Squid Scum

5 comments on “Squid Scum
  1. frances snoot says:

    Surely:
    I’ve taken to praying the rosary outside. I have guava trees in my yard, by a pond, and it is to this alcove that I whisper the sweet roses to the Mother of our Lord. She makes herself known in the sacred presence of the trees, leaning and bending of their very nature to the sound of Her name. The clouds make merry: yes, at last, five centuries of angst is coming to a close. How do we know this?
    Because the Lord, Himself Being, kept safe His presence within the confines of corruption: in a corrupt and corrupting world the substance of God remained safe and powerful, as thought all revolves around the presence of the Lord: the Eucharist. Priests, themselves being, human are not essential to the dew from heaven becoming and being intrinsic Truth. Maxwell, with the white flower pinned nobly to his lapel, is our Blessed Hope now of restoration: not only for harmony, but for the truly perfect to be made manifest within/without the will of God.
    And I know, surely, that whatever happens to me is the Will of God. And so I found peace, humbly, at an older age than many but with great joy at the discovery. I battle pride; even those without position can be guilty of pride in that great misnomer ‘human dignity’. I’m sure that by itself, dignity of humans is a construct of Yorkshire, a mainstay to the beef roast and flour-puff pudding that lies heavy despite redress. For humans need mostly to set aside self and reach for contrition and parity with one another. That which separates will be set ablaze by God’s wroth coming to take away the paper palaces in which the nasty cats drink their cream. Eleanor

  2. frances snoot says:

    Early and Often

    The wisdom of the world
    Is mocked by the innocence
    Of nature’s writ: defiance of an
    Order set apart from man’s
    Dominion and ruled by
    Silence.

    Tears of angels
    Moisten the soil of this
    Land, ours–wrestled
    Joyful–from the sordid
    Hands that want for lack of
    Trust.

    I hear the laughter
    Of children fall sweetly
    Like the dew upon the grass,
    Water of a holy nature
    Made pure by a separate
    Peace.

    Blood and Wounds
    To rise with the morning star
    Dayspring–leaping like a hart–
    White roses strewn
    Careless, careful essence
    True.

  3. frances snoot says:

    Counterfeit

    Mirror thy lonely
    Intentions with the rod
    Of serpentine deceit,
    Cast down remains
    Solid-state: no life in the
    Wood. Gnarled like spun
    Worsted, the grain spans
    Time without feet. Scepter
    Of the deceptor: reliant, defiant
    Word-placed-tiles line the
    Palisade. A Roman bathhouse,
    The dominion of whores, fools,
    Bastion of bastards whose glory
    Foul-lined pool reeks of stank.
    Spent, rent, this facade found
    Willing accomplice only death.

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