Great Scot !

Relighting Presbyterian roots,
God’s forest-fire convolutes…

contentious times burn heterodox.

The catholic cuckoos make their round—
strange fire and popery abound;

Deus Ex Machina winds the clocks.

Let all attend the holy skirl,
an armored tartaned highland whirl

escaping from God’s music box:

a blare of sixteenth-century pipes.
unleashes types on antitypes.
Pure Calvinistic grace unlocks

 the portal’s gate—and, opening wide,
the frightened worldlings peer inside
beholding heaven’s equinox.

We chasten the imploding West
for Bloody Mary’s crimes confessed
(upon the Catholic queen a pox)

but praise the captain of the Kirk
for interplanetary work.

(His enterprising doctrine rocks.)

in the MIX
PROMPT 29: Imagine a window looking into a place or onto a particular scene.


Martin Luther WHO ?





Disputation on the Power and Efficacy of Indulgences
by Dr. Martin Luther (1517)

Out of love for the truth and the desire to bring it to light,
the following propositions will be discussed at Wittenberg,
under the presidency of the Reverend Father Martin Luther,
Master of Arts and of Sacred Theology, and Lecturer in Ordinary on the same at that place. Wherefore he requests that those who are unable to be present and debate orally with us,
may do so by letter.
Luther walks forth in yon majestic frame,
Bright beam of heaven, and heir of endless fame,
Born, like thyself, thro toils and griefs to wind,
From slavery’s chains to free the captive mind,
Brave adverse crowns, control the pontiff sway,
And bring benighted nations into day.
Remark what crowds his name around him brings,
Schools, synods, prelates, potentates and kings,
All gaining knowledge from his boundless store,
And join’d to shield him from the papal power.
First of his friends, see Frederic’s princely form
Ward from the sage divine the gathering storm,
In learned Wittemburgh secure his seat,
High throne of thought, religion’s safe retreat.
There sits Melancthon, mild as morning light,
And feuds, tho sacred, soften in his sight;
In terms so gentle flows his tuneful tongue,
Even cloister’d bigots join the pupil throng;
By all sectarian chiefs he lives approved,
By monarchs courted and by men beloved…
from: The Columbiad, Book IV  by Joel Barlow


Mirage: My Rage

Fata Morgana !

Career churchmen, paid to guide
lead new-found converts to abide
in dull consumeristic stupor,
promises of living water
vanishing like desert pools
and luring onwards thirsty fools
who glimpse oases, there to find
dry carcasses of humankind
evaporation, drought and death.
You think you found it? Save your breath.
The springs of life become a puddle
where theologies befuddle:
muddy, stagnant, barely damp
how different from St. Jacob’s camp
where heaven opened in a dream—
unlike this churchy marketing scheme.

Strike this cloud we labor under !
Let it pour. Let Luther thunder.
Where is Calvin’s sovereign grace
and where the omnipresent face
of Christ enthroned in holy splendor ?
When will our divine defender
clear the record, end confusion
bring to a final, just conclusion
Babel, His dismembered body—
(can I get a witness, anybody?)

Spare me the free verse.
Try writing something rhythmic!
(Haiku overdose).