Gunmen jumpsuit of three cars in Marseille, France and open fire on a group of young people. Odds are it is a terrorist attack but we do not know yet.
Archives For Religion
My grandfather’s brother on my Dad’s side moved his family to Rhodesia from Scotland after WW2. They were in the Diamond business. His daughter became Editor of the Hong Kong Wall St Journal. Very successful. Proud protestants, generous to everyone who worked for them.
Since the whites have been marginalized and these animals have taken over this is going to end up in a complete and utter bloodbath. The black population over there haven’t got a clue how to live like normal human beings in a civilized society.
It’s not racist. Ian Smith, was probably one of the most controversial Prime Minister’s ever, but Rhodesia prospered under his leadership. Now he has long gone, we can see the inevitable result and we can probably agree things are not going to end well. This is a disaster in the making. We have to support the white farmers.
Sutherland Springs in Texas. Perhaps 27 men, women and children have lost their lives as they sat saying their prayers.
This is an act of evil. He will rot in hell. The souls of the deceased will live on in eternity. Another sad and tragic experience.
I try to think
As a concept
Encapsulated in its own image.
And laughingly believe
I’ll be happy,
Just by bringing to mind
That thinking happy thoughts
Would then follow
And all would be well.
But happy thoughts only
Not by concentrated effort,
But by avoiding,
All these wicked
People From hell.
Image from Beliefnet.com
Your voices make little difference,
The wind has the power to defeat
And take away all this dire screaming
But leave blisters and scars on your feet.
You can dress in vaginal outfits,
Give a finger to every young cop
Throw water bottles
At barking Alsatians,
There is nothing to say you must stop.
Urinate on the stars and stripes if you want,
Wipe your feet or your ass on the flag,
Smash up a Starbucks
(But don’t expect to get served),
Smash up banks
(Who financed your candidate),
And shout down the scum who you hate.
But it won’t make any difference
I can assure you,
The bed in the attic’s still there,
The food stamps will keep on arriving,
And the wind will still blow in your hair.
The streets will be cleared in the morning
As sad bitter people disperse,
To the buses and trains and planes waiting,
And the undertaker driving the hearse.
When the good in people
Wins the battle
Until it can strike
So let it meander
Never ending realm
Until it consumes itself
In its own self rendered rage
It’s not the same I say
As I watch the rain pour down
A week before we celebrate
The birth of the Lord our Saviour.
In this clammy climate,
The killer humidity,
Shorts and tee shirts are the norm.
It’s not the same I say
On a grey old rainy day
It doesn’t feel like Christmas
When the sun is so unbearable
And it doesn’t feel like Christmas
When it rains.
Back as a kid
In a colder land
When the snow was timed to fall,
Waiting at the window
My heart beating fast,
I would watch with growing wonder
The grey sky growing darker
The snowflakes fluttering by
And the trees and streets and pavements
Turn brilliant white. The window ledge accumulates
An inch or two of snow
So I grab my coat and scarf and run outside
Jumping from a step
Onto a frozen sidewalk
I slid with ease
Into the freezing powdery snow
I scooped it up between my hands
With all the kids, running around
Falling and laughing, and screaming
And rolling and tumbling,
And all was well
With the world.
As nighttime falls
And meet others
Standing outside the church
The snow still fluttering down
Lit up in yellow by the light from the old rusty lamps.
It was always exciting
Waiting for midnight during a chilly sermon
When the lights were dimmed and the candles glowed
And we all sang Still The Night.
What was I then, maybe ten?
I remember it like it was yesterday
Pulling the wrappers apart
And the sweet smell from the coal fire,
Choirs in the background
From the TV flickering
Images of Bethlehem
Images that became memories
Became embedded in my reality
And I want that reality
More than anything.
They’re all gone
Mom, Dad, Grandmother, Aunts,
Uncles and neighbors
My living past.
My living present is yearning
For a past long time gone
There’s no mystery now
In the rain
And the sun
But maybe I should remember
A child was born to a virgin
All alone in a manger
The greatest mystery of all
And the reason for each moment
Will become clearer in my prayers
And that day will come when
I will see the snow again.
I step outside, breath in fresh air
The walls were closing in around me
I drag a chair to the lawn and sit right down
To drink my Earl Grey tea.
Slip out my diary from my trouser pocket
Swipe a fly, pick up the pen
I start by scribbling out the date
And whimper, not again.
It’s my birthday, it’s another one
The world’s still in a mess
Love is lost and hate is strong
And some could not care less.
They are the folk who sleep and wake
Up each brand new day
They go to work and come back home
And still have time to play.
And should you say to them, you think
The world is such a mess
They laugh and pour another beer
They just don’t want the stress.
An x – box and a mobile phone
Are held up like a God
And through those mindless little tools
They create their little worlds.
They praise themselves, they admire themselves
They’re hot, they’re sweet, they’re cool
Millennials can’t be criticized
Because that is somehow cruel.
If you did, or dared. they’d run away
To find themselves some space
Distance is the magic word
Far from the human race.
So what to do in this narcissistic world
Where we have no need for prayer
It means now we can love ourselves
We are idols, tread with care.
We are mortal, there’s no soul that lives
When our world at last stops turning
No rising on angelic wings
Or hell’s eternal burning.
Alas, for me I have a soul
Now on an earthly trip
The journey is eternal
This life is but a blip
Year by year another candle
Added to the cake
And my safe space welcomes those I love
And friendships yet to make.
Seated on a wooden chair
Elbows on the table
Hands elevated cradling a mug
Of Columbian dark coffee
With a little more sugar
To lighten the mood
As the flickering images
From my bland H.D. T.V.
Tripped around the walls
And the voice from the newsreader
Painted with blush and mascara
Now running down her cheeks
Flipped her script over
And looked straight at the camera
Pretending she was looking at me
And said a nuclear device had been detonated
In Times Square
The third such incident in America that day
And I watched her scream spitting blood
As the picture cut off
And I laughed so loudly
Because I knew this would happen
I knew this would happen
I knew this was going to happen
I had always known this
Was going to happen
But nobody listened
Because nobody wanted
A world where
The truth conflicted with the shallow
Thoughts and expectations of a generation
Built on the hopes of material desire
Because deities were not marketable commodities
You had your wish granted
And God is gone
From your life
So breath in deeply
You will not suffer
When your insides
Once home to a soul burns
The hollow screams