Short Confessional Poems

A I CONFESSION

not my
own work...

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He slapped her and her head whipped sideways.




The door slams shut after the confessional and before the pearly gates....

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Here lies (but I must tell the truth)
A Stag Party Dancer named Ruth
A natural wonder
Who caused priests to blunder
Inside the confessional booth...

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Is the truth even electable
   redemption now a sin

The confessional a voting booth
  —where liars dwell within

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)...

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Kneeling 
in a confessional 
of words
forgiveness wouldn’t come
Absolution
undefined
where beats
— the silent drum

(Dreamsleep: December, 2024) 
...

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Is the truth even electable,
   redemption now a sin

The confessional a voting booth
  —where liars dwell within

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)...

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Potatoes
Tomatoes

Soup
Coup

Chille
Killin

Meals
Deals

Meatloaf
Comatose

Vegetables
Confessional

Beef stew
Wild brew

Cornbread
Nuff said????

05/28/18...

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Trump An Intellectual

Trump thinks that  he is an intelectual;
After we consulted with a confessional;
Not only repugnant,
Was also redundant,
And found to be absurd and ineffectual.

Jim Horn...

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I folded into the dark wooden foyer
that reminded me of the church confessional when I was a boy

the images that got conjured up in there
the smell of burning incense

I lit a match then
I passed out then...

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a confessional
                 age
in the culture
of 
  narcissism

sub-conscious
               & disguised
ubiquitous
sits 
   the selfie-soul

overshadowed
by
obsession

in the
   making
      a mirror
myth
for
  others
to
   see...

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CONFESSIONAL

I confess to an addiction 
If I’m honest, no it’s two
On the scale of dire affliction 
They don’t count for much ado

So I’ll say it, take the risk 
While confessional I’m tackling
It is salt and vinegar crisps
With a large side of pork crackling...

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During sex he admitted
it was his pleasure to exclaim/shower
much indecent language all over her,
which made the act so much sweeter.
The priest in the confessional booth
understood, crossed himself,
and nodded in agreement.

God has a language for
authentic prayers....

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time seems sometimes to stand so still
and seems to have raced by while I was spending it
I now have a rather large and growing collection
of un fulfilled dreams
I tell myself it's a minor scheduling problem
I can't believe it        yet
It saves time
worrying how much is left...

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Father, forgive me for I have sinned...

I confess it all, repenting complete
penance handed down from a curtained confessional
kneeling, I beg for Your forgiveness
vowing to tread a righteous path
knowing in my heart, as I depart
I will still wrong others
that Satan always comes creeping back 
and tonight, I will sin again...

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Holding the ladder
I was hungry
looking at the waiting dawn.

Raw landscape:
narcissism
forages the belly.

Picking up the figs 
from passion flowers.
Is that right ?

Can you sow the seeds
on a cloud ?
Unclothed words ?

Stealthily
a guerilla smashes
a summary of centre.

A falconer
releases a prey
to feed an anarchy.



Satish Verma...

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When you 
step up to 
     the mike
How much should 
you reveal? 
How long should you
let the light shine on you?
   Some tell all - confessional poetry 
(I have heard) offers 
a good soul 
purging 
even as dawn 
approaches 
          we feel like 
we should open 
up!
But 
How much to tell?
How much to ?
How much!!!!...

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Opportunity presented itself 
I closed my eyes
Learning seemed hard
I closed my eyes
I pushed open a door to my new start
I closed my eyes
Nothing worked out 
I closed my eyes 
Facing my reality 
I closed my eyes 
Losing the worth for which I strived
Every waking moment my heart cried
However hard I tried 
I couldn't close my eyes....

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For every candle that I lit with care
Ten Hail Mary's were whispered in prayer
For each confession I was told to amend
I said all my Hail Mary's ending in Amen

If I was in the confessional without a sin
I would say honestly what a good boy I had been
Then I would still go light another candle and pray
The next time my dad came home, that he would stay...

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I wear a mask daily
the one I put on in the morning
with the rising sun
and I am the rising sun
full of positive energy
the bright white side 
of the yin and yang
the calm water of a river
during fair weather
while deep down I hide
a heart bursting 
with the potential for drama 
most of which is no comedy
a brooding moon in a starless sky
the black part of the yin and yang
perfectly capable of tragedy...

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Somewhere in the ocean lies the deepest secrets that many hide.
With each wave you can hear...
The song of each confessional tale.
The tide comes in to bring about...
The untold stories it carries around.
Leaving behind an empty slate for more to come and feed it's fate.
    Somewhere in the ocean lies the untold story from many minds.
If you listen closely you may hear...
The untold stories the ocean shares....

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Penance

A thousand souls queue 
outside his confessional while
he scans the cards of sins.
How many
Hail Marys, Our Fathers,
rosaries will be
dealt today?

Wisely dispensed devotions
from behind the brown curtain,
the shadow grid,
will part God’s pearly gates
for a penitent multitude.

I’m at the back of the line
and worry I’ll not make it 
to the booth in time. 

©Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
April 21, 2012...

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Many a pretty woman - and not so pretty woman 
has wanted to "tie the knot"
Fool that I am I never did - I avoided the "tender trap" 
However - and this is very important
I have taken up the craft of poetry 
Which as you know out there in the darkness 
can lift you up into the stratosphere - if you let it 
So, poetic brothers and sisters
   Dry your tears, you will all too soon be in a place where love and hate do not exist 
Peace Peace Peace...

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shadow of the greyblue stairs
heading up to who knows where
jaws of a shark on the litter bone night wall

crazy to my right the lifeless painting
hangs speaking to no one
but the devils grass leaning
against the heavenly window

saintly church bell shadows
empty pews 
turning screws
confessional blues

feelin like crooked tom thumb on the run
fighting with giants singin with bums
achin to the bone sometimes numb
miracle train she runs and runs...

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Listen to poem:

Pray for us Sinners Mother Mary 
David J Walker 

The best lies are wasted on 
The oldest sleeping priest seated

In the confessional 
As paid-for candles are 
Blown out  in the 
Wind of an opened door 

The sins omitted are represented 
And reserved  for a weekday night 
recommitted out of sight 
Of the shuttered stained-glass windows 

The liturgy turned to an elegy
Seemingly with me in mind

Holy Mary, Mother of God,
pray for us sinners  
    again 
         and again...

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