisfaction to feed!
A sizzling fire burns within the belly of the beast,
An unquenchable flame eating at its own kindling
Fuel, the vowed promised unto God himself,
Yet bitten by the hound of Hell, she’s the
Righteous satanic offering, to a darker lords
Altar of demonic evil!
A white sister of the blessed cross, kneeling
Within the fur coat of a she-werewolf’s redden cloak,
Behold a creature tortured between the forces
Of light and dark, crying unto her invisible god,
Yet hearing the voice of seduction from beneath!
Tender the rose of innocence, trampled underneath the
Crimson red paw, let the tears of the angels sustaining
In faith’s mighty shield, but she already enveloped
Within the blackened embrace of the emperor of
Darkness and is unable to tare herself free!
In the echoing of the children of the night,
The wild hearted call unto she, this creature
Of a holier light, come run beside us, thy kindred
Of the blood!
Those untamed beckon, but she heeds them not,
At the temple of the faith’s religion does she so climb?
This she-wolf of the fallen, seeking deliverance step,
By step, praying in the barking demonic tongue, of her
Kind, she pleads for the divine to set her free!
But the lord God see his child, wrapped within wolves
The furs huskin trappings, and blesses
As if a snake shedding its outer skins of shame,
The she-wolf discards the furry garments of the
Beast layer by layer, reveling the white angel of mercy,
Hidden beneath, and praising the heavenly father,
In rapturous gratitude!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Saint Govan’s Chapel
They stood with their raincoats and rubber boots at the top of the cliff
Clothed in anger and fear they braced the elements and honoured the Saint
A hermit had lived in a fissure hewn into rocks by the tides and corrosion
The Chapel had been a later addition to weather storms for silent prayer
Souls stuck on survive they had arrived at the abyss to halt their demise
Hearts on surrender they threw caution to the wind for one final shout
‘Maybe the dolphins will offer a ride or the seagulls will take us higher’
Into clouds of salvation where their minds had failed to deliver release
He picked wild flowers and arranged a crown on her sunken head
Yellow Poppies for Peace and Wild Garlic to fend off their demons
Caressed the breeze in her hair embraced her Puffin tattoo and
Sank into her bell feathered arms seduced by kindness and hope
Raindrops fell like pearlescent seashells from a rainbow while rosaries’
Ocean spray tickled their weather worn skins and covered their sadness
Wind brushed away urchins of cobwebs and urged them to proceed
Sun rays reflected the moon as they enlightened their shadows’ horizon
Stripped to the core and essence they unlaced gloom and their burdens
Stepped forward in time and let nature answer echoes of happiness
Before they knew it stark naked bodies mingled under moons’ canopy
As they spooned their fortunes together and went deep inside joy
They felt younger by the minute and recalled the ancient wisdom that
A healthy body resides in a sound mind and rekindled passion and life
Soon they would not hear the sound of waves but felt the earth move
To rhymes rhythm and metre holier than holy and discarded insanity
Tongues licked the salt of the earth kissed cradled abandoned restraint
And tied a union made in heaven transported into ravines of rapture
The gods blushed a bit but looked kindly onto the feast of delight
No one demanded that life must be prudish when beauty unveils
06th June 2019
Maybe we should embrace our own ends
As we would a lover
Who We rejected for too long
With her wild eyes.
Both will be too eager to see you.
One as a killer
And the other?
And the other?
The promise of spending nights in the emergency room
Will always be kept
Stuck watching silent tv sets.
Everyone listens for the nurse’s call.
The life that comes
After midnight
Wakes
flowers
Like orchids
Which bloom under moonlight
**** into the sunless waiting room
Which leads
Into the deserts of sexless sleep
with dry dreams
at its end
or as an applause.
2
Most of us would rather disappear
Into the movies
That only show retrospectives
where destiny will always ride
Unarmed
Though some of us wish he would pull
A hidden sword.
This would be preferable to
Say finding a letter tapped to your door
From some desperate friend
Who found a natural home in Bellevue
Or the bottom of the Hudson.
“come over at once”
No one around here waits too long
For you so don’t take too long
To visit.
You see,
some of us look
To escape ourselves
And all our true loves by
Surrendering to the IR
To reach the gray ocean
With waters that are
Always cold
But never freezes.
Such moves require perfect timing
The dictates of the clock
Which I find too demanding
For me to find
The right words
To put on the page
Without risking absurdity.
Are you going to scratch at the
heavy metal door
“screaming
let me in?”
These films are all that is left
now
that innocent’s green dreams
born of our childhood
has been recalled.
Experience is
After all
a fetishist’s garden.
Where the vines reach for your gentiles
(As punishment
Born of Jewish or Catholic guilt)
With the sensation
Of pleasures burning
Some bitter afternoon that no one asked for.
Those are the hours when we lay around
In unmade beds designed for
something dead
and forgotten
but holier than guru Mi’s ********,
where my mattress absorbs more sweat than ideas
of a future that comes from the point of a gun.