Delivered from the Cross
with all the authority
of the Saviour of the World
at the precise moment
of his people’s rejection of Him.

“Forgive them Lord
for they know not
what they do!”

And within forty years
it came to pass.

Their Temple destroyed.
Their Holy of Holies
trampled on by Titus.
Their sacred paraphernalia looted.

The consecrated foundations
of their city ploughed over.

A million killed during the siege
and 97,000 captured and enslaved.

A Roman coin was minted
showing a Jewish woman
in chains under a palm tree.

When the Romans
built a replacement city,
His people alone
were denied entrance.

they wandered the earth,
gaining hard won prosperity,
followed by expulsion
from every place
they settled in.

after two millennia of statelessness,
and six million who died
in a Final Solution,
a plot of land was carved for them
among the cosmopolitan
humanity of Palestine.
And they were settled in the midst
of their most ancient enemies.
Proud, but unrepentant,
to fulfil their Saviour’s curse:

“Forgive them Lord
for they know not
what they do!”

And it could have been worse.


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It is now two millennia since
the Security Seraphims
were withdrawn
and the Gates of Eden reopened
to the General Public.

Free Admission
to all children,
(before their parents succeeded
in banning them).

Free Passes
to those adults who agree
to leave their baggage outside
(as strongly recommended by JC)
and successfully passed
the Camel’s Eye of a Needle Security Check.

This will detect even your bikini
and any other thoughts
left over from heavy addiction
to the fruit
of the Tree of Knowledge.

It is surprising and chastening
how few (excepting children)
have availed themselves of this
Once-in-a-Lifetime opportunity.
as it is rapidly approaching
its Expiry Date.

Outside the gates,
are innumerable camper vans,
over-flowing removal lorries
and the charred remains
of dead animals (holy sacrifices).
Together with a jostling crowd
of fashionably robed
Bishops and priests,
some artificially bald;
some with original designer beards.

They are selling
genetically modified,
original cuttings
from the Tree of Knowledge,
together with heavily translated
instruction manuals;
each with its individual
Stamp of Infallibility.

These guarantee to give you
instant and privileged entry,
via a back door (with donation box)
to the Garden of Life
(as soon as you are safely dead).

Once the Expiry Date is reached
(determined by when Planet Earth
can no longer cope
with man’s inhumanity
to man and nature),
the killings by man
will be replaced with
the cullings of men;
controlled, systematic, cosmic.

Then the Gates of Eden
will be closed once more.

Seraphims will be reinstalled
with suicide bombs
(make your own),
missiles, and drones
instead of flaming swords.

The discarded cuttings
from the Tree of Knowledge
will grow into a concealing forest,
peopled by a race
of test-tube-originated primates.

And God will try again elsewhere.


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Of French descent,
Madame Estourgeon
has made the ascent
of Ben Neverist
to look down from the clouds
at the crowds
of neo-Scots
marching to the banner
of their newfound Queen.

From a disused dungeon
in St Andrews,
the spirit of John Knox,
of Scottish descent,
can still be heard intoning,

“Monstrous Regimen of Women!”
Monstrous Regimen of Women!”


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My task
(and yours)
(and always has been);

to get rid of you and me
to get rid of us and them
to get rid of was and will be
to get rid of should and shouldn’t be
to get rid of might and mightn’t.

(and always has been)
to wake up
from the dreams of our identities
and find ourselves;

where we have always been;

where we have always been.


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We crawl our way from earth to star
nor calculate from birth how far
our tiny feet
will take us,
before the karma that we meet
will break us.
And cast us adrift on an outgoing tide.

While those onshore mutter simply,
“He died!”

Fay’s gone.
Life long,
Death waits for no-one.


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The string
of Being winds
throughout a luminous universe.

your hand reaches out to grasp
is Adam’s curse
and a knot
appears within your mind.

Your original face
is suddenly forgot,
hid in your own entanglement.


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So, who are you?
Mr Teacher.

Oh yes. And what do you teach?
I teach people what they already know.

And what’s that?
That they have nothing to learn.

And how long does that take?
Usually, many, many lifetimes.

Of hard work?
Of hard suffering.

If you are born Mr Rabbit,
you will have long ears
and can hear Mr Fox coming.
But you cannot hear Mr Farmer
before his bullet hits your head.

If you are born Mr Dog,
you will have lots of rabbits
to choose from.
But all the other dogs
will sniff your bottom
and Mr Man will put a leather strap round your neck.

If you are Mr Man,
you will have lots of rabbits to eat
and dogs with necks
to put your leads on.
But Mr Teacher will put a cage
in your brain
so that you can dance in his circus.


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The Faith Homes of the World,
Buddhist, Moslem, Christian,
have acquired spiritual bolt-ons
built by enterprising entrepreneurs
whose Collection Boxes
funnel the money into hands
that have slipped in between the sheets.

Thou shalt not kill.
(But needst not strive
officiously to keep alive.)

Thou shalt not eat animals
which have warm blood.
(But it’s OK to drain the blood out first
and then go on and eat
until you’re fit to burst!)

Give all you have to the poor and follow me.
(But don’t take the risk
it might fall into the wrong hands
and be wasted.
Give it to priest or mullah.)

There was a time when
the treasures in the Vatican
would have cancelled the Third World Debt.
(But they’re worth much more than that now;
and we keep them safe with tight security,
not for the benefit of the Just,
but for the Future’s Moth and Rust.)

Cometh the Apocalypse
which will revert to Default Settings
and truly “he” shall have his just reward.


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The Treasure Ship returns to harbour.
The wave disappears without a trace.
Heureux qui, comme Ulysse,
a fait un beau voyage.

Happy the hero,
who dies full of years
under the tumulus
with his sword.

Happy the young man
who dies young
beloved of the Gods.
Happy, too, is Vanity.
The wave subsides without a trace.
Who will rejoice in its arising
and lament it in its passing?

Who will write its history
with words of vinegar and honey;
how it arose and how it pressed,
against an empty sky?

Who will cast flowers
on the empty ocean?


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There are Poor because there are Rich.

If you don’t have enough
you certainly
don’t have too much.

If you have too much
someone certainly
has not enough.

To make the Poor less poor
you certainly
have to make the Rich less rich.

Therefore the Rich
are the cause
of the Poor.

Quod Erat Demonstrandum ─Gnome


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