be strong disheveled entity
with church and empire fused to throne
who strays to bundle hay on cockrells' back
now god has summoned horse-reel tooth and stone
but not for she nor the virgin on her back
(to die to rise above the slack)
to pen with papered sword one village black
for man and mule to hack bell-peppers horn;
be strong the pilgrims plight on primrose hill
that stills the cancers borrowed bouys from the chained sea
for boy and me to age as sinking skin
beneath gods robe of lambs-tongue krill and tailored suit
sail whip-lash through the bladder of the eyes
to channel apes to pentogram of weed
to seed the doubled coin of headless shrimp;
it is time to summer oak a winters tale
now I have see the reaper grim as merrowed edge
a fledgling combing fabric of my bed sheet
I have made no pledge to dress as death nor creature
comfort high adoring eyes on the knuckled meat
to weave behind the bell-hook incarnation
to be as one with the undead giant bloodborne;
be still be calm these seas that fuel my blood-itch
now I have seen the reaper grin and bare his idle hands
for the touching of the sacred scarecrows country glands
to swell my windows crave for tree of fig:
-
Author:
Melvin James (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 9th, 2021 12:49
- Comment from author about the poem: ask for what I wonder?
- Category: Religion
- Views: 42
- User favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek.
Offline)
Comments2
:that fig tree of prosperity, winking
between moonlit slits
of nightmare smeared bed sheets,
I seek answers, dear universe!
Nietzsche, decried God's death a century ago
and yet here I walk past
Chaitya monasteries for the fashionable elite,
Synagogues, that expand for one day of the year,
Churches, in wealthy neighbourhoods - like faith is Capitalism's biggest convert,
Mosque's, with intelligence agencies, surveillance vans parked outside...
Gift me the wisdom to comprehend, why there's no Owls in City's
when we need them the most, where: in every direction there's a crime waiting to stamp our loyalty card membership.
Scarecrows, aplenty
every street corner has a ghost floating between high's
stumbling, over those who've surrender to life.
Every new TV show is a Sci-fi or Comic adapted plot, futuristic and immense in scope
and yet, in San Francisco
they have a department for cleaning human faeces off our streets...
I seek Hendrix as my ear's window of escape, and shuffle along
watching and adding my ignorance to this Sea of pavemented obliviousness, we've collectively sculpted
out of our cigarette ash dreams and and wine cork ambitions.
It's hard: to be strong as a dishevelled entity of modernity
'beneath gods robe of lambs-tongue krill and tailored suit
sail whip-lash through the bladder of the eyes
to channel apes to pentogram of weed
to seed the doubled coin of headless shrimp;'
(forgive me dear Poet
I couldn't help myself but try and scribble a little feeble reply to your poetic mastery, thank you for choosing to share and inspire others with your supreme talent!)
'and what a Talent, it is
you've been gifted!'
Beautiful use of language and theme to pain the poem.
thank you Thomas
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