Poetry: No Miracles to Come by Gerald Jatzek

Were three kings came from the west,

one had stars burned in his chest,

one was cursed, one was blessed

Three kings.

Were three kings came in a tank,

names were bombs and bread and bank,

played the fool, the freak, the crank

Three kings

Were three kings, their songs were sung

by someone who had lost his tongue,

on laurel garlands they were hung

Three kings

Photo by Trevor Gerzen (Unsplash)

photo of clouds covering the sun

Re-post Poetry: Holiday Mass by Gerald Jatzek

holiday mass
the accordeon is sweating
tango pearls on the skin
of spanish dancers
lord and lady lizardhead
lipless vile and lidless
under lampoons of lore

raising their hands
in nuremburg fashion
they hail the high priest
his orchards his nails
that pin the star to the jacket
that pin the cross to the word

of course the cross is crimson
in the light of colored bulbs

 

 

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webpage: GeraldJatzek.com