Thread: February Challenge - "God(s)"

The theme for the February challenge, suggested by Ghost, is "God(s)"

Remember that you may approach the subject in whatever way you wish, though of course site rules apply. If you are unsure of the challenge rules please read the 'stickies' at the top of the board, it is disheartening to disqualify people for things like a trivial edit, but the rules will be applied.

Because of the holiday, you have a little longer to post entries. This challenge will close on the 3rd March 2012.

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Trinity?

I find it a little bit odd,
This belief in a three-in-one God.
There's the Father, the Lord,
But the Spirit's ignored,
At least in Paul's greetings abroad.


You will see, when he starts to conversin',
That the triune stance needs some reversin'.
He says, "Grace unto you
And peace from The Two..."
The Spirit's a pow'r not a person!


1 Corinthians 1:3, 2 Corinthians 1:2, Galatians 1:3, Ephesians 1:2, Philippians 1:2, Colossians 1:2, 1 Thessalonians 1:1, 2 Thessalonians 1:2, 1 Timothy 1:2, 2 Timothy 1:2, Titus 1:4, Philemon 1:3

Bast Past


Eyes of amber –
glassy,
flashing

catlike – in the throws
of passion;
feral feline motion
fashioned
female – forging faith

for no one.

Dancing
lithely, like a wraith,
on diamond studded boards,
beyond the reach

of any price
you think

you can afford.

Locked in those eyes –
the promised prize of mystery
unfurled;
ensnaring and beguiling you

down to her underworld.

There she will play
and let the day
reclaim you

when she’s had her way,
something so sacred
left behind
and no means to reclaim

a mind fragmented –
formed of unfired clay.

Son


Hello my son,
I know you hear me,
Close or far,
Of near and safe,
Within my arms.


I know you ask,
I know you want,
But come to you
I cannot.
You do know why,
I’ve told you now,
A thousand times
In writing.


Because my son,
All I have is mystery.
And if
That were unshrouded,
I could grab your arm
And carry you,
As they say I do,
In single footprints
On the sand.


But until that day,
I’ll remain away,
And you’ll be left
To figure it out,
On your own.

I want to die
sans fanfare
with eyes asleep
and too weary to weep.
In an instant
from dark to light.

No wake nor burial
just me alone
(as I was in life)
in a pine box plain
purified by flame
sooty remains sprinkled
into an inconspicuous
pickle jar
(never B & G, only Claussen will do)
with label removed
so as not to obstruct my view
as I watch my kids
and blow my lid
whenever occasion
calls for it.

Mom's on a rampage
go get the Dustbuster
but make sure you empty her
back into her briny abode.

Are You listening God?
Mistakes are not something
that You make
but flinging me into reverse
as I got to the Gates
and stuffing me back inside
this body I hate
isn't on the same scale
as the birth of the earth
and I know that You see
what he does to me.
So I humbly plead for mercy.

I know the dole
is never more
than one can take
but I've had my share
and I just can't bear
another curve thrown
by fickle fate.
I'm four years past
my expiration date
isn't it time I shed
my rancid wrapping
and make my way home?

The decision is Yours alone
I'd never book passage
on my own
but just this once
can you throw this dog
a beautiful bone?

From a Cat Slighted

Juice

I think some people try to find,
any spot of joy they can and want it so badly,
that they squeeze like citrus whatever it is,
trying to absorb it themselves.

This however is not possible.
While some temporary measure of happiness may be gained,
in the end both the source of that gift,
and the harvester's glass are empty.

--D.R.

Dear God, Give Me Strength.


To slay the doubts inside my mind,
to carry on though struck blind.


To help the broken climb the stair,
to pass by the last éclair.


To seek solace in being good,
like the wise woman said I should.


And when the lid is closed at last,
think 'all good and bad, is now past.'

That Satan Bloke

You lay the blame for things gone wrong and sing lament into your song.
You turn your back upon the grace that could have helped you dry your face.
There's some of you who still don't know, come judgement day you'll have to show,
why it's you who should be saved when all you've done is rant and rave.
When things get hard do you get tough, or just stomp off in a childish huff.

“You don't care! You're not there!” you shout and scream while pulling hair.
“You're the one who took her life, so give me back my loving wife!”

He won't listen don't you see. He's not to blame, blame me.
I'm the one who takes great joy in treating humans like a toy.
I'm the one who gave you death and got you all hooked on Meth.
I put humans to the test, give you priests that child molest.
The cheating wife, the bloody knife, the reason people end their life.
World war one was such fun. It only happened 'cause his son
cast me out and locked the doors. I got bored so started wars.
Now my time draws to an end and still you people try to send
a hateful letter aimed at god blaming him for all that’s odd.

My names Satan let me say, that this dog has had his day.
I kill your kin and tear your skin yet you don't blame me, you blame him!
You forget that we're at war, that I'm the reason to lock your door.
I've convinced you to believe, he's the one that makes you grieve.
You think it's him that's breaking deals, but it's really me at your heels.

I leave you now I'm late for work, turning saints into jerks.
Before I go, here's a thought: All the havoc I have wrought
I don't deny that credit's due, my job was easy thanks to you.
God had plans and they was pure, yet you greedy swine wanted more.
I only helped along the way so don't let me ever hear you say
“That Satan bloke is such a brute!”

I only handed you the fruit.

Gods
How my passion of dissension grows,
in bending to commands of old,
a conception broken,
lying in theological delusion.

My mind looks and seeks freedom,
the Gods claim in confusion,
why so many,
in universal suffering and pain.

Yet still that feeling stirrers within,
that gips my inner soul,
in a simple hope,
I surrender to the spirit of belief.

I shudder in rage at my thoughts,
cry out for humanity,
shun the Gods,
play not their games.

The divine simplicity being existence,
uncontrolled and wanton,
for in truth,
we are the Gods of our own destruction.

QDOS

Philosophical Language

Insofar as I can imagine,
then I can sense around me.
But imagine the unimaginable
then sense is refined only by sense.
So ontology by a priori
holds limit by contradiction,
or by epistemological claims
on a dog constituent of trees
or constituent postmen combined –
and fundamentally made possible –
by chasing that constituent lead.
Therefore in deist truth
we make question the aestheticism
which lays down predicates
for the lack of contingency of
the most definitely not metaphysical
God.

Or we can say
with Layman’s blessing
that he’s like a stranger next door
quietly undressing.
We might try to peek
through the solid brick wall
or rattle the padlock
and be further the fool.
So make it quite plain
when pondering cosmology
and please put some poetry
in your wandering philosophy.

God in a box

I think the gods of old
have crept away in shame;
ignored, embarrassed
at our lack of awe.

We no longer know their names
or tremble
at their beautiful face—
we are guided by The Box.

It tells us where to go,
answers our requests
with the lightest touch of finger.

And when our god no longer answers—
we simply buy another.
Why waste time
on long and fervent prayers?

That’s so 1995.

Five crow-clergy in their black vestments
are gathered in the cemetery in solemn assembly
around a few of the upright gravestones
whose etched words are nearly obliterated
by two centuries of weather-wear.

The sharpest-eyed monsignor among them,
a particularly large and dignified fellow,
takes notice of my abrupt arrival
and, after studying me with grave reflection,
begins preaching in a loud and rasping voice:

Ah! Ah! Poor mortal there!
Walking abroad in weather fair!
Treading on graves without a care!
Such a pity! Ah! Ah! Ah!

Know you not the morbid truth
that soon in such a grave forsooth,
your frame will dissolve to bone and tooth?
Such a pity! Ah! Ah! Ah!

Like leaves upon the autumn wind,
a life soon hurries to its end!
But few who die have lived, my friend!
Such a pity! Ah! Ah! Ah!

Eternity awaits each departed leaf
and whether to joy with God or to bitter grief,
scant good is felt done in a life so brief!
Such a pity! Ah! Ah! Ah!

Then the homilist and his four companions,
heaving their immense black wings,
ascend from the graveside
each repeating the parting refrain:
Farewell and take heed! Ah! Ah! Ah!

Nacer Buena Cuna De Oro

Modify my body
God
Regress the grounds

I told you once
My heart
I confess to you

My tongue
It bleeds

Here, Right Here

These are my grounds
God
Address my grounds

I demand
To whom the root
Has been uncovered

To confess your throne
I poured upon

Please God,

Dub me due to you
We are dying

He was.

dimensionless abyss
gravity unbound
mass unformed

void

He floats
within above around
the bottomless ink

black

breathless
cold depth
of lifeless

night

He speaks...