'no room at the Inn'

'no room at the Inn' timothy r gates, 1/28/2012

a bum at the street's side
offering yellow, led, pencils for exchange,
“any dimes or quarters, young man?”
was told that they made more here
than dad there

young girl quivered, cigarette in hand,
trying to light it in the rain's mist,
“got a light?”
we don't carry lighters any longer
don't carry pocket knives either

an elderly androgynous guy, gal
stumbled out of the bar, looking up,
“Who the hell are you? Never seen a drunk before?”
caught off guard, i wandered,
without wonderment, was this me once?

needing a place to sleep,
bread, maybe some soup, knocked at a mission,
“Sorry, we have no room left for you.”
refugee hostels hard to find,
churches and temples closed, afraid of thieves.

"hypocrisy, still, also, normal"

"hypocrisy, still, also, normal" t r gates, 1/11-16/2012

Miters worn, torn,
for real or metaphorically,
drive their sheep,
unlike the good shepherd,
declaring heresies and heretics,
not knowing being a monk
from eating monk.
Drunks, robe wearing folk,
and others loving purple and colours close to such illusions,
call their buzz feasting,
tell others who should marry,
say they 'know,'
then accuse others of gnosticism.
Politicians speaking of life's sanctity
yet perpetuating the war machine -
speaking about family and marriage
yet theirs being 3-4x's a demise.
Mirrors aren't desired (by me either).
For certain, inconsistency is normal --
sad, so is hypocrisy. Mercy