Long Saint Poems
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On Memorial of St. Dominic
We remember that man who sought to teach the truth in service to Father Christ
The Master Teacher
Every age has its errors
As Dominic encountered with Albigensian heresy over 800 years ago
In our time
We are likewise called to proclaim the truth both clarity
Charity
No matter our state in life Eternal God calls us to serve within our own unique capacities
Circumstances
Talents
The closer we grow to the Lord
The more dispenses the grace to persevere in holiness
Just as Saint Dominic followed Eternal God piously to lead the wayward to repentance
So
Too
Should we look inwardly and then outwardly to embrace the Gospel
Heavenly Eternal Father
Our world is full of confusion
Dissent from the truth
As we seek to live Your holy will
May we look the example of Saint Dominic
Who only spoke to You
About You
We pray this in Father Christ’ holy Name
Justin McClain, O.P.
Turned to Poetry: Jacqueline R. Mendoza
Poetry Form: Free Verse/Narrative
Date turned to Poetry: 8032024
Time turned to Poetry: 9:18pm
Watermelon is a hard word
to try and find a rhyme
And I thought that I could
If I would take the time
So, I've travel far and wide
From Mount Dora to Saint Helens
But couldn't find a word
That rhymed with
watermelon
I have asked Honest Men
all the way , Down to a Felon
I've whispered pretty please
Other times simply yellin'
Searching every corner of the earth just like Magellan
And I still can't find a rhyming word for
watermelon
I've pondered over books
From real trash to Best Sellin'
Worked out every rhyme scheme
Till my brain started swellin'
If Mister Webster knows, he for sure ain't tellin'
About a word that just might rhyme with
watermelon
where are they now
grief's are found on
our streets
cos everyday our life's
are painted with struggles
our future is determined
by those involved In corruption
so I wonder how we could
be sure of a better tomorrow
where are they now
from the look of things
we are far from reality
our efforts are just
for the benefit of the elite
is sad to see ourselves exist
by only in shadows
where are they now
too much words was spoken
too many promises were made
to better our life's
from the lips of our elite
we thought and believed
our hard life will be eliminated
after their promises were made
we expect an act of change
afterwards by our new government
yet we only live to exist
still just in shadows
where are they now
our mother are crying in grieves
our kids are growing up
in real hardship
our people are not well educated
our basic need is a war
I just wonder what happened
to those
with the words of changed
where are they now
where are they now
somebody lied
somebody is play a fast game
on our life's
if where are they now
they with the words of change
they with the promises of
a new better days
they that once stand as
the god saint
where are they now
that we are dieing in hardships
now that our country is in more
depression
where are they now
or was it it just another
political game to rules again
it looks like we have been fooled
again
somebody had lied again
if not in this hardship
why are we left alone
as I wonder those who
we've given our trust in times
like this
where are they now
I love the month of February,
The coldest month of the season,
For an array of personal reasons.
And yet, it feels like she is the longest,
For the events that happen haphazardly,
Amid treacherous winter storm blasts.
Quasi everything is frozen near the nest
Of the American bald eagles,
Except the Mardi Gras masks under the rumbles.
Feb is the month of love,
The month of Saint Valentine,
A quintessential paradise cove,
Where lovers take refuge. Pure, pristine,
Snowy, short, cold, dark, and lovely; She's now
The celebratory month of Black history,
One wonders why and how
We get the shortest one. It's another story
That we should let the nomad seagulls
Decipher. No swimmers on the wintry beaches,
Solely, a few birds are perched on the branches,
Far away from the cribs of the bald eagles.
February is a month of kaleidoscopic contrast,
Where snowfalls happen quite often,
And hardcore lovers dream under a heaven
Full of hope, love, beauty, and ice.
Hebert Logerie Tuesday, February 2, 2016
I am a proud Satanist and Luciferian/
I'm not like any of them/
I'm the one grain/
That stands out from them all in my religion/
Violent is not my middle name/
Stupid is not my middle name/
Stupidity is my only sin/
Think whatever you want/
Regardless of what I've been through in life/
I'm better than that/
I created my own philosophy and live by it/
I bow down to no God, nobody, nothing/
I am my own God/
I have the intelligence/
Skills, talents of a God/
I have the knowledge of a God/
I'm not the same/
As anyone anywhere remembers me/
I have a high and mighty character/
The most piercing eyes in existence/
The most intimidating appearance in existence/
I can appear as the hardest in existence/
I can be the sweetest Romeo/
I am a shape shifter/
But, I am flawless, perfection/
My heart made of flawless gold/
I am a Luciferian Saint/
Despite what I've been through/
I'm better than that/
Yeah, some Satanists/
Gives my religion a bad name/
But they only have half a brain/
Some Christians gives/
Their own religion a bad name, too/
No difference/
Violent, stupid is not my middle name/
So, don't think otherwise/
My appearance can be shocking/
But, I am harmless/
The one who loved his mother well
gave her respect through out the years
when from a child he knew she cared
and seldom caused her many tears.
Although no saint, he always had
a sharpened sense of right and wrong
and though he traveled to many lands
he never stayed away for long.
For family was where he'd made
a home of comfort in his heart
with precious memories that stayed
from where his thoughts would not depart.
The one who loved his mother well
who cared for her through out his life
the love he gave, I'll ever tell
a legacy of a sweet and giving life.
Written on 5/23/2017
after “Lead, Kindly Light” by Blessed John Henry Newman (1801-1890)
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Centuries saw god-fearing folks
There was faith, love and peace
Pride was less, contentment more
Generations lived with less feuds
Marriages made vows true
Harmony was fair, stable
Families guided behavior
Parenthood functional
Shared values, exchanged true smiles
Knowledge explosion paved new way
I am in nuclear age
Miserly thinking-living
Faith lost, love lost, brooding sly, wild
No more god-fearing folks
Ungratified, ungrateful
New blooms addicted, youth gone rogue
Unstable families
Point of no return, is gone
Fatal-born, structure volatile
Lord, lead me on, get me
Through vile, through lies, through deceit
No good am I, yet, I love to be pure
Pure in heart, pure in mind
Just pure enough, to hold you in my soul
I am no saint, I love to pray
Bring back kind holy peace
Bring back all lost, Bring back humans
Lead us all dear lord, do restore
the lost humanity
hallowed be the earth, Lead us
Beautiful the ugliness of scented sweat.
Resists the idea to flee. The least needs
the soldier’s help. The bleed of his forehead -
whether this soul is of tares or weeds.
This dreadful beast is a Samaritan’s guest.
He has no wallet, no name, one’s home.
A medicinal book speaks, “Give him rest.”
Wash him, pull up clean sheets to his chin.
The saint cannot measure the light of his eyes.
They are sweltered in darkness under lids.
The beauty sleep might do him good.
Samaritan, you can’t take a peek - God forbids.
Chances are this hoary man’ll not be thankful.
Chances are he’d rather be dead…is he?
You’ve taken a chance…might he be wrathful?
Still, a human being presented himself - the least.
Beautiful the rising of the sun, its presentation
of bittersweet orange and red, hugely sacrificing.
In nettle, your knees - you know who you long to be.
No matter the cost, the calling of heaven’s enticing.
What’s captured my interest of late:
the notion of maximally great.
Some may find it odd
to talk thus of God,
but it’s part of an age-old debate.
Saint Anselm got off to a start;
got expanded upon by Descartes.
Then Kant came along,
convinced they were wrong;
the God proofs took a shot to the heart.
Anselm, you’ve heard of, I trust,
stated positively, being must.
’Twas Edwards, you see,
said non-being couldn’t be,
parrying Immanuel’s thrust.
Variants have surfaced since;
Plantinga is pretty intense:
discussions unfurled
into possible worlds,
and maximal excellence.
In the end, it all comes down to you;
possibility: a thing to work through.
With regard to reason,
one commits no treason
in accepting the premise as true.
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An interesting article on the subject can be found at:
https://peped.org/philosophicalinvestigations/article-plantinga-ontological-argument/
I could not think of anything to write because I don’t celebrate
Saint Patrick’s Day, although I observe it wearing green, if I don’t forget.
I just remembered I dated a guy, who has Irish ancestry last year.
Yes, we celebrated Saint Patrick’s Friday night for it fell on Wednesday.
We agreed on wearing something green and meeting at the Irish pub,
called Ireland’s 32 to have dinner and dance to the tunes of a rock band.
As expected, he was wearing a green shirt and I wearing a green blouse.
The place was packed when we got there, standing near the door a while.
We walked to another pub across the street to eat and walked back for
the band, got lucky to get a table, comfortably listened and danced the
night away and of course chatted until the wee hours, the closing time.
Well, he did not give me a four leaf clover for luck, whatever fizzled out.