Disrespect
A crafty cat crapped in the crypt.
A furtive feline felony,
it left its mark and then it skipped.
The parish priest proclaimed that he
had cause to curse the cunning cat
for sacrilege and blasphemy.
He double damned the dastard cat
that crept into the crypt and crapped.
The theocrat though that was that.
His saintly self-control had snapped.
The phantom feline failed to flee,
the moggy met with no mishap.
The crafty cat quite cleverly
decided it would demonstrate
that it could crap contentedly.
His contempt to communicate
to parish priests. Quite powerless
to declare excommunicate.
Unchristian cats who crap in crypts
or pagan pups, which pee in pews.
They are exempt from his prescript.
All animals act as they choose
they won’t refrain to please the priest
impervious to his abuse.
Such is the nature of the beast
who only do as they must do
. Priests do not matter in the least.
04 Jun.07
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Life of a Roman Catholic Priest
A priest is nearest Christ;
A priest is Christ at times;
A priest is almost Christ;
A priest is most divine.
A priest is God’s shepherd;
A priest must tend to flock;
A priest must be like ‘rock’;
A priest should ne’er defrock.
A priest communes with God;
A priest draws hope from Lord;
A priest shows love of Christ;
A priest carries His Cross!
A priest is tempted too;
A priest has falls in life;
A priest falters also;
A priest has strength from Christ.
A priestly job is tough;
A priest’s life can turn rough;
A priest has strife enough,
But has to smile and laugh!
A priest helps harvest souls;
A priest has many roles;
A priest has but one goal –
To drink from Christ’s own bowl!
Pray that more priests should come;
May priests curb their freedom;
May priest usher Kingdom;
A life for Christ’s welcome.
Fondly dedicated to Rev. Fr. Xavier Claudius,
Beloved Parish priest, ‘Holy Family Church, Perundurai
Copyright by Dr John Celes 25-7-2010
poem by John Celes
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Father Ed
The day of his ordination his widowed mum's happiest day
To Sainthood she said my son is on his way
She raised him on her own when his dad of a heart attack died
Of her only offspring she took so much pride
At sixty eight he died in his sleep with his mum he now lay
At his funeral this morning his Parishioners for his soul did pray
He had been their Parish Priest for more than twenty years
And they did farewell him in sadness and tears
Of their Parish Priests the greatest of all
His sunday sermons on morals and chastity they will long recall
But the saddest one at the funeral was his housekeeper Kate
With head bowed as she sobbed she whispered I have lost my soul-mate
To me he was far more than Parish Priest Father Ed
He was my secret lover and he was damn good in bed.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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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Yes, I was a parish priest for five years. I was a curate in a large working class parish in Bristol and the Vicar of a village in Kent.
quote by John Polkinghorne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Piece Of Crap (Eddie Vedder & Ministry) (White Label Demo)
Neil Young) (various dates)
Tried to save the trees, bought a plastic bag
The bottom fell out, it was a piece 'a crap...piece of crap...
Wanted an LP, only had CD's
Digitally clean, it was a piece of crap...piece of crap...
Bought myself a can, thought it'd take me far
The dealer was a liar, he was a piece of crap...piece of crap...
Got it from my friend, on him you can depend
I found out in the end, it was a piece of crap...piece of crap...
I'm trying to save the trees, I saw it on TV
They cut the forest down to build a piece of crap...piece of crap...
Picked up a magazine to read about the scene
It didn't tell me beans, it was a piece of crap...piece of crap...
I went back to the store, they gave me four more
The guy told me at the door it was a piece of crap...
It was a piece of crap
song performed by by Pearl Jam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sexy Feline Machine
Shes a funky feline machine
Crazy cat inside a dream
shes a hunny she stings like a bee
your the punk and shes the queen
shes an angel shes a dove
with a taste for a villans blood
packing heat strutting on the street
chew you up and make you meat
sexy feline machine
sexy feline machine
(shes a sexy feline machine)
sexy feline machine
sexy feline machine
(shes a sexy feline machine)
Shes a sexy feline machine
Shes a sexy feline machine
Shes a sexy feline machine
Shes a sexy feline machine
you cant stop her
ya ya ya ya ya ya ya ya ya........
Shes a funky feline machine
Crazy cat inside a dream
shes a hunny she stings like a bee
your the punk and shes the queen
sexy feline machine
sexy feline machine
(shes a sexy feline machine)
sexy feline machine
sexy feline machine
(every thing is not as it seems)
sexy feline machine
sexy feline machine
(shes a sexy feline machine)
Shes a sexy feline machine
you cant stop her
ya ya ya ya ya ya ya ya ya ya...........
(bow bow bow)
song performed by by Fat Joe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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GOD to myself
And as God loves me
(like the way He loves you,
one day, he comes near
me trying to explain
about myself, thinking
that i still lack
understanding)
but i ask him first
Will you please
explain yourself to me?
Perhaps by then
I can understand myself.
My parish priest says
i have committed
blasphemy
since then no matter
how i attentively listen
to the sea
and to the wind
and to the sky
in vain
i have never heard of Him
again.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Peace And Propriety
in the name of propriety
to cats we must be cats too
you know what happens when
we show to the cats that we
are really dogs in feelings and
actions,
there will be a chase of course,
and chaos, and there will be war
and there will be losers and
winners,
and in this matter
and manner of speaking we choose
to be dogs to assure that we win
but that is not always the case
the cats have advanced in their feline
technology and breeding
so my dear, let us just be proper
to cats we shall be cats
and make this world a happy place
for all.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tough cat Sam is back
Tough cat Sam is making a comeback
he's out running and getting fit
but Jess reckons he's gone crazy
because he's getting on a bit.
A tough young moggy called Spike
has proclaimed that he's the best ever
he's also been bad mouthing Sam
saying that he's thick and not very clever.
So an angry Sam has said yes to a fight
but Spike has said he's going to lose
but Sam has got back into shape
due to his training and cutting out the booze.
The feline boxing world got really excited
and all the tickets quickly sold out
but Spike continued to taunt tough Sam
calling him an old cat and a washed up lout.
Spike was a stocky built Persian
and caught Sam with a fast uppercut
Sam replied with a flurry of jabs
and gave Spike a crafty headbutt.
The fight went on for ten bloody rounds
both cats were out on their feet
Spike tried hard to win the battle
but tough Sam just wouldn't get beat.
Then Sam threw over a mighty right hook
and Spike went out like a light
Sam was the champion once more
which meant he had never lost a fight.
Young Spike was no longer brash and cocky
and accepted that Sam was simply the best
so Sam put his winners cheque in the bank
and went home to Jess for a nice long rest!
poem by Kevin Halls
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Cats Loved
My heart loves cats, their demure sense entices
The day with a dominion called country;
Desultory affairs sweetly decide me in the cat,
Comely thoughts from the cat entice me.
This cat, that cat and those worst objects
Become elixirs, of cleverness and clarity.
The signs of ebullience from the feline animals
Are so daily and suddenly rich, that they must be clever.
Life from these feline creatures is ephemeral.
poem by Naveed Akram
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At The Confessional Box...
there is this boy
who looks like me when i was once a boy like him
who as taught by the priests
of the catholic schools have to be on a regular confession
inside that box where the priests
listens....
(Father i have sinned, i have not gone to confession
for a week and these are my sins...repeat, repeat, repeat,
and the priest, perhaps tired and
bored says...
my little son, say three hail marys, five our fathers, and 2 glory bes
and if you have time
write a poem) .
and so the poems since then were written.
the boy did not stop to live within that confessional box
the priest died
earlier than expected.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Love Making Inside The Comfort Room
we pretend
that this is the
church
that this is
the favorite
confessional
box of the
priest and
his favorite
concubine
we pretend
i am the parish
priest and you
are the wife
of the mayor
and now you
kneel before
me without
a lace
without
clothes
i preach
you
the
naked
truth.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Catholic Priesthood and ‘Year of the Priests’
‘The sheep are calling;
The flocks are swelling;
Good shepherds are a dearth,
Upon the mighty earth! ’
All sheep need good shepherds;
Sans shepherds good, they are mere herds,
That cannot find the pastures green,
With grass that’s fit on global scene.
Good shepherds know each sheep by name;
They do not work for pay or fame;
They know the wolf’s, many a game;
Their staff protects the sheep that’s lame!
Priests are the good shepherds of God;
They woo the souls away from rod;
They serve by being celibate,
And show humanity, God’s Gate.
They say the Holy Mass each day;
They preach and fast, fervently pray;
They drive the devils out, away,
Suffer for Jesus, come what may!
They change bread to body of Christ;
They change the wine to blood of Christ;
They forgive sins like Jesus Lord;
They tell the world the Divine Word.
Priesthood is one of sacraments;
Priests know the Old, New Testaments;
Their work is worth more than all gold;
They bring more souls unto God’s fold!
This is the ‘Year of Catholic priest’.
Lord Jesus waits with His great Feast;
Happy are souls, even the least;
God saves all sinners from the Beast.
Priests take vows for a divine role –
To lead souls to God’s Abode – goal.
Those worldly ones are merely fools!
God chooses priests to be pure souls.
‘Priesthood is passion great for Christ –
The profession that’s one highest;
The goal of men who are wisest –
Who live for Jesus’ sake, diest.’
Dedicated to all Catholic Priests world-over,
On behalf of ‘Holy Family Church Parish, Perundurai, TN, India.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 28-6-2009
poem by John Celes
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Who is responsible a rant may offend some
The paedophile a parish priest
Whose outward trappings hid a beast.
Perverted lust that raged below
the saintly face he chose to show.
He preyed upon the innocent
his vile desires warped and bent.
A loathsome smiling predator
who thought he was above the law
He disregarded celibacy
in favour of depravity.
I do not know why this should be
it happens all too frequently.
Then when his sins are brought to light
the church assists him in his flight
to sanctuary in the Vatican
and they protect this evil man
from punishment he well deserves
Offensive to the God he serves.
But it seems not to the papacy
who view his sins more tolerantly.
20-Jun-07
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I just wanted to be an ordinary parish priest.
quote by Martin Scorsese
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Confessional Poetry
there is no
big box where i
can hide my
face
there is no parish
priest who listens
there is hallway
of the old
spanish church
there are no sparrows
no owls
and no fanfare
no dogmas and
circulars
just me
my finger and my
keys
i am both listener
and spiritual adviser
i am both my
silence and chatter
i am the owl in this
night
the robin in the pews
of my mind
i am my own dogma
but still
no fanfare
nothing to circulate
for there is
no bragging about
the sins
of conceit
the omissions of
the good
the true and the
beautiful
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Doctor Luther's shoes do not fit every parish priest.
It is a poor parish where the priest has to ring his own bells.