THE DAY I WENT TO BE A LOW PRIEST
I wanted to be a preacher priest of one order of another
as long as I got to work in the poorest borders;
but couldn’t get into the seminary,
possibly because the old bishop who interviewed me
had never taken any Psilocybin fungi’s
or maybe I shouldn’t have chewed a few
before I went to his excellent Excellency’s spirit Raven
walled cave of oak. With its Aircraft carrier sized desk
filled with phones enough to make any president proud.
I was not making a joke as I sat and chanted
the earth creatures way for a sunrise filled with peace
and ahead day to carry hope to the nations of the peoples
who had been beaten down in their beds
for their Christian theology of paid for sin.
Where was hell in all this mess
I remember (or think I do)
The holy hell filled liar asked me?
Pointing in all his non theological
thousands of years old madness I was spouting
to explain still this is the day for love
to still be sprouting in his poor ass church.
It was a long time ago but I remember the birds,
for they started to sing, when a trippin’ me
didn’t know I was supposed to bow down
and kiss a piece of gem filled gold.
God knows I am glad now
I never did such a thing for who knows
the many unholy places that ring could have been.
Needless to say “rejected” I didn’t make the cut
was escorted out to the iron barred seminary gate
but I’ll be damned if the guard didn’t stop first
at the financial contribution plate.
Then I heard the word of God inside my heart and head
and left them a gift of spiritual mushrooms instead.
© M Durfee
THE UPSIDE TO BEING A BROKEN BONE BAROMETER
Humidity laden sabers are taking my shoulders off
my feet are beating me upside the head
with the stumps of what once were strong limbs.
It’s the strong arm tactics
of being a human weather barometer with benefits.
You’re always are pre-pared for a change in the weather.
If only change in the heart was as easily recognized as arthritic joints,
maybe, just maybe we would stop completing (incorrectly)
other people’s feelings
then we could all Alleve© this place
friends born of pain but grown in peace.
© M Durfee1.14.2014