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Click herescottish bass, hand drums,
sitar like a cloud, east--west hybrid, strange beauty-
siren magdeline
mary melody.
vestments
and pope hats
and confirmation
from church to church-
i feel jesus, i see mosques, synagogues, rehabs,
i look at the river
i read the sermon on the mount
i watch politics
and machine guns
slung over
camoflauged backs, pass no judgement but listen to the violin.
the old irish priest
slugged me in the gut
cause i spilled the
holy wine
on good friday, alter boy ready to rock-1968
the house was packed
the PA was broken
the confessional
was empty
but the congregational faces
haunt me like
kids at a punk show
knockin into my mic stand
and chippin my tooth, and
i turned the other
cheek,
put my foot on
the monitor
and held
back the revenge-
ended up sitting on the
rickety stairs
outside
under the stars.
holy thursday
good friday,
lovely saturday-so they say-
think i will drive to the ocean,
see if the rock rolls back.
This poem was selected from Lit's archive of over 39,000 poems for inclusion in today's Archival Review.<br>
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I love the way you said this and made me feel it, but it makes me sad that only bad things are said about Catholics anymore. I think I might try and fix that. Thanks EE!
An enjoyable read of description that evokes strong imagery.
Is "camoflauged" an English spelling?
I can understand the reason for using all lower case in this poem, but why then capitalize "PA"? How about "sound system" or just "sound"?
into organized religion... the best and worst. Significant thoughts on a good friday with perhaps a hint of war, jihad? excellent poem
jim : )