I See the Cross

Slowly awake like a soft spring
Your love nudges
I see the ruins of heresy
I see intellectualism fails
I see secular politics a dead end
The world is a noose
The culture unredeemable
I recite the serenity prayer
Fall asleep with 'Our Father..

I see the Cross

poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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The sweetest Heresy received

387

The sweetest Heresy received
That Man and Woman know—
Each Other's Convert—
Though the Faith accommodate but Two—

The Churches are so frequent—
The Ritual—so small—
The Grace so unavoidable—
To fail—is Infidel—

poem by Emily Dickinson
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I Will Take An Egg Out Of The Robin's Nest

I WILL take an egg out of the robin's nest in the orchard,
I will take a branch of gooseberries from the old bush in the garden,
and go and preach to the world;
You shall see I will not meet a single heretic or scorner,
You shall see how I stump clergymen, and confound them,
You shall see me showing a scarlet tomato, and a white pebble from
the beach.

poem by Walt Whitman
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Gray

The loud, apt epithet, applying sure;
The dim-drawn image, artfully obscure;
The perfect stanza, framed of words as choice
And round as pearls, yet liquid to the voice;
A pith of phrase, and musical array
Of numbers;—these are the prime charms of Gray.

The naked majesty and open wonder
Of true sublimity heaped in lines of thunder;
That artless grace wherewith the olden time
Dandled the happy infancy of Rhyme;
That negligent melody which shames the trick
Of wire-drawn verse, and verse-drawn rhetoric:
These in our rich old Bards abound; but these
To Gray were literary heresies.

poem by Charles Harpur
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Enough Said!

if bigots breed bigots,
and hypocrites breed hypocrites...
and old heretics
rarely breed at all...
where are we now?

if our addictions
to our religions cause...
division, hatred, prejudice,
inequalities, and wars...
maybe we need to look
at what we believe!

i am so sick of
racial slurs, sexual slurs,
and ignorant fears...
i could vomit!

freedom...
inclusive,

[...] Read more

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Send me a Love

The sound of running water
galvanizes the wound I endure
Since we met
No remedy could heal my injury
The key to my vital health
Is with you
Unlock my bereavement
With your little smile

Intrinsically, I secure
Intransigently, I adore
That sweet little smile
Am I an impudent?

My mind is implacable
My words could be heretical

Your sweet little smile
A mamba
How to revive me?

[...] Read more

poem by Sulaiman Mohd Yusof
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Dragons

A must for hearts and heretics, for essence and pride,
China finds you evil as much disease is yours.
And the dragon can find new hearts and old challenges,
For speaking is his speech, methods do not stop.
I hate its tail, because its wings look wronger than fire,
Than real fire that bursts our bowels below.
His is Hell and much danger I keep in front of the giant
Worm. The winged beast of ballistics can beat its wings
And find too many children; too many warriors are angry.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Cowardly Ways

Cowardly as amazements we run in divergent ways,
Clumsy and alluring with brightness and corrosion;
The cruel crabs enter the highways of courage,
Nauseating as a crustacean, madly in love.
Lacking all madness afterwards, we laboured night
And all day, always in majestic persuasion.
Marked and obnoxious were the heretics of joy,
Lame as a macho crow, a little heaven was in the way.
Kindly out of known wisdom the crabs became eaten,
Like the erosion of the seas and weeds of the deep sea.

poem by Naveed Akram
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If Not All

mountain...
hawk,
tree,
newborn child,

dying old man,
fire in a clearing,
moonlight reflected through a window....

the prisoner,
a vagrant man,
the immigrant crossing the border....

the young woman giving birth,
starlight on wet grasses,
the prisoner walking
to his own execution....

an agnostic,
a heretic,

[...] Read more

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Broken Shutter

a spark of fire
from the devil's forge,
a meteorite cut

from an unknown planet.
the memory of God
drawn on cave walls...

a nuclear blast,
dust forms from formless!
the heretic's trial,

fire and defiance.
cold rain falling like needles
to the frozen ground.

darkness and light;
evolve and change....
the human heart opens,

[...] Read more

poem by Eric Cockrell
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By Their Works

Call him not heretic whose works attest
His faith in goodness by no creed confessed.
Whatever in love's name is truly done
To free the bound and lift the fallen one
Is done to Christ. Whoso in deed and word
Is not against Him labours for our Lord.
When he, who, sad and weary, longing sore
For love's sweet service sought the sisters' door
One saw the heavenly, one the human guest
But who shall say which loved the master best?

poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Nomenclature

O leviathan,
enter the dark cloud of death
defanging fire,
the mountain wants to shiver.

Sand was slipping from my fists.
I cannot hold the time;
wet eyes
will find another moon.

The milk had dried up in body.
A heart burns like bonfire,
for a heretic. A lone stranger
in a city of wolves.

A bareback beauty sits on the rock
waits for the sea
to bring her the poison. An Aphrodite
will never call for nothing.

[...] Read more

poem by Satish Verma
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Blasphemy Charges

The wise promise their religions preach
peace and tolerance to all sects reach.
If an insane a Holy Book tears
or pages of it fires without fears,
why the priests and terrorists get ire
and the goons to punish the fools hire?

The agog do the blasphemous acts
to verify heretical facts.
Let them break the idols of all Gods
or burn the sacred books mindless of codes.
The sculptors be busy in their work
and the printers do not need eat pork.

A bigot's poison is an atheist's meat
why the clerics lose temper in heat?
To make this earth heaven the saints were nice
but to turn to hell, explode the men of vice.
A deed against the Lord may be a weed
but to clear it He knows when to proceed.

poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Heretics All

Heretics all, whoever you may be,
In Tarbes or Nimes, or over the sea,
You never shall have good words from me.
Caritas non conturbat me.

But Catholic men that live upon wine
Are deep in the water, and frank, and fine;
Wherever I travel I find it so,
Benedicamus Domino.

On childing women that are forelorn,
And men that sweat in nothing but scorn:
That is on all that ever were born,
Miserere Domine.

To my poor self on my deathbed,
And all my dear companions dead,
Because of the love that I bore them,
Dona Eis Requiem.

poem by Hilaire Belloc
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St. John. 1647

'To the winds give our banner!
Bear homeward again!'
Cried the Lord of Acadia,
Cried Charles of Estienne;
From the prow of his shallop
He gazed, as the sun,
From its bed in the ocean,
Streamed up the St. John.

O'er the blue western waters
That shallop had passed,
Where the mists of Penobscot
Clung damp on her mast.
St. Saviour had looked
On the heretic sail,
As the songs of the Huguenot
Rose on the gale.

The pale, ghostly fathers
Remembered her well,

[...] Read more

poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Lassisi

On the move at 3 A.M.!
And, at 6 A.M. with a quick bath;
However, it was like an urgent fee to pay.

Ho-la-la! !
Departments of heretics and schismatic;
But, keep the sheet clean without any stain.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy!
But, all play and no work puts jack into trouble;
For, i am Lassisi from 'Bunkpurugu'! !
And, i have a message for you my dear one.

Hard to ignore and slow to notice,
And of the admirations of beauty and harmony;
But, with the puzzling facts to win your love,
And like joy in the City of Truth!

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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This Voice

This voice may resume in finer fashion,
So that sweetness and voices are in the past.
This voice is diviner than most light,
Green and golden is the light of the tree.
May fashion behold a fast lane, the very same.

This voice inherits a flood and fuel,
How did heresy be condemned this way?
Green light is not of the plants, but
White visible light inhales and ignites.
Where do you stay with this very light?

poem by Naveed Akram
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Calender Day 79/Kalendar dan 79

A heretic moving through the linear system of the keyboards-that's who I am with the first touch of keys. The intruder of silence, the devotee of a disappearing sound. The acrobat on x/y axes, the loneliness of the rhythm aflame in the only mathematics that makes sense. I am swaying you - silence, I'm smashing you against the window panes of eyes, my hammers strike into hopelessness- how-how shall I play myself into infinity on the limited number of keys. The heretic shifting through the aureoles of sounds, the pearls of accords I scatter before my feet so that I could start walking. I am not playing-no- I am dipping my fingers into the endless and the traces of its sound I am splashing across the universe and spreading it into a smile.
The Pianist

Јеретик који пролази кроз линеарни систем клавијатура-то сам ја у првом додиру са диркама. Уљез тишине, поклоник звука који нестаје. акробата на икс ипсилон осама узаврелог ритма једине смислене математике. Љуљам те -тишино, разбијам о окна очију, ударају чекићи у безнађе како ћу - како на опсегу клавијатуре одсвирати себе у бескрај. Јеретик који пролази кроз ореоле тона, перле акорда проспипам пред сопствене ноге нњ бих ли тако коначно проходао. Ја не свирам, ја прсте умачем у оно бескрајно и трагове његове по свемиру размазујем и у осмјех развлачим.
Пијаниста

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Man is in Heaven

Where is my house in heaven?
Is the mocking going on,
When the heavenly rage has become zero?
Truly the heresy has its faults,
And the apostate can argue with sin,
A sinful man or woman.

Too many times the leader of humans
Is against all lusts of humans,
And the living has happened all the time.
Humans have a right as much as Man,
And you offer Him a place in heaven
If you soon think he is good and ten too good.

poem by Naveed Akram
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The Death Of Huss

In the streets of Constance was heard the shout,
``Masters! bring the arch-heretic out!''
The stake had been planted, the faggots spread,
And the tongues of the torches flickered red.
``Huss to the flames!'' they fiercely cried:
Then the gate of the Convent opened wide.

Into the sun from the dark he came,
His face as fixed as a face in a frame.
His arms were pinioned, but you could see,
By the smile round his mouth, that his soul was free;
And his eye with a strange bright glow was lit,
Like a star just before the dawn quencheth it.

To the pyre the crowd a pathway made,
And he walked along it with no man's aid;
Steadily on to the place he trod,
Commending aloud his soul to God.
Aloud he prayed, though they mocked his prayer:
He was the only thing tranquil there.

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Austin
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