When faith is abandoned
we live on old dreams
In time captured wastelands
barren demeaned
Believing the tattler
and spinner of lies
Desperation is sainted
epistles decry
“Music plays in keys of pain
shouting from below
Missals singed in pagan fire
ashes still aglow
Caught out on a bridge alone
burning from both ends
Martyred in our heresy
— darkness to befriend”
(Dreamsleep: February, 2024)
Poetry is less about form,
and more about content;
less about tradition, and
more about personal light
and revelation –
such penmanship,
truly missals of meditation,
cannons of Spiritual-occasion,
for celebration and sharing –
Seeking less to entertain
with common particulars...
but more, to write refrains
worth a soul's imagined
eternity –
The thrust of autograph, always a sacred
attempt at breaking down prescribed constructs
of punctuation – vaulting walls inhibiting
a heart's true emancipation – the freedom
to be you.
Magnificent marauders masquerading magically might mean
Messy mollusks masticate marbled marigolds momentarily.
Maybe.
Moreover, momentous mosquitoes might make marvelous mini-muffins mixing marmalade momentarily.
Meanwhile
Minnie made monthly memories merely medicating masses
Mediocre men mysteriously manufactured man-made missals
Might mean
Millionaires mystify magical muggles’ meager melodies making
Magnifying, mollifying mortifying mind-blowing majestic missives.
Moreover,
Mummies, mammograms, mushrooms, minks, musicians,
Models, maestros, minions, muskrats, merry men
May
Momentarily medicate marvelously magnificent marauders.
Meanwhile
Mary May memorize multiplication minimizing
Mark’s Mother’s marmalade mini-muffin memory.
M might make momentous mountain-mincing molehill.
The biggest threat to our humanity and way of life
is engraved within those whom get consumed by untruths
God controls this planet not science playing as host
man is destroying it with nuclear waste
leaking daily in many parts of this world
also using missals with poisonous heads
and toxic weapons through wicked acts of war
Now there is nothing conspiracy about facts displayed
The world over science in this field is tampered with
to suit new designs on another means to tax basically
your the climate scientist I have just made my comment
Based squarely on an article
in how my soul sees a corrupt body
hiding facts using upside down research mind boggling
Once I tried
To fathom the ocean,
And the deep rumbling
Orchestrated symphony
Of the endless cavalcades
Of those reconvening,
Ebb and flow of
Aquamarine waves
Wrapped in lyrical brevity,
Kept implying deathlessness.
While the spumes
Like rhapsodists in a choir
Made me hear their passacaglia
Of epigrams, missals
And pericopes of life,
Sweeping over my feet
Kissing and trying
To take me back
To the immortality and eternity
Of wisdom and insights.
I found peace.
That is when I found peace.
~Nayanika Dey
From: India
Copyright ©: 7 June, 2016
The preposterous fictions many
profess to be unvarnished truth
warp the very fabric of our universe --
cause those long dead to walk among us
through the spectral midnights in our minds.
The bone dust of those past millennia
films our eyes, coats our shelves
of sacred primers, those missals
unquestionable in their catechistic
authority -- so we become
the acolytes of those controllers
who have themselves always been
instructed, conditioned, and suppressed
by generations of such teachers --
through example, reward, or punishment.
Think! Open up your mind!
The truly free do not fear to question
and to decide the truth or falsity
of any proposition, any statement
or assertion and to declare
what they have concluded to be true.
Or false.
Don your hat, grab your cape and walk with me,
let's stalk the streets, take in the frosty air
on cobbled lanes, necromancing we see
confined people of shade suspended there.
They strain against the lock, peer through the rail
of shadow gate where fear and pain collide,
destined to seek the path of peace and fail,
eternal slumber forever denied.
PC Moss walking the beat on last patrol
footsteps in Lock-up yard in echoes sound
in concert with the chains of fettered soul
never to seek solace beneath the ground.
Matins at the Friary can still be heard,
the brotherhood who walk, missals in hand.
In moonlit armour, Roman legions stirred
on Chester Green they march by night's command.
Take heed now of the child's plaintive cry
hurled from Silk Mill tower in ages past
unanswered call to mother, years go by
languishing, no comfort to the last.
These fragile frames of ours will end their days,
we live in hope for immortality
We know not what 'twixt here and heaven lay
so don your hat and cape, and walk with me.
Derby: known to paranormal investigators as 'the dead centre of England'.
For contest- Midnight
IS THERE A FANATIC IN THE ATTIC?
There sat they, satisfied
satiated knowing hundreds of souls had died
there sat they midst flat bread and Allah's wine
making plans that would send shivers up my spine
missals, mortars, murder and mayhem
we, always vigilant and leery of them
a man walks into a large train station
and for this he gains whores in Heaven and fascination
face the west for that's whereupon their eyes remain
never certain if, under their turbans, there's a brain
the youthful, the elderly, the old and the new
one must consider that which a fanatic extremest will do
Mrs. Jones in America fears Mrs. Al Newasrah' Muslim son
because each one is fearful because each one has a gun
and so they face each other on an arid land each grimace a sign
because both have plans that would send shivers up my spine
© 2012....copyright PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
Planes fly in from above
Carrying missals and bombs
Dropping them where they feel fit
Taking out many men
jump in a hole to take cover
Wondering to yourself is this the end?
Look up and see the fire that is over taking the land
Watch as people scramble around not sure what to do next
Looks like a three ring circus.
Remembering that you signed up for this.
holding doubt in his heart now
Was this really Gods plan for him.
So young and so scared as he sits there
with his friend dead in his hands.
Is this how war must end?
There’s no hope for humanity
A half-wit would think otherwise.
Collective Christianity
With its many brethren allies
Have failed its purpose for Christ’s sake!
With their arsenal of prayer beads,
Missals and psalms- they are opaque
Tools employed that never succeeds
In changing the nature of Man:
He is still greedy and hostile
Unchanged since first set foot on land
They’re members of this rank and file:
A congregate hypocrisy
Only the enlightened can see.