So I say my little prayer
tomorrow I’ll be forgotten again
save my life
and put me on the shelf
it’s beginning to get repetitive
I am risen
a pointless Jesus
in a skirt and with shortcomings
breathe my dust
remember me in passing
tomorrow I’ll be all just words
all just words…
(detritus)(poetica)(myth)(opinion)(divination)
This is already posted on my poetry blog, but nobody ever reads that stupid thing…
Another Sunday Poem
Sunday morning she wakes
to a thousand drunken prayers
left in the night
by the eternal penitent
She gently removes the nails from his wrists
And turns to more trivial matters
Newspaper drivel
mixes body counts with fuel prices
fashion trends with natural disasters
class struggle with the fall TV lineup
All this violence and juxtaposition smacks of Christianity
Sunday is the patron saint of hypocrites
The television oozes talk of war
and athletes aping warriors
Murder is the king of Sunday morning
Worshippers kneeling in homage to a bloody human sacrifice
And failing to heed the lesson of it
There are days when it’s better to forget you’re human
better not to admit you belong to that
Sometimes she seeks absolution in sin
Lets forgiveness drip from her breasts like mother’s milk
And takes her turn at needing a saviour
More often than not one will be provided
The fisher king lies in wait
A thousand blessed kisses
could never heal a wound like that
but a girl could save her soul in the trying
Sunday morning she wakes
to a thousand drunken prayers
left in the night
by the eternal penitent
She gently removes the nails from his wrists
And turns to more trivial matters
Newspaper drivel
mixes body counts with fuel prices
fashion trends with natural disasters
class struggle with the fall TV lineup
All this violence and juxtaposition smacks of Christianity
Sunday is the patron saint of hypocrites
The television oozes talk of war
and athletes aping warriors
Murder is the king of Sunday morning
Worshippers kneeling in homage to a bloody human sacrifice
And failing to heed the lesson of it
There are days when it’s better to forget you’re human
better not to admit you belong to that
Sometimes she seeks absolution in sin
Lets forgiveness drip from her breasts like mother’s milk
And takes her turn at needing a saviour
More often than not one will be provided
The fisher king lies in wait
A thousand blessed kisses
could never heal a wound like that
but a girl could save her soul in the trying
(detritus)(poetica)(myth)(opinion)(divination)
“So why don’t you be a man about it, like they do in the grown up movies?”
” It’s not really work, it’s just the power to talk, still standing in the
wind, but I never say byebye, but I try…”
Some Pandoras never learn their lesson
and just keep looking for other doors to open
ignoring the ills for the hope left behind
girls who are not wise
clever but not wise
(detritus)(poetica)(myth)(opinion)(divination)
After I’d awakened the first time this morning, I drifted back into a light sleep and heard my late grandmother calling my name in a soft and ancient Southern Illinois/Kentucky twang. I don’t know why I dreamt her voice, but I sure as hell display her legacy of sheer stubbornness every day of my life.
(detritus)(poetica)(myth)(opinion)(divination)
Danced this morning with my wee toddler,the famous and beautiful Miss Sarah Peanut, to a soundtrack including The Cure, Hank Williams III, and The Velvet Underground. Nothing like The Velvet Underground and Belgian Waffles for breakfast…