Long St paul Poems
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Great White Father,
About those anti-BadNewsMedia rallies
while our SouthWest is burning
and while our SouthEast is flooding
and wet windstorm conflagrating,
feeling the flamed-up wrath
of an angry EarthGoddess,
Why do you plant and nurture hate
and anger
against potential WinWin integral communicators?
Did it not once occur to you
to wonder why you chose to be elected
in this climate precarious time?
Why are you like BadNews zealously mendacious Saul
when we so obviously need a more integrated St. Paul?
Filled and overflowing with healthy integrity,
Holy Matriarchal Spirit-Nature.
Your mockery
and tongue-lashing
and transparent ego-promotion
will not help one child
recall what a great job you did
while made in U.S. of A. family homes
and forests are burning
longer and stronger
every devolutionary decade.
Your egotism
and anthropocentrism
further inflame climate disasters
and absence of accessible health care,
cooperatively given as received,
and healthy wealth of economic and politically reasonable reassurance
that, together,
as a healthy bicameral democracy,
we can rebuild this co-dominating
co-operative constitutional
integrity we so redemptively WinWin need
We need to gather to heal Earth's climates,
not to destroy them
with bad attitude and vilifying pathologies
rather than gratitude and health-wealth celebrations
to restore justice and invite cooperatively owned peace
into ego/eco-centered green health hearts
and wealth societies
reforesting our WinLose deserts,
Revolve
resolve our storming desserts
for past hubris
of Great White Fathers
demanding missionary colonization
inflaming idolatrous hate
rather than inviting
our seas to still
our surviving trees to witness our worship.
One difference between you
and Barack Hussein
I notice you never mention:
You look at historical outcomes
for nature/spirit WinWin Native Americans
and gleefully declare
"They lost!"
Barack recalls those same disempowering outcomes
and sadly, yet more patriotically, notes
"We all lost."
I wonder if the burning homes
and trees
can hear that terrifying empathic difference
for future integrity
of a mental and physical
mind and body
spiritual and natural healthy democracy.
I remember one night last winter when we thought it was snow falling, but we were wrong. It was ice.
We went out that night and stayed out too late -- unusual for folks our age. We got caught in the ice storm and had to navigate home on streets made of glass.
Driving home those few short miles from St Paul to Minneapolis was so very scary. How could such a short distance become so incredibly long? How could staying out late go so terribly wrong?
We planned the most constant route home as we skated to our parking place. Multiple accidents dotted the street and dread filled my heart as I climbed behind the steering wheel, envisioning us sliding down some hill into a car or tree.
“I will not take the freeway!” I exclaimed as I eased the car from its moor, intent on what seemed a very distant shore. Wheels spinning, tires sliding, silently screaming, I eased ahead gingerly as vehicles all around us seemed to be loosing their way.
Cars slip sideways into ditches, up on curbs and into each other. One car slithered past us as we inched slowly down an inclined avenue. Please God, Please God, my silent chant . . . at stoplights and curves, with white-knuckled grasp upon the steering wheel, I steered through like filling a narrow edge with a stick of glue.
My spouse, the navigator, said “Turn here and take this other route.” I prayed we’d make it home. We saw a bus slide toward us sideways down the street as we approached the intersection. It seemed like a dinosaur run amok, landing sideways at our corner with a gentle buck. My light turned green and we eased forward, leaving the saurischian behind.
Hoping there would be no cars and that we’d be all alone on the city streets.
“Please God, help us make it home. Don’t let anyone or thing meet or greet us.”
At final last, the garage insight, I prayed that I could get into that tight spot without crunching the parked truck inside or the garage as I skated in. Stopped and safe finally, I realized I had held my breath since we began. My teeth hurt from clenching them so hard. And I prayed Thanks to God! I’m glad to have you navigate the treacherous roads of my life.
Thanksgiving gobbledygook
The following anecdote baste
upon overactive imagination of mine
in sync with being married
and monogamously living socially chaste
life as a scrupulous anchorite,
whose weather beaten corporeal flesh
plus sabotaged, riddled,
and tuckered psyche effaced
after becoming adequately stuffed,
this turkey (in the straw)
then flapped his trussed wings
(at the speed of sound)
if listening closely echoes refrains
from Amazing Grace,
(which words reflections of John Newton,
a slave trader
who nearly died in a shipwreck,
and who eventually became a minister.
after which he penned the famous words
of "Amazing Grace" for a sermon
for his 1773 New Year's service
at the Church of St. Peter and St. Paul)
unable to escape ill fate of mine
i.e. being analogous to cooked goose
subsequently found him interlaced
with various and sundry
other dead animals
fixed to be mounted
(courtesy a taxidermist) on a wall.
The holiday dates back
to November 1621,
when the newly arrived Pilgrims
and the Wampanoag Indians
gathered at Plymouth
for an autumn harvest feast,
an event regarded
as America's “first Thanksgiving.”
Ever since then throve,
a commercialization, commodification,
commination and communication war,
where many a big box department store
large-scale buildings
of more than 50,000 square feet,
the store is usually plainly designed
and often resembles a large box
for example Walmart, Home Depot,
Tesco, and Ikea are examples
of big-box retailers,
but never forget warehouse clubs
such as Costco and BJ's
considered the original kind
of big-box retailers nevermore
to witness mom and pop businesses
(small business entities
that thrive independently and spurred
pick/pull yourself up
by bootstraps guild den age,
or family-owned) hardcore
bricks and mortar outfits
prominent during pre industrial
high societies, when love's labour's lost
venerated, serenaded, and promenaded
like The School of Scandal of trysts,
buzzfeeding the literati
with tantalizing amour.
I knew this day would come
When the doctor announced
It’s a girl!
I knew this day would come
When the pastor called you by name
I baptize you in the name
Father, Son and Holy Spirit!
I knew this day would come
As I sang you goodnight songs
“. . . now the light has gone away . . . “
“. . . what a friend we have in Jesus . . . “
I knew this day would come
Cuddled up together at day’s end
Reading our adventure stories
Praying side-by-side
“. . . now I lay me . . .
I knew this day would come
Basketball games in the St. Paul gym
Kristen, Becca, and Allie Hoop
Free-throws, Sweaty socks, laughter
A ride home from Austin with
Zoe, a golden retriever
I knew this day would come
Confirming your faith
“… let us run with perseverance the race marked for us,
Fixing our eyes on Jesus
The pioneer and perfecter of faith”
I knew this day would come
Learning to drive
High School, new friends, teachers
HOBY – servant leadership
A time of growth and learning
The Marinist Award
I knew this day would come
The Big Decision – what college
USC or Villanova
Hanging out in Florida – Final decision!
Villanova
I knew this day would come
Singapore – freshman study aboard
Friendships, Fun, Food, Fantastic adventures
Graduating with honors and smiles – Nova Nation
A girl grown into a
Beautiful young lady!
I knew this day would come
When I would meet him!
Hiking in Colorado with a delightful young man
How delighted I was to discover
He was the young man I was praying for you
I knew this day would come
When I would give you into the hands of another
And now . . .
And now this day has come
When vows are exchanged
Two lives coming together begin
A new life-long love journey
I knew this day would come
And I feel incredibly bless to be here with you
I also know there are many more days to come!
A Father-Daughter love-bond
This Day
Forever
Live and Love Generously
David Meade
Goodmorning my dearest ones
I have a confession to make today
One day I was thinking about life
The struggles one has to endure before success kicks in
The investment one had to draw and rewrite before you are branded successful in life
Many millionaires are trying to become billionaires
Yet the poor are trying to become rich
To get food one has to work very hard for the rich for the powerful wants your money to
If a rich person tells you jump from a twenty meters apartment in exchange for a million many would do it
The richness of the soul is no longer classified as success but its joy is traded with money
If money could buy immortality then would God hàs value in our lives
But am glad a choice to live is in God's hand for if it were in human hands
Few black people would be alive,for racism would have won the day
My dear reader awake to the fact that we are busy with life problems
Then we neglect the everlasting soul
I would love to preach but my gospel is not sent but my own composition
Do wife submit to there husbands as st Paul said in Colossians?
Do husbands love there wives as it is the fairest gift one can give his wife
Do today's children respect there elders
In my tribesmen is there any elder who can lead an offering to God and God answers immediately
Long drought was common just like today but elders prayed for rain in faith and God would answer
Today the elders have a new role with the young girls in the society
The young to have an appetite for all liquor brands
The joy to serve Christ is compared to the crowd turnout and money prosperity
My brothers do not work hard as the ground is cursed for you lack faith in Christ
My sisters the joy of earthly wealth depends on how well you know Christ
My children ....the righteous elders have spoken
Heed the word of God and you will be successful in the land
May joy and peace be yours forever more
Whenever in the company of his trusted friends
St. Paul Lafargue had always said:
"I sure hope I never get a sainthood someday
- That would be supremely lame for an atheist
In any day and age."
The man was modestly honest - If not honestly modest
So I did everything I possibly could
To make sure we would celebrate his feast day,
Every-single-friggin-day!
I ran all the way straight to Vatican City,
Where I skinned all which remains
Of my horrendously disfigured knees
After tripping over my own two feet and half a sheet of LSD
- That's when I said: "Serves me right for not taking it easy."
"Jesus I'm witty!" I was nervously thinking,
as I picked broken grass
and bubble gum
Out from under
My gaping wounds - "My God,
I don't have any time for this modern-day humdrum!"
I defiantly said as I proceeded ahead
Demonstrating little more concern
For my previously acquired gangrene
Than I did for my recently sustained ruptured spleen...
...So to make a long-story painlessly short
And to keep all threats of (comedic) violence
Condensed to a marginal fault,
All that I really had to say was this:
"So; How about it? What do ya say?"
- After smashing up the whole place
With a couple of my favorite teamsters
- And that was just about that!
Paul Lafargue had been canonized
All for a philosophical laugh!
- I must've cracked every single situational gag
His Holiness had been expecting to be pulled
Straight outta my brimstone hat!
I guess it's true what I hear everybody say:
The Pope is behaving far too liberal these days.
So the next time the stupid boss comically asks:
"Why is you writin'?! - Why ain't 'cha workin'?!"
Tell them as many times over as it may take
Until it fully absorbs into their tyrannical brain:
"I refuse to work when I don't really wanna;
It comes on like a hunger, sometime, after lunchtime."
My angel came from heaven.. Though I had to give him back,
Too soon for my liking, for it was out of my hands.
Please let me hold him. I want to brush my lips
against his cheek. . But it was not to be,
as he would be gone in a few short weeks.
He would not die in vain I kept telling myself,
He'd not be forgotten on some dusty shelf.
A child so small can he really make
a difference?.. Oh yes beamed our lord as my
son made his entrance..
I will always grieve for this small son of mine,
proof of these empty arms by my side.
Yes the years have passed but the shattered
dream is still there, I have proof of this each
time I hold his lock of hair.
I know that he gave so that others could live,
Whenever I think of him I try to remember this.
So long my dear son, please don't stray too far.
for if you do, it will surely again break my heart...
My son was born 17 weeks premature on 9/11/1988. He should have never made it out of
the operating room alive let alone survived 26 more days.He weighed 1Lb and was only
11'' long. By the time he died he weighed under a pound. His skin was so translucent that
you could see through his tiny hands.I was so desperate for him to live that I enrolled him
into an experimental study for a drug that would rapidly grow his lung tissue.He ended up
developing pneumonia in his tiny lungs and within 24 hours we realized that we were
prolonging his death not his life. So we ended the life support and cradled him as he
passed. The one and only good thing that came out of this is that the drug was approved,
and today thousands of premmies are alive because of this life saving drug. Here in
St.paul, minnesota at the childrens hospital, there is a tree planted in his honor. The part of
my poem that says he gave so others could live.. well, this is what i meant(the experimental
drug).
She tells the story with tears in her eyes: Her family's farm, largest farm in the county;
Land-granted, debt-free paradise; all they needed pay were quarterly taxes;
She tells of how one hot summer day, the wind began to blow,
Blowing away moisture-filled clouds, drying the ground into crackled layers.
She tells of bitter winter days, snow blowing back into the clouds,
Pastures dry-freezing, blasted by cold winds from the northwest.
She tells of hot winds scorching pastures; starving cattle choking on thistles;
Government agencies purchasing the remaining cow-shaped, walking skeletons;
She tells of beloved horses loaded into rail cars bound for St. Paul stock yards,
Purchased by the army for $3 a head -- 75 cents per glue-filled hoof;
She tells of scraping grit from the butter dish; scraping mud from the ice box;
Of lifting dusty scum from the milk bottles; rinsing dusty scum from mouth rags.
She tells of two years with no crops, two years of blowing dirt;
Two years with no rain, no snow; two years of diffused sunlight, beautiful sunsets;
She tells of so much electricity in the air, in the ground, running from roof to wire,
Men would wrap their hands in pieces of cloth before they touched
The handles of their cars, lest they be thrown to the ground from the static.
Her voice lowers as she tells of the day the wind finally faltered, then died away.
She tells of the day her grandfather stood on his once-proud porch,
Finally able seeing through clean, clear air, the farm he would soon no longer own.
Taxes unpaid, liens placed on farms, on equipment, on promises; 'sheriff's sale' posted;
Her tears fall as she tells of how he was forced to let it go, to give it up;
She tells of her birth, ten years later, in a migrant shack in Washington state;
She says history sealed her desperate legacy before she ever had a chance.
According to an ancient tradition
One can distinguish between two senses of Scripture
The literal and spiritual
The latter being subdivided into
Allegorical
Moral and
Anagogical senses
The profound concordance of the four senses
Guarantees all its richness to the living reading of Scripture in the Church
The literal sense is the meaning conveyed by the words of Scripture
And discovered byexegesis
Following the rules of sound interpretation
All other senses of Sacred Scripture are based on the literal
The spiritual sense
Thanks to the unity of Eternal God’s plan
Not only the text of Scripture
But also the realities and
Events
About which it speaks can be signs
The allegorical sense
We can acquire a more profound understanding of events
By recognizing the significance in Father Christ
Thus the crossing of the Red sea
Is a sign or type of Father Christ’s victory
And also of Christian baptism
The moral sense
Events reported in Scripture ought to lead us justly
As St. Paul says
They were written for our instruction
The anagogical sense
We can view realities and
Events in terms of their eternal significance
Leading us toward our true homeland
Thus the Church on earth is a sign of the heavenly Jerusalem
A medieval couplet summarizes the significance of the four senses
The letter speaks of deeds; Allegory to faith
The moral how to act; Anagogy our destiny
It is the task of exegetes to work
According to these rules
Toward a better understanding and
Explanation of the meaning of Sacred Scripture
In order that their research may help the Church to form firmer judgment
1232015
Church bells ring at Fenchurch St Paul.
A wedding, celebrated in true English fashion.
A time for joy before the out break of war,
Shattered by a thief, chased by a gent, so dashing.
Two villains caught, hard labour should even the score.
Church bells ring at Fenchurch St Paul.
So many struck down by that awful Spanish flu,
Family secrets, as the New Year bells chime.
Lady of the manor passes, what a to do!
Again, a gent and his man are central to this rhyme.
Church bells ring at Fenchurch St Paul.
Nine tailors toll this time for a gentleman’s passing mark.
To finally be at rest with his fair lady wife.
All is well until is found there a corpse, disfigure and stark.
Who will solve the mystery behind all this strife?
Church bells ring at Fenchurch St Paul.
Lord Peter is on the case, it will soon be solved,
With the help from his man, Bunter, always at his aid.
No villain will escape from them now they are involved,
But was there a crime? Who was the man found dead?
Church bells ring at Fenchurch St Paul.
Listen close they have much to tell.
A little campanology know how would be handy.
A church and its bells, things hidden in its well.
All clues to a gentleman detective, so dandy.
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