Whether or not Jesus ever existed--I allude to those textual critics all over YouTube who make this claim, or strongly suggest it--the religions that "He" inspired inspired great works of art and architecture, not to mention other cultural contributions worthy of, for example, reading (C. S. Lewis, John Milton, Gerard Manly Hopkins).
So whether God-from-psychological-need, or having had an inexplicable mystical experience assuring one of something other and better,
or
True, that is s/he/it is irrefutable/historical fact--therefore evidence-based surety of existence, I still bow in reverence and respect and wonder and appreciation in the museums I go to, if admission is free, or as-you-deem-appropriate: to wit, Christian places of worship.
In my travels, I have visited these museums and without fail come away moved to silence by the simplicity or sumptuously adorned collections and installations on display. I recommend these culture centers.
Okay. I am a cheap tourist.
Monday, May 25, 2020
Free love, free dove*
There once was a lass from Brno,
who thought all men she did know.
But when she met me--
Her! I drove up a tree.
And she teased me a man with her show!
At the tree I gazed up as one should,
and I saw what everyone could.
There in little distress,
a shorter wonder-filled dress,
she promised me whatever I would.
For my view she backed the way down
to my waiting arms all around.
But against my delight,
she took a quick flight,
and escaped away to the town.
After I turned and that way I ran
as fast and faster--I can--
but when she got home,
I was left all alone.
So thus with my song I began.
She looked out the bed window
and said 'I'll not be a widow.
Climb the vine to me.
We can play like we're we.'
Sooo . . . went up for a jolly good go!
We two we trans-sported our love
until fate looked down from above.
He's a nasty old trickster.
Sad, I'm not longer with her.
She's back up her tree, a dove.
The moral you see--drive no girl up a tree,
for there you ne'er get what you see.
It's better to know
how things usually go.
For then you will like her--be free!
_____
* A Valentine's poem for . . . someone.
who thought all men she did know.
But when she met me--
Her! I drove up a tree.
And she teased me a man with her show!
At the tree I gazed up as one should,
and I saw what everyone could.
There in little distress,
a shorter wonder-filled dress,
she promised me whatever I would.
For my view she backed the way down
to my waiting arms all around.
But against my delight,
she took a quick flight,
and escaped away to the town.
After I turned and that way I ran
as fast and faster--I can--
but when she got home,
I was left all alone.
So thus with my song I began.
She looked out the bed window
and said 'I'll not be a widow.
Climb the vine to me.
We can play like we're we.'
Sooo . . . went up for a jolly good go!
We two we trans-sported our love
until fate looked down from above.
He's a nasty old trickster.
Sad, I'm not longer with her.
She's back up her tree, a dove.
The moral you see--drive no girl up a tree,
for there you ne'er get what you see.
It's better to know
how things usually go.
For then you will like her--be free!
_____
* A Valentine's poem for . . . someone.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)