Mother Superior Poems | Examples

Scarlet

Said the Mother Superior,
“I have completely lost track
of how often the Archbishop and I,
wearing ashes and cloth sacks,
crept into the crypt
and made the beast with two backs.
Altho' no one can hold a candle,
to his Grace, yes,
not even the Venerable Abbess,
flagellation notwithstanding,
as a nun married to God,
who committed sacrilege,
I'm ashamed to confess,
I broke the Lord's Commandment
as an unrepentant adulteress.”

Great Faith

When I was in grammar school
There simply wasn’t any tolerance for students talking back
The religious sisters at our Catholic school were very strict (in part because they had charged over dozens of students per class)
Order and protocol were paramount
I can’t imagine my fourth grade self ever openly questioning a religious sister
So
I am  amazed at the persistence  of the mother in today’s gospel
As she talks back not to the Mother Superior but to Father Christ
No less!
Father Christ eventually acquiesces
Praising the determined Mother for her great faith
Where did she get such faith 
 courage
Perhaps mother’s bravery
Determination are due to her unconditional love for her daughter
If a mother’s love is so incredibly powerful
How much more powerful must Eternal God’s love for each of us be

 
Father Christ
Please help me strengthen my faith
To love you more each day

Terence Hegarty

Turned to Poetry: Jacqueline R. Mendoza
Poetry Form: Free Verse/Narrative
Date turned into Poetry: 8032024
Time turned into Poetry: 8pm

Lose All Your Money

[Sing to the tune of “Climb Ev’ry Mountain” sung
by the Mother Superior in The Sound of Music]

Lose all your money
Where’re you go
In ev’ry casino
Vegas or Reno.

Lose all your money
Playing the slots,
Don’t forget, try Keno
Give it all you’ve got.

THE BRIDGE

Your hopes will be dashed
Betting big at the wheel
Ev’ry penny you’ve earned,
The casino will steal.

Lose all your money
Playing the slots
Don’t forget, try poker
Give it all you got.

Your hopes will be dashed
Betting big at the wheel
Eve’ry penny you’ve earned,
The casino will steal.

Lose all your money
Playing the slots,
Don’t forget, try Keno
Give them all you’ve brought.

A parody written December 4, 2021
Especially for “To the Tune of –Musicals--Part One” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Natasha L. Scragg

Parenthood

Parenthood

My father hung in the belfry 
so many called him father, but the old woman in the house where I lived
said he was my father.
When I met Mother superior, her eyes softened for a moment.
The hanging was an accident.
At his funereal, the bishop attended to stop rumours of suicide.
The old woman and I watched the proceeding at a far distance.
I did see the face of the prioress in the window
unblinkingly stern, but in the afternoon glow,
she had tears in the corner of her eyes.
The old woman cackled and said, she gave you to me to look after.
I had a silver cross on my bedside table.
The old woman said it was a gift in case I wanted to become a cleric.

Meet the Lightfoots

Gorden Lightfoot sang of a sinking ship
that mother superior never forgets
Lori Lightfoot is mayor
to a city of slayers
her political bow is starting to list

Protection of Their Own

Alma Mater in denial
Beckons proof of terrible sin
Congregation gather to witness
Defrocked disciple
Endeavours to catch her and hear 
Flagellate in fear of the hounding.

Girl on a high, this nun in retreat
Hypocrite trying to steal an identity
Image of optical semblance
Juridical Janeass vindicated
Karma until now was next of kin
Lassitude before bringing her in.

Mother superior plays out her role
Noxious blend notwithstanding
Objurgates the slayer in rowdy prayer
Praises the Pope, insincerely
Quaint yet putting on an act
Rebuttal for her charge to be free of sin.

Sisters of mercy at the convent
Travel time from zero BC
Unavailable for opinions.
Vindicate their needs for solidarity 
While the priest hands down the cane
Xenophobia takes hold.

Yearning for the truth
Zephyr sweeps it all away.

 © Harry J Horsman 2020

Imagination In Third Grade

Witches and warlocks marching their truth
Pouring discarded spells on poor Sister Ruth
Laughing as they dance and run on her head.
Showing her what will happen when she is dead.

But I am a nun she yells, thinking it will stop their play.
Not realizing they are determined.to have fun today.
A ornery old ghost in the corner joins in on the fun.
Ebony bats in the belfry fly toward the sweet nun.

I am writing it down laughing loud like a loon.
When suddenly it gets quiet. The whole third grade room.
Mother Superior looking at my paper now.
I try to hide it but she is tough, this old sow.

I am in trouble big time. I am going to get a flogging.
I run home in the rain, and my paper is slogging.
Witches and warlocks and Sister Ruth. What was I thinking?
Why did I not smell her perfume? She is always stinking.

A Convent Girl

A CONVENT GIRL  

This is the girl,
Who’s in a whirl,

Who came to the, Convent,
Looking despondent.

This is the nun,
Who’s highly strung,

Who started to lecture,
In spite, of her denture.

This is the Principal,
Who’s very strategical,

Who can dismiss,
If something’s amiss.

Then Mother Superior,
To whom we’re inferior,

Performs her role,
To reach her goal.

These then are the four,
Inside the door,

Of a truly despondent ,
Lady-like Convent

One Toke Over the Line

here comes the frenzy after the movies
places you want to see
burning through my legacy
lock horns with the coroner at the morgue

sweat of my brow
the faint of a cow
that's how we roll
let the truth be told

stuffed inside your mold
love lingers on with the faint of a song
happy to be a rooster on a roller coaster
music is getting louder

having my clam with chowder
something in my folder
tell you when I get a bit older
takes you by surprise

leave behind those satanic lies
bridges being crossed
we stand alone in the stream
living in a land so very mean

coupled with a bit of tender laughter
prepared for the great hereafter
there is more
remember Studio 64

heroin in the gym
one toke over the line & then
mother superior bought the gun bang bang shoot shoot
a bit of fun under the gun

now Bourdain is dead
what was going on inside his head
he would even eat the dead
suicidal

could we get some answers
could we attempt to understand
how we stick it to the man with the plan
hearts are uneasy the trip is so long

this is the end of my favorite song

To Be What My Lord Would Have Me Be

I don’t want to be a king 
I don’t want to be a knight 
I don’t want to be an emperor 
I don’t want to be a prime minister 
I don’t want to be a Supreme Court judge 
I don’t want to be anything 
I just want to be me 
To be only what my Lord would have me be. 

I don’t want to win titles 
I don’t want to amass fortunes 
I don’t want to build castles 
I don’t want to achieve popularity 
I don’t want to travel places 
I don’t want to do anything 
I just want to do His perfect will 
To do only what my Lord would have me do. 

I don’t want to be a lord bishop 
I don’t want to be a major prophet 
I don’t want to be a holy father 
I don’t want to be a senior apostle 
I don’t want to be a mother superior 
I don’t want to be anything 
I just want to be a child of the King 
To be only what my Lord would have me be.

Wham Bam Slam I Am Not Worthy

If I suffer from an affliction 
If I stutter
If my grammar is gutteral 
If the words I utter
Failed English at School
Sorry I am not cool
Pity me or the fool
Who uses education as tool
To dismiss what I write 
Because it is not spelt or gramatically correct 
As you supersede the common collective 
Consciousness up for discussion 
My feeble poem tried to address 
Your disregarding says it best
Speaks volumes 
Look at me 
Mother Superior 
Administrator of the Interior 
Sub Editor for closed book's 
That overlooks 
And overseas 
Conservative committees 
In self righteous sicophantic indignation 
No correlation can unearth 
Or has no worth
For the meek 
Who seek
To interject 
Blazers and Ties
Ivy institutions for fear of exclusion 
Poison classes wood trenches 
Desks protect from xenophobic zeitgeists 
That conform to questioning

Chatdotgod

Mother Superior
and Father Supine
Needed to chat
But did it online
Sensuous sentences
Were not allowed
Too many ears
Can harp on the cloud!

Resolutions

I've made a decision, a drastic solution
So I don’t have to make a New Year’s resolution

This year I’ve decided to become a nun…
My ‘habit’ will shield my head from the sun

I will resolve to join a silent order
Mother Superior will act as my warder

I’ll give up chocolate and drinking and smoking
Hey poetry souper’s, you know I’m just joking!

For many years I have not celebrated New Year
So whilst others party and whoop and they cheer

I’ll wear my flannel gown and go early to bed
There I’ll write poems until sleep fills my head

Good luck if you give up drinking or start a diet
On New Year’s resolutions I resolve to stay quiet!

Happy New Year to everyone at poetry soup
Enjoy your holiday and in 2018 we’ll regroup


Update for New Year Contest
Sponsored by Janice Canerdy

12~22~15

Sister, Sister

Mother Superior faced a daunting task,
Like no other in her forty years.
She had prayed it simply wasn’t so,
That Holy intervention might belie her fears.

But sadly, there was no such intervention,
No relief from the duty she did rue.
Despite her hopes and all her prayers,
It had been confirmed.  What she feared was true.

So, she gathered all the Sisters after Vespers.
The impromptu meeting caused quite a stir.
There was murmuring as they filed into the chapel.
She hesitated for a moment... but no, she was sure.

“Sisters, I asked you all here to share some news.
It’s something I never thought I’d have to say.
We have a case of gonorrhea in the convent.”
Mary Catherine, sixty years a Sister, said, 
“Oh, thank God.  I’m so tired of Chardonnay.”

Neophyte

Neophyte
What can I say the pot plants in the yard are fed tiny rain drops 
saintly tears of a girl rejected by the abbess to join the order 
because she detect a wild sensual abandonment behind eyes that,
 at first glance, are mirrors of chastity.
The abbess knows the young girl is not seeking god rather she seeks 
shelter from the raving craving of her body, the relentless dreams 
so alive she  feels the weight of her fantasy lover´s alabaster body, 
a young priest at the local church.

 Sacrifices, in god´s name is always demanded by religious orders, 
and mother superior has a quota to fill, but she is not looking for 
troubles She needs compliant novices, Indian girls from the slum
who will forever thank god for escaping Calcutta´s poverty. They 
will be slaves of Jesus and married to him, clean his underwear
endure ignominy for three square meals and a bunk bed to sleep in.

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