Joshua Meander

Pagan Mass
 

Swaying in these here aisles
I may spur on a Pagan Mass.
 
No time for singing praises
To jewel-bedecked icons:
Within leaves of murky trees
Minstrels swing unfailingly;
Music for a naked dance
Resounds amidst a rainstorm.
 
Arise to spirituals!
 
Can you feel Venus?
No fooling now.
Can you feel Venus?
 
[ Men shout }
“Sure can, and how!”
 
Tell me, are you on firm ground?
No fooling now.
Tell me, are you on firm ground?
 
{ Women shout }
“Sure makes me yowl!”
 
You’re next to a faithful man.
 
Toss a wreath to a friend.
He’ll catch a tambourine,
Rejoicing like a fountain
As his struggle with hardship
Explodes in peals of sweat.
 
Agony of repression
A phase of overcoming
Divided community.
Let us commune and worship
In storefronts of the downcast.
None but charlatans dispute
The joyous revelries that
Mark the people’s sweet revolt.
 
My tears are scorching, folks.
Can I have a witness?
{ One voice }
“I’ll testify.”
Amen!
Echo amen, folks.
“Amen!”
 

Joshua Meander © 2009

Cry, Baby  

 

 

Through the walls of the apartment
Next door, a newborn baby’s crying,
Brassy as a hurricane,
Screaming octaves as potent
As Hasidim weeping earnestly.
Cry on, baby. The world is scary.
Wail like a jazz trumpeter
In his attempt to wake the
Sleeping prophet in us all.
The real coming attractions
Are lurid enough to make pimps sob.
 
Caption after caption, the handgun
Is glorified to ghetto
Youth like a grand aphrodisiac
To boost their manhood tenfold.
 
Frame after frame, and the genocide
Flips onward to bleed another group:
Orders droned by atonal minds
New cast members for brutal sequels.
 
Jailed Republicans on the airwaves
Goad on rejects toting cheap flags.
 
Packages received in sweaty palms:
Mail bombs have replaced angry letters.
 
May the sound of this crying baby
Seep through the rafters and preach
To the world its S.O.S.

Joshua Meander © 2009