Bull

Ok, so we've
lied a little

They need our lies -
our reconstruction
of the fables
is what keeps them
hanging on to
the dream


The faithful.
Bless 'em.

Follow us
on the
fast-track
to Heaven


They swallow it all
- transubstantiation
( literally...)
the whole
omnipotent
omniscient and
omnipresent God
trichotomy

explained
expertly,
excursively...

ethically
morally
mystically


Divine Mystery

Say it often enough, it acquires substance
Two thousand years of repetition
create an article of faith most absolute
for those in fervent need of absolution


We make the world
a better place
as fear of Hellfire
and damnation
( did I mention 'Vengeful?' )
keep them in check -
a docile flock
the Good Shepherd
ensures
the silence
of the lambs

So we will continue
to fire our canon
at the ninety-nine
who suckle on it's
outpourings
perpetuated by this
Papal Bull.

Ah... Men...

~~~~~~~~~~~

This was an entry for an AllPoetry Contest "Take a step back ( Round 2 )" http://allpoetry.com/contest/2374596 and won Gold for 1st place


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Poetry

Thanks

Thanks
For making me feel that my weaknesses
are part of my boyish charm
For lending me your arm
When my excesses get the better of me
For beaming your pride at my triumphs
And withering those who would demean them
For picking me up from my failures
Moulding them into moral victories

Thanks
For fashioning two precious daughters
from the warmth of our passion
Somehow passing me the credit
When all that was required of me
Was to love those images of you
Who, swathed in your young mother love
Knew nothing but to return bubbling affection
while my heart burst with pride

Thanks
For filling me with youth when I'm old
Finding the boy in the weary man
For blinding me with beauty
Which is no reflection of the past
But a new and vibrant vision
The pictured lover of my dreams
Beside me when I wake each day
A startling and a wond'rous reality

Thanks

Transplanted

Liquid eyes as dewdrops
on pinkening petal-cheeks
lips suffused, smolder with promises ;
intoxicating fragrances
permeate sepal, buds, corolla
of this exquisite Celtic bloom

The sanguine Spanish sun,
accustomed ever to smile upon
a well-stocked rose bed of it's own
reflects the radiant glory of an Irish rose
nurtured by it's balmy bounty
and has the grace to blush.


~~~~~~~~~


I am from Ireland, and this was written to my wife, whose beauty flourished and was burnished exotic in the warm and splendid Spanish sun - the fiery beauty of Spain, in its turn, was enhanced by her presence.

Sometimes you need to transplant a rose to a sunnier place to realise how very beautiful it is.

What Lies Beneath

Never terribly
far away, they
clamour constantly
to make their
presence felt..

Suppressed,
repressed,
bubbling
just below
the surface,
they jeer this
veneer of
stolid, solid
middle-aged
respectability

"Hush", I tell them
this is not
the time nor place
to show your face
and we are not
as young as
we once used to be

I guess
I'd always
just assumed
that they would
fade away and die
dissolving with
the remnants of
my long-lost
misspent youth

But no, they tease
and taunt and pester,
these ghosts of
rampant yesteryear.

"Someday", I promise,
"I will let you
out to play again".

And then, By God,
let the world beware...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was written for an Allpoetry Contest "Where the Wild Things Are"

.... And Hell Followed.....

They have been among us
for some time now
You could have passed
any of them in the street...

Discrete, they have been waiting, waiting
they flex an occasional muscle
independantly devastating
a portion of humanity
communicating transcendentantly
to apportion synchronicity
each one having wrought
a limited, controlled vengeance
without thought of consequence
cold, purposeful malevolence

Preying on the weak
playing on the weakness
of the lowest of mankind
to further bind their vile finality
our reality is that in a while, soon
they will fashion soul's destruction

Our sole defence is to commune
the forces of collective compassion
to pit the milk of human kindness
against mounted apocalyptic horses
and enemies of man, long recounted...
War
Pestilence
Famine
Death

P.J. Murphy
(c) 2005

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