Blueprint of Mercy
You dream a clean world, inventoryless.
No hunger, no masters.
No scars between hands; air tastes neutral.
Then kind faces apply toxic empathy, velvet fascism.
You wake, throat full of static, screaming.
Make me feel good
Make me a God
God in me
God is You
You are darkness
You are light
Light up the world
Light shines on rain
Rain creates floods
Rain creates
Creates food
Creates hope
Hope for water
Hope for mercy
Mercy on enemies
Mercy on our soul
Soul on ice
Soul poisoned
Poisoned blood
Poisoned mind
Mind controlled
Mind on freedom
Freedom doesn’t exist
Freedom is a daily struggle
Struggle for equality
Struggle for peace
Peace is colorful
Peace is wonderful
Wonderful gifts
Wonderful world
World of passion
World of crime
Crime of passion
Crime is wrong
Wrong directions
Wrong plan
Plan for safety
Plan for the future
Future blessings
Future prayers
Prayers for culture
Prayers for our children
Children in paradise
Children of the innocent
Innocent planet
Innocent life
Life needs purpose
Life needs support
Support
Purpose
Morning chapel
padre preaching
all new to me
came here for a natter
see what’s there to see
every hell has its angels
he don’t know ‘bout angels
how they fight
thrills of a motor bike
chariots o’fire
if he say he do, s’not true,
he aint read the manual
don’t know what a spanner’s for
he just know we threw it in
an’ it don’t work
I’d run out o’ booze
drunk as a lord
awake till morn
got no comfort
I ain’t weak
disinherited me
had nothin’ to give
always empty
it ain’t right
raised hungry an’ thirsty
plenty o’ scrapes
showed no mercy
weak for a tart
love n’ leave
that ain’t odd
yeah, was picked on
fight for me rights
they be-me-attitudes
an’ I’ll not change
bless ‘em they try
‘n they try
I’ll never change
if heaven is gained
through suffrin’
I’m in
man-ah never found
streets paved with bread
much less with gold
I looked for trouble
‘n found it
there ain’t no justice
tain’t no miracle
that’s why I’m here
tain’t no miracle
the baby blackbird sits bewildered
in a teacup trimmed with gold,
soft roses gathered around its small, shaken body.
a silver spoon lies in the leaves,
as if some trembling kindness wandered through
and let a frightened scrap of sky drop into porcelain~
a moment so slight, the world almost forgot
how fragile mercy can be.
If you could feel it
As to be healed of
Tis that, with Day lamented
Soft eves, whose peace in.
Trace whose blown features
Lulled away so are
Tis those, with Day on its pyre
Soft eves, pink within.
Shadows wear no crown
Yet they stand tall
Like they know what
I’m trying to hide
That a man can smile
And shake your hand
While sending you to hell
Building a cage around your neck
Hiding the floor beneath your feet
A broken piece of mercy
Pleading,
Just give me one more night
To find myself.
From my drone, I see you far below
The elk stampedes, the red rocks glow
I'm like the storm over the plain
Can you outrun the rain?
You hope to make it to the black rock lands
But no-one is left, no helping hands
My drone lets loose, a bolt from the blue
The earth erupts, but it misses you.
You think of sunshine before this war
No idea back then what was in store
That foolish empathy now seems in vain
Can you outrun the rain?
You galloped the prairie, now your horse is lame
You dismount you and jog, can't face the blame.
Behind you thunder shakes the plain:
Can you outrun the rain?
You think of the horror that you helped bring
The bombed-out craters where vultures sing.
Truth wasn't your value, that was your stain
You seeded the cloud and now comes the rain.
I send a new command to the drone
I can't go through with this, so I call it home.
My heart goes out to you, I feel your pain
I'll look away while you outrun the rain.
—I Want To Die—
I would unman myself—and pass beyond
the sovereign grammar of the speaking wound,
where grief, articulate, must still respond
and prove the very blood wherein it’s drowned;
for what no human tongue can charge or plead
enters thy mercy, sanctified by grace,
while grief that needs no alphabet is freed
before thy thought can summon it to face.
Let me be black thunder tethered to sun,
a green flame, feathered lightning clothed in flesh,
whose wing outruns the verdict of the One,
lest naming fetter fire it cannot bless;
let silence speak where mortal language bleeds—
till thy hand finds my wing, and mercy reads.
751.
Adoration to Mary:
Mother of Mercy
We adore you, our Heavenly Mother
We adore you next to our Heavenly Father
Oh Mother of Mercy – Mother of Christianity
You are our Holy Mother, oh Mama Mary
Holy Mary, Mother of Mercy
Mother of the pitiful poor & needy
You are holy, you are immaculate
Glory be to you also, the Mother we consecrate.
Amen.
-11/21/2019
(Dumarao)
*Adoration to Mary: Mother of Christianity
I know that I failed
To be the child
You dreamed of
Please show mercy
I know that I became
Careless towards career
It was too much to handle
Please show mercy
I know that I am
Your blood, but not
A copy of yours to be
Please show mercy
I know that I turned
To be a black spot
Of your family
Please show mercy
COLD MERCY
frost in his eyes, choosing separation, dancing alone
Yesterday…
As a cherubic child,
do you have grand dreams, Pete,
of becoming, when older (but not wiser),
famous world-over (as a war criminal)?
Today…
“No quarter, no mercy,” you say.
“Punching them while they’re down,
as it should be” and with
“no stupid rules of engagement.”
To “provide quarter” ensures safety
of all combatants who surrender,
who lay down their arms,
with their hands in the air.
“No quarter” means to take no prisoners,
to execute on the spot all those vanquished,
without mercy, without justice, without due process
(like blowing-up Venezuelan boats),
a war crime by Geneva Conventions,
and war crimes got Nazis hung decades ago.
Yet now you brag about committing war crimes
while promoting reckless, endless war?
Tomorrow…
Years to come, on Judgment Day,
the cosmic Courtroom is full
of the formerly famous mighty
as well as those “following orders.”
Please take your seat, Pete,
next to jealous Nazis.
Moving down along the way, going home
Passing houses and streets where I roamed
Here was the Clover shop, there were
Molly Gwinn’s, Saxon Parole, Hound and Hare
And so many more of spots I used to know
Gone to dust a rather long time ago
There’s no home without you, darling love
But I’m talking to your photograph
Over the hills of green, far away
I keep moving along day by day
The illusion I’m through sets me free
If I’m real or not makes no diff for me
Home is where my heart is and vice versa
Any order of words brings the mercy.
Faded into the darkness of mass destruction,
Like the vein of a familiar heart,
where every beat feels fragile,
and the rhythm, once steady, now trembles.
Even a drop of water would make the earth crack and splitting open,
as if the universe itself could no longer hold the weight of its own sorrow.
Thirsty
Thirsty for a sun kiss,
for a spark of warmth to melt the ice beneath
Thirsty for that drop of dew...
There, from a tired cloud, melted and worn
shy rain falls,
But the world around me remains still,
like the cloud waiting to break open,
like the earth waiting for the rain,
like the heart waiting for love.
And here I am..
Lost in the shadows of my own longing,
yearning for the touch of something real,
for the soft weight of those drops to wash over me,
to fill the spaces that have been empty for far too long.
But the rain hesitates.
And so do I..
From the Archive Jan'25
The morning sighs
with hoarse, guttural caws.
Crows twirl and cartwheel backwards,
like charred scraps of newspaper
caught in wild feral, wind eddies
above a raging bush fire.
Goosestepping gulls
enforce their feeding-ground territories
with threats and violent gestures
their beaks snapping shut
like rust-corroded, iron gates.
Looping caterpillars
form a Congo line
across the blistered bark of trees
while ants drag dismembered wings
along cracks in the pavement.
A magpie bludgeons
a snail against the stones
until the shell gives way
its pale body spilling outwards;
a molluscan sacrifice
that satisfies the hunger pangs
of a black-and-white starving bird.
Worms writhe blindly,
torn asunder
on the hot sunbaked soil
attacked by hordes of bull-ants
lake tiny matadors in torero corrida,
sparing with capes and lances
as they torment the helpless,
doomed, and dumb, succumbed prey.
The morning sun rises,
guilty as charged!
without pity or cause,
without mercy or motive,
to silent, stark applause,
as nature pleads for survival.
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