My oath, a word, a mission, a law,
to walk the sacred path of being human—
fierce, and yet profoundly kind.
My soul, a compass, divinely aligned.
I heal with a thousand salient balms—
words, deeds, and quiet thought.
For wounds unseen and histories unsaid,
a constant, quiet redemption I've sought.
I am a living truth of mercy's deep mechanics.
A quiet hand that mends the broken, a boundless sea of grace.
If my silence disturbs you,
know I am choosing health
over hollow greatness, over loud display,
and the fleeting shimmer of cheap grace.
My strength is born in stillness,
a vow my heart will keep.
I am good, not merely nice.
See me in the arc where Priest, Prophet, and King
bend toward justice.
Foundation.
In this modern world, has mankind forgotten judgment may await if one is religious?
Title.
The Priest talking on a Pulpit in The Great In-Between
(A regal voice whispers)
You do know
What you do and feel in public or secret
My child
Writes all your life's many hidden manuscripts
And follow's you like a Charles Dickens's
Jacob Marley
Character
Into and after the crypt
So do more good
Purge yourself.
Pull yourself away from the Great Tempter's black hole
Don't just sit and judge
Urge your soul
Or the goal could be
You
Stripped and whipped as you become
Just another
Of the Devils legion's
Of unloved conscripts
(C) Copyright John Duffy
Pow! the pale powder pumps power into
The pastor’s panicked pulse. Peeing his pants,
He pulls his parcel and pitter-patters
To the piss-pot, paying his penile penance.
Old Drunk McNab stumbl'd to confession
The priests waits and waits to start the session
The priest then knocks on the wall
“Occupied…, comes a slurr'd call,
…an’ no TP so don'ask the quess’ion!”
how I wish I’d been
a man, a dog, or a priest
being held from sin
by a roman collar or leash
how I wish my acts
were good and virtuous deeds
narrowing the path
for saintly men and their beasts
Red on the marble floor
a silent witness to the horror
Her blood pools at the altar
a stark testament to my sin
Her body lies lifeless
once so full of grace
Now broken bruised
deprived of love’s embrace
I stand frozen
disbelieving
the weight of what I’ve done
crushing me
A priest’s collar tight around my neck
a smoking gun heavy in my hand
She came to the chapel seeking refuge
seeking solace
She found only death
I was meant to guide her
but instead
I took away her breath
The red at her feet spreads
a stain that no prayer can erase
My footsteps echo loud and hollow
as I flee into the shadows
the shame following close behind
I never meant for this
I swear it wasn’t part of any plan
But now I’m a murderer in the house of God
a broken damned man
They call it a crime of passion
a moment of rage
but those words mean nothing
She’s gone
Her life ended by my hands
and no confession can turn the page
And now here I sit
on death row
counting my final breaths
haunted by the altar I defiled
by the blood I spilled
Her face her voice
they never leave me
My soul is stained
eternally lost
forever chained
to the altar of my hate
Normally, the three offices of prophet, priest, and king were distinct from each other, with no overlap. That is, a king was not a priest or a prophet. A priest did not function as a prophet or a king. And a prophet simply did a prophet’s job without trying to be a either king or a priest. But Jesus Christ perfectly fills all three roles simultaneously: He is the Prophet, Priest, and King, to the great blessing of the world.
A Catholic Girl's True Story
I was only nine, when I was
denied absolution!
I had eaten meat on on a
Friday, tsk,tsk.
To burn in hell 'twas the
Priest's resolution?
Daddy raged at the Chancery
Office.
How dismayed he was at all
this!
I had to go back to the Church,
the pastor heard my Confession.
How frightening this was for
a little girl!
Who thought she was headed
for hell!
I thought obeying my parents
was more important than eating
smelly, halibut from hell.
Mom had cooked the meat not
me.
I was simply following her orders!
How the Church has changed!
Now they cannot keep their priests
to follow sacred Holy Orders?
11/1/2024 Poem 5
//
wings,
wings,
wings,
An ongoing black screen,
A blandest morning, ,
,abundunt ///////////blunt & burnt
DAMP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
inadequate
, looping And/////////////ripping , In a room, twenty floors up, thriving,
_ to let me in, in a
doll _incorrect mannequins insolvent
remainders
I am a boom, a bloom Buddha, a
simpleton you know , frantic and pretty much done
our manners_____________________
, onto into upto will do somehoww
of too why to anyhoww hey, hey, hey
Clarity, clear of blemishes,
mannequins !!!!!
yes please
the numbness of seasons ,
a blues like you, half , half , a job, Near to sea, is scary
as it can b
wings,
wings,
wings,
It is all the same
both poet and priest
The Word his feast
One quotes God
the other, less above
in common
they both love
Should priests get married
It depends what they do
If they counsel mostly marrieds
then priests should be too
While a church of congregants single
~ Be wary of priests who intermingle
The ring depicts a promise of fidelity.
I smile as you stand in your cloak.
That headgear is the symbol of the tongues of fire.
I smile as you receive that formal mitre,
while that pastoral staff is a shepherd's crook.
I smile as I know that staff will be used
to smite a great oaken door.
I smile as I hear that resonant bong;
I see that ring with its diocesan crest.
You say you will pledge yourself to those who gaze.
A ring on that hand,
that hand holds a staff,
the staff smites a door.
I smile as a non-believer,
though it is a smile of great affection.
(7 May 2024)
“
Is This a Way to Live”
“The Innocent”
As warplanes thunder overhead
We rise from our beds
And wonder,
Is this a way to live?
“The Soldier”
As he crouches in a frozen trench
Amidst the falling snow
He wonders,
Is this a way to live?
“The Mother”
As she lays to eternal rest
Her little one,
She wonders,
Is this a way to live?
“The Refugee”
She cannot explain
Her hunger pains
She wonders,
Is this a way to live?
“The Commander”
How many more
Must I send to their graves
He wonders,
Is this a way to live?
“The Priest”
As he prepares the body
For Its journey to the other side
He wonders,
Is this a way to live?
When the dust settles,
The warplanes are quieted,
The flowers planted,
We must ask,
Why are we living this way?
we prefer a priest
of all said he was the least
being at a feast
when we could connect
surely would always select
one which was correct
The Sin of a Priest
At a school outing, the pupils stayed overnight
Sleeping on a barn hayloft
the leader was a cherubic-looking priest
Blond and chubbily fat.
In the night, the priest's hand sought and found
What it was looking for
The boy felt intense pleasure, but he dared
not to breath
When the deed was done, his hand moved
Away and the boy fell asleep
In the morning, the priest said: “you must be
Of the devil's sprog to come and tempt me
I forgive you,” said the cleric and let us not
Mention this again
The boy, fearful of God and the devil
Never spoke of this abuse again
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