A bumper sticker I read once said, "Jesus is Coming, Look Busy". I was stuck in traffic at the time and after reading that I had the urge to grab a cloth or sort through my paper work, neither of which were there. Talk about leaving redemption to the last minute.
I've had the line "slouching towards Bethlehem" running around my mind and I found it's origin at the end of a Yeats poem I studied in grammar school. The def. of gyre is a circular or spiral form; a vortex.
The Second Coming
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight; somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
Monday, 30 August 2010
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Bloodlines in the Sand
Handed to them in Genesis
naked and raw
the head of an ancient signature
written in constellations
then carved in stone, bronze, and gold.
Formatting their psyche
with malevolent empowerment
slithering from dust
to life in a cradle
dispersed to all four corners.
Their sands now run backwards
through a glass darkly
returning to make claim
and proclaim bloodlines.
From unholy chalices of horrors
nations drink the wealth
of their commodity
tipping the scales to receive its stain
forfeiting the right to rule.
Lying beneath shifting sands
covering up the bath
Abel's blood not donated
ours soon to be bloodletted
to turn thick-black
with time.
Becoming transfusions for an elite
who now sees all
hears all
has all
knows all
yet in appearance
never involved in anything,
congeal together again
to inflict ultimate power.
markusurealious/windpoet
.Hollywood In Ashes
Lurking in shadows
breeding contamination
standing at a crossroad
it can not cross
lusting for the wine
it did not press
mocking the sacred
it does not possess
projecting perversions into innocence
Overseeing a sanctuary of filth
in celebrations of enmity
no Faith
no Wisdom
just whore
upon a throne
of trivial dimension
trying to hold fast our attachments
and slip into relevancy
Using words that do not heal
no voice, no echo,
trying to create with clay
that which it did not dig
as it reeks with pride
and oozes prostitution
trying to corrupt our passions
Another is crowned King
casting his net into our delusions
catching our hates, our attachments,
our corruption's
Then in the purest of moments
lets them be nailed
to his hands ... wrists ... and feet,
and offers all who mock and slay him
access to his grace and wings to fly.
Who needs an oscar, a grammy,
or box of popcorn.
markusurealious/windpoet
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