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Books from the Bible

by seanfarragher 

Posted: 05 April 2005
Word Count: 539
Summary: Old Testament & Book of Revelation
Related Works: Broken Photographs, Dutch Art and Time Machines • Fountain of Youth • Hurrah, Hooray, Huzzah • No Milk and Cookies • Parnassus • Stations of the Cross • Wonderful History -- • 

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Old Testament

The barren world collapsed inside its anvil
Sparks of black smiths fires never flared
Japanese military swords were deadly
sticks and stones and jade never grew
or porcelain made of silken worms.


Subtle and suave the architect gropes the conch.
He allows the pause to open what was closed before
the earth had no ocean to flood the plains and
wet that blue-black smoke from ardent fires
revised the largesse of sharks and idol Kings
fornicating on command of banishment.

Winter came too soon. Lights never flicker.
Details like cities never grew. Hell lasted
longer the rules of Popes and Luther.--
Mohammad was a late riser never born.

Mammon never came to fall when
revelation waned and retribution
was not a pause or even grunt
of sexual slams and dips,
reviving Moliere's wit,
the underdog of human bones
barely seen in skeleton
of newts and frogs remained
darker eyes and suddenly
the snicker of a broken snake
appeared not as demons
but hunger that old fable
had writ to end and remain
with love to perform
that raw release of darling
huffs and puffs in an empty
world without one hand alive
to form that revised despair
sometimes we live too short
to know the full plan
that architect devised when
he opened light to comets
arranged like Xmass ornaments
on living uncut pine growing
no where as nothing claims
the bitter strings of love
are lost with chump change
scattered with the corpse
on bare primeval terra
so in love with never been
before the barren clock
accomplished ring or rang
when space itself collapsed.

The Book of Revelation

Earth decided the time had come to start
the spark to retrieve the dark from Hell--
nothing empty left. Atmosphere made
blue like chalk drawn on sidewalk by
children driving skates and wagons
across the country as the landscape
shifted without care, as mind became
the ledger and accountants ruled.

Summer resumed in heat and fire
Steel made and trains were late
at the station. War called brother
drifted cross the West Point Plains
down the sadder Hudson River
longing for the dry channel
and nothing mattered at all.
No one cares when Draft
riots and hopeless women
bared their cat or sucked
the Dicks of hotel keepers
watching baseball follow form
to settle Yankee escape
from Ebbets Field come
the 40th day of September.

Mammon lived of course.
Nothing said or done
had changed. Words lived
in the eternal flame born
on a hilltop to mourn
President and Nation.
Words expand; contract like
plates of earth drawn to
witness that squeeze of
arms when humans come
to fall and rise again
in fertile soup, one small
amino charge defiled
the laws against life

We are imperfect rules
and perfect plans fouled.

The architect sleeps tonight
and wakes to another sun
where episodes repeat forever
the Television show is wrong.

We are despite the ruse of false
modesty a species left to bring
the model of the human heart
its soul, the brain of ecstasy
my love sweet pink Conch
this April storm revealed
my life again to song.


My poetry and fiction can be read at the following web sites:




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Comments by other Members

SmithBrowne at 07:59 on 06 April 2005  Report this post
Sean, impressive poem, as are your other works I've just had the opportunity to read. I wouldn't want to rush a commentary of this and do it an injustice, so will come back in a day or so with something to say -- but for now, "We are imperfect rules / and perfect plans fouled" is inspired.



p.s. -- I'm a fellow NJ poet... well, formerly, live in the UK permanently now. But glad to see someone on here from 'back home'.

laurafraser at 11:29 on 06 April 2005  Report this post
"that raw release of darling
huffs and puffs in an empty
world without one hand alive..."

"sometimes we live too short
to know the full plan
that architect devised when
he opened light to comets
arranged like Xmass ornaments"

Stunning. The above are just a few examples of my favourite sections of these poems, but really it seems sacrelige to cut bits out as every line is so much a prioduct of the one that came before it. Your choice of words is startling and exciting, eg the "darling" came as a complete surprise, like a sunbeam on a cloudy day. This is a highly impressive poem.
You have a wonderful way of combining images and words that seem to stand in opposition to one another and then (at least this is the way I have interpreted it) you realise that everything is 'one' that there is no seperate reality in the things you talk about in your poems.
Powerful pieces. Acomplished and sophisticated, with heart and soul that chime in every word.


Beanie Baby at 21:46 on 06 April 2005  Report this post
Hi Sean. Epic stuff this with some deep, heartfelt message. Your choice of words is phenomenal and each one, each line seems to me to be charged with some incredible power. Very impressed; love it.

seanfarragher at 02:08 on 07 April 2005  Report this post
I didn't intend to write a catholic poem. Well, as theology, it is certainly sacrilidge and would never earn the imprimature of Pope. I was not stunned by the Pope's death, but I am stunned by the man who may someday be called great. First, I am an agnostic. Second, I disagree with certainly many issues of catholicism: priests need to marrry (man or woman), women need to become priests and even Pope, and of course abortion should be a matter of choice. That said, there is sanity, poetry and grace in the man's life. I wish and hope, perhaps pray that there is a heaven for I would hate to have him die to darkness after such a strong faith for goodness. There are so many evil people in the world. Can we allow for our political and cultural differences and applaud a man who sacrificed his one life not for himself but for all human beings.

So the poem is written in my own way in his honor. He became Pope in the first year of my son's life.

YES, my poems show by layering of images how opposites (very much as in painting) work to set off space. Words can not be washed on top of each other. So layering is done by juxtapositon of images. Mix certain key words for story, and then keep the line as a river churns and seethes, calms and wets the ocean again.

Thank you all for your read. Thank You Jersey, Laura, and Beanie.
I have been so busy I have not had time to read and review, but I will be doing that this week, and I certainly will be looking at your work.

Hamburger Yogi & PBW at 07:04 on 10 April 2005  Report this post
Difficult to comment on epic poetry. Milton comes to mind. I get a mildly 'psychotic' feel from reading this - epic poems always have a quality of excess for me. 'One small amino charge defiled' (to me) was a keyline.

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