Pulpits Poems | Examples

Trust in Me

Says the snake 
In the Garden of Eden 

Says the doctor 
In the Emergency Room 

Says the President 
In the boobtube of fake news 

Says the Priests up 
In their pulpits 

Says the parent 
In a position of trust 

However, there is only 
One person 
In whom we can truly trust.

Individualistic

Not who you was but whom is portrayed 
We all with evil, pulpits shouts redemption rise 
Every is entitled to redeem heart of the soul 
Upon themselves the desire to want change 
Among mist of our depths lays stories, secrets 
Darkness evil hidden away torcher's pain 
Taught morals, respect, one looks for in another 
The kindness of being promoting good will 
What is it we are except what we allow 

That we have become radical civilization of hate 
War falls upon the lips, riots destroy instead unite 
Purpose of government not meant to control 
But overseer of different law of land we bury 
For our own good, forsaken all we stand 
While hiding behind image of world our steps 
All desiring riches, the promised way to life 
But you can not find purpose with close eyes 

Among starry skies, dreams of reality hopes 
We fly flags, liberation to freedom rights 
Each fighting against another even ourselves 
We call for change just defile objective to be 
Like selling your soul, price we give to breath 
But does one die in vain their doing 
Where does the soul go that live this breathe 
But he be a better man than the world his journey

Wokery, no just jiggery pokery

Febrile Fog obfuscates palimpsest varnished promises..

Naysayers hoodwinked... deluded players peeling layers..denuded..

Deafening din of our chagrin...

Espoused by rabbles roused by mandarins’ sins..

Tarnished...pampered pilferers pickpocketing public purses...

Deploring the warring cacophony of citizens curses.. 

Ignoring the boring nagging nadir of nurses...

Corporate castles built without stilts on hourglass sands..

Placards versus lanyards.. 

Culprits preach parsimony from privileged pulpits..

Civic critics.. protests...pyrrhric..?

No tut tuts..relax…gluts of tax cuts for property sluts..

Licentious larcenists..lust for boom then bust..

Lavishly lacing our lives with lies..

Yet the more we holler...hanker..

Murky truths get darker...muckier.. starker..danker..

Avaricious arsonists torching our cries of why...

Leave us lolloping in a regret & forget.. leaking latrine...

Reeking of what could & should have been..

Ode to Hell

Paranoia, hysteria 


the chatter off lips fills me up with ridicule
curses off demon breath blown on me like a baptism by virgin blood
but i 
etch triple sevens off sixes
hit the jackpot off my last nickel and laugh
cause happiness is made not given and i profit off the pain
why would i dance with the devil when i can dance through the rain

Sundays i go to temples built with skulls that gossip through their souls from hell
and the preacher wont let me off this noose
sit and stare at devils in slain angel skin on pulpits

i have to go to lonely hills to praise God
and i can't find God, God finds me
and even there the devils dressed in a hoody in a mini van with tinted windows and camera lenses 
i took love there once and she got goosebumps off the lucy in the air 
so we dashed off to a rendezvous and made love
love transcended us to a place where time doesn't exist and they don't either
we played Bon Iver
talked of times when times were quieter
sometimes with a bud and a lighter
old fashion mimosa and i recite her
a poem 

on the rooftop over the city we use call home

the circle of evil

the circle of evil 


Christianity is embedded in Europe's mind
alas, it is losing its grip under the influence
of other religions and heathen life
The clerics have nothing to offer, only
platitude and sex abuse behind glorious 
brocade and oily words.
Love, charity, and forgiveness are 
forgotten in the melee of free expression 
We are served a TV that lacks humor
banality seeking to mollify the masses
Comedy is no longer ironic but is about
using filthy words to harvest laughter
Politicians are self-seeking and corrupt 
even when wrong,  go on telling lies
Newspapers, too, served as gospel truth
because we have lost the real meaning
which is about respect and love
peace and forgiveness; the rest is humbug 
spoken from pulpits, in churches, that
has lost all credibility

The Almanac of Power

There's a story to be told,
    That even Hollywood shared in part.
Showing entertainment by its fiction,
    Could drown the mind and fill the heart.

Historically, great showmen of the day,
    Would sculpt their molds with fantasy.
With enough breath of reality present,
    To confuse and convince them of heresy.

Sadly, this playbook has a lengthy heritage,
    As dark, cultish chapters spread throughout the land.
Where a sprinkling of legitimacy provides shelter,
    While the balance follows the judicially planned.

Our most recent display of this power,
    That left the majority harmless and weak,
Reinforced how wealth interacted,
    Against poverty that wishes to speak.

So with steady messaging sowing a seed,
    Where now great doubt was not remote.
The drumbeat of infinite freedom was heard,
    As they sought a selective vote.

Through it all, the struggles continued,
    From the pulpits to our highest courts.
As the powerful seek political refuge,
    Behind the dollars that offer supports.

Beyond Thunderdome

It is not Trumpism that marks 
                       a Conservative, the way I see it

                  Rather, Trump actually did some things 
                                    that we wanted

                     As the Deep State opens it's 
                               assassination kits 
                and character assassination pulpits

                  While those with the integrity 
            to do what is right, will be so hunted

    Making America great again is not a radical idea

          I suppose for its fallers, it is a bridge too far

                  A call to arms and propaganda

              So what will happen next, Civil War?

                Did Mad Max also live in his car?

Whose Words

Whose Words?

By Mark Stucky
Hissing whispers in the garden
twisted the warning words of God.
A shadowy tempter in the wilderness
shouted enticements to the Word made flesh.

Twisted words whisper and shout today,
from screens, podiums, and even pulpits,
spouting conspiracies and misinformation,
pushing discord, division, and condemnation,
promising power, fame, and friendship,
flaunting false pleasures and successes,
but leaving hearers hurt and angry,
or lonely, anxious, and depressed.

Listening instead to words of Jesus
centers us on truth, love, peace, joy, 
and working together
for the good of us all.

So many voices clamoring for our attention,
a noisy din of distortions and contradictions,
a continuous cacophony of words.
Some resulting in harm, some in healing.
Whose words will we heed?
Whose path will we choose?


(First published in Agape Review, 19 April 2023. See also my poems “Tweeting the Truth in Love” and “What Would Jesus Tweet?”)

(Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com.)

It Ain'T Working

Its a shame, 
Its a shame that you claim to defend
When in real sense
You want us to depend on you so you can use and use and use
Misuse and abuse us if we refuse
You've got it all figured out 
Raise the cost of living to the levels no being could afford to rebel 
Then label those who can enemies of progress
You run a short race with long goals
Drying the pockets of the locals 
The same pockets you promised to fill on your campaign trail 
The solid plans have turned to powder
You've betrayed the nation on whose backs you rose to power
Its been barely an hour but our hands are blistered
Please
You came to us on your knees but took off on the wrong foot
A saint with a cent
You turned altars to pulpits
And we followed your every whim like puppies
Now you wake up every morning thinking of which promise you gon' break first
Mr president
Its evident that this is not working 
Cause, trust me, if you pass the bill, the workers that you plan to tax will stop working

It Ain'T Working

Its a shame, 
Its a shame that you claim to defend
When in real sense
You want us to depend on you so you can use and use and use
Misuse and abuse us if we refuse
You've got it all figured out 
Raise the cost of living to the levels no being could afford to rebel 
Then label those who can enemies of progress
You run a short race with long goals
Drying the pockets of the locals 
The same pockets you promised to fill on your campaign trail 
The solid plans have turned to powder
You've betrayed the nation on whose backs you rose to power
Its been barely an hour but our hands are blistered
Please
You came to us on your knees but took off on the wrong foot
A saint with a cent
You turned altars to pulpits
And we followed your every whim like puppies
Now you wake up every morning thinking of which promise you gon' break first
Mr president
Its evident that this is not working 
Cause, trust me, if you pass the bill, the workers that you plan to tax will stop working

The Language of Love

"The Language of Love" 

prophecies in pulpits
and stories of kindness
for children 
before bedtime

we were told 
of one who 
would arrive
with his legions

upon clouds;

some say they 
look like us
but what of the ones
that do not

the different gods

is it then, 
that we are 
all the same, 
the colour of skin

forgotten
our futile wars,
forgotten,
all

border walls 
knocked down,
and we understand
one language

the language of love

maybe
maybe not

forgotten
the language of love

(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)



“Beware the bearers of false gifts 
and their broken promises.
Much pain but still time.
Believe.
There is good out there.
We oppose deception.
Conduit closing.”
(Chilbolton/Sparsholt, Hampshire, U.K.)

Between Teacher and Preacher

Do we still judge fine
A drawing of line
Between a preacher
And a class teacher?
Teachers now God’s Priests:
Gospels clearing mists;
A lot of Saint Paul
Hatred for King Saul…
Preachers Grammar Teach
Good Spelling we breach;
In Pulpits spell “Peach”
And try voicing “Pitch”
Our classroom teacher,
The roadside preacher
Do same advice
Condemning same vice
“Eating more than thrice
“During fast some rice”
But Vice is Sinner’s 
And we have kid Tina’s…

Also their warning
Sound like one mourning
Preachers can face chalk
For Teachers just talk;
The real stuff long died,
The left gap quite wide!

Clerihew Power

Cyril Power who had a wife named Dolly
was a champion linocutter*,by golly
after the Blitz,another art he  chose
restoring pulpits&reredos

*https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/834185

Everything Today Is Instant

Everything today is instant!
More ram, faster processor – 
My God!--how I miss the
Slower and Lesser; when one
had pause between actions – 
took time for personal stills
and reflections. Nowadays, plugs
in all ears; screens everywhere...
gone the epic when people would
openly share, bits and pieces of
meaningful self: when things were
far less programmed; from the
heart, direct and spontaneous;
a time when people seemed less
fearful of silence – to be alone
with one's thoughts – needing
less external distraction, the
flashing and ringing electronics
that are rapidly becoming
our modern pulpits and courts.

Gratitude

I am grateful for a dancer's flow, gravity unhinged 
                        for the bubble laugh of infants
                        for the stoplight on unsustainable war
                        for an inner voice of cursing
                        for walls of indifference falling
                        for sunlight striking like a cobra
                        for the bloom of tortured genius
                        for prickly cat and mouse discussions
                        for reality lost in the now of recreation 
                        for streets not torn by combat
                        for the gingerbread fragrance of skin
                        for the quiet prayer from pulpits

                        for the spinning strobe of living.
     
 




Poem composed July 24, 2020.

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