A tapestry lightly stitched,
a Turin shroud of time.
It is a vision of our birth and crucifixion.
a Jesus still ascending
while travelling our own via Dolorosa.
I glimpse of a Christhood rising
within both I and you.
Now the weave unwinds,
threads twist in a rootless wind.
Father, a spool of memories is unravelling
is it a nativity or an extinction?
Linen soaked in life or death
stains the same.
When I was a kid, Watson and Crick’s discovery of DNA
Was still a bit like science fiction and not completely understood
Dreams of curing cancer, never growing old, viral vaccinations
Mapping out the human genome would make them proud of us
Splicing genes with CRISPR Cas9 Vectors
Is still only just the beginning,
We’ve barely touched the tip of the iceberg
Still, one day, like in the Star Trek universe
With a simple shot from hypo spray
No more COVID and Dr. Flox would send us on our way
But life is not TV land
I suppose God must have other plans
Perhaps He’s not so pleased that
Science is the new religion of this Day N Age
He’s really going to be surprised when we scrape the shroud of Turin
For some Jesus DNA
And clone the Son of God so we can look him in the eyes
And pray tell we may say,
“What the hell have we done, oh Spliceosome?”
Born of Christmas day to heal the world to save
this child of love expelled His rarest gift, His light
He shone upon the earth from deep within a cave
On that first blest Noel like a star in the night
He shared His worth His joy so lovingly and true
this child of love expelled His rarest gift, His light
Gathered in a stable where animals withdrew
this Jew of Saintly cloth was born but never cried
He shared His worth His joy so lovingly and true
Bethlehem star of Peace, He could not be denied
inside a world of sin a Savior soon would win
this Jew of Saintly cloth was born but never cried
He could be our brother, our sister, next of kin
this warrior of truth, this man of Sacred Grace
inside a world of sin a Savior soon would win
Holy Shroud of Turin the imprint of His face
Born of Christmas day to heal the world to save
this warrior of truth, this man of Sacred Grace
He shone upon the earth from deep within a cave.
I bought the shroud of Turin
the vatican had a sale
they have legal expenses
and priests that needed bail.
It was just an old dusty cloth
so I put it in the wash
that Tide detergent, never fails
all the smudges and stuff washed off.
don’t get excited, i was raised a catholic
As the drums go off in the cavern we a whole village sit together in unison we end up foaming green bubbles and slime from our mouths and our eyes going back white as snow which we will never see. The man in the middle was an albino pastor, his name was Nimbus and Nimbus was a king. He prigged the flesh he wears now but for he had a true deglamorized form. A pink-skinned devil with a crown of hay who places a squirrel and bees enswathed in the shroud of Turin. When fully covered a loud voice from within a bolt of lightning pierce the very top of the cavern we all were still foaming on our knees agog to what it had to say. Be demerged my sons for the moon has blessed you with this power that you both hold and from the shroud were twin boys we stopped foaming the twins one who controlled the earth and the other who controlled the very shadows themselves. For hail, the twin kings for one is the lord of the moon to desist the tribe of elves, the other was the ruler of the sun who worked with the great giant red octopus that resides in the sun.
Giacomo Balla an inventive artist from Turin
whose moving art always give me a grin
He tried to depict light,movement&speed
see how his effort* did succeed
Stephen used to have sprinter Richard Whitehead,
As a team member when he did play ice hockey,
Before he became a sonar sailor, the water to wed,
In disability sport, the key was his sporting degree.
He played for the under 18 Wales rugby union team,
Because he lives in Bridgend, from Ogmore Valley,
Then he contracted meningoccal septicaemia, deem,
‘Cos this amputated his legs to make everything ok.
His ice hockey team did well coming third in Turin,
And in Athens at the World’s his team got a bronze,
Then in Beijing they came sixth in that hot condition,
But was disappointed at London by penalty neons.
Richard Whitehead is really a marathon runner,
But when he wanted to compete in the stunner,
In the London Marathon in 2012, he found battle,
So had to turn to para sprinting with his bottle.
So in the Paralympics of London city in 2012,
He ran in the T42 category, the 200m stealth,
When he seemed behind until the very end,
Until he won in 24.38secs round the bend.
In his earlier career he competed at the 2006,
Winter Paralympics in Turin when he did mix,
With the ice sledge hockey players dexterous,
Without his prosthetics, and he was ambitious.
Whitehead is the first ever appointed patron,
Of Sarcoma UK, for bone and tissue action;
He looks after PE in the borough of Gedling,
And hopes to run Britain’s length, for his bing.
Pope embarassed, clergy disgraced,
twenty year mission, lost in space
Angels discovered, (LGBT group with wings)
warm in the stable, cherubim sings
Turin Shroud faker, waits pearly gate,
will his deception, decide a grim fate?
NASA confounded, confused and reeling,
funding withdrawn for project supreme being
Millions starve while archbishops get fatter,
martyrs revive, to discuss the latter
TV preachers line their pockets, blaming
zion for failing rockets
Somewhere, nowhere Jehovah watches,
smiling strong at earthly botches
Sends down for men, new commandments,
guilded words without transendence
Only one instead of ten, simple words
etched out for men, read quite clear the
Meaning’s plain,
DON’T SEND UP A ROCKET AGAIN!
O my Lord I try and understand
as I gaze upon your shroud
where you became a being of light
ascending to heaven upon a cloud...
I see bloodstained image of crucified man
who wore crown on thorns upon His head
a face of such peaceful slumber
every pain you suffered can be read..
O my Lord much like you
love has left me crucified
I wear my own crown of thorns
I search for love and have been denied..
I see the face of death's giving
true I have loved and lost
send me a woman among the living
my arms around her spread like a cross..
Lead me out of this garden tomb
alone in my bed of impregnated linen
praying for love and my sins forgiven
and a love to be forever shrouded in Turin..
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Just believe us, we see Jesus”...from my poem “The Shroud of Turin”
The Shroud of Turin bears a loving face
It gives Christians a miracle to embrace
With tests scientists hope faith will erase
*The debate of the authenticity of the Shroud of Turn has been going on for centuries. Scientists have employed carbon dating and other techniques to debunk its authenticity. Why can’t they let those of us who believe it is Christ’s face see it is a miracle?
By CD
Take this card,
take any card,
and know your fate,
or discard,
both theory and invention,
my reality and yours,
ignorance and substitution,
illusion, and delusion...
Is your card not The Hermit?
The Fool's retreat,
into passivity,
into defeat...
Have you forgotten life?
Have you placed a candle at the altar,
infront of the pew,
in wretched wood,
where you took your seat,
wavering your doubtful hand,
over the demonscroll,
the bound holy sheet...
Turin Shroud,
our ressurected Lord,
confound;
silent miracle,
so soft,
with peachy flesh,
blue as The Hanged man,
...oh how he spins!
Have you ever seen rope weave,
the threads of death,
so beatifully,
reflecting the serene,
etherized,
etherealised,
in the pale sickly sheen.
Deceptive Griselda is not so fair
She conceals her real age, will not declare
On the Net she croons love’s tunes
To make all the young men swoon
A fantasyland like hers is so rare
The secrets that she always locks within
Mysterious as the Shroud of Turin
‘Twould be easier to gauge
The much-debated shroud’s age
Than guess the date of photos she's seen in
Wherever she goes, she carries laptops
Sexy blog posts from nursing home rooftops
Delusional minds deceive
Some catch on, some still believe
But at 87; her figure’s flopped
Entry for Tracie's contest
My hubby came home with a grin
Said “I’ve booked us a trip to Turin”
I found my bikini
it looked oh so teeny
now I’m fasting to fit myself in
I cut out the chocolate and cake
well apart from one tiny mistake
on my diet of pear
gently poached in fresh air
I should soon be as thin as a rake
But my efforts were sadly in vain
My wobbly bits were for stayin
They just wouldn’t budge
So I brought out the fudge
ate it all, now I’m praying for rain
I never believed in divinity
Until I saw you...
And was brought nose to nose with Heaven
Staring back at me through your luminous eyes
I was never religious...
But the night I found you I fell on my knees
And sent up a grateful prayer
To whatever deified ears would listen
I couldn’t believe I had been chosen for this miracle
To receive my very own angel
I couldn’t believe you were real
I fretted and worried all that night
Tossing and turning in my strangling bedclothes
Hoping you weren’t some phantom of my imagination
Like those Jesus faces in the clouds
Or the shroud of Turin
I begged the gods to let you be real
And sure enough the next time I saw you
Your graceful hands caressed my cheek,
A shiver rippled through my bones...
Ghosts don’t have warm flesh
Ghosts don’t have thick black hair that tickles the nose
You were solid, warm,
You were real...
You were my guardian angel with translucent wings
Now I do believe in miracles
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