Poems For Those Inclined Toward God

Wanted to post a few poems from the collection 'Poems For Those Inclined Toward God' - www.pigdog-press.com/lmp/ - this is the preview of the collection minus photos. Yahweh had written in Hebrew of anointed kings, high priests, prophets who sold holiness gifts for trinkets listened to fellows as astute as 18 year old horoscopes sold by hawker witches telling the future by feeling keys the energy in and out from the metal like a hole in the head- Alpha pouring through Beta being divided Zeta, Zoe, life is full of mystery beyond this human cranium after all, spirituality was lost in Eden so we fake; play games with Omniscient do a jitterbug with God Almighty juke the hips, head fake; tell God, or don't tell Him At The Cutting Edge The cutting edge is cutting Ripped cleavage, deafened silence Confusion of rights and wrongs Cutting arteries cutting valve attacks cutting palpitations A mercy dance about the meeting room Where the Cutty Sark becomes the cutting edge A dance about the holy altar Of repeated lies, and holiness walks Refuting, reputing, reinstalling, recalling Emptiness, and the occasional sordid demon dreams That justifies the cutting edge Cutting souls Oh Lord, in this Eden Oh Lord, in this Eden, my head was made to mush. Oh Lord, in this Eden, what ever happened to us? You split on Adam, and required blood; From a man from Adam, who wasn't any good. From a woman from Adam, who with birth pains delivered goods. You split on Adam, and then required blood. That Not All Creation Is Expected To Show Up On Time schools of Tampa Bay dolphin in still water, a little skin 2 inches of dorsal fin; enough, to show work bound motorists a 1/4 hour before a Florida December dawn that not all creation is expected to show up on time after our time, an obit, hopefully laudatory; so many missing spaces hoping before we pass to recount the story of dolphins circling schools, fluttering, feeling timeless in this Cosmos; yet, we record everyday trivia, attempting to venerate Nothing Will Be Private In The Kingdom Sparkle pavement of diamonds floating Establishing a 3 a.m. precedent Of watching the movements descending As snores rattle the windows Of a drunken Rochester Main Street bar crowd Peace, knowing You, in my bloodstream All pumped through vessels that speak roaring The winds are roaring, but my heart is at peace For You renew me each day with the Spirit Which dances in my life to bring to others A sense of knowing faith, not a list of answers There is only one answer for this planet That answer is purging, that answer is cleansing The sparkles seem to increase, as more diamonds float down Piling up on Coventry Avenue, piling up in Canadaigua Where a Hobie Cat can carry one across the waters And PRIVATE PROPERTY signs are buried under diamonds Nothing will be private in the Kingdom Poets and their confessional poems, the roots of Satsang Constant Satsang around the throne Poets have a head start on this plane If they don't allow themselves to go insane Hazel Hates Hypocrites You could be anything - a murderer, a thief, or a bookie; as long as you're honest. Hazel hates hypocrites. Like that Father Peter with the big belly, a molester reading Matthew 20 at High Mass. Drunk and disheveled under a gilded robe and sanctified by a boy crazed church. Baptisms for sale, a bazaar to Hazel, who sucked off Father Pete while on an 8 day drunk. Baptisms for sale, a bazaar to Hazel, who saw Father Roy being lap danced by strippers. Baptisms for sale, a bazaar to Hazel, who watched church coffers bet on football games. You could be anything - a murderer, a thief, or a bookie; as long as you're honest. Hazel hates hypocrites. RELAX The Holy Goof is always alive When we become beat, beautiful, and wise Able to laugh in the face of death Death disappears, and we breathe deep breaths IN AND OUT, THE LUNGS RELAX A smile radiates and we feel glad IN AND OUT, THE LUNGS RELAX No need to sigh, or ever look back BUT LAUGH AND SING, SMILE AT NEW THINGS Eye contact with a million Might only bring one set of eyes AND WITH THAT ONE DANCE, PRANCE 'BOUT SQUARES; TWIRL IN MID AIR RELAX All worrying is done Not Only The Man, But God That they, the Jews and the Romans, dragged Jesus through the streets; Not only the man, but God, in a corruptible human shell. This mob of morons dragged God through the streets; The very same God, who threw the bums out of the Temple buying and selling. Not a man, they spit upon, but God, in the form of man. And in turn, when we turn our back on God, we spit on God; As accursed bastards, when we don't listen to Jesus' words. Divinity Sucked Mary's Breast To see the little hands stretch fingers and the tiny feet kicking. To see a grimacing face, requesting a nipple to suck. Divinity sucked Mary's breast as Joseph and Mary fled Herod. Traveling without a breast pump, without pampers, without Handy Wipes, without stores that sold salves. Divinity sucked Mary's breast from Bethlehem to Egypt to Nazareth before strangers. A nipple was the lifeblood of Jesus, though God in the flesh, needing nutrition nonetheless. As Joseph picked up odd jobs, trying to put food on the table for his loving wife,so she could feed Divinity. In Georgia Woods In Georgia woods, the peace of God Refinement of importance, the laughter of friends Awakening the blessing of full life rebirth In Georgia woods, the Holy Spirit speaks Telling me - one God is One, and He hears Desires of the heart, those of full life rebirth Double Booked The Shaman Of Machu Pichu The promoters double booked the shaman of Machu Pichu. London and Toronto on the same night, the Palm Pilot wasn't right; Nor were the correct emails sent, and in this light this meant - The shaman of Machu Pichu couldn't be in two places at the same time. Obviously unable to become divine, or align himself with the Gregorian calendar. Hell, Can You Believe It? Hell, can you believe it? Angels turned bad, with hot coals on tongs; Placed at the bottom of your feet. Screaming repeatedly "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!" Hell, can you believe it? POOF! Imagine a planet Where the people didn't Believe they were created POOF! Just poof! Ancestors just got here With a flick of the wrist Quicker than a bic - FLICK! Just got here … from a frog From a hog …. Or a pig Or a dog, A big ugly ape A scape GOAT Just got here POOF! Brother Thaddeus Brother Thaddeus was chucked into a coffin in his cassock, silent and faithful. He was put on display for the entire monastery to witness the lifeless shell of a faithful, stern faced, bulging veins, and pale white. The monastery's students were awoken early the morning after Brother Thaddeus' death, and ushered down for cereal and prayers, novenas, and nuances from the Psalms. For many of the younger boys this was the first time they had seen death. There was no one to talk to them about the lifeless monk, there was no grief counseling. A few of the older boys went back to their rooms to listen to Black Sabbath records, do blotter acid, and walk outside the gates to smoke a fatty Brother Thaddeus was interned in the monastery graveyard. There was no will to read, there were no possessions to be distributed. Another monk would soon occupy Brother Thaddeus' wood bunk. The monk would stare at the same walls that Brother Thaddeus stared at, until he was chucked into a coffin in his cassock, silent and faithful. Jimi Swagart shouldn't have sped read his Bible Jimi Swagart shouldn't have sped read his Bible, forgot the dots and titles; Listening to too many hookers' fiddles; though covered the pages a 1000 times. THE MOB, A WICKED PHENOMENON The mob eats blood drippings A sacrifice daily, Sundays hourly A bull, sheep, goat, bo peep is lead to the altar Someone must die, carry guilt burdens Someone must die, passed like a hot potato In judges' robes, a mad pack of dogs The Mob, A Wicked Phenomenon So forlorn in America so forlorn in America not knowing how to look at one another how to meet, what to speak Data Banks overflowing with uncertainty of what to say, what to be, where to go so forlorn in America not knowing how to love one another bored before we meet, bored after

Poems For Those Inclined Toward God

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