Parenting Through GTA

We own two Xbox Ones so we can play
together, Grand Theft Auto, mode: online.
Good parenting, there may be other ways.
Together, with my son, we spend some time.

Not only we, but sometimes, too his friends.
Earn in-game cash in ways, nefarious.
In fiction, we pursue illegal ends.
Some aspects of the game, hilarious.

Avoid misogynistic elements.
They really aren’t what makes this game so great.
Aware of simulated violence.
We all know that the haters gonna hate.

One weekend, Cormac’s friend to spend the night.
Was he and Noah formed a joint intent.
No playing ‘til the early morning’s light.
Would only play until their somnolence.

They raced, did missions, stealing cars and planes.
With Noah playing with my character.
At first, not as familiar with game.
His practice made him a competitor.

The cash he earned for me, the thousands count,
in hundreds, I soon knew there was enough.
How I could use that cash, such great amount?
With cash, in-game, I want to buy cool stuff.

The cash he earned, enough, I must explain
for me to buy some in-game capital.
Facility where I can make cocaine.
Our in-game morals must be flexible.

I purchased, too, a Motorcycle Club.
I made myself initial President.
My empire, criminal, this as its hub.
The distribution means I implement.

So thanks to Noah, I now generate
some passive cash achieved through industry.
By contrast, morals, I elucidate.
Some application to reality.

Summer ‘79, or Fleur-De-Lis

The afternoon cicada’s tenor drone.
Mechanical, an unrelenting tone.
The way the sunlight disembodies me.
Transcendent movements through its burning stare.
The chain link fence, my window, visible.
A narrative you think incredible.
The demon living in the furniture
and in the walls, the paper that adheres.
The paisley patterns, birds, embroidery.
The curtains on the windows heavy hung.
The window dressing, cotton to the glass.
A multilayer fabric barrier.
Just like her clothes I used to fumble with
when I attempted to, my love, undress.
Impatience she so frequently expressed.
“Just let me do it; move your hands away.”
Just as with all my careless fumblings.
Unpleasant really; desperate to please.
The pleasing of myself I hoped to gain.
The unforgiving Texas August sun.
The special one, inside the window pane
was where he must have lived because
his spirit cast, the wall, its flickering.
The sunlight shadows from the overhang,
the tress, its branches, blowing in the wind.
The demon dancing, sunlight shadowings.
Embroidered birds in style, rococo.
I think that maybe peacocks in the flock.
Their feet upon the tendrils, spreading vines.
A droplet motif, Persian origin.
The leaves and paisleys, more embellishments
included solely for their own extravagance.
Into that bird, I cast the demon, vile.
Hot summer tears upon the pillowcase.
The twisting tendrils, flowers, fleur-de-lis.

I Worship With The Pagans Sunday Morn

I worship with the pagans Sunday morn.
Where dancing constitutes their liturgy.
All good churchgoers look at me with scorn.
Accuse me of barefaced apostasy.

I read with int’rest of his narrative.
The ark recaptured from the Philistines.
To worship was his sole imperative.
Of course, dismiss as myth from olden times

or that their customs then were different.
King David, naked, danced before the Lord.
His wife named Michal, she was diffident.
Condemned his actions as most untowards.

If Bible story what you would believe,
because she looked on nakedness with scorn,
no more the royal member she received.
I worship with the pagans Sunday morn.

Psalm 101

The title is “Of David. A psalm”, thus:

Your love and justice, that of which I sing.
To you, Lord, by my singing, praises bring.
A blameless life, I will take care to lead.
When will you ever come to visit me?
Conducting all my house and its affairs.
Of sin, my blameless heart is unaware.
No gazing with approval on what’s vile.
Those faithless actions, never worth my while.
Perverse of heart, from me, are far removed.
With evil, won’t have anything to do.
Their secret, sland’rous words I silence now.
Their haughty eyes, and heart: so very proud.
These things I will not tolerate.
My eyes upon those ones who full of faith,
that they may be the ones who dwell with me.
The man whose blameless walking constantly
is one who serves as minister to me.
The man who practices his vain deceit
inside my house is where he’ll never sleep.
False speech will never in my presence stand.
When will I silence wicked in the land?
Each morning. Where, the place off which they’re cut?
Your city, Lord, to them, its gates are shut.

Psalm 100

A psalm we sing for giving grateful praise.
For joy, the Lord, to him our shouts we raise.
The time to worship him with gladness: now!
With joyful songs: the method that is how!
I recognize the Lord’s divinity.
I know that he is who created me,
and ownership with creativity.
We are his people, likened unto sheep.
And he, a shepherd, to a pasture leads
his flock. Our hunger, that is what he feeds.
His presence in a castle with tall gates.
A ruler who, reality, creates.
His subjects gain admission to his throne.
Our praise, thanksgiving, offer him alone.
The Lord is good. The time his love endures?
Forever. To the generations sure.
His faithfulness, all we will ever know.
Just as in heaven, here on earth, below.

Confession

Today dear Jesus, this, my prayer to you:
that you forgive my constant faithlessness.
My faithlessness denies your mercies, new
each day you show despite my carelessness.
My restlessness, as an impatient child.
If lusts aren’t gratified without delay.
Confess, I start to go a little wild.
From my temptation, take me far away.
Consider that location of my pain.
The place where I feel keenest, most distressed
My groin, its constant groaning, I disdain.
All I can do, my torment, here confess.

Johnny Appleseed

The congregation, preacher long chastised.
“Unsaved though, as an infant, were baptized.
You must eschew your clear extravagance.
Your calico and fine imported tea.

“The man for whom I search throughout this land.
A man who like the Christians, primitive.
Coarse raiment worn, his feet remain unshod
upon the path to heaven that he trods.”

John Chapman from the congregation rose.
With confidence, to flummoxed preacher, strode.
Upon the stump that served as pulpit perch.
His barefoot square, fulfilling preacher’s search.

“Sometimes I preach unto the natives here,
not wanting to disturb their peace of mind.
Believing that I, by the Spirit, touched,
the hostile tribes don’t bother me too much.

“I never will, with woman, intersect.
In heaven where a better goal attain.
Attachments. Definition – purity:
Attention undivided, deity.

“With Jesus seek to serve my brothers’ good.
Like miracle at Canaan wedding feast.
The apples not for eating as you think.
Ingredient for cider that we drink.”

Psalm 2

My query: why the nations’ endless plots?
In vain the people tying up their knots.
The kings of earth rise up, conspiracy.
To overthrow the Lord’s theocracy.
Rebel against the Lord’s anointed one.
“His chains and shackles, those which we now shun.”
The One enthroned in heaven simply laughs.
Rebukes in anger, terrors in his wrath.
At their attacks, he scoffs with great disdain.
“My king on holy mountain I ordained.
In Zion where my righteous son now rules.
Inheritance, you ask? I give you jewels.
The nations, yours for all eternity.
The earth, its ends, are yours, all that you see.
With iron rod, the nations you will break.
To pieces, dashed, that pottery, forsake.”
Therefore, you kings, make wisdom your chief aim.
Ye rulers of the earth, I speak it plain.
Now serve the Lord, his rule, we celebrate.
The son, you kiss; alternative, his rage.
His wrath may any given moment flare.
Those blessèd ones who refuge in his care.

For Mercy’s Sake

To those upon his right, proclaimed these words:

“Come, you, who now are in my Father, blessed.
Inheritance, a kingdom made for you,
upon foundations of the earth was built.
For in my hunger, you, who gave me food.
My thirst, some water that which you provide.
I was a stranger and you welcomed me.
My nakedness, exposed, you covered me.
Was sick, in prison, even yet you came.”

The righteous answer: “Lord, how can you say
that we the ones who fed, who water gave?
When did we see you as a stranger here?
When did we welcome, clothe your nakedness?
When did we see you sick, in prison chains?”

Replying to them, these, the words he said:

“The truth is only what I may relate.
These things, all actions you, in fact, performed
unto the least of them, my brothers with you here,
then unto me you showed these kindnesses.
These actions, how you gained inheritance.”

Young Zeus, and His Nursemaid Goat, Amalthea

“My mother hid me from my father’s wrath.
A stone wrapped up inside a swaddling cloth
to Cronus whom she gave deceptively.
Into this cave, my nursemaid was a goat.
Dear Amalthea, how she kept me safe
and suckled me when there were none around.

“I’m growing bigger, now have diff’rent needs.
Not even will her blood give sustenance.
Her broken horn, a cornucopia.
Deprives her of her life, her blessed strength.
Her hide, I take, to fashion to a shield.
My Aegis, no attacker penetrate.

“Oh Amalthea, that you could survive,
a goat who sacrificed that I might live.
Into the heavens, we commemorate.
Not Capricorn, but Capra, are your stars.
Autumnal holiday when we give thanks.
An image of your overflowing horn
suggests that we take time for gratitude.”

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