I heard a song on the radio today
It piqued my wanderlust
So I'm hitting the road with a sign
That read "Asheville or bust"
So it's on with my backpack
And my zero bag
It's down the road less traveled
I am going stag
So it's "so long" to you's
The ones I watch go out of sight
And I'm looking for greener pastures
It's time to bed down for the night
So I walk on to wherever
The boundary is wide
I'll keep walking on on this Earth
Until it's time to walk to the other side
(So tell Saint Peter to take his hand off the gate
I still have some wanderlust I anticipate)
Road To Hell
A blind neglect
imbues our sleep
Where idle hides
a wound cut deep
The apathetic
coward reigns
when good intention
— rhymes with pain
(Dreamsleep: March, 2026)
Charlie’s Hand
"And when we meet in joy again
an Angel's welcome to befriend
As Heaven's Gate swings open wide
Saint Peter waiting just inside
With Charlie reaching out his hand
— to take us to the Promised Land"
(The First Book Of Prayers: March, 2026)
Piercing The Veil
The tip of your pen
its inkwell unleashed
to vanquish the darkness
where liars will sleep
The point of your spear
finds the darkest heart
To kill and impugn
— where depravity starts
(The New Room: March, 2026)
Wasteland
Staying a stranger
defines who you are
Living in darkness
— alone and afar
(Dreamsleep: March, 2026)
Walking The Line
An unfortunate truth ...
a fortuitous lie
The first calls you inward
— the second to die
(Dreamsleep: March, 2026)
So, you're telling me that you can be
a dirtbag for your entire earthly life...
Wreak havoc on the community and all of mankind.
Then, on the deathbed, accept Jesus-ask for forgiveness.
Then everything's alright?
I don't agree with it at all.
This scale is unbalanced and highly flawed.
Seems to me this last-minute soul is cutting in line.
Slipping Saint Peter, a mickey, the golden Jesus ticket
Slithering through the pearly gates...
While the souls of Mother Theresa and Dali lama circle the drain.
DoctorDoctor, doctor, how did the operation go?
– But what doctor, what nonsense! Look, I'm Saint Peter!
PS. alkas TRANSLATING Paulo Miranda
Soiled sinners lecturing on the art of being pristine.
Innocents retreat to black pits and darkish seams.
God tucked away the red lantern and ivory ring.
Very few are rescued from the darkness within.
The good sheep are mixing gospel and fear.
Charlatans and sharks are circling in with shears.
Talking heads are in it for ratings and attention.
Town criers' race-baiting for a vote once again.
Millions gorging on fish and blue-collar greens.
Very few are sowing; they're just takers of the seed.
The horizon is deeply rouged and roughened.
Nobody cares enough to balm it up or buff it.
Bloated children are crying out once again.
Cupboard and pantry are running very thin.
The lullaby and nursery rhymes are dulled.
So, one day they decided just to snuff them.
Black crows preening atop a thorny crown.
The curtain of humanity came crashing down.
Somewhere deep in the soul of a dead-end night.
Heaven was nailed to a neon, no vacancy sign.
Saint Peter packed it in without even saying goodbye.
“The same as it was
before I arrived …
Some better, some worse
some forever contrived”
“With good and with evil
my battle is done
A trumpet plays distant
His will zero sum”
A ticket to punch
with time ever slight
The Reaper approaching
and blocking the light
An Angel in transit
late for His train
My fate his arrival
or lost to refrain
The scythe drawing closer
its blade like an asp
raising in silence
perdition unmasked
But tracks start to rumble
a headlight I see
Saint Peter as promised
—one Angel for me
(1st Book Of Prayers: September, 2023)
Light
bids me welcome
darkness retreats
Alas
poor death
thou must be alone
His gate
reopens
before yours has locked
The harp
of an Angel
—calling me home
(The 1st Book Of Prayers: August, 2023)
Twas the night before Christmas, socks were hanging in every house
Some were old, some were new, and unwashed there were few
Animals were happy too, even the cats played with the mice
Even the stars were dancing, the night was filled with every hue
Then somewhere in gate of heaven, Saint Peter was so eager
In his heart, he was so hopeful that Santa Claus would give him rooster
For Saint Peter was planning to build his farm and his cockpit
Saint Peter was so hopeful that his cockpit would be a hit
Then somewhere along the way, Santa Claus was travelling
With Rudolph and his other reindeers, across the sky, he was flying
He was so eager so give Saint Peter his favorite rooster
So he hurried his reindeers in the bid to be faster
It was a minute past twelve, Saint Peter was dozing
In his doze, he didn't notice that a dead man's soul was approaching
Saint Peter didn't know if he'd be sad or be happy
For in his mind, he was wondering why Santa Claus gave him a monkey
November 26, 2022
The Night Before 3 Poetry Contest (3rd place)
Sponsored by: Joseph May
There’s a line in heaven today
Each child holding hands the teacher way
Saint Peter has made his list
And with each one he passes with a kiss
It’s hard for the Saints not to cry
As each child through the gates passes by
And there are tears shed by all this day
For the innocents lost by a gun today
And as the gates are closed at line’s end
The children gather with love we send
For today we weep for the lost
And wonder again at the cost.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Unicorn dreams surrounded his mind
He was a docile man, caring and kind.
Pixies and dervish were chased away.
This was a sweet soul, Mr. La Cray.
Pink angels were called to give him some grace
Saint Peter met him with an impulsive embrace
Rainbows appeared and someone played a harp.
He had a gentle soul and was empathetically sharp.
pink granite headstones
white cross above resting bones
down with Davy Jones
ashes thrown to the four winds
places death’s journey begins
where their spirit is
under massive pyramids
led by Osiris
not toward the Pearly Gates
where just Saint Peter awaits
stored in a grotto
angels singing vibrato
chanting staccato
entombed under earthen mounds
where their artifacts are found
still and decaying
all said to be awaiting
the Second Coming
coffins into the ground thrust
the next stage in dust to dust
Don't judge me to harshly O'Lord
mercy on my soul I implore
For I was born into sin
it is a harsh way to begin
It's not that I seldom prayed
or from church I stayed away
It's not that I was full of greed
to me it was just my needs
And those silly little white lies
surly not to my own demise
And to heaven you must let me in
once I even voted Republican
I think Saint Peter is on the sly
he does not seem to want me inside
Those Pearly Gates look shiny and new
come on now let me through
So Lord forgive me somehow
Hand me a harp and a big fluffy cloud
Whatever I did did I really do
there's got to be a loophole or two
The sands in my hour glass rush
but if it isn't too much
Before that judgement bell chimes
I got an extra hour thanks to daylight savings time
Mary had a gecko
Its skin was shamrock green
But everywhere that Mary went
It changed its colour scheme
When Mary went to Heaven
Her gecko made the scene
Saint Peter sent them back again
He thought they had gangrene!
So when you get to Heaven
And you need a go-between
Just ask for Mary's gecko
Its the Devil's own routine!
Another Friday has arrived
No meat I do sigh
I eat the fishes from Saint Peter’s wishes
Fried or grill
The sea food fits the sacrificial concept bill
Bring the tarter
For a starter
While other condiments enhance
This feeding chance
But all one is doing is not eating meat
Isn’t the fish just as sweet?
As that piece of meat?
Purpose is not to give up
Instead raise a cup
In remembrance of Saint Peter and the stand he took
Referenced in the holiest book
The letters and readings published in the text
Have for centuries earned one’s respect
We believe these are nonfiction accounts
Explaining human civilization and what it is all about
Yes, these stories are supposedly are true
Written by those who saw biblical power plays through
Today’s 2020 Lenten year
We state without a tear
Enormous things have been taken away
Before the 2020 resurrection day
I can say stand by one’s belief
By showing in 24 hours going without eating any beef
This challenge will make one strong
While waiting for those to confess on what they did in 2020 was wrong
PEARLY GATES
I’m brought before Saint Peter,
On display in a clear glass crate,
Nothing hidden up my sleeve,
Except a hammer, I jest to escape.
He approaches me out of nowhere,
Ask him for a chat while we wait,
Gentle voice replies “of course son”
We’re summing up, there is no haste.
Listen! played the hand I was dealt,
Although bluffed, behind a poker face,
Concealing more lies than honesty,
Yet love always, outshone the hate,
At times life seemed unbearable,
Beyond all reason to procrastinate.
When younger I couldn’t get enough,
Though excess, simply led to waste,
Won’t bore you with petty details,
For fear deaths a pitiless place,
Bit late in the day, seeking salvation,
Begging forgiveness, no saving grace.
“Never said a truer word my child,
Crocodile tears, cannot work this case,
Condoned, condemned, in the balance,
On very thin ice, this verdict skates.”
“Whatever I say does not matter,
It’s meaningless gone past debate,
God alone will pass the sentence,
Life’s evidence, will judge your fate.
By
David Kavanagh
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