Category Archives: religion

Donald Trump, GreaT leader, Good Book and sometimes churchgoing man, strong Law’n’order man and Lord knows what else.

No Sanctuary.

When God- and a good photo opportunity calls
Don beats a path to St John’s soot-stained walls
Where over those peaceably gathered a shadow falls.

Here’s where his political salvation may be found,
Don feels the need to make a stand on holy ground;
Strange, when odds are he’s downward bound.

Donald might not have bent a knee in years
But see him wave that bible as the smoke clears,
Christ alone knows this disservice will end in tears.

We’re supposed to be social animals, not solitary. Yet even in these Covid required socially distanced days, there IS a tiny silver lining. Hey, you’ve got to believe that’s something.

A Closed Book.

These are devilishly long hard days to be living in
For those devoted to leading sinners away from sin,
Those righteous souls who do as their Saviour tasked-
Saints who you witness rockin’ up to your door, unasked.

Now in this lockdown they can’t answer their Calling,
For those sent to spread His word ’tis Gawdawfully galling;
Pity those fresh missionaries, stuck in the invidious position
Of not being out and about recycling their God given mission.

The constraints of secular law include even the devout,
Even Gods foot-soldiers must toe the line and not step out,
They can’t gather en-masse at either temple or Kingdom Hall,
For Witnesses or LDS’s with OCD it must drive ’em up the wall.

Now social distancing means no neighborhood outreaching;
Ain’t a saint alive who’d deny the lure of back street preaching,
But locked in, forbidden to congregate with others of their flock?
Gazing at their own door, biting their knuckles, so tempted to knock.

Yea, the good and faithful must sit at home, with idle hands,
Call me cynical, but if He’s real I really hope He understands-
If your door rappers see this pestilential visitation as Your test
I take great comfort knowing your troopers have to give it a rest.

At least the Witnesses can kneel- and resole their boots,
And the bros on bicycles can press their shiny-assed suits,
Thanks, Lord, now I have time to seek some signs of my own-
Private Property Keep Out, Go with God, leave me the hell alone.

 

©Obbverse

The true believers are, of late, being beset by trials and tribulations. ‘Frinstance the attendees of the New Deliverance Evangelistic Church of Chesterfield.

And Then There’s The Bad News…

In the packed Chesterfield New Evangelical pews
The rapt congregants strained to hear the Good News,
Another finely inflected sermon by Bishop Gerry Glenn;
What comfort we took in his ringing words, back then.

With the blind faith that’s held true for two thousand years,
With eyes rolling up towards Heaven Glenn quelled all fears,
‘My God is mightier than any puny virus’ he sermonised,
Unfortunately, his theology proved to be compromised.

Now the mighty voice of God has faded away
And those left in his congregation quietly say
‘No one regrets being here to hear Glenn preach
but just how far and wide did his last words reach?’

When he runs the greatest economy in the world, the President tells us when and where the buck stops.

Pay Dirt.

This all started just like a touch of common flu-
Nothing a president couldn’t power through,
But then people sickened, they started to cough,
Took to their sick beds, and, worse, sick days off.

Soon the busy president made it crystal clear-
News of a pandemic he did not wish to hear,
No way would he let his ‘Merica  shut up shop,
A stalled economy- why, life might as well stop!

Now for this profit president, suddenly so much is at stake,
Wow, now see him go, (though he was slow on the uptake,)
Don now tells everyone, stay a healthy six feet apart-
Pity he’s given the virus a GreaT big flying head start.

But he’s never been a man renowned for his patience,
Now the prez wants to fast-track this testing of patients,
Donald demands an overnight cure for this dark disease-
Suddenly there’s a light at the end of the tunnel only he sees.

His brilliant plan B is to wish and pray this illness away,
He’s aiming to have the churches packed in on Easter day,
Some brave Bishop please tell him that would be a blunder,
Ironically, stories of resurrection might put one six feet under.

 

©Obbverse

How to survive the Coronavirus- all it takes is simple folk remedies, like a little faith, hope and gullibility. And donations, according to Bishop Brian Tamaki. Jeez, who on earth could or would fake this?

Messianic, Charismatic And Miasmatic.

In these bleak black days of plague and pestilence
Who guides us through confusion by talking sense?
In times of trouble, when damned doubt creeps in
Whose words will save us from every ill-gotten sin?

Oh, anointed oily Bishop Brian, full of grease,
Our good God on earths all-knowing mouthpiece,
Your followers, your simple flock are truly desirous
To hear you tell us all how to lick this Coronavirus?

Tell us, Brother, what have you heard from Him on high?
Or as those sad disbelievers say, that big pie in the sky.

*‘Satan has control of the atmospheres’ you do say?
Follow Brian’s advice or there’s an infernal price to pay?
Unless *‘you’re a born-again Jesus-loving bible-believing
Tithe-paying believer’ it’ll be the last rites you’re receiving?

Ah, but Bishop Brian’s tithes aren’t a set ten percent any longer?
Twenty percent guarantees Brian’s protection is a little stronger,
But Brian’s two-bits more protection takes you up to a full quarter-
So go get blessed, get batptised, don’t hold your head above water.

Will Brian’s good word save one soul from Deaths scythe?
If not, surely Brian’s heart will weigh as heavy as his tithe?

* Words in bold– direct quotes from the good Bishop Brian, gawd help us.

 

©Obbverse.

Welcome to a blended extended thermo-nuclearly unhappy family. Not to mention, family planning.

A Few Hard Home Truths.

What a grand and great relationship
We’ve forged lovingly together,
We’ll not let our moorings slip
Despite bouts of inhospitable weather.

We’ve now been married for a year,
They say the first one is the worst,
But most who hold us near and dear
See we’re so loved-up we could almost burst.                                                                                                  ,
I’m grateful for this little home we share,
Your family is largely accommodating,
But believe me, I’ve been made painfully aware
That some pleasure in my company’s dissipating.

Every day our love grows stronger
Than it was the day before,
But, Love, it won’t last much longer
If I must abide with Mother-in-law.

I do so love my lovely wife
Yet it feels we still live in sin,
Yes, we’re blessedly Wedding Mass sanctified
But these humble walls are paper thin.

So here we are on our anniversary
And as my darling leans in for a kiss
Through the wall I hear my old adversary-
In the kitchen, hear the steaming boilers hiss?

So let’s not stay celibately in tonight,
Lets sneak out and celebrate our wedding day,
We’ll luxuriate in the Hotel Grands suite delight-
Sometimes we all need to get off and away.

 

 

©Obbverse

In Christchurch we have had our troubles, Lord knows. Earthquakes, the odd bush fire, mosque attacks, all manner of tribulations. Ah, but one short decade on from the quakes, look at the progress we’ve made… Are making.

I Saw.

I recall it was nigh on ten years ago
When a mighty earthquake laid the old town low,
Even our Goth thick Cathedral fell to pieces-
Why, my wonder in Gods protection never ceases.

Rather than pass the collection plate
The good and faithful would call on AllState,
And lo, the parishioners put in their claim,
But no, AllState said ‘God acting up is to blame.’

Bishop and congregation began to pray-
Sometimes You work in a damn peculiar way-
If the Churches insurance claim gets denied
In times of trouble surely God should provide?

But Gods flock stand as a house divided,
What to do when the cheque is provided?
To replicate the folly they’ve always known?
To roll up their sleeves and roll away the stone?

Yea, for years lawyers and the devout
Have both fought about putting a hand out,
Short tempered preachers continue to rail,
Long winded lawyers find more devilish detail.

All the while the Cathedral sits there,
A tumble-down godforsaken rotten nightmare,
The font is awash in dandelions and nettles,
While factions moan, the ruin groans and settles.

Stray cats wander through the pews, row upon row,
Through broken stained glass a cold wind doth blow,
This habitat for cats gives one pause to think-
Gods house must harbour one Hell of a stink.

Finally, when the filthy lucre is disbursed
The Church Council thinks- (there’s always a first,)
After years of genuflectual prayerful thought
They’ll rebuild- pending a leeengthy builders report.

This rebuild requires more than a dab of mortar,
True, the riven roof does turn rain into holey water,
But when Gods congregation look up on high
It would be nice not to see Your sky. And stay dry.

Behind rusty chain link moulders a pile of rubble;
Is resurrecting it worth all this blessed time and trouble?
It would take a miracle and a fortune to be raised,
Or, God willing, another earthquake so it can be razed.

There’s funds been raised to re-raise the roof
But this lofty rebuild will still prove insurance proof,
Best bring in a wrecking ball and end the debate,
Drain the water, toss in the towel, write off the slate.

This sunny Sunday I struck off on a stroll uptown,
The sodden sight and site only served to bring me down,
Up high in yon rafters rafts of pigeons coo and sit,
Who wishes to be worshipful, knee deep in poo and shit?

 

 

©Obbverse

Some of us hope those old ‘someday my prince will come, a marriage made in heaven, happily ever after’ stories might just come true. This rarely happens to the average Joe though. Still, sometimes the fairy tale can happen. So I believe.

Daddy Of Them All.

She claimed she was oh-so-pure,
Maintained it was none but he she’d love,
Gave her cross-my-heart swear-to-god word,
Then her bitter tears cascaded to the ground
And she wailed for all she was worth.

So sweet, innocent, oh-so-demure,
Inculpable of what he was thinking of,
Still, that ol’ devil doubt uneasily stirred,
He looked up, but no answer there he found;
Can angels fall, down here on earth?

Sure, now  he might not be quite so sure,
But hadn’t his love sworn to heaven above?
Then when the magical miraculous event occurred
Rather than let the bad word get spread around
Father Joe and mother Mary announce: a virgin birth.

 

(I fear an apology is necessary,
So, sorry.
If I’ve offended I meant no harm,
So, so sorry.
Sweet Jesus, Joseph and Mary,
Christ knows I’m sorry.
I pray the third one’s the charm?)

 

©Obbverse.

A new year, a new start. Work from home! No set hours, no commute, no supervisors, no deadlines! There’s no downside, so who wouldn’t kick the door down when given the opportunity?

Give Me Strength.

Working from home is all very well
But my kitchen table looks like Hell,
There’s paperwork piled up by the ream-
I’m regretting being the only ‘I’ in my team.

Come daybreak I’d powered the lap-top up
Feeling less than perky till I poured a cup,
It was my first, it wouldn’t be the last,
MSGs from the boss scrolled in thick and fast.

Me and my lap-top, awash in caffeine,
A constant flow of Java Joe and Benzedrine,
I can’t get the boss off my ass nor my phone,
He don’t like my attitude, I don’t like his tone.

I worked grimly on all morn without a break,
My dutifulness all but proved a big mistake,
Call it a little inkling, call it something in my water
But I couldn’t cut being caught short any shorter.

By now I found it was nigh on high noon
And I was sick of dancing to my boss’s tune,
My actions might wind up getting me the boot
But when I flipped him off the phone went mute.

As I tossed some tasteless treat in the microwave
I mused I was over being the boss’s galley slave,
The boss is truly testing the patience of his Job guy
Thought I, turning my eye and microwave up on High.

I was looking forward to my lunch and quiet time
When I heard an unexpected door chime,
My stomach grumbled, I slapped hand to brow,
Who or what kind of fresh Hell is this now?

I opened the door and there they stood-
Three of God’s chosen, here spreading good,
Teeth as bright and white as Gods shining light
Here to tell this wrongdoer how He’ll put me right.

I’ve had (too) many theological conversations before
But never with one who’s slipped a foot in the door,
So even as my lack-lustre lunch was still revolving
Their patently creative argument began devolving.

My patience was wearing mighty thin
And verily, is not trespassing a sin?
So I asked for strength from above
And gave the door an almighty shove.

Still, what one uttered came as a shock-
I swear to God I was born in wedlock-
Brother, I’m sure you regret what you said
And wish you’d taken a vow of silence instead.

But it’s difficult to remain hushed
With both spirits and foot crushed,
And, oh Dear God, as for me-
Sorry about the blasphemy.

I do not foresee seeing that sorry lot back again,
I hope I’ve been blacklisted as bad, mad and profane,
Should they return on my door I’ll stick up my sign-
‘If your’e doing Gods work, go away, I’m doing mine.’

 

©Obbverse

The parable of Pope Francis and how he mingles with the masses. Let’s have a a big hand to anyone who can see signs of someone getting cross?

Sorry, Apology.

As your Pope I deeply and profoundly regret
If my slap-happy action caused the lady upset.

But to my flock all I ask is to patiently stand
And let your pontiff extend his blessed hand.

Kindly wait for your trembling hand to be taken,
To grab it in a death-grip will surely leave me shaken.

Remember, we don’t press the flesh in the Vatican,
Your man of God is frail and fractious at eighty-one.

To cling to His Eminence’s hand may be no mortal sin
But my patience and arthritic bones are now wafer thin.

So ma’am, forgive me, I’ll be eternally in your debt,
I’m only human, with no certainty of a sainthood yet.

 

Obbverse