Ash Wednesday - February 22 2012 - Remember that you are dust and unto dust you shall return. Repent and believe!

‘For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.’ -1Corinthians 13:12 (KJV) January 1 2012 12:12am. In the restroom of St. Andrew Parish Church (Anglican), Half-Way-Tree.

October 28, 2011, 4:40pm: Tanya. My last day of work in LIME Telesales.

anglicans:

Rev. Father Leslie Hoo Sang, former rector of the St.
Boniface cure, which includes not only St. Boniface in
Harbour View, but St. Peter’s in Bull Bay, St. Thomas, and
St.Martin’s (‘in-the-Fields’, as we used to know it,
whether accurately or affectionately) in Port Royal,
retired…

October 9, 2011, 4:25pm: St. Boniface Anglican Church, Harbour View. Father Leslie Hoo Sang retires.

my-life-in-parts:

I am at work and exasperated, praying to Jesus to find me a new job. Yet I don’t want to seem ungrateful, nor do I want to be out-of-work at anytime, but I am tired of calling the same people over and over again, annoying them with my lies. Once upon a time, I convinced myself that I could be in…

 [Think this was posted on the wrong blog, but it’s important in light of the fact that by the end of October I was in a new job - A.R.M.]

She came out of a house on Begonia and joined my journey ahead of me, the seductive scent of her sweet perfume binding me to her in timely, stalking, perfectly patterned footsteps, in step, my heeled bass, her trebled slipper, in beat, behind her, the light, yellow floral dress, unable, just like the dimlit night, to hide the undulations of her buttocks, as she led me where I was already going, now full steam ahead with (comma’ed pauses, like this paragraph but) no full stop. I only noticed that the dress, its straps, tied behind, and anchored to her neck, had begun to slip from her bosom, when, with a feminine yank, she pulled it back in place. At the corner of Violet, she went wide, and I inside, side by side; I said “goodnight” and she said “hi” and with bolstered courage, I asked if she lived at the house (for I was, more curious than concerned why she would be departing her home so late [boyfriend/night school?]). She was visiting a girlfriend, had overslept and was on her way back to Portmore, where she lived. (Two buses to get her home) I wished her safe travel, as I was going right on Garden Boulevard, and she, left. I thought and said maybe we might run into each other again and she said “I hope so”. And I went right and she left, no name. Big mistake. She had said SHE HOPED SO; big mistake to take no name, no number; after all, she said SHE hoped so; big mistake, to go right and she left; should have followed her, and by that I mean, accompany her, to the bus stop. Big mistake on a Wednesday evening. Big mistake.

Dear Writer,Thanks for sending your work to Fringe, and thanks very much for your patience as we’ve reviewed it. We apologize for the delay. We’ve recently adjusted our submission periods to allow for shorter response times in the future. Your submission doesn’t fit our needs right now; we wish you best of luck placing it elsewhere.

Sincerely,The EditorsFringe PoetryOn Mon, Mar 7, 2011 at 3:03 PM, Allen Roy MacPherson
‪‬ wrote:
1. WORK-IN-PROGRESS POEM OF THE WORKING (CL)ASSby Allen Roy MacPhersondreams drowning down the drainsoiled sheets, soiled saints, sin’s stainvanities of vanitiesall in vainin vainbabylon’s mother of all whoreslast night i dreamt a dream of doors.[VERSION #2]dreams drowning down the drainin nightmares and chest painsfrom the sewer to the seato the land of “twill ne’er be”the twin islands of “no mas” and “no more”last night in bed i dreamt a dream of doors.[…lost time and the dream of paradise that can’t be regainedvanities of vanities, all in vain, all in vainlost ambitionslost yearsschizophreniclost hairrogainlost profitslost prophetslost visionslost dreamsdrowning down the (brain-)drainlast night i dreamt of doorsand the prodigal whore.](…babylon’s prodigal mother of whoreslast night the parabled son dreamt of doors…opened in heaven and blessings outpouredlike oil, anointed head, [from cups] overflowedand the father’s furnished banquet table prepared beforeenemies and babylon’s prodigal mother whore.)2. from a small room in boscobelby Allen Roy Macphersonhere am i
in the abyss
chained
hoping for
my release
and reign.
like thousand
seem
these hundred days
like thousand
idle
hungred years
chained by God
in the depths of hell
in a small
room in boscobel.
¤
“…and bound him a thousand years and cast him into the abyss [bottomless pit], and shut him up…”
- Revelation 20:2-3
3. VOICESby Allen Roy MacPhersonI hear voices
in my head
but I think
it’s only me:
vague messages
to myself
and though I’d
like it to be
it’s not from God
nor angels
not from Jesus
nor the dead
not from heaven
nor from hell
just vague voices
in my head
“And they heard the voice of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day:” [Genesis3:8]
“For God speaketh once, yea twice, yet man perceiveth it not.” [Job33:14]
“And the Lord spake unto Moses face to face, as a man speaketh unto his friend.” [Exodus33:11]
“And the Lord spake unto you out of the midst of the fire: ye heard the voice of the words, but saw no similitude; only ye heard a voice.
Did ever people hear the voice of God speaking out of the midst of the fire, as thou hast heard, and live?” [Deuteronomy4:12,33]
“To day if ye will hear his voice” [Psalms95:7]
“Speak, Lord; for thy servant heareth.” [1Samuel3:9]
4. maladrama
by Allen Roy MacPherson
malarial mosquitos
& leptospi rats
no wonder i’m dying
of whatever
& what
living like boo radley
but w/out
ma or pa
existential existence
between
bed & bar.
my cousin hangs food
on the hinges
of the door
to feed me
though i refuse
to answer the phone.
it’s a real-life
leptospira
soap-opera
a mini-stroke
malarial
melodrama
5. broke, hungry, without water or light, 2011a.d
by Allen Roy MacPhersonhere i amlike jesusliving my nightsbycandlelight.wish ihad some water.wish i couldturn it into wine.wish icould findzacchaeusthen i’dhave somewhereto dine.i could bearbethanyand maryand hearmartha’s whineas long asshe says, “lordthis dinner iprepared is thine.”lord, what is mineis yours.masterlet what is yoursbe mine.give me myheavenly feastin this lifebeforei die.saythe mystic words:let there be water!let there be light!6. her [aka mot/her2]by Allen Roy MacPhersoni am part
of her
outgrown & living
beyond
the womb
beyond her cuddle
beyond her giving
beyond her tomb.
to whom
she may have been
a sister or a wife
shared wombs
(& other things)
i am her
beyond life
& tombs
beyond heaven
& earth & paradise
God too
beyond judgement
beyond eternal life
forever
i am
her
hers
yours
mot
-her.

7. squatter poemby Allen Roy MacPhersonsquatting
all alone
in the darkness
in a house
unowned
& unrented.
faith
more than tested
wounded
dented
like the
automobile
accident
the car-crash
that is
my ruined life
no Jesus
no God
no wooing wife
no hope
& no home
no happiness
squatting
all alone
in the darkness.