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Natural Theology

Primitive

I ate my fill of a whale that died
And stranded after a month at sea. . . .
There is a pain in my inside.
Why have the Gods afflicted me?
Ow! I am purged till I am a wraith!
Wow! I am sick till I cannot see!
What is the sense of Religion and Faith:
Look how the Gods have afflicted me!

Pagan

How can the skin of rat or mouse hold
Anything more than a harmless flea?. . .
The burning plague has taken my household.
Why have my Gods afflicted me?
All my kith and kin are deceased,
Though they were as good as good could be,

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poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Death Of Aliatar

FROM THE SPANISH.

'Tis not with gilded sabres
That gleam in baldricks blue,
Nor nodding plumes in caps of Fez,
Of gay and gaudy hue--
But, habited in mourning weeds,
Come marching from afar,
By four and four, the valiant men
Who fought with Aliatar.
All mournfully and slowly
The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.

The banner of the Phenix,
The flag that loved the sky,
That scarce the wind dared wanton with,
It flew so proud and high--

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poem by William Cullen Bryant
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You Blame Your Baby's Mama

You're one of the 'could ofs'...
With an 'if' attached.
And a 'would of'...
As a perfect match.
With a 'should of'...
And a private stash If you had 'moolah',
Packed in stacks.

Oh you're one of the 'could ofs'...
With an 'if' attached.
And a 'would of'...
As a perfect match.
With a 'should of'...
And a private stash If you had 'moolah',
Packed in stacks.

But you blame your baby's mama.
And she's tired of your drama.

Yes!

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Examined From A Distance

When people fixed with allowed stubbornness,
Have gone overboard...
Inflicted with too much attention given,
While feeding their minds on poisonous adulation...
There will be those assisting without resisting this.
And as accessories refuse an active involvement,
Labelled to be seen but not apologetic.

There is a supporting of needs being fed to feed,
A mindlessness bent beyond control.
And remaining as ignorant as possible...
With senses numbed and flowing into engulfing seas.
And determined...
To supply whatever it is that is wished as a need,
In an atmosphere condoning betrayal and treason.
Deliveries done to quiet the dictates...
Of those spoiled with a getting sought,
With a vicious disregard for dignity and composure.
The soothing of a monster,
Becomes the number one priority!

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Lamentations of Jeremiah I: Sorrows of Captive Zion

1 How doth the city sit solitary,
that was full of people!
How is she become as a widow!
She that was great among the nations,
and princess among the provinces,
how is she become tributary!

2 She weepeth sore in the night,
and her tears are on her cheeks:
among all her lovers she hath none to comfort her:
all her friends have dealt treacherously with her,
they are become her enemies.

3 Judah is gone into captivity
because of affliction, and because of great servitude:
she dwelleth among the heathen,
she findeth no rest:
all her persecutors overtook her between the straits.

4 The ways of Zion do mourn,

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poem by Prophet Jeremiah
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You've Got The Life

You've got the life.
And love,
With joy.
Right there within you.
If you knew...
what it is you must do,
To...
See it through.
Committed.
As if afflicted with obligation.

You!
Don't turn around.
I am talking to you.

You've got the life.
And love,
With joy.
Right there within you.
If you knew...

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Unable To Admit It

Accept your wounds and scars?
To forgive and forget the fact,
That upon me they have been afflicted?
No love that deep will I ever have,
For anyone who believes I can be left...
With tears wept to then leave me,
Grieving over 'their' pain and anguish.

Accept your wounds and scars?
To forgive and forget the fact,
That upon me they have been afflicted?
What makes you think to you I am addicted?
What has you convinced,
A relationship with you makes sense?
I've long been healed from your abuses.

Accept your wounds and scars,
To leave imprinted on my mind when you please?
You just don't get it do you?
When I said I loved you...

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Uprising Of Conflicts

How profound,
Statements made in the past...
Have come back to trespass,
To capture imaginations...
With undivided attention given to them.

'Chickens have come home to roost.'
Boasted one from a pulpit,
To cause an uproar to despise him.

'The practice of cowardice when facing racial tensions.'
One had mentioned to declare a people,
And their daily affairs to describe denials everywhere.

But it is all out there!
As if prophets had prescribe them.
Leaving bliss and ignorance no longer a satisfying mix.
In a world where lives are being afflicted,
By the uprising of conflicts based upon race,
AND religious sentiments.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Cross Foretold

Seven hundred years before Jesus Christ ever walked on the earth,
Isaiah prophesied that He would be born through a virgin birth,

There was much misunderstanding in the land by those who heard it,
As they simply didn’t understand it would be through The Holy Spirit.

He would be born in a little town near Jerusalem called Bethlehem,
His name will be Jesus, for He will save His people from their sin.

Isaiah went on to explain the cross in Christ’s life as he appealed,
Who has believed and to whom has the arm of The Lord been revealed?

He, having no beauty or majesty, and having no appearance of a king,
Was not desired, but despised, rejected and familiar with suffering.

Although there was nothing in His appearance for them to desire Him,
God’s desire for them was to make His Son one-day a guilt offering.

As Isaiah compared us to sheep going astray, each of us his own way,
Jesus would be afflicted and by oppression and Judgment taken away,

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poem by Bob Gotti
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The Good Ship Capitilism

The cry's of the poor rise up from the sea of oppression
And still the waves grow higher
The ship sails relentlessly on into the golden horizon
And now the sea is on fire

Wont you turn the ship around they cry
And the sharks draw near
This ship's to big to turn around
And the golden horizon would surely disappear

Ah, how great its been since we threw those
people overboard
So much more for you and I, and yours and mine
So much more for us to hoard

It was all ours anyway, those people
did nothing for what they had
Oh look, the sharks are starting to devour
Ah well thats just to bad

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poem by Frank McEleny
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