Keith Holyoak --- Nine Selections from the Collection The Gospel According to Judas

Keith Holyoak

Selections from “The Gospel According to Judas”

Seed

Judas, I judge you not

Until I plumb your heart

And grasp your deep desire

For that is who you are,

The seed that starts it all:

Desire becomes your will,

Your will becomes your deed,

Your deed your destiny.

OM shanti shantishanti

Top Ten of Infamy

Surfing the Internet today I hit

Upon a top-ten list of evil men

Through history. I checked the names on it,

Fearing I’d find my own. Idi Amin

And VladDraculrub shoulders there with Hitler;

Two spots reflect the glory that was Rome—

Caligula, teamed with Nero the fiddler.

Attila the Hun—he looks right at home.

Ivan the Terrible and Joseph Stalin

Made Russia quake; Pol Pot’s got hell to pay.

Tomás de Torquemada, holy Christian,

Surely deserves his own auto-da-fé.

“Top tens” are always slightly arbitrary—

King Leopold might well have made the list.

How many men did Alexander bury?

Genghis Khan and Mao were somehow missed.

Pope Urban II started the Crusades,

Jerusalem of course the best excuse;

The massacres by Christians on those raids

Helped reconcile the Muslims with the Jews.

And Judas? I don’t really fit the bill—

My deed was too allusive, far outdone

By those who relished multitudes to kill.

I never slew a man (worst case, just One).

Beatitudes

      For those who wander

without a habitation

      I place the fixed stars

to mark your destination;

      For those who hunger

and thirst, unsatisfied,

      my banquet awaits

all guests who step inside.

      To those left weeping

alone in desolation

      I come with a smile

to join your celebration;

      To lions who walk

among the lambs in peace

      I send forth a child

so love and joy increase.

Songs of Mariam Magdala: Lovesick

Asleep at midnight, my heart is wide awake—

      beloved, I hear your knock!

He calls! “Beloved, my sister, my bride, open

      your garden and let me pick

Your orchard fruit, drink from your fountain flowing

      with honeyed milk and with nectar—

Already the night dew gathers upon my locks,

      bring me inside your shelter!”

Lying in bed the door is just out of reach—

      my garments are off, beloved—

My feet have been bathed, how could I rise and soil them,

      how stand before you naked?

Hearing him try the latch, I rise from bed

      and dip my fingers in myrrh;

In haste I reach for my gown, and drawing it on

      at once unbolt the door.

But oh! He has turned and gone into the night,

      gone, and my soul fails me.

My cry, “Beloved, my door has opened for you!”

      brings silence—nothing avails me—

The cobblestones are cold beneath my feet

      and no answer comes.

The watchmen find me searching through the city’s

      streets and catacombs;

They beat me, bruise me, rip away my veil,

      these watchmen of the walls.

I beseech you, daughters of Jerusalem,

      make him hear your calls!

Cry out, my sisters! Cast judgment as you will—

      approve or disapprove—

But seek my beloved! And when you find him tell him

      I am sick with love.

Sandy Hook

Riding the morning bus, they left behind

Mommies and Daddies, dolls and Thomas trains,

Dora the bold Explorer, trucks and planes,

Their talismans of home—the routine kind

Of schoolday bravery the world demands.

Cords holding children close must soon unravel;

We cannot guard all roads that they will travel,

Nor walk by them forever, holding hands.

But more is owed to innocents than this.

Though Judas learned a thing about betrayal

Gaping as Jesus writhed upon the cross

He never saw a prideful nation fail

To keep its children whole, to even miss

Its chance to be redeemed through shame and loss.

After Newtown

Citizens of this special nation

Mourn slain children in their fashion

With rituals that mark the slaughters—

After they bury sons and daughters

They curse the madman, not his gun,

And vow to God, “Never again!”

To help ensure this never happens

They print more automatic weapons

And pass them out so worshipers

All bear the arms their God confers

(For He has taught them guns are sacred

Instruments of love, not hatred).

A handgun with star-spangled holster

Is laid upon the highest altar

Where senators kneel down to pray.

Watching themgrievethis special way

Jesus cries out in holy rage

And Judas weeps below the stage.

Ocean

after Mansur al-Hallaj

Born to the earth, I made my way

Back to the ocean whence I came,

Drawn as the moth that seeks the flame,

And fought the waves by night and day.

I punched the breakers—they struck me,

Left me half-broken on the sand,

Until the ocean lent a hand,

Lifted me up and set me free.

And now I do not cease to swim

Buoyed up sometimes on waves of love,

At times pressed under waves above,

While beacons on the shore grow dim.

Judas Unmasked

      Perhaps I was

the blight that killed the Rose,

      a stain across

the countenance of God—

      Or did I make

the perfect sacrifice,

      stab my own soul

so that the Lamb’s blood flowed;

      Or was I just

a small embellishment,

      picked out to play

an extra in a crowd?

     

      I was perhaps

a splash of ocean foam,

      a dying leaf,

a clump of broken sod.

Benediction

Do not grieve overlong when I am gone,

Fearing that I have left you here alone.

The time for weeping ends; let tears be done.

Bow to the four directions—I am there.

I guide the sun, the moon, the morning star,

And catch the swallow falling from the air.

I am with you always, in the bead

Of dew upon the lotus, in the reed

Beside the lake, and in the mustard seed.

Valerie Fox ---- three poems

A new character enters a recurring dream

Meredith, from work.
Damn, so the whole episode
starts in the department conference room.
My shirt is gone, the pink one.
Meredith's leading me
the opposite
direction of where
I should go. She acts
like I should appreciate
her because
she is so willing to travel
with me to this painful, present place.

Late Friend

Phone message:
Hi, it's Jeff. I'm at the airport,
Gate 63, Delta. Can you come out here?

I have three hours.
I'll buy you one of those chocolatinis.
You can tell me all about England.

Phone message:
It's Jeff. My plane is about to take off.
I wrote you a letter and taped it
under the corner (left side) orange seat
across from service desk,
Delta, Gate 63.

*

Yes, I did take the train out there. Couldn't find the letter.
Must've looked strange. I have a few letters, though, from Jeff.
He tells me that he and his girlfriend got themselves
an imaginary dog. He takes up quite a bit of their time.

Places, mainly

There were too many mirrors in the house I grew up in. At least I got used to how I look. But a subsequent place where I lived had hardly any mirrors. My reflection could have left town and I wouldn't have noticed.

This one town I lived in banned train whistles after midnight. Everyone there was required to have their own porch swings, lawn ornaments, and watering holes.

Another town I lived in had a sister city in Iceland.

Generally, when the whole town couldn't sleep, the population would rise up out of their beds and restore Victorian dollhouses and other collectibles.

My final town, the one I'm in now, gives off a movie remake aura of having lost any real sense of place. Don't get me wrong. This town is big on culture and convenience. Even so, I now regret that I never made time to introduce myself, personally, to Darla and her quartet.

Five Poems --- E.F. Elixir

Belly of The Beast


          An odd situation we find ourselves in

          Being in the belly of the beast

          When once we were beckoned to force change,

          We found some forms are just as they’ve always been…

          Perceived.

          So in all of what’s become

          We trust to start anew

          Clean our slates state to state

          With values wise-ridden

          And impermanent

          Becoming what would have been

          If the beast had just been left to rest

          As all else is while in the wild

Whimsical Again

I overheard them speak: "We bring gadgets,
For the days are rough, and unknown are the
Circumstances which would have us fix
Whimsical legacies as we break from
Shackles left here just to bind us,"
I knew not to interrupt. Good ol' jokes
With drinks, yet it's serious, for the drums
Are now crashing down, and there can be no
Time to meddle in constant grief, without
A movement which moves past repaired cuffs…
After us in the future sense. Most drown
Trying to move others to see just once
            How this could very well end in the blinks
            Of all eyes finding out that we were fiends.

         

Awe Phenomenon

I begin to breathe

An enigma at the wash

I blink as it washes over me

Beginning to think there’s nothing to wish

For

For if there were

I’d yet to have seen…                                                 

My dreams are a part of reality

And my reality’s made up of dreams

Forever and ever, and on, on-awe

And an “end” is not a word

Surreal Semantic

Heartthrob Galactic

Whatever is mindful

I’m sure

Would love to be

In between the skies

And deep beneath the trees

Returning with a

Message from the breach

Of “Who am I?”

With a reach of outer mind

And keen inner surprise

When then it’s learned that

Words have erred

And so feelings so adorned

Bring on yields of fields of gold            

And there we were

So here we are

Spaceship Scar

Earthy Purse

Breathe and breathe and breathe and breathe

I blink as it washes over me

Primordial Touch

Like Ancients

Come hide with me

In valleys unseen

In valleys where

Our slow caress of hands

Set flight

To growth of forests

Where our eyes meet

At once

In light of

All at once unfolding

Into an annexed-heart

Only glimpsed

In fantasies

Honed by ancients…

In fantasies

I awaken from

On nights

Your touch

Must elude me

Wellspring

Breathe lightly

And in doing so

Be at once with

All around you

Be the trance

That sits and

Soothes through

The ailments

You have gathered

Let them go

These are not yours to keep

You are not well

With them abound

Poems By: E.F. Elixir

Three Poems --- Warda Atroun

some poems i wrote recently :

Hidden Butterflies: 
Color blind are my eyes No colors around me No shimmering yellow like the sun No burning red like love No thriving blue like the horizon I dismissed childhood to embrace savageness I grew up to switch off marvelous thistles Of my innocent memories Oblivion banished my dreamy soul To purchase butterflies In a wondrous daffodils field.. Butterflies are hidden somewhere in a warless world far from injustice dust.

Lighthouse :

brightness reflection on the surface of the sea awakes his nostalgia home he remembered hot bread and a tender touch that light seems like fireside chats the smile of his mother sailing with him takes him far away the shores and brings him back to the wavy town of frozen night with old cats meetings in the harbor he’s a sailor hanging on wavy lines sailor a man of silence man of valor and patience Midnight serenity The perfect fairytale In your eyes When you put down your guitar You leave your cup of coffee Your books Then you come to play The world’s best love game I hide a dreamy touch Inside my heart You burn it out In midnight serenity Racing with unworried Songs of twinkling stars Our love is a treasure Buried on the surface of the moon Deep yet obvious As you left your life To live inside me I will never let you seep Out of myself . Distance pinnacle : Come again to make errors On the roof of my pains. Your mistakes are better than your empty place.. I read your Longing to me I swallow it like thorns I scattered my tears When you left me Like a sinking rose In an sighing waterfall Left and right .Up and down In All the directions i’m alone. What song should I sing To color your dark strawberries . To shake the silence Inside our memories. What letters should I use to touch the breeze of your perfume distance is the longest vowel I could pronounce.

city of magic

King of angels sitting Around the river Lights teasing with fire Their dancing wings Kissing shades of dawn Holding prayers And blaming letters They smile to serenity breeze They devolve powerful dreams For delightful nights Magic is magic Like truthful imagination Expands in eaves of wonders Mysteries are the eyes Of moony angels Secrets is the sound Of momentous volcanoes Slumber in mellifluous intuitions.

Two poems ----- James Bertolino

Contrary Metaphysics

When the stalk

is more impressive than

the flower, what are we

to think?

If the high note

has more resonance

than the low, how

can that make sense?

Looking through the wrong

end of the microscope

will bring an order

that your knowledge has lacked.

Open a ripe peach and

chew on the pit.

Reach for a black speck

between your toes, look

to your dearest friend

and sigh, "This is it."

What The Dragonfly Told Me

We don’t mind the beetles.

The mosquitos are fakes.

The correct balance between sunlight

and moisture equals food.

As you know, we have wings,

and when the breeze has throttled

down, we are the undisputed

champions of the air.

When you’ve noticed we’ve settled

on a tall stalk of grass,

or fuzzy cattail, it’s hands-off!

You don’t pet a dragonfly.

And don’t be shouting, or we’ll

sew your mouth shut.

Also, it would please us

if you didn’t laugh when you see

two of us conjoined while aloft.

When we’re in the mood for love,

you can just move along—get back

to your wood and glass traps.

This delicious world

was not made for you.

Three poems ----- Koon Woon

Love me when I am old

No need to love me when I am young,

because I can only love myself then.

No need to kiss me under the apple bough,

as any pair of fair arms would me arouse.

But love me, love me when I am old,

when the extremities of me grow cold,

when neither food nor drink will do.

For all the years that we drift through,

pretending we each other didn’t know,

now love me, love me as we stand in snow

Unnamed

Static as Buddha

inert as a rock

I move you not,

But snow melts

and rains fall

on mountain top,

Even as I breathe

vapors of December –

that after taste

of my days, I hold

you in memory

as a photo in wallet.

Oh come run with me

for a day more

in the valley

And linger there

as the ice melts

and snow dissipates.

How like a clearing in the woods

On the 10^th day of the 19^th year we finally stumble

out into a clearing

The remaining men shrieked like children

as our captain in full beard

Supplicates to the blue sky

We had killed our imagination for otherwise

the numerous cries of the jungle

haunt the years we are forgotten

As men on expedition

And finally we have each our own place

even though as our neighbors

Have changed to the right of us

to the left of us

And the truth now is to put our machetes

down, disrobe, and cleanse

ourselves

In the creek

with the dense foliage of the jungle

behind us

amid the fearsome flights of Gothic

bats and growling bears

But now our wise captain leads us

into this clearing

Where the light is right for a van Gogh

the price is right for a Picasso

And on this 10^th day of the 19^th year

we cry, but we no longer know

why we are here

We will go back into it for another 19 years.