I've been hammering my hope with city sounds
Coffin nails clicking on concrete dreams
Smoke stacks preach,and I am their parishioner
Every alley is an altar,every streetlight a saint
I drink from the gutters of gospel graffiti
Find my reflection in broken bottles
And bless my sins with spit and asphalt
Cold Saturday night,
Under a blanket who nobody sees
Once a welcomed parishioner at OLG
now just an invisible human nobody wants around.
because she never brought a lost soul to church
She never was involved in the church community ..
I’m alone,
I’m unseen
I’m a mistake
I’m a lost soul once again
Maybe I belong on the street
Maybe the good Christian who once befriended me will have pity on me once again..
But untill then I’ll just sit outside this beautiful church in which I once belonged to.
while it’s perfect souls come and enter HIS gates, receive HIS body, conversate gossip, point their righteous fingers at me, because of my families drunkines
Shame
Hurt
Unloved
Alone
Needy
Evicted
Sucicide
Writing is a gamble
we put in our words,
pull the slot
and read back our
cherries and lemons --
the object is to publish
our addiction
to connect with a reader
our casinos, the clan-forums
of acceptance and rejection
The poet
(excluding the jingle writer) --
least paid-out of all
literary devotionals --
priest and parishioner of countrysides
and hearts, secretly, vainly wonders
if his life’s refrain
but another of man’s many dear epitaphs
summaries in stone
unweeded
and forgotten --
Find Father Farrell and Terrell
when over barrel
while incredible church is imperil
find (call) Father Farrell (Terrell)
Parish which we cherish would scream
when scalded with steam so it did see
when either having been suspectable to sterile
or fond of finding a pleasant parishioner
who has happened to ferociously find
that his friend was feral
which we knew would be infuriating
while humiliatingly absurd we have heard
Interesting. Old
priest in Wichita, KS
was Father Bob Terrell.
The minister paused, wondering what he could say.
She had been a mean old woman, an angry parishioner.
She was opinionated, he said.
Bossy! Someone yelled.
And she had determination, he said.
She was a stubborn old broad! A different voice.
He looked around, wondering if he was speaking to relatives
or just neighbors who wanted to celebrate the old bat’s death.
She says: "I don't see you as disabled."
Tommy Adaptive —
a parishioner sexualizes
my Sunday best
the parishioner sits on my lap.
his little legs dangle, his
beat up sandals slip.
i raise his hand with mine.
he pulls it back.
i clap.
his hands, like bookends
put a stop to that.
silently my hands in play
weave together.
my thumbs become doors.
the pointers are steeples.
i open the doors —
the people quietly say, “hello”
i close the thumb-doors.
now all fingers are pressed together
in prayer.
the little parishioner
slides one hand to his left,
the other to his right,
in a righteous hug.
then he curls next to grandma,
like a roly poly
and pulls her butterfly sleeve
over his legs.
my mind wanders, thinking of
yesteryear, with glares
and such, but my little guy
contains himself,
but for a slight mischievous play
with grandma —
who loves him so much.
9/1/2019
Then little children were brought to Jesus for him to place his hands on them and pray for them. But the disciples rebuked those who brought them.
Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” When he had placed his hands on them, he went on from there.
Matthew 19:13-14
Cement- mixer
They are re-building the house across the road,
the cement-mixer churns from early morn, a black, big dog
sat barking at it until it lost its voice and sounded
like a helpless kitten wanting milk, it became so embarrassed
by its loss of bark, it went into the shed and refused
to come out before it had got its voice back.
The big black dog has few friends the couple who came here
on vacation left without it and I suppose being from Setubal
it barks in a different way than local dogs.
All cement mixers sound the same this monotone churning
like a padre who likes the sound of his voice and bore
his parishioner senseless, and when staggering out of the church
everyone, even those who do not smoke, lit up.
Soon the mixer will move on and annoy someone else, but
the big black dog has nowhere to go, so I will befriend and learn
its Setubal bark
Now, Father McGee and Parishioner Finn
Stood out in front, by the road
Each of them holding a sign on a stick
with a message with spoke of forebode
McGee's sign said " THE END IS NEAR"
Finn's--- " TURN 'ROUND, BEFORE IT'S TO LATE "
Soon came a car speeding on by
With a driver who looked real irate
"GET OUT OF THE ROAD, YOU DOOMSDAY NUTS"
Yelled the driver, while increasing his speed
Just seconds later the pair heard a screech
And a very loud splash there indeed !
McGee turned to Finn, said "It's Happened again
This message I'm beginning to doubt"
Finn then suggested perhaps a new sign
Stating simply " The Bridge is washed out"
Soon she won't be our great secretary
Which to all of us does seem so scary;
As audacious, administrative assistant
Performance is persistent and consistent.
Also, forever in future we always regret
Her going away which we had to let
If longer with us would stay for a while;
You would see us still wearing a smile.
In church, we were wiggling and squirming
While we did listen to Father Dave's sermon
Which quite a congregation they all drew
We even found Lovett sitting in front pew.
James Thomas Horn
www.poetryoup.com
PS. Lovett is our church secretary
who will be a full-fledged parishioner
again at the end of April 2014.
I dressed with style in my best suit,
As off to church I went.
I knew I looked quite lovely and
My time had been well spent.
I was to read the lesson so
I sat in convenient pew
And listened to the choir
As I waited for my cue.
I walked gracefully with confidence
As I hurried down the aisle,
Then wondered as I faced them, why
Each parishioner wore a smile.
It wasn't until I was home
And changing from my suit
That I realized why every one
Had gotten such a hoot
Out of the somber lesson
That I had read that day;
A prim and proper Lutheran
Will seldom act that way.
As I removed my shoes I saw
I'd worn two different kind.
One had a solid back and one
Had just a sling behind.
Placed 3rd in Light is on But nobody's home contest
Two cats fighting over a piece of trash
A hundred and eleven rats running to the bow of a sinking ship
One Parishioner in church on game night
By Robb A. Kopp
All Rights Reserved © MMX
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