The Millennial trial

Life, Poetry

Here is an attempt at prose poetry:

The Millennial trial

 One late spring day a debate raged: ‘‘Is this a stolen generation?’’

The lecturer, a baby-boomer expat, both warned and proclaimed,

‘‘Technology and Mass Society has corrupted, abducted your minds;

bred an ignorant, child-like hopelessness, an entitled will of nothingness –

this ignorance will only breed your decline and eventual destruction…’’

But I failed to listen. Within the headphones of my Samsung smart phone,

rappers, pop stars and indie rockers attacked existential questions,

social sins and life’s subtle meanings In loud-voiced lyrical diatribes.

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The Entrance of Christ in a jalopy

Faith

What if Christ was alive in the 21st Century?

The Entrance of Christ in a jalopy

Let him come.

Not in imperious-pressed street preacher suit,

gleaming-black soles, greased hair combed back,

smile a dazzling white

but in prosaic scraps blunted by the sun and heat,

threadbare sandals, long untamed hair

and teeth baring witness

to a meager diet, eaten in the fellowship of brothers,

sisters, kinsmen and converted followers.

 

Pray thee, let him come driving not

a fantastic Farrari roaring to

announce his arrival, but an

inconspicuous jalopy – a pack car –

lowest in name yet highest in service.

If there is some ticker-tape procession,

let it be. Let the way be cleared for

the arrival of the people’s king.

 

Along the way the people will praise his name

while false teachers, political leaders, bankers, celebrities and academics

denounce him as a heretic, a terrorist, a strange phenomenon steering away

from the social mainstream.

They will deem it moral and right for an arraignment before his demise.

 

All the while, this isolato will escape the adulation unscathed and unchanged,

driving on to those whom society in contempt left behind:

The ghettos, slums, fringe communities of outcasts;

the prostitutes, addicts, paraplegics, psychiatrics,

 all those who are lost and hungry for the truth,

he will find and until his appointed departure time,

heal them, save them, satisfy their yearning,

showing them the deepest love one will ever know.

Commentary of the observer

Faith, Poetry, politics

 

Commentary of the observer

What left is there to say?

When profit has more value than life

When religion is a machine gun that mows down the dove

When young girls sell their virgin bodies

When information is shackled to those in authority

the media a fly in the web of the state

When mature becomes a commercial commodity

When children fight mature battles

 and education becomes careful indoctrination —

What rationale’s worth explaining

that one changing action

a thousand times can’t say?

Media Immunity

Poetry, Uncategorized

 

Media Immunity

Our hearts and minds have synthesized

from concern to in-difference.

Briefly, the red-stained headlines invoke

spontaneous outrage, briefly…

Only before the turning page

followed by the next day’s live events.

Few are chilled by the stunning stats,

shattered limbs in black body-bags,

scintillating, debris-strewn streets,

this death,

that disaster,

this —

that —

And in other news this fine day…