Zealotry Poems

Zealotry

   Zealotry, befitting Infidelity

     ~ when battling Tyranny

A Familial Condition

Disgruntled, they come to me as bit-parts
ripped from black and white movies.
Mad aunt Anastasia, who should have been a nun,
one of her hands would refrain from touching her,
the other has been long carried off
by wolfish priests.
The Holy Ghost has pickled her in a jar,
she now floats between worlds.

Uncle Sean, the iniquitous Maître D'
looming above a meaty cleavage,
he who flambéed Steak Diane
with a slyly sapid leer,
poured cognac,
then after the salacious hunt,
triumphantly decanted his thirsty+ lusts
into any grateful woman
whomever.

Cousin Tommy died early,
but not before he had burnt through
the Old Testament.
A brimstone disorder gnawed his innards,
left him lacking normal human kapok,
kept him bubbling until a self-inflicted wound,
blew out his brains.

There are cousins removed and living,
who disassemble themselves, with zealotry,
or ennui. None took the middle way,
none quietly settled-in
to live a life of unremarkable normality,
trysting the nights away
with damp-stained regrets.

Like larks’ tongues, they sing in the invisible.
They reside in the far reaches,
until dark angels flame out
in their berserker eyes.

Wise Advise

Abiding balance cadence dap ease facility gems handle
Illuminate jasper keep language magnanimous
Never oblige people qualify raise sage
Take unchangeable values waken  
Xenophobia-not yank zealotry

The Ghost

Oh trepid specter in the night
Making bold thy cursed plight.
What zealotry provokes thy mournful cry
Allowing thee to linger nigh?

Did Heaven bar thee entry first?
Did Hell itself not quench thy thirst?
And why this fuss and sordid gloom
To foreshadow some impending doom?

Did unrequited love convey despair?
Was the deprivation too much to bear?
Did thou stumble at Heaven's door
Causing thee... to tread my floor?

Was some crucial task left undone
To hinder the setting of thy sun?
Was true-love's knot unlaced in death
Which took from thee... thy final breath?

I know not the story of thy worth
That tasks a Ghost to walk this Earth.
But if such a state is now to be...
Let's hope it's not eternity.

Oh trepid specter in the night
Making bold thy cursed plight.
What zealotry provokes thy mournful cry
Allowing thee to linger nigh?

            The End

The Nebulous Plague

What an unusual pragmatism conundrum.
We drum in our kids a sense of quantum.
Then, a few days later, we express our pain,
When we gaze on persons with the same stain.

We maintain tabs on the culprits responsible,
Similar views of the notion that we never boggle. 
They also discuss the necessity for integrity.
Possibility of enduring unbearable agony.

Amidst all, we will mainly overlook the peculiarity. 
There is a true cure for all our zealotry idiocy,
Our exquisite was driven to beauty, God's grace. 
Over halcyon deeds, people in need, and peace.

We view a frail side within; it's a sort of plague. 
There is no particular heal; thus, care is vague.


Written: November 25, 2021

Declaration of Repentance Ap

(
                             Always believing creations divine,
                        each future generation hindsight intensifies.
     Just knowing lifes meaning, notwithstanding our past quarrels.
                      Redeeming societies trust, unifying values.
                        Welcoming xenodochy, yielding zealotry.

      10 / 31 / 2021.

A Familial Condition

Disgruntled, they come to me as bit-parts
ripped from black and white movies. 
Mad aunt Anastasia, who should have been a nun.
One of her hands will not touch her,
the other has been carried off
by wolfish priests.
The Holy Ghost has pickled her in a jar;
she floats now between worlds. 

Uncle Sean, the satyric commis-waiter,
looming above a meaty cleavage,
flambéed Steak Diane with a sapid leer,
poured cognac and butter,
commingled shallots at the table.
Then after the hunt, he’d triumphantly decant
into whomever. 

Cousin Tommy died early,
but not before he had burnt through
the Old Testament.
A brimstone disorder gnawed his innards,
left him lacking normal human kapok,
kept him bubbling until a self-inflicted wound
blew out his brains.

There are cousins removed and living
who disassemble themselves, with zealotry
or ennui. None took the middle way,
none quietly settled-in
to live among damp-stained regrets.  

Like larks’ tongues, they sing in the invisible.
They reside in the far reaches,
until dark angels flame out
in their berserker eyes.

Gazing Out My Window West

Gazing out my window west 
   A light-blue sky o'er the crest
of trees and houses, a low skyline
   did lure me linger a moment's time 

My eye chanced on a nearby lawn
   buried by cotton clumps all 'round 
How strange, I thought, this time of year
   Shouldn't they be snowballs, dear

Sunset came, cotton disappeared
   In its place, leaves, meek-yellow, sere
lately fallen from reluctant branch
   my window's impression, wan, drear...

Behind me, eastward, moon's fast rising
   Majesty marred by jealousy
Face glum, disfigured-frowning --
   Tongue stuck out at me
   for my westward zealotry...

Sundown's sky now pale yellow --
   Though through tangled tree branches
   that yellow brightened some --
Yet this evening there would be
   but the slightest streaks of red
      
    ~ Back to a smiling moon
       my fickle gaze was led

Three Limericks On 'The Strike' --- Three Different Points of View

TEACHERS'S UNION

Lori Lightfoot's no better than the rest
Crafty wiles and forced smiles don't pass our test
   She promised the moon
   She crooned a sweet tune
Then she zinged us with zealotry and zest



        LORI LIGHTFOOT

I may be short, but I'm as tough as nails
No one can deny me my 'Holy Grail'
       I ignore shenanigans
       I fear not Union 'big guns'
I will not let our kids -- or city -- fail!



     AVERAGE CHICAGOANS

We think that both parties have some good points
Though we're not eager to either anoint
     Lightfoot gives away the moon
     The Union acts like big goons
~ The school kids and parents left out of joint


   Day # 10 of the Chicago Teacher's Strike
                October 30, 2019

Broken Afrikaans

die briesie van herlewing kom saam met u besoek

daar is 'n hindernis van byna 500 jaar wat ons suiwerheid geskei het

in velkleur, godsdiens en verhoudings
ons is van wortels gekastreer en gevoer met

godsdienstige ywer, gierigheid,
en wrede verkragting van ons voorgeslag

vrees nie die seë wat God stilgemaak het nie

die wind het gedreun van gehuil

of die son kom nooit op vir rus nie



the breeze of revival comes with your visit

there's a barrier of almost 500 years that separated our purity

in skin tone, religion and relations
we've been castrated from roots and fed with

religious zealotry, greed,
and brutal rape of our ancestry

fear not the seas God stilled

the wind muffled from howling

or the sun never rising for rest



For a friend from CT

The Poet

The poet must write at his heart's behest  
of freedom, beauty, joy, the life he lives;  
from the hidden keep of his soul he gives 
each word a subtle shade of rue or jest,  
though the madding crowd deem it excess,  
he sings over the angry rabble's cry,  
the fury of their zealotry on high,  
they would make a prison of his sweet flesh. 

But through the bars his words would expand   
the view the world has of its greed and pain,  
blood lust and steel defaming the land,  
mendacity taints the power's domain,  
jangling the nerves of those who dare command  
that young men's blood in the sand be their gain.

Soul Burning Madness

I Call your name every second ..
I try to find you everywhere ..
I shed tears for you..
I burn my heart for you..
Your soul screams in my blood..
But your name makes me scared..
Your words threatens me..
But your love recalls me in front of you..
I miss your madness, your insanity , your lunacy..
But I break into tears when I see your madness changes into zealotry..

The Trial of a Lord Part 1

Allow me explain
Brethren gathered here for
Custom dictates
Due process prevail
Exaggerated much
Flaws mine-as may seem
Granted the providence of evidence you see
Highly placed the source-allegedly
Inconceivable the idea that falsehoods they be
Jury decide-be it she or be it me
Kissing and telling discretely-of course
Listlessly I will you tell this tale, you see
My wife's mother's brother's valet-who doubles as mine
Noticed a queerness about this chambermaid fine
Opulent her head with silky tresses
Perfect her skin as nothing else is
Quenching a thirst as non I ever knew
Repugnant as I found the idea,true
Sacrifices always must be made for
The greater good of humankind sake
Ungodly as you all will agree this meeting between her and me
Vestments would not keep me away
Witchcraft! That's what we suspected for how else could I a Lord be so blinded
Xylophone music was all that I heard while headily begging for her hasty embrace
Yet how was this Lord ever to know that
Zealotry was for chambermaid's too?

Voracious Waves

A beckoning charmer,
Desire’s erogenous Flower
gratifies homage.
I justly kneel… 
Love must now obey
Pleasure’s quest ridden subjugation
till unchaste voracious waves, xenogenous, yield zealotry.

For Charlotte Puddifoot’s Sensual ABC Contest
September 25, 2015

The Slithering Stalker

It started with a small sentence
Picked up by one who demanded repentance
Innocuously sent and meant for so few
With the one the ignominy simply festered and grew

None could tell the one was so horrid
That its zealotry and hatred could be that torrid
The one crept and slithered to so many places
Connecting perceived illusions to different faces

"Prophetess!" and "discernment!" the one kept spouting
All the while "go" was all we were shouting
"They lie!" and "sinner!" the one spewed and droned
"Obsessive stalker" over twenty affected loudly bemoaned

After all is said let this be learned
Retalitory obsession most certainly will be returned
The whispers and taunts are so often malicious
But the one shall always be found vile and vicious

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