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Where there are monks and priests, there is adultery and beatings.
Bypass monks with a big stride; have nothing to do with priests, except at Mass.
Give monks a wide berth, and as for priests just attend Mass.
Using Brooms With Sticks As Weapons
Priests and monks fighting amongst themselves,
In a sacred place...
To determine which ones are deserving of more space,
With a worshipping done to do of a savior?
Under one roof where their faith is aloof.
Those with the most creative of minds,
Would not find the time to make this up.
And the ones who claim to walk with 'holiness',
Are now reported to be using brooms with sticks as weapons.
When will the truth end all delusions of self righteousness?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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From You Fall.
The two catholic priests sat
in the Breakfast Room
off the refectory
in the abbey.
They looked up
when you entered
then continued
their conversation
about Dante
and you poured
yourself a coffee
and a small bowl
of Cornflakes
with a little milk
and sugar.
You sat down
and sipped the coffee.
There were prints
of Michelangelo
on the walls
and a crucifix above
and between
the two doors
that led to the
refectory
where the monks ate
three times a day.
The priests conversed
but said nothing to you.
Their words were uttered
in posh well bred voices.
One said
Few believe in Hell these days
and even fewer in Paradise
and those that do
have vague ideas
gathered from odd books
you find on airport
bookshop shelves.
You listened half heartedly
as they talked.
You wanted to ask
about the place.
Wanted one of them
to hear confession.
Maybe one
to give absolution
and perhaps offer a solution.
You could hear
the footsteps of monks
in the other room
getting their breakfast
of bread and jam
and black French coffee.
One priest laughed.
You never heard the joke.
The other guffawed loudly
in a girlish voice.
And the woman was seen
leaving by the back door
semi dressed and in great distress
the priest continued
And Father Denton
was never the same.
Then they were silent
and stood and smiled
and went their way.
You sat alone in the room.
The Michelangelo prints
reflected the single bulb
hanging above the table.
The Crucified seemed
above it all.
You would find some other
to hear confession.
To give absolution
from your fall.
poem by Terry Collett
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Myanmar - Air of Freedom
shackled without chains
again the chants of monks
again the chants of monks
aung san looks over to the hazy horizon
for days when she would breathe the air of freedom
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Maybe Female Priests
Priests can't have wives so the job attracted pedophile guys,
Using fancy colorful vestments as a form of disguise,
But new rules should change and require priests to have wives,
So that the Catholic Church might again thrive and survive.
Indeed these type of ideas might seem to be sacrilegious,
But there was a time when this was accepted as religious,
When holy priests all had wives and kids and this was the norm,
Until they decided to change everything and reform.
It's obvious that the church needs to reform again and soon,
Back to the twelfth-century system at the first opportune,
It's also obvious that this should have happened a long time ago,
But instead we all learned from the hierarchy, how to kowtow.
Because the widows of priests were dependent on the church,
This hidden factor does not appear in an Internet search,
But there's something very wrong now that needs to be put right,
Maybe female priests could help get us out of this blight.
poem by James Bredin
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Saints An Sinners
(coverdale/lord/moody/marsden/murray/paice)
Get ready for judgement day
An the final curtain call,
Dont lie when you testify
cos the good lord know youre all
Saints an sinners, priests an thieves,
Saints an sinners, priests an thieves
When moses stood on the red sea shore
Laying the law on the line,
He said dont come knocking
On the pearly gates
If all you did was have a real good time
Saints an sinners, priests an thieves,
Saints an sinners, priests an thieves
For what we are about to receive
May the lord make us truly thankful.
Saints an sinners
I stand guilty of a thousand crimes,
An I suffer temptation still,
Show me a man who wont give it to his woman
An Ill show you somebody who will
Saints an sinners, priests an thieves,
Saints an sinners, priests an thieves
For what we are about to receive
May the lord make us truly thankful
Saints an sinners,
Saints an sinners, priests an thieves,
Get ready for judgement day
An the final curtain call,
Dont lie when you testify
cos the good lord know youre all
Saints an sinners, priests an thieves,
Saints an sinners, priests an thieves
For what we are about to receive
May the lord make us truly thankful
Saints an sinners, priests an thieves
Saints an sinners...
song performed by by Whitesnake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Be Proud
Be pride and poison for it,
Poor is the friar who took.
Pleasure is soon, sooner than ever,
When bones are picked by the vultures
Over our heads that speak of those ones that fly nearby.
Be proud and in the death of others be proud
Against a fountain of rifles and ammunition,
These are the guns we lift to our eyes and let vultures fly to die.
The monks are not in the vicinity, like hairy monks.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Maryknoll
Women priests are not allowed no matter how loud they scream,
They fired one priest already for going along with their dream,
So the Catholic Church takes this serious and no women priests allowed,
Though some priests may have been pedophiles; this is never said out loud.
Some Maryknoll fathers and brothers liked this women-priest notion,
They didn't realize this idea would cause such a commotion,
Though the Church of England has had women priests for years,
And some of them may one day be bishops without many fears.
I don't know much about this whole religious painful affair,
But I think it's time for a change in the real world out there,
This is the twenty first century with the Internet all around,
Not the fifteenth century where we had to knuckle down.
poem by James Bredin
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Just Alone On This Day!
Ceilings are high,
dealings are nigh,
dialing to none,
fueling no fun.
No sweet bought,
No roses ordered,
No poem written,
no one to meet.
All alone after work,
open channels play tricks,
Beautiful lasses with lads,
Happy hours and ceremonies.
Call the forgotten loved ones,
to make them happy as they may be alone.
We do not have to be alone,
we do not have to keep the secrets,
we do not have to be sad,
we do not have to be modern.
Talk to your loved ones,
who are always free to talk,
to their loved ones,
under any circumstances...
ceilings are high,
Let it be. Don't look at it.
Dealings are nigh,
Let it be. Can finish it later.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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From The Cherry Blossoms
Not asking, was most difficult, from
the magma, to send a hot spring. It was
a classical translation of the pain in winter
of human spell, in a temple festival.
The space widens between us, between
our thighs and absences, while studing
the red roof of the landscape, where blood
had dripped from the cherry blossoms.
I say to mother earth, where the border
begins between your breasts and foeticide.
Warriors were becoming monks or priests
were learning the art to kill.
This road is not going anywhere.
The interval between matter and time
links to movement of grief. The ahead
is tomorrow under siege. Sun is refusing
to melt the snow on mountains.
poem by Satish Verma
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Devotion
As a priest of dedication and devotion
My life is gorgeous, complete and emotional.
The monks climb the ladders of faith,
And my life feigns a disorder, always bold.
The monk enjoyed his life when cold
But the shrine I build for my prayer is gruelling.
The shrine is gold, fully old and never shining,
Like the precious thoughts so pretended.
We save our time and find some space
For serious worship but the monks are fully told.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Women priests. Great, great. Now there's priests of both sexes I don't listen to.
quote by Bill Hicks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lying Foxes
1950, Quebec
At the age of twelve he believed all they said
Those sly thieves in robes of false piety
Although some of them now may be dead
They destroyed his views with hypocrisy.
As a boy in that Catholic boarding school
He had trusted the priests were pure, holy
But these foxes had made them into little fools
Deceived into thinking they were giving to charity.
The priests sold them cards of some Chinese children
Saying that these were in dire need of Baptism
His donations could help the lost and forsaken
But they've not been in that land of Communism.
That little choir boy wholeheartedly trusting
Was an easy prey for those priests who deceived
They ruined his faith and now he's forsaking
Even God on whom he must truly believe.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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2112: II. The Temples Of Syrinx
... "The massive grey walls of the Temples rise from the heart of every Federation city. I have always been awed by them, to think that every single facet of every life is regulated and directed from within! Our books, our music, our work and play are all looked after by the benevolent wisdom of the priests..."
We've taken care of everything
The words you hear, the songs you sing
The pictures that give pleasure to your eyes.
It's one for all and all for one
We work together, common sons
Never need to wonder how or why.
We are the Priests of the Temples of Syrinx
Our great computers fill the hallowed halls.
We are the Priests, of the Temples of Syrinx
All the gifts of life are held within our walls.
Look around at this world we've made
Equality our stock in trade
Come and join the Brotherhood of Man
Oh, what a nice, contented world
Let the banners be unfurled
Hold the Red Star proudly high in hand.
We are the Priests of the Temples of Syrinx
Our great computers fill the hallowed halls.
We are the Priests, of the Temples of Syrinx
All the gifts of life are held within our walls.
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Temples Of Syrinx
We've taken care of everything
The words you hear, the songs you sing
The pictures that give pleasure to your eyes.
It's one for all and all for one
We work together, common sons
Never need to wonder how or why.
We are the Priests of the Temples of Syrinx
Our great computers fill the hallowed halls.
We are the Priests, of the Temples of Syrinx
All the gifts of life are held within our walls.
Look around at this world we've made
Equality our stock in trade
Come and join the Brotherhood of Man
Oh, what a nice, contented world
Let the banners be unfurled
Hold the Red Star proudly high in hand.
We are the Priests of the Temples of Syrinx
Our great computers fill the hallowed halls.
We are the Priests, of the Temples of Syrinx
All the gifts of life are held within our walls.
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I upon the monks walk wander
Do you perceive beauty in a raindrop?
Elegance within the tune?
Do you believe for a second
That man landed on the moon?
Honour thee, this night is free
From the shackles of expectation
Honour comes so easily
In dissolving reputation
I upon the monks walk wander
Throughout the hills of hibernation
I upon the monks walk ponder.
The theme of revelation.
Listen as the silence hands so heavy on the air.
Listen as the silence brings a selfish soul to share.
For no sound is there to drown the voice of conscience,
Who he would normally ignore un-caring.
poem by David Lacey
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Disparity
The priests display the idols.
The slaves carry the idols.
Priests are paid more and the slaves, less.
The worshipers meat their pays.
08.07.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Guarded Religion
five buddhists chanting mantras down the hall
a young black man in the door way
tension in the atmosphere
I long to understand
why with such fear,
the entrance is guarded
and why with great hope, I've been misled
I demand to enter
I spew anger
with relentless screaming
confusion streaming
impatiently I push my way through
only to find
on the other side
no chanting
no buddhist monks
only me in eternal darkness
disappointed, I leave
not a word to the door man
with deepest regrets
I look back
to see the chanting
and the monks
in total isolation
the stern man...looks past me