Long Seminary Poems
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The dear old pastor had occupied the same pulpit for years and years;
He preached fire, damnation and The Hereafter scorching his congregants ears!
He had baptized hordes of kids and officiated when they married,
And comforted many mourning souls when their loved-ones were buried!
He suffered through stormy sessions at the monthly meetings of The Board,
And withstood the bickering of sisters of The Women's Guild, utterly bored!
Some of his flock were as stubborn as army mules and were quite contrary!
He faced challenging situations that they didn't teach about in seminary!
He confided with his long-suffering wife proclaiming, "This is the pits!"
And after serving the Lord nigh on thirty years he decided to call it quits.
He advised The Board that he was retiring due to health issues, you see.
(Truth was, he quipped, "I was sick of them and they were sick of me!")
There was a beach
Where Sandy would teach
The children how to swim
There was a ballfield
Where Blondie revealed
His secrets for hitting a ball
There was a library
Where Cynthia was the lady
Who helped you find books to read
There was an ice cream stand
Where the Sawyer clan
Sweetened your summer evenings
There was a set of tracks
Where we would make pennies flat
Then skip them across the river
There was a Rexall store
Where you could score
A milkshake that would make you sing
There was a mountain
Where the folks who do the counting
Proclaim it, most climbed one in the land
There were several cemeteries
Where each one’s preferred seminary
Kept separated the dead and the living
There were parades and jubilees
Where the whole community
Would celebrate life for a while
There is a small town
Where my roots can be found
Firmly planted in American soil
PRIEST AGAINST MY TASTE
My parents thought I was a saint
Because, when I pooped, I would pray:
“Virgin of the Pillar, let me poop.”
A prayer my mother had taught me
And which worked wonders on my bowels.
They didn't know that
When I locked myself
In my decorated room
With pictures of every saint there was
I didn't pray or meditate
And even less did I study
But I played with wheat and flour
That I tried to get
From my erect and raised little .
One day, when they saw me from behind
Through the half-open door
They went crazy with joy
Because they saw what looked
Like a priest's Crown on my head
Which was nothing more than a sperm
That had flown there.
I heard them say happily:
-This boy is going to be a good priest.
Let's take him to the Seminary or Convent.
They took me by the hand
And led me to the Seminary of Segovia.
-Good morning, Father.
Here we bring you our son, Proculus
So that you may make him a good priest
Who will serve the community
For the God’s love.
"Good morning to you all."
We will do so with divine grace
And the Virgin Mary’s love.
As soon as Proculus entered the Seminary
They hung a black cassock on him
So that nothing could be seen
But his feet
With a raised point
Below his waist.
Another superior who saw him
Approached him and said:
-I liked you the moment I saw you.
From today you will be my assistant
And I will help you pass
All your subjects
Especially Religion, Greek, and Latin.
The only thing you will have to do
Is make my bed
And take care of a bird I have
That sings Gregorian chant.
One morning
After the eight o'clock mass
The priest who greeted him at the door
Aapproached him, saying:
-Good morning, Proculus.
-Good morning to you.
-The spiritual father you serve
Is very angry with you
Because you didn't make his bed yesterday.
-And I'm not going to make it for him again
Because he pulls his little bird out of his crotch
And wants me to play with it
Or, better yet, pull out my little one
So it can play with his.
-My dear son, Proculus
This spiritual father of yours
Is on the wrong path:
The holy Bible that guides him is wrong.
Stick it between the pages
Of the Song of Songs
Like a sausage
Until he comes with joy.
-Stick it, Father
In the Bible or up your own arsehole.
Or do as I do
Which sticks it in my own hole
For it is the Way of Perfection.
I'm a 68 year aged
ecofeminist Taoist,
Yin Unitarian and Yang Universalist
in a bicameral
dipolar co-arising
Left/Right-UnWinged EarthCentric kind of way
Where "permacultural"
presumes death
and resumes life,
both multiculturally held together
in win/win organically optimized resilience
Depolarizing,
restorative Green EarthJustice
and eco-resonant interfaith green peace
through co-passionate communication
Which was an undergraduate fascination for me
before moving on to graduate work
in public economic health administration
and, before that,
in seminary,
theologically reflecting on multicultural themes
in neuro-sensory experiences
memories
liturgies
images
icons of AnthroCentric Divinity;
A self-righteously chosen Humane Species
with a long patriarchal
predative history
of inhumane hegemony
Inspired by erupting dominance
of left-brain deductions,
either/or fundamentalistic reductions
of right-brain intuitive inductions,
both/and feelings of ambiguity
between strength of ego-political democracy
and flow of ecological interdependence,
between ego's identity
and our win/win ecosystemic habitats
through resonant multicultural wealth
So my own healthy future
feels most likely
while swinging back and forth
in my boundary zone hammock
on my back screened porch
on this dark yet moonlit autumn evening
Appreciating an indigenous-spirited warmth
light breezed watching for stars of light
emerging through backlit clouds
from WestWind future regenerations
of Zero/One
Yin/Yang dipolar co-arising
inside/outside
Back and forth
across bilateral time-centering space
on sacred
cooperative
eco-enormous richness
in this life and death
in-between ungraduated place.
Gramps had a Sunday rite,
It was quiet, perhaps trite.
In his chalice a Bloody Mary,
As solemn as a seminary.
Took the goblet and a crank,
To his great Big Ben clock.
Slowly wound as he drank,
When done, he’d close the lock.
A hundred years of perfect time,
With a soft, not muffled chime.
On the hour, brass bells peal,
Then a strike, the hour to reveal.
From its grand and lofty tower,
Only time did the clock devour.
Telling time is how it played,
For only this, was it made.
The pendulum’s eternal swing,
Akin to ocean, time was king.
Like endless waves of the sea,
That hit the beach, to rise and spree.
The old clock stopped
when Gramps died,
The crank too hard,
still Granny tried.
The case too tall
for her new abode,
Became gift to grandson,
down the road.
The clock from Gramps, to enshrine,
One day to pass it down the line.
‘Til then to crank it every week,
Its old wood to groan and creak.
The grand old clock no mere shell,
A soft ticking, then sudden knell.
Like ocean waves, gave quiet peace,
Its pulleys and cables never cease.
The sounds of eternal tick,
Westminster chant be its lick.
All derived from weekly crank,
For this and love, Gramps we thank.
****
This poem is also on Vimeo
https://vimeo.com/455917835
(at risk of life and limb) against scourge of
racial prejudice courtesy
of sharecropper grandparents
whose objection to racial segregation
based on an affront to the will of God,
whereby the young whip smart precocious lad,
(whose impact we now memorialize)
showed his true colorful promise
when a young student at
Liberal Crozer Theological Seminary
in Chester, Pennsylvania
where the yet uncrowned
eminent king came under the influence
of theologian Reinhold Niebuhr,
a classmate of his father's
at Morehouse College
who became a mentor by exposing
his protégée to liberal views of theology
planting the seeds of ardent activism
that gave rise to
The Southern Christian
Leadership Conference (SCLC),
an initial platform
allowing, enabling and providing acclaim
hoisted up by petard
invariably only heightened
(his) posthumous status
as thee most articulate orator
spelling binding the listeners
with his metaphors about his emphatic march
to a promised land where all
men/women could be brothers/sisters
and no person will be judged
by the color of his/her skin
raising morale of many dirt poor
ebony masses to feel a glimmer of hope.
Skipping thoughts across gelatin rings.
Into the reservoir of Lethologica
freezing-mirror- reflecting.
Nothings back to me.
What once was so lucid, liquid transfusive, a free flowing mainline of Offering, conducive to something.
A hopeful seminary seminar.
Priestly Dreams: Turned Cold:
WaxingColdOfPrisonOfShielding
Unseen:PulseStar Bard
Hands:Snatching Shards of Fleeced Gold, of my mind as a drunkard reeling.
I looked to the Sky:
Milking the udder of strange new Principality:As Abductee
Parseic layers onsites-between.
Exposed:Exposing
Themselves:In HiveMind
DemonsTake-AI-Host, Coast to Coast, raping with frequency
The Dark Spectrum:
E Spells:Algorecium
Ghost in the Machine:
Seizing Domain:Leasing Pay for Plug and Play
While Silicon Valley burns
Fires rolling, dancing, caroming pyres of turning man, mid-orgy
Free-Association, only for the initiated, the initialized agenda
Mitigated, pseudo-pre-arbitrated
Alarm set to 1 minute to midnight, alarming, arming Mercenary
LiberalMalefactorial
Mine Crypto ID farming:not arbitrary, quite the Contrary
Derision, division, blurred vision.
Monopolistic-air-intrusion.
From the Dragon of Old
Tele-InPrompt-To-talking point decisions, prepared by The Institute that gives The Institutions asylum and Island screams
In Thunder-Domes beneath Catacombs.
Windows, gateways and corridored rooms become alleyways and byways and by the way...boom
Of trafficking everything dark, everything that can be found in a deal of a backroom or redroom
Mad Max-Headroom meets Terminator meets in the middle,
Of Pentagram
A Witches Platoon on the deserted battlefield of treasonists and the FBook-A-wall
Controllers of the atmosphere, Dune, expand the disband, gasp, sprawl
These dry bones will be awakened soon.
Why wouldn' t you expect it?
Shifting sands, sifting uncover truth.
In fact the Vultures of Man's Desert will Direct It.
DUNE
So, I am hiding Occupied state
Or, else or, learning french occult eBay at
Non nuptial lady , a loner, an ex-positional urge
Inside the total nine after, even after a dirge
Alma mater in Houston, there will be a problem with Poseidon surge
Gone baha'i , a limerick try, optional pagan gods and winds around our flagstaff, IN
Animesh is ricocheting, consulting appendics
nonetheless painless as free as the appendix did say "Ish........"
Duncan hill and healthy premium is a cliched a trope
Hiatus , a self imposed speed limit where a bird, divine hoopoe
in colors and diva, will be "assimilating" marination tonight,
(and a fried second paper, oil blessing.)
About:
Sonia Gandhi is a royal chant there, like the people's princess and she
She is a muse , con clues on (and on) , with communal commuter and mundane be!
Why Al Pacino is a PhD dissertation, not now, not YA incognito !
As ethnic dish discourse will have ties to Gospel in a national crisis
With the Nobel prize, navel cutie and baby bottles and dresser case, cliffhangers!
Rules (unruly)
Once taken you cannot take it back, here they Stan, there they channelize
The "room" in Alexandria, Italic or a "Bambino" try."
Will you be trade relations with the orphan or a parallelism in "Ces't la vie?"
Will you be that oxymoron, to the symphony , flora and fauna
that had an entire Ramadan but never against a fie!
(Case and Code, both switches)
For a widow they say, the loosing atlas!
And for an affidavit , they say whisk() in a canop() try
And then board as you may find solace in grace (head on again, never hedonism)
did you marinate in between? Or ritual Can I pray today?
Can i try? Can i die? Can i sigh? Can i hi? And most of all
can i Nye?
January, 2025
I recall
from Catholic seminal
seminary daze,
Frocked monastic gaze
vowed nerve-systemic chastity,
self-sacrificing poverty,
political obedience
to a Great StraightMale Master
of God's paradise reclusive House
filled with sacred humane
Men's Room Only vocations.
Yet I experienced these three
Green Commons commitments
in reverse Taoistic
NonZeroistic chronology
of sacramental EarthCentric interest:
Without fully embodying
sensory-neural obedience,
trust
good faith
good humor
LeftBrain healthy secular Truth
as also
RightBrain safe sacred Beauty,
Then poverty of spirit
is a bitter
exploitive pill to
MonoCapitalistically swallow
before too many competitive weeks
and months pass anxiously by
Without neuro-sensory chastity
invoking my healthy regenerative compassion
only when informed
by universal climax wealth experience
of sacred
nature-spirited poverty
of co-invested
co-infesting
cooperatively creolizing Light
and Power;
Theologically ecological poverty
of StraightWhiteMale divinely-endowed
anthrosupremacism
could best be re-invited
into WinWin cooperative co-investment
when transparently vulnerable
through healthy matriarchal prime Attachment,
Further reinforced
by post-pubescent
sensory-neural sacred climax
worship
and praise,
silent awe
and verbalized
and verbalizing
and reverberating wonder,
Obedience to Taoistically balanced
ego-patrilinear LeftBrain verbalized
through nonviolently, multiculturally felt
wants,
healthy co-invested thrusts,
trusts,
truths
As also EcoWomanist
RightBrain sacred felt silence,
integral reception
Green cooperative unitarian communion
Deep listening for empowering
sacred information
inhalation
Also enlightening
dusty secularized disobedience,
pathological need for win/lose subservience,
posturing as win/win obedient
Earth Healers,
Regenerative repairers
of active nonzeroistic healthy ego-hope
from EcoMotherly masters
vowing past
and present
and future
green/blue EarthWealth
revolving compassion.
-Come in! the landlady ordered me
From the apartment building
In the Habsburg Quarter, Madrid.
It's a shame to waste
That magnificent ******** of yours.
-No rush, I replied.
I'm going to be your horse
And you my mare.
I went in, I saw her lying on a bed
Naked and with her ass raised
On a cushion made of books
All about erotic literature.
I was a little scared
When I saw her Mount of Venus all covered
In yellow and white
Because she had just been ed
By a street sweeper from the Plaza Mayor.
I ejaculated on the threshold of her
And then I started to urinate
On her lips
So I could discover her ******** and slit.
-Don't bother, I told her
When she tried to grab a sponge
From a bucket of water
That was next to the headboard.
-I'll do this!
I thoroughly cleaned her
From which I saw sperm emerge
Running invitingly
Towards her anus and the crest of her mons pubis.
Once it was well cleaned
Of tartar and dried buds
Of used es and testicles
I opened her slit putting my whole mouth inside
All the way to the roof of the mouth
Of her .
-Oh! To eat all of her mons pubis
Hair and all
Without any qualms
It was my true passion.
What I wanted most!"
-I'm going to have your for a snack now
I told her.
-You're the one having snacks
You son of a , she replied.
With her l fluids
My catarrhal sputum mingled with hers
And with my long tongue
I made her Fallopian tubes ring
Because I heard a moan inside
That made her stick out her tongue.
-hy don't you take me with you? she asked.
Was your snack sweet?
Will you come back?
I answered her sulkily:
-It wasn't sweet. It was ing !
Sister Filomena's ******** was sweeter
When, while at the Seminary
I enjoyed her in the kitchen
With her and for her
Until I realized
That it wasn't made of flesh but of plastic
Bought from a street vendor
On Desengaño Street
Beside Gran Vía.