Black Nazarene
Christ of dark brown skin
Miraculous healer
Refuge of the believer
Image replicated from an old burnt homage
Carrier of the cross in pilgrimage
Housed in Quiapo church of the East
Roused the penitents of yearly feast
Savior of the strong and weak
Strength of the devouts that speak
Planet Earth blue notes
Death from sea to plastic sea
Recycle our lives
Poison penitents we drink
Mother Nature owns last call
there was evidence
their presence and precedence
of our presidents
a coincidence
about all our Presidents
face has radiance
we had many hints
penitents as Presidents
said with hesitance
Priest of death, I humbly
Plea, we come as meager
Penitents, not seeking
Pardon, but a brief balm
Perchance, a small hope dwells
Permit a corner where
Prayers are heard in hell
3/05/22
Togetherness
Have you ever seen those beautiful sky paintings known as Fire rainbows?
You are one of them sparkling my life.
Have you ever seen those halos known as Ice crystal in the clouds?
You are one of them chilling my life.
Have you ever seen the spinning column of flames?
You are one of them when we often fight.
Have you ever seen those cute penitents?
You are one of them when I see you every day.
Have you ever seen Pele’s hair?
You are of them when we wake up together.
Have you ever seen the Blood Falls?
It is when we stop talking even for a minute.
Have you ever seen the desert roses?
You are one of them who blossomed my life.
Have you heard about giant permafrost explosions?
You are one of them when you get angry.
You are my rainbow eucalyptus and waterspouts.
You are clonal tree groves and eternal flame falls.
You are the spotted Lake and Nacreous Clouds.
You are my Green sand beach and starling murmuration of black sun.
Park Bench #286
Boston Common
Christmas
Colder, less comfortable,
holding court with
weakly trembling sun
I offer my scant refuge -
a silent moment - awaiting
life’s unrepentant penitents.
I listen as regret
stings the faded paint
of weathered necessity,
as tears make me cry
for the rain.
I am scarred
by the knife points
of broken hearts,
stained by the tremors
of spilled wine,
splintered by the pain
of anger’s boots.
The lights glisten
in the icy winds
mocking me - they dance
across the crumbled snow,
carolers pass by
rushing to sing of joy
at well lit windows.
A tattered coat slides
wearily accepting my offer
the crusted weight of a life
seeking the solitude
of loneliness.
John G. Lawless
©11/26/2018
we are herein doomed as we fake the smiles:
Therein groomed as me rake the wiles-
Sins splattered stiff to our shadows
Lurking unflattered from the laws.
sins fall like sounds from the Trumpet
The Law selling its indulgence,
The church singing in different pitches
About Christ, their rhythms Hoarse from
greed and lies.
Bibles interpreted vociferously like literature.
while we croak hoarse in the pious world,
Penitents reduced to the ranks of pious Alms Givers.
Have I lost the way? I cannot see her track
I’ve spent so long in pursuing them the pack
of beasts who stole my love
I will not cease this task
Oh Gods Just a hint is all I ask
what is the way to go to find my love?
I wear this penitents cloak
it will protect me or so I hope
the goblin fire upon my staff
will light my way and I will laugh
at all their elvish tricks
They will not deter me I shall transfix
the King with my trusty rod of fire
all his cunning will not escape my ire
But what is this? A faint track
left by my beloved as a sign to me
their devilish armour shows a crack
where she is , it’s plain to see
I spur my horse
and I can see
in the distance still struggling she.
Hold fast my love
I am here and these your captors
will feel my wrath and die in agony
so perish all those who dare
to steal my bride away
The world has not ended though the penitents wait
at Chichen Itza, and Tikal sentient's pace.
Yet, one more prediction one more failed debate
perhaps, a new age will come filled with true grace.
Life is a process, a circular affair
from the time of Roman's predictions have flared
Pope's, pagans and shamans, none have been proved right
Let us all move forward in joy not in fright.
The world has not ended by meteorites fall
though oceans have risen and volcanoes flow.
The ground itself quakes but to no avail
life's bounty on Earth brings an endless tableau.
No planetary alignment ended our days.
No global plague has changed our miscreant malaise.
Truly this watery refuge gifts surprise
as with each nights end the sun doth ever rise.
We all need a dose of Christmas in June, right?
******
...for Edna St Vincent Millay
Softly shifting, drifting starkly white,
full flakes fluttering, floating in free flight,
in shadow, in the stillness of the night.
Travelers seek refuge from the cold,
warmth by the fire and safety in the fold
of humankind, fond memories to hold.
'Tis Christmas! There's joy and tidings dear
to the hearts of all men of good cheer,
and for the children it's that magic time of year!
'O Holy Night!' unites the penitents today,
and all shall kneel in reverence to pray
for peace on earth, good will to men alway!
Await the zenith of the sun,
cross clay courtyard a beckoning
barefoot walked, heartstring undone,
Oh Lord, there’s love, no reckoning.
Soundless clarion of tears fall
toward absolution’s bright blessing,
within the domed sabil I call...
Oh Lord, there’s love, no reckoning.
The fountain's dry, but not my eyes
sounds of grace rebound, amazing,
Amazing Grace, sang such as I
Oh Lord, there’s love, no reckoning.
We are but one beneath the sun
for all our fears and wandering
all creation our companion...
Oh Lord, there’s love, no reckoning.
Let spirit rise on minaret
and phantom penitents come hieing
all is well, we are God’s get
Oh Lord, there’s love, no reckoning.
Peace is not a relationship of nations. It is a condition of mind brought about by a serenity of soul. Peace is not merely the absence of war. It is also a state of mind. Lasting peace can come only to peaceful people.
Jawaharlal Nehru (1889 - 1964)
Round goes the spiral
looping the path.
Straight stand the stones
high in green grass.
Round goes the moat
circling the tor;
solitary stanchion saracens
high altars they bore.
Round goes the blood
red twining the past
tall stand the grave stones
memories n’er made to last.
Round goes the gate
in the churchyards mall
through walks the sacred
peacocks ashen white pall.
Round go the penitents
lead through the hatch
lonesome lost lifetimes
Avebury’s dispatch.
(MaGowen’s Pizzaland Monroe, CT 2008)
The caterwaul of the jukebox blends seamlessly with the screech of infants,
and the fumes of garlic hanging heavily in the air.
The true mama’s and papa’s are here, here where the dough flies
the glasses clink; and the Beatles belt out
Strawberry Fields Forever ....
The roar of unruly children,
bashing video buttons to Roll Over Beethoven
pounds into the diners temples, dulled with Pinot noir, Chianti
and pitchers of golden ale.
Trays, tall, saucer-shaped sit beside cherry red baskets
of pristine white bread, as the fire engine red corvettes pull up outside.
The jet-black and chrome model T’s vie for spaces on the asphalt lot
outside the restaurants doors.
Sweet-hearts wait for the cracked, green-vinyl booths
like penitents at a Sunday mornings mass.
Pizza pies fly by on stainless saucer- shaped plates
landing on cluttered Formica tables
dressed with vinegars and shake cheese
Racecars zoom around the game track;
as kids run pell-mell down the aisles.
And, only Mary Lou knows
“Who’s on first?”
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.