But Freud could not vouch
For one lying on his couch
It’s God, our mind’s He unlocks
To wrestle with this paradox
This ambivalence
For the world fixes stints
For lungs that need air
For a heart needs repair
This is what we’re left with
No life, just a death kiss
At atheistic insistence
And with ambivalent resistance
There’s prejudicial conjecture
There’s personal conjecture
But no absolute or objective truth
You don’t need to be a sleuth
With subjectivity solicited
Two intellectual sins committed
Arbitrariness and inconsistency
Condition critical insistency
Circumspectly we point this out
Without a doubt, we don’t flout
Compare two worldviews
(as atheist’s hit the snooze)
We share the Gospel with the hostel
With no subterfuge or solipsism
No false religion’s systems or schisms
The 2nd Coming will be the loudest day
The trumpet sounds, the saintly strain
Will w/Jesus comeback with no foray
The final stop for the Gospel train
spirit is wise
open dark eyes
good stories told
aura is gold
heart duly mould
memory clear
life a love prism
nonchalant schisms
calm I am dear
dun storms pass true
eating hot stew
we dance sincere ~
Prisons of Prisms
Bright Kaleidoscopic Light
Prisons of Schisms
I should have grinned when morning came
Atop posts of gaping day, with lunatics
Humming dirges of a broken world.
I remained glued to my gloom.
Rising from the pit of hell, I held
Concupiscent cats hostage.
The course of their waning speed of flight
Harmed my precisions.
From a boanerges' point of view,
Fierce elocution dampened by grey voids of
Unassailable haunts cripple the badinage of
Myths celebrated at dawn's memorial.
I weep through the voice of an alcove's
Muted spirit, one grace, forlorn and dew-wet,
Re-christened at sable-draped ceremonies.
Haunted by such recurring whims of deliberate
Schisms by harridans, I crawl on both knees,
Filching webs atop crests of arachnids.
I should have waved siesta's flag at 3 P.M.
Lush vagaries of new-sprouted greens yield to the
Mockery of phlogiston,
Leaving behind banters from drunken laughters,
Crackles from prostituting fires, meek and ailing,
And hells of sweat from my aching head.
I've little or no chance. Should I go for the kill?
With my skill and will, I must till every hard hill.
I'm my government. I must make my decision.
Amidst moral schisms, I have endless vision.
Like lions, tigers, and rhinos, I show aggression.
Doesn't this involve an ethical transgression?
There's a battle. There's a physio-psychic war.
Against the opponent, there's a beastly uproar.
Could I forget, yet, my prudent disposition?
Like a bear, I'm adamant about my mission.
Can 'catch as catch can' be a part of every game?
Shouldn't this too fit into an ethical frame?
Love is alike a whisper among the deaf and a light among the blind. Many have claimed to understand it and many have claim to be apart of it but alike religion, they all seem to fall short of scripture.
Love unites us all is what they say according to the rational of those claiming to be within the grasps of these inauspicious schisms as they are coddled betwixt irony and self indulgence.
Your love is salvaged only by the reluctant anecdote of those accused and in favor of self-actualization.
Their love is not only a topic of mass hysteria brought forth by the fraudulent offspring of timeless arrogance but "love" is also a wedge between free will and the limitations prevailed by hatreds depth.
Love, is beyond the reckoning of dimensional rifts and broken spatial constructs contiguous by the darkness of man born antipathy.
This is the love you idolize and seek victory within.
This is the love you claim as a self redeeming gift.
This is the love you can only grasp tangibly and without rapport.
My love, wasn't
Nietzsche declared that God is dead
Since thoughts of Him man’s heart has fled.
If it is true that God is dead
Let hearts of men be filled with dread.
Once God had died the race was on
among the gods man’s mind would spawn,
which one would fill the space God left?
Yea, who would occupy the cleft?
The no-God notion tried and failed
To fill the void man’s proud heart veiled
The need for one greater than man
Whose essence man’s mind cannot span.
Materialism also failed
As grift and greed man’s heart assailed.
Possessions could not fill his need
Once man from his God did secede.
Scientists tried God’s role to fill
Their efforts cannot fit the bill.
The inventions their knowledge yields
spawn hazards that are like minefields.
Marxism, and all the other isms
has left society mired in schisms.
Man sought freedom by declaring God dead,
The absence of God brought bondage instead.
God’s replacements have failed to quell
The yearnings that in man’s mind swell.
These cravings only God can fill
As man accedes unto His will.
For they know not what they are doing
How could they not
as God-given capacity for ignorance
is only blasphemy when available
The Indigenous of New Zealand
Never heard Jesus's sweet name
until 1814, So all those natives
get to burn forever with Hauty
The proud church of Christ
and its east-west schisms
And Luther's nailed paper
Show God's "unauthorized" confusion
Mormons and Muslims follow
in the writing of many books
and their books on their books
and their books on their books and
A question mark tail
Manipulation azured
Cat strums dinner bell
Lamp genie, leg rubbed
Here is where magic begins
Tale of two kitties
The Coliseum
Shake hustle booty, duties
Reminds you calmly
Angels to record
Catechism lessons heard
Lest schisms bombard
Never a dull day
Clouds of 'tainment, purrtaining
To Biblical plagues
Don't lean in hard wind
Christ will return as Lion
We will also be kin
Talking fish plaque says
Cats'trophy?, plus Pawstrophe
Mysterious ways
I was just a kid
You threw the “book” at me
Hellfire, damnation, sinner!!
Repent!!!!
I was too young
To remember “penting”
So how could I do it again??
Purgatory….
“the not quite ready for prime time
waiting room for angels”
Confession??
Hey, If I ain’t tellin’ Mom
I ain’t tellin’ nobody.
The “transubstantiation”
//I can still spell it//
I thought it was a new stop on the RED LINE.
“The Caped Crusaders”
Aka NUNS
Wielding a thunderous yard stick
(Thor had nothing on these chicks)
Catechism
The first of my many schisms.
I am still just a kid
Delving into the alleged
“Divinity of Man”
Walking in the footsteps of mystery
Dabbling in momentary beliefs
Chasing shadows on a cloudless day
Experiencing the wonder of life
Standing naked in the world of the undressed
John G. Lawless
©5/6/2023
Retirement blues you ask?
nothing of the sordid sort for me.
my life, a twilight zone of new
cause and effect with no outer
limits of things to do---no negative
schisms of a bored being waiting to
cash it in, kick the bucket, roll over.
loneliness? a state of mindless critiques
of forgone measures of no importance-
toddler steps toward ever existing Fun.
ageful wisdoms of calm bearing,
a rediscovered sense of peaceful purpose.
I've paid my past emo debts and made
reasonable restitutions to those wronged.
Now is my place of impermeant residence,
Then was just a house of cards.
Let the party begin.
We are winded and on the ropes. Backwater banjo boys
strum against us. Clouds feed upon a shoaling light.
A bad day for going out or staying in.
A time to be sleepless. We must live timidly,
or push deeper into a glaring daylight
toward the drugged dreams of the wide-eyed,
go shopping in the poorer parts of town
seek thrifty ways to survive among the striving,
give all our prayers to the birds; then eat them.
Some say they have heard the sky flap away
but many stuff fingers in their ringing ears
and gainsay both the seen and unseen.
There is no sanctuary in night's lean pantry,
the ransacked are laid bare.
Many pick the pockets of the anxious
rattle catch-penny cans on shoe-strings.
Misgivings trespass, tumble ever inward until
reason becomes the reason to flee.
Paltry inklings gnaw at ever longer nights,
and we wonder what ‘tipping point’ tipped
what lid flipped; what line was crossed
as an ever louder twanging strums on?
Oh God, the fatal “ism” of the “isms”
The heart and soul of life
And all its schisms.
Collisions at great speed
That caused it all
Or wait!! Perhaps…If Eve….
had let the apple fall?
Pray tell, it makes no difference
How we pray
For in the world of fate
We all just bray.
And if by chance we dare
To turn away
The “ism” of our fate
Will still hold sway.
So flee the dreary world of “ism-ism”.
Or face the fate of fate’s
Now fatal “ism”.
©8/6/2022
Of Fatalism
Sponsor Edward Ibeh
Abyssal, abysmal, profound,
superficial, light, evident,
your eyes change color...
Cracks, gaps, ruptures,
labyrinths, anguishes, throat
your eyes confine my desires...
Precipices, cliffs, gullies
schisms, contractions, insights
your eyes sometimes interact...
Lovers, flirts, friends,
I forgive all this because
I love your eyes
and you... !
SUTAIH
H * H
I * I
A * A
T * T
U * U
S * S
And then it unfolded like a zipper that opened
teeth gaping through hollows worse for wear
top stop loosened dichotomy schisms exposed
slider with no way to go crying out for the past
time for perspective and to turn over the page
S * S
U * U
T * T
A * A
I * I
H * H
Am I missing something the aperture?
Should I weigh in with an anagram or
break the interruption suspend the breach
mind the gap right there at the interval?
DEPARTURE
ENRAPTURE
RECAPTURE
CLOSURES
JUNCTURE
HARMONY
Not everything broken needs to be mended
paradigms shift chasm is there for a reason
an open wise person searches new meaning
when things fall apart and repairs breakage
who needs a zipper when needle and thread
play with buttons and rearranges their needs
06th February 2021
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