20160923 (fakir)

Kenneth M. Copeland's church provides him an elaborate mansion in Texas equipped with an airfield from which he flies the church's multi-million dollar jet on family vacations and preaching tours; he is a billionaire televangelist, swindler, and pied piper to the willfully ignorant. Cf. Donald J. Trump.

I’ve been watching YouTube 

Videos waiting for my cat

Sophia finally to drag her

Gallivanting furry butt in at

Night so we can all get to bed.

From College Humor to films

Explaining how to fly WWII

Fighters, how to build houses

In the third world with mud

Packed into bricks, how to

Properly pop pimples--I’ve 

Even clicked on televangelists 

To see what I’m missing, and

Discovered a whole realm 

Of willful ignorance inside a 

Citizenry rich in education.

I may be overestimating 

The intelligence of average 

Americans as I watch Kenneth 

Copeland and Creflo Dollar

Openly warp religious texts to

Scam the faithful of the last 

Pennies of their retirements or

Final hundred to max out their

Credit cards. Historically we’ve

Been notably cheatworthy from

Snake oil to the machinations of

Bernie Madoff.  Plying the trade

Today is the narcissist Donald J.

Common to these swindlers is

The enablingly unchecked jones

Of the victims for easy wealth,

Untroubled resolution of 

Individual or national disquiet. 

They want answers so deeply

They will not critique anyone

Who promises them Easy Street 

A little way down an easy road.

The Prosperity shysters call for

Seeds of a thousand dollars to be

Planted (given to their ministries)

And promise the return will be 

“An hundredfold” as it is written

In their holy book. Those late-

Night/early morning investment

Counselors reprise the claim:

“Follow our rules and you will 

Outperform the market by

Fifty, one hundred, two hundred

Percent. Set your own goals.”

Unsafe neighborhood? I’ve got

The answer. Need a job? We’ll

Bring your old one back from

Mexico. Upset that we’re losing

Wars? I’ll win them. I’ve got

A plan for anything that ails 

You. You don’t need no educated

Theologians, no experts who have

Both won and lost on Wall Street,

No politicians who’ve got years

Of solid experience. It’s all so 

Much easier than you think: 

Just give me your tithe, your

Money, your vote. The blessing

Is on its way. Your monthly

Statements will show how your

Shares and profits are growing.

Watch me. What have you got

To lose? I’m the only one who

Can handle ISIS, your taxes,

Your jobs. I’m a businessman.

I know how to create jobs. I 

Employ thousands. Solomon,

Opening Proverbs, states

His purpose: To teach

Shrewdness to the simple, 

Knowledge and prudence 

To the young—let the wise

Also hear and gain in learning,

And the discerning acquire skill,

To understand a proverb and

A figure, the words of the 

Wise and their riddles. The fear 

Of the Lord is the beginning

Of knowledge; fools despise 

Wisdom and instruction. The

Combination of greed and

Infantile will is why so many

Of our Bible-belted brothers

And sisters turn from real

Knowing to place their hopes

In charlatans.

c, J.S.Manista, 2016

20160914 (appreciate)

Beautiful woman? Check. Green eyes? Check. Red hair? Check. Pleasant
voice? Check. Can read romantic poetry in cool breezes while wearing
yellow skirt and white blouse? Stop. You had me at "beautiful woman."

An aging man is a crazy man.

Look at me, ahead of schedule

On the charts of decrepitude

In every way but the fleshy 

Appetites of my youth. I 

Hunger after beautiful women

Like Loki dives after every

Squirrel. I ask him “What

If you got one? You wouldn’t

Know what to do.” Alas, there

I fail twice—unable to catch,

Unable to consume. Their

Lithe supple thighs would 

Spring them yards from my

Grasp where they could stand

And laugh unafraid, hear me 

Wheeze and gasp, clutching 

My chest as I would rather 

Clutch theirs. It’s unseemly.

To confess even worse. Didn’t

He have a satisfying youth?

Wasn’t he dearly in love with

His beautiful wife? It’s bad 

Enough when the preteens

Look at us and smack their lips.

Soon, punkies, you’ll get your

Chance. But old men ought 

To know better. They have

Daughters, maybe granddaughters,

Our age. How would they feel

About their old friends leering

At us leaping on tennis courts

In flouncy skirts? I’d hate to

Think what goes on in their

Heads when we show up some

Evening in a tight black sheath,

Our hair done, pearls, a little

Eye makeup, and a plunging

Neckline. Not my own father

Gaping madly at every woman 

At the table, in the restaurant,

At the theater! Maybe we all

Should take our martinis and

Douse each one of them 

Just for starters—the pigs!

I’d be wet for a while but

We’d all get over it. The fire 

That can’t burn still won’t

Go out, whatever the stock of

Cocktails. It happens every time 

I see M and yesterday I met

L who fits the ideal pattern

Imprinted on my DNA--

A little freckling, green eyes,

Red hair I think, lovely thin

Ankles supporting heaven 

In between, and from both

Pleasant voices, reading to me

Romantic poets on a blue

Summery day, like yesterday,

As cool breezes toy with 

Their hair and pages flutter

In the sun like hems on yellow

Dresses while lapels of white

Blouses flap and kiss their cheeks. 

c. J.S.Manista, 2016

20160912 (end)

http://www.truth-out.org/news/item/22521climate-disruption-
dispatches-with-dahr-jamail

Ordinarily you won’t find me

Among the End-Timers, those

White bearded dudes in robes

Carrying hand lettered signs

On sticks warning, “Repent. 

The end is at hand.” But today

After reading Dahr Jamail’s

Latest Climate Disruption

Dispatch in Truthout I’ve

Had to consider seriously

Whether that is my calling.

I’ve long feared I’m playing

Cassandra in my little portion

Of the earth and its children.

I’ve spoken up at church to

Alert people that the day to

Do something serious about

Climate change has passed

And that our only course is

To huddle with our children

And pray that when the end

Comes, it comes quickly. For

We have ignored corrective

Action for far too long. We have

Set the stones rolling downhill—

Our matches have ignited the

Unquenchable wicks and there’s

Little to do but tick off the few

Remaining seconds of our 

Inglorious reign on the planet—

Those congressional wizards

Maintaining God has promised

Never again to destroy us by

Flood, notwithstanding. No, 

It will be fire this time. No 

Question of whether the world

Will end in fire or ice, for ice,

However nice it may suffice,

Will all be melted never to form

Again. No snowflakes to land

And disappear on our youngsters’

Tongues, no snowballs to topple

Warm wool headgear as we rush

To get into schools and away from

Wintry blasts. If we rush at all it

Will be to get into air-conditioned

Cars, buildings, homes momentarily

Safe from the new locusts who

Will be busily devouring every

Plant from bud to leaf to stem

To root. The universe may have

Some populations who survive,

Having avoided cooking their 

Own planets, who come here to

Marvel over our cinder, much 

Like we today visit Pompeii

And wonder, “What were they

Thinking?”—to live so close to

Imminent danger, to risk family

And future. They can be forgiven.

They had little to warn them—no

Movies of lava flows, no geology

To rank-order the likelihood of 

Their demise over the centuries.

But we have it all. Warnings piled

On warnings from every science

From every school. As we go

About our business let us pray

It comes quickly.

c. J.S.Manista, 2016