Advent by Patrick Kavanagh
We have tested and tasted too much, lover-
Through a chink too wide there comes in no wonder.
But here in the Advent-darkened room
Where the dry black bread and the sugarless tea
Of penance will charm back the luxury
Of a child's soul, we'll return to Doom
The knowledge we stole but could not use.
And the newness that was in every stale thing
When we looked at it as children: the spirit-shocking
Wonder in a black slanting Ulster hill
Or the prophetic astonishment in the tedious talking
Of an old fool will awake for us and bring
You and me to the yard gate to watch the whins
And the bog-holes, cart-tracks, old stables where Time begins.
O after Christmas we'll have no need to go searching
For the difference that sets an old phrase burning-
We'll hear it in the whispered argument of a churning
Or in the streets where the village boys are lurching.
And we'll hear it among decent men too
Who barrow dung in gardens under trees,
Wherever life pours ordinary plenty.
Won't we be rich, my love and I, and
God we shall not ask for reason's payment,
The why of heart-breaking strangeness in dreeping hedges
Nor analyse God's breath in common statement.
We have thrown into the dust-bin the clay-minted wages
Of pleasure, knowledge and the conscious hour-
And Christ comes with a January flower.
Submitted by Andrew Mayers
LGBT and Religion
Poem from: Being Gay and Christian
A Poem - Save Me From Heaven, Lord
Yes, I’m a bit depressed. I’ve been surfing the gay news media again – that’s never good. Which led me to the AFA (BTW thanks to Ford for finally rejecting the manipulative AFA bigots). This is poetry not necessarily all experience folks.So here’s the message I am hearing.
God hates me.
I am a pervert
A deviant
Queer
Fag – said with spit.
I am unnatural – violating the laws of nature.
But Jesus can fix me.
Yet he hasn’t.
Despite my prayers & faith.
We can make you straight,
they say.
Embrace celibacy
Find women sexy.
Or at least pretend to.
Perhaps they can make me like beets as well.
And plaid pants.
I can be like them.
They promise with Kum-ba-ya
Even if I despise them.
Can’t I see how God has blessed them.
It’s enough if I just act like them.
Blessed saint of conformity.
My parents don’t understand.
I do not fit their plan for their life.
Their plan for MY life
Do not play the part they assumed I would.
People tell me all I have to do is choose.
They who made no choice.
I am belittled.
Mocked
By these experts about my life.
They seem to know better than I what it's about.
When did I choose – I don’t remember?
Do they think that because I chose the red toy truck
I damned my soul for eternity?
It’s so clear to them who speak with the voice of authority.
They know me so well – better than I must know myself.
I must be a vile creature.
Unfit to interact
Unfit to parent
My gayness may rub off.
Unfit to teach or preach or lead or fight.
Unfit to love.
Imprisoning me is justified.
Killing me is justified.
Tying me to a Wyoming fence post
As a sign to others.
Dismembering me and tossing me in the river
Is understandable
Merely because I think you are a nice handsome man
and ask you on a date.
I mock their weddings,
they shriek
With my desire to express my love.
They frown at my joy
and disapprove that I dare hold my lover’s hand.
They deny me ways to express my love,
to share my life.
They deny me the right to ease my partner's pain
And care for him.
To raise our children.
To decide on his behalf.
All in the name
Of what is just and right.
I will destroy what marriage is all about.
Do they mean the male domination of women?
I look for role models.
People to show me the way
Not Exodus
But freedom and love.
How can I love myself if I am so unlovable?
How can I live with such a vile person as myself?
I’m clearly going to hell.
Everyone tells me.
Often.
And loudly.
Yet can hell be worse than the eternal damnation of life?
Can hell be worse than scanning the dark shadows of the street
Wary of good Christian men.
Heaven as portrayed to me looks like hell to me.
Since the dawn of time.
God has hated me.
So the Bible says.
As a child I was told that Jesus loves me.
Now I hear in the bullhorn that
God hates fags.
AIDS is God’s curse, they say.
I bring AIDS to the innocents they say.
I am not a victim – I volunteered they say.
Even though he waited thousands of years to inflict this so called curse.
Perhaps Hitler was God’s curse too.
For killing countless gays.
At least
drugs
alcohol
sex
food
priesthood
masochism
violence.
masks the pain.
Come sweet damnation and eternal oblivion.
Save me Lord, from those who would save my soul.
From: OccuPoetry
First Responders
by Howard J Kogan
Oh how we love to love our fire fighters and EMT’s –
counting on them to save us in the worst of times.
Waving the red white and blue, applauding,
standing at attention, saluting as they parade past.
We praise their courage and respectfully, mournfully,
attend their funerals where bagpipes wheeze their dirges.
Our beloved First Responders who go where we
never would, who face the danger and the horror
as we wait and witness from a safe distance.
They’re our angels in uniform.
Until their labor contract needs renewing,
and property taxes climb and we piously decide
they must sacrifice, accept benefits cuts, lay-offs.
Asking of them only what we ask of other angels –
to live on our occasional prayers and inconstant love.
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