Tuesday, May 30, 2017

Separation

Separation

Forty years my acquisition
Of books have numbered
In the hundreds. A new condition
Now tasks me; I’m encumbered.

All or some?
Which shall I pack?
This or that one?
It’s a huge stack!

It’s not the amount
Of books to flee
Into boxes that’s tantamount.
It’s their departure from me.

But, no. The change in my reality
Is actually my own departure, my leaving.
Not to depart is my plea.
Packing, the gateway, began my grieving.

I must now stop
And catch my breath.
On the holy hill atop
I should not fear death.

Endings, for sure,
Come closer every hour.
Many deaths I endure
Like the life cycle of a flower.

Where went time,
The gift coupled with space?
They, our temporal clime,
I live within that divine grace.

Time and space,
Chronological.
Life lifted from that place,
Eschatological.

Dare I say
“Woe is me.”
No pity in play.
Grace is free.


Monday, May 29, 2017

Two Prescient Books by French Writers

Considering both immigration and toleration by the secular left, these two books have much to behold for unchecked challenges to Western civilization.

The Camp of the Saints by Jean Raspail projects what types of immigration are possible, including unexpected and rapid confrontation by the unprepared and unsuspecting.


The book Submission by Michel Houellebecq, is a more recent publication. This novel expresses the transformation of a nation (in this case, France) by ideological/political Islam.





Submission

Submission

The secular has no clue.
Nominal Christians are nice.
Both see what Submission will do,
But are scared to fight.

Read the Prophet’s book
Just once,
And you will forever not look
And talk like a dunce.

It’s not a fight
With Submission’s so-called “Radical.”
That “Radical” is actually its pure light,
The Prophet’s binding manacle.

The real radicals of the “pure light”
Are misnamed as moderates.
If they speak up they might
Have their heads removed in their habitats.

Vast numbers of followers
Of the Prophet are not fanatics,
Neither total swallowers
Of sura dogmatics.

However, those followers are weak
And frightened by their throat-slicing minority.
Hideouts are what they seek,
They have ceded their authority.

The West then must assume this fight
And call a spade a spade.
It must recover its true grounding,
Or submit to the blade.


Friday, May 26, 2017

Coming to Terms

Coming to Terms


What’s so radical
About misuse of a term?
Words classical,
Once healthy, now deadly germ.

Radical Islam is a misnomer.
Its practice, Koran pure.
So-called moderates, the sarcoma,
The real radical offers no cure.

Radical is not
Pure Islam.
Its principles, its thought,
No peace, no balm.

Pure Islam is
Commitment, conviction.
On infidels quiz
Belief, impose affliction.

+++

The secular west
Did its best
To rid its root
Of Christian fruit.

First in Europe
Began to stir up
Old convictions
Creating frictions.

No need for tradition
With the Enlightenment mission
Of thinking the rational,
Being one, killing the national.

Fluid thinking,
No principles linking
To past truths.
 The secular requires no proof.

+++

Pure Islam and the secular
In strange alliance
Make spectacular
A frightful compliance.

The secular so blind
With no principles at all
Must resign
With submission, withal.

+++

"Radical," you see
Really are the "Moderate."
The rational and secular plea
Have succumbed to the pure threat.

Is it too late
To come to terms?
How long will the secular wait
Before western culture burns?



Saturday, May 20, 2017

Common Curia

Common Curia

It was the last day
In February
Of the year 2013
Which gave us worry.

Why depart
From Office before death?
It was not physical loss
But political breath.

In the 2005 election
Joseph always led.
Jorge always second.
Ballot 4 made Joseph head.

The Curia incensed,
Plotted to change course.
Aided by red hats
Moved with no remorse.

The losers finally won
When Joseph stepped down
Unable to calm insurrection,
Relinguished the papal crown.

The Iago-like process
Took 8 years to complete.
An un-godly subterfuge
The legitimate one they unseat.

+++

It was the
Eighth day in November
Of the Year 2016,
An election to remember.

The legitimate process
Rendered no win popular vote.
It was a college
The Constitution wrote.

Similar to the Roman,
The D.C. Curia incensed
At the unfit candidate
Plotted against.

The agitation seemed organized,
At least that was the rumor.
Certainly the attacks were politicized,
Perhaps by Senator Schumer.

But no!
Chuck’s activity too obvious.
The real source
Is silent and devious.

Who then rakes Executive-45?
Perhaps someone next door.
Someone who never left town.
Yes! Iago-44.

+++

It has been said
Common to Benedict
And Executive-45,
The same to undercut and interdict.

The one who wants to
Close the world’s door
To true liberalism and freedom,
Is the same Iago-44.



Friday, May 19, 2017

If it smells like a rose …

If it smells like a rose …


It probably is
If it smells so.
Probably not
When you so know.

How so
With an institution?
Something as basic
As the American Constitution.

When a certain Article
Legitimates the manner
Of election,
Only one wins the banner.

An Amendment, First,
Announced freedoms
Institutionally allocated,
Created necessary legislative tediums.

When dissatisfied with
The banner bearer,
And institutional respect
Identifies no error,

Unhappy, some press
For executive removal and
Joined by legislative losers left,
Wax reproval.

Those left out
Lost.
Only left now with fire,
We teeter on chaos.

With ne’er a scintilla
Of deep inspection,
A thousand baseless fits
Form insurrection.

What then smells
Like a rose?
The Constitution
We chose!


Friday, April 28, 2017

Too Many Notes

Too Many Notes

Remember the line
By the emperor
In Amadeus? A whine
From an uneducated lecturer.

The king had no credentials
In the specialty of music.
His knowing only tangential
 He misused it.

“Too Many Notes,”
How did he know?
As emperor he outvotes
Those in positions below.

So, let’s take Bill Nye,
The all-knowing
Science guy,
Whose umbrage is showing.

This mere mortal
Who calculates the future for us all
Believes himself the portal
Of understanding, to him only befall.

It is not umbrage necessarily
That certifies his arrogance,
It is hatred of God, primarily
HIS ongoing creation. Nye is incensed.

“I can be God,
Science backs me up.
My purview is broad
With an overflowing of my cup.”

“The Church is destroyed.
It was science and I
Our method now enjoyed.
‘Lo, the hour of freedom nigh.’”

No, not so fast
You feeble one!
Your method cannot last,
Your work is actually finished, done.

Too many people on earth?
You’ve made a calculated threat
To God Who gives birth.
Your life, too, owed, debt.

Nye, you have no compassion,
Abortion is just another right.
Euthanasia is a process to cash in
Body parts of the dead,  a fury ignite.

You, of all scientists,
Should know science’s premise.
The Church gave you Enlightenment
Now time for your penance.

You cannot create the world,
You can only kill it.
Is that what your science will unfurl?
Can you undo what God writ?

Think it over.
You have a brain.
Give up your hostile takeover
And let the earth remain.