Holy People's Town Poem, by Tristan Robert Lange, at My poetic side

I visited a Christian shore town. ✝️🌊

I just wanted to relax—let my hair down,

To attune with the Spirit—

Breathe in Mary Jane’s breath,

Ascend to Psyche’s haven—

A heaven of holistic healing. ❤️‍🩹

Smoke was wildly whisping, 😚💨

Like incense, a priestly offering,

As I found myself vibing it—singing. 👩‍🎤

A psalmist singing God’s glory.

The Lord—my mortal’s heart inspiring,

Nay! Conspiring—

My heart overflowing with joy.

But wait. Oh boy. 😳

A lawman approached me— 👮‍♂️

Raptured, I unaware—

He could see I didn’t have a care. 🤷‍♂️

“Sir, that right there,

You cannot be out here doing.”

I looked at my joint, back up at him, 😚💨

“Why sir, this here is my medicine—

And I am just staying right over there”

Besides this is legal here.” ⚖️

Looking straightly, lawman smiled, 👮‍♂️

“You know what town your in?

Are you not from here, or around?”

This here is Christian ground ✝️

And people like it quiet 🤫

Here in this holy people’s town.”

Damn.

Sunday worship must be weird, ⛪️

No singing in the pews; 🚫🎶

Pantomime preaching,

Where silence is practiced— 🤫

Any offenders policed— 👮‍♂️

And praising ne’er appears, 🤦‍♂️

All, of course, in Jesus’ name. ✝️🙄

Tittu

Author: Tristan Robert Lange ( Online)
Published: August 30th, 2025 07:46
Comment from author about the poem: This poem was inspired by an encounter in Ocean Grove, NJ — a historic Methodist Camp Meeting town once filled with shouting Methodists, revival fire, and exuberant praise. The irony struck me: the same ground that once shook with holy noise and “shouting Methodists”, has become a place where silence is enforced and joy policed. Holy People’s Town wrestles with that clash, between living Spirit and lifeless piety.
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