The beau idéal of art commemorates Frida Kahlo's
Habitual self-portraits donning Mexican dahlia halos
Worshiped feminist by LGBTQ & Chicano cult artsy
Wife of master mural painter both activists in leftist party
My ancestors believed witches had magic
My ancestors worshiped a golden calf
I'm embarrassed, such folly is tragic
I shake my head and have to laugh.
Today between females and males there are no lines
We say we can surgically change either side
We can power our cities on wind turbines
And Israel's guilty of genocide.
We can always squeeze more from the rich
We know there's always money to burn
No hurdle, no obstacle, no hitch
40 trillion debt, no need for concern.
So we're so much smarter than those shepherds in the rocks
They worked for their money, thought nothing was free
Fought off invaders, and tended their flocks
Could they have been closer to reality?
Hell is a negative place we are told, it is a place where all our freedoms are under the control of an evil person.
Hell is the place described in many religious books, it has stories passed down since the beginning of time.
Hell is explained to be painful, to be a place of no escape, a place that lacks all love and happiness.
Jesus told us of his stories, the one were he was offered the world if he bowed down and worshiped evil.
Jesus also said when he was on the cross, he looked up and asked God to forgive people because they were under evil influence.
Hell is the place Jesus went after death, he was there for three days and then conquered death and arose, making a path for all of us to follow him and his teachings home to God.
May we all conquer death, love and forgive, and pray that our time on earth we live a life of love.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
Like a young Adonis, divine was he.
Star athlete, he was masculine and trim.
Dark hair had he and eyes like azure sea.
Wherever he would go, girls flocked to him.
She was like a deviant among them.
The school was preppy. If it were a pond,
she’d be the outlier they labeled scum.
Of ordinary things she was not fond.
She’d come to school disheveled, legs not shaved.
Large bright tattoos ran up and down her arms.
In class, with cheekiness she misbehaved.
Immune was she to the divine one’s charms.
That guy most worshiped seemed to reverence her!
The other students watched as if in shock
to see each day whatever might occur
when their young god with her would try to talk.
They did not see in her that inner glow
that he could see, but somehow he broke through
by bringing out her beautiful, and so
now everybody else can see it too.
I built a mirror temple
and worshiped my reflection.
It shattered~
and the shards pointed upward.
Need every romance be passionate
for it to resonate
Must professions of love grandiloquent
adorn the lace of verses intimate
Need lovers risk life and limb
to reel their marriage in
Must they stride ‘cross the world’s stage
worshiped by the idlers of the age
Cannot affairs of the heart
glow in candle’s quietude
Sustained by shared faith
and moral rectitude
Alas, lightning and fireworks are preferred
by those who hold the strings of the purse
Mary found a dinosaur egg
in her closet
The stork was the latest victim
Of rye bread and corned beef we speak
dancing in the everglades
A pale moon worshiped the morning sky
Trauma aboard the toy boat in the bathtub
incestuous conversation in the lobby
Golden pianos warm up the soup
Flying ninjas escalate the fight over
landfill’s gold reserves
Barf is, too, a clinical term
Jasmine Crockett, not Davy
Larry Bird, not Admiral
Eisenhower, Stevenson and Kennedy
Three Flyways
Computers yield to the abacus
tummy ache, all better
Suburban lawnmowers on the prowl, daddy
resurrecting gods worshiped in our dreams
reality of what is, is denied
relinquishing belief borne by thought streams
with the pulse of clear truth choose to abide
A feather's touch, your light
Warm and glowing bright
An angel in the night
Softens my will to fight
Instead instills belonging
Pales my ceaseless longing
Though ere I push those away-
Who would love me
Sooth, I am weary of the fight
Midst safe solitudes, in my right
Accepting being wrong and of bone-
And flesh, less immortal than alone
I would die loved by a mere few-
Than worshiped by prideful throngs
E'en tho', my angel, thou fade from view
My heart beats once more where it belongs
Thanks to you
The Puritans were persecuted for expressing their belief
These Dissenters in the New World worshiped, such divinely blessed relief
For the largesse of Native Peoples, on pheasant, squash, corn and beans they dined
As we fondly recall the first Thanksgiving, warmth and generosity come to mind
Yet these Pilgrims allowed no religious dissent
voice disagreement and poof! off you went
They erected their churches with iconic white steeples
As they turned on their new friends as savage peoples
But I shall file this unsavory history away
And thank my lucky stars for this most pleasant day
I am also thankful for kind folks I’ve known, both passed and living
As I wish all of you a genuinely happy Thanksgiving
I wish,
news consisted of kids laughing, playing carefree outside, eating ice cream, laughing with their friends, skin colored didn’t matter, we all are together as one.
Every single human has a job, a home, a sense of purpose, we all cared for each other no need for fear, all that we looked at, was the size of their heart.
Every single human worshiped in grace, faith hugged each other regularly, no political divide separated us..
Depression, anxiety mental health didn’t exist, because we all shared our lives with each other freely, everyone made time for each other, no cell phones a substitute for communication, never would a friend here “I’m too busy”.
I wish these things existed today, because I wouldn’t be experiencing depression, loneliness, I wouldn’t have to rely on poetrysoup to find a kind word, Plesse help these things come true Dear Lord.
Hate doesn’t look like a monster —
it looks familiar.
People like me don’t need people.
I’m the person people want.
We point at the evil ones —
politicians, criminals,
anyone who hurts without reason.
They stare back believing
they’ve done nothing wrong.
Some know they’re cruel,
most just call it purpose.
Take religion:
eighteen thousand gods
worshiped on this planet —
more than the population
of a small town.
I’m an atheist,
judged for believing
in one less god than they do.
Everyone wants to be right.
It annoys me knowing
I’m not evil —
I’m perfect.
That’s why I don’t like people.
I’m one of them,
but I choose not to harm.
The dumb call that weakness.
I don’t fight,
don’t argue —
just smile when I’m bored,
nod when I’m done,
look for an easy way to leave.
And everybody walks away happy,
the pretty girl unsure
who she loves,
the man unsure
who he even is.
Meanwhile I stand aside,
quietly watching —
because the happiest people
are often the ones
who never think too hard,
the dumbest,
the vile,
the ones who never look too deep.
xo
If I’m the problem, you might be the sin—
The serpent cloaked in seraph’s borrowed hue;
I drank your light and felt the dark begin,
For every saint I lost was shaped like you.
You were the scripture written on my skin,
A gospel carved in ash, profane yet true;
I built a church of grief, and worshiped in
The ruins of the faith I gave to you.
You spoke of love, yet thunder veiled your name,
Your mercy burned more fierce than any flame;
I called you God, and found a beast the same—
A tender void no prayer could ever tame.
If I am damned, it’s you who lit the spark—
And called it love to sanctify the dark.
Every civilization has an hour glass
Filled with both a future and a past
The top is filled with the sand of Love
Slowly leaking with the pouring into a cup
Over time the world has seen
The cup receiving love is the cup of iniquity
Gone are civilizations that worshiped idols
Inhumane practices taught by
Lost souls and fallen angels
Gone are the nations that did not follow God
That feeling that something was wrong in their heart
The soul has eyes that the Spirit gives to see
Before it's too late it is time to flee
Going are the lost who tell the lies
All for a price thinking God is not alive
Blind are the eyes that refuse to see
The filling of the cup called Iniquity
Though their end has yet to be
The end is coming to that society
Too late came the call to get on the boat
While they were yet preparing to have a vote
Too late will be that day when justice mattered
While media takes the stand to give them flatter
Lost will be the day that was long ago sound
The end of a civilization our for fathers found
She came down screaming, cloaked in flame,
A bolt of spite, no soul to tame.
From hilltop high she cast her spell—
The art of slander, taught too well.
They built her shrines in whispered breath,
In gossip’s grip, they danced with death.
Her tongue, a blade that cuts unseen,
Yet worshiped like some vengeful queen.
She taught them how to twist the truth,
To poison joy, corrupt the youth.
No proof required, no facts to weigh—
Just sharpened words to flay and flay.
I walk beneath her shadowed reign,
Each rumor like a drop of rain.
It floods my name, it stains my skin,
A war I never asked to win.
They speak as if their hearts are stone,
No warmth, no grace, just undertone.
Their minds are mirrors cracked with spite,
Reflecting only what’s not right.
No thought of kindness, no repair,
Just venom laced in vacant stare.
They feed on fear, they starve on hope,
And swing their lies like braided rope.
Yet still I rise, though torn and bruised,
Refusing to be so misused.
For truth, though quiet, holds its ground—
And Slanderella will be drowned.
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