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   Author  Topic: Joe Dees' Poetry  (Read 2509 times)
Hermit
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Joe Dees' Poetry
« on: 2002-03-13 04:12:52 »
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Poetry and Prose from one of the icon's of the CoV, Joe Dees who self-identifies as a "Poet, Pagan and Philosopher".
« Last Edit: 2005-11-13 23:32:36 by Hermit » Report to moderator   Logged

With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion. - Steven Weinberg, 1999
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For Minnie Lee
« Reply #1 on: 2002-03-13 04:17:38 »
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For Minnie Lee

    The registered letter came wednesday.
    Dad was off having the car fixed.  We called the garage.
    "Open it and read it to me", he said.
    It was Minnie Lee.

    We drove over Thursday.
    Her niece met us at the rest home.
    "She's been this way a week now;
    I couldn't find your number."  We went in.

    My grandmother was tied down on the bed, moaning, trying to rise.
    Her hair was a thin pale halo wafting around her head,
    Her skin a sheet of warm wax sunken into it,
    Dark holes for eyes.  Maamamaamamaama she moaned.
    Mother patted her hands.  She didn't notice.
    The mass in her stomach had grown more rapidly
    The past few months, we were told.
    There was never talk of surgery.  She was ninety-three.
    There were no tubes, no machines.  No Heroic measures.
    "We're giving her what we can for the pain,
    Every three hours."  It was not often enough.
    She would sleep two hours, then suffer one.

    When my turn at the bedside came, I held those frail fingers
    between my palms, and tride to get through to her,
    And to thank her, by talking of childhood memories.
    "Meemaw, it's me.  Do you remember how I used to climb
    All over the old magnolia tree?  How we'd sit out
    Underneath the porch of that big pillared white antebellum home?
    And then you'd lead us across the street to the general store
    You and Granddad owned, and five us candy for free."
    She squeezed my hand - so hard! - seemed to look at me
    And called my long dead grandfather's name.
    "Hold me!", she pled.  My father, his face crumpling
    Stumbled out of the room.  Releasing my hand
    Minnie Lee began calling for her mama again;
    A desperate child begging for deliverance
    >From a pain that could neither be stood nor fled.

    I left to see to my father.  He was in the hall
    head bowed and shoulders slumped, leaning against the wall.
    "Promise me son youi'll never let it go this far
    With me", he begged.  My father is emphysemic
    from thirty years of Winstons, undergoes daily lung therapy
    And must sleep on oxygen.
    My mother and I got him out of there.
    There was nothing more we could do for my grandmother
    But pray for her to die.  And she did, next day.

    The graveside service was Sunday.
    We drove over in the rain.
    The full gospel minister made use of the opportunity
    To proselytize.  He had not witnessed her passing.

    I bit my lip and held my tongue, but I
    So wanted to tell him
    That funerals are for the living, not the dead
    And for the mourners, not the preachers.
    And that it was unjust beyond redemption for my Minnie Lee
    To be forced to pass through the gates of Hell
    To enter Heaven.


Joe E. Dees, Poet, Pagan, Philosopher, 2002

Posted to the CoV
Subject: Re: virus: statue of mirrors II- judas' children
Author: Joe Dees
Sent: Sun 2002-02-17 22:52
« Last Edit: 2002-04-24 00:20:24 by Hermit » Report to moderator   Logged

With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion. - Steven Weinberg, 1999
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Koreshi Fragment
« Reply #2 on: 2002-03-13 20:21:34 »
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Koreshi Fragment

    Forsake the dark bedeviled world
    And glean the light from me.
    That which no mortal soul can know, I'll tell.
    I shall the hidden depths of Scriptures plumb.
    I shall reveal the secrets of the Seven Seals.
    I shall tease the veils from ageless enigmas
    Leaving them shorn before you.  Like a
    Thief I shall steal your confidence
    Passing charisma for wisdom and
    Welding your will to the fruition of
    My intentions, the satisfaction of
    My desires.  Joined at head, hip and heart, when the
    Doubting devils come, they must drag us down
    Together.


It was originally composed as an attempt to understand how such a pompous hemorrhoidal asshole as Koresh could get that many people to not only give their children over to him to fuck, but also to burn in a terrestrial hell with him.  I decided to post it to this list as a warning against any uncritical sycophancy, regardless of its source or destination.

Joe E. Dees, Poet, Pagan, Philosopher, 1999

Posted to the CoV
Subject: virus: Koreshi Fragment
Author: Joe Dees
Sent: Sun 1999-03-03 01:47
« Last Edit: 2002-04-24 00:20:06 by Hermit » Report to moderator   Logged

With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion. - Steven Weinberg, 1999
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Universe: Cosmos and Consciousness
« Reply #3 on: 2002-04-24 00:13:21 »
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Universe

(1)  Cosmos

The Cosmic Heart beats slowly.
Plenitude pulses point to point
All in All, singular wonder
Self contained, containing
Ending, none remaining, then
Begin again, forever
Finitude of everythings
Boundless curved compass
Circumscribing Isness
>From the fiery atom egg
Endlessly reborn.

(2)  Consciousness

Capillary sapience nourishes Being
With Meaning.  Our awareness the
Central mirror paradox
Part enfolding All, the
Heart's Mind and Senses
Cosmic Self-Reflection
Flowing toward a jelling Soul.

Joe E. Dees, Poet, Pagan, Philosopher, 1999

Posted to the CoV
Subject: Re: virus: Cosmic Ritual
Author: Joe Dees
Sent: 1999-06-30 15:36
« Last Edit: 2002-04-24 00:19:29 by Hermit » Report to moderator   Logged

With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion. - Steven Weinberg, 1999
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